From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Over-Reaction
Date: June 3 2011 13:06 EST
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grumpy
The aircraft doors are still open. We are delayed but only by ten minutes. My welfare and that of the pa.s.sengers around me is vouchsafed. You may stow your twitchy palm
for now.
Miss Steele
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Apologies - Twitchy Palm Stowed
Date: June 3 2011 10:08
To: Anastasia Steele
I miss you and your smart mouth Miss Steele.
I want you safely home.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Apology Accepted
Date: June 3 2011 13:10 EST
To: Christian Grey
They are shutting the doors. You won"t hear another peep from me, especially given your deafness.
Laters.
Ana x
I switch off the BlackBerry, unable to shake my anxiety. Something is up with Christian.
Perhaps "the situation" is out of hand. I sit back, glancing up at the locker where my bags are stowed. I managed this morning, with my mother"s help, to buy Christian a small gift to say thank you for first cla.s.s and for the gliding. I smile at the memory of the soaring -
that was something else. I don"t know yet if I"ll give my silly gift to him. He might think it"s childish - and if he"s in a strange mood, maybe not. I am both eager to return and apprehensive of what awaits me at my journey"s end. As I mentally flick through all the scenarios that could be "the situation", I become aware that once again the only empty seat is beside me. I shake my head as the thought crosses my mind that Christian might have purchased the adjacent seat so that I couldn"t talk to anyone. I dismiss the idea as ridiculous - no one could be that controlling, that jealous, surely. I close my eyes as the plane taxis towards the runway.
I emerge into the Sea-Tac arrivals terminal eight hours later to find Taylor waiting and holding up a board that reads Miss A Steele. Honestly! But it"s good to see him.
"h.e.l.lo, Taylor."
"Miss Steele," he greets me formally, but I see a hint of smile in his sharp brown eyes.
He looks his usual immaculate self - smart charcoal suit, white shirt, and charcoal tie.
"I do know what you look like Taylor, you don"t need a board, and I do wish you"d call me, Ana."
"Ana. Can I take your bags, please?"
"No, I can manage. Thank you."
His lips tighten perceptibly.
"But, if you"d be more comfortable taking them," I stammer.
"Thank you." He grabs my backpack and my newly acquired wheelie case for the clothes my mother has bought me. "This way, ma"am."
I sigh. He"s so polite. I remember, though I would like to erase it from my memory, that this man has bought me underwear. In fact - and the thought unsettles me - he"s the only man who"s ever bought me underwear. Even Ray"s never had to endure that hardship.
We walk in silence to the black Audi SUV outside in the airport parking lot, and he holds the door open for me. I clamber in, wondering if wearing such a short skirt for the return to Seattle was a good idea. It was cool and welcome in Georgia. Here I feel exposed. Once Taylor has stowed my bags in the trunk, we set off for Escala.
The journey is slow, caught up in rush hour traffic. Taylor keeps his eyes on the road ahead. Taciturn does not begin to describe him.
I can bear the silence no longer.
"How"s Christian, Taylor?"
"Mr. Grey is preoccupied, Miss Steele."
Oh, this must be "the situation." I am mining a seam of gold.
"Preoccupied?"
"Yes, ma"am."
I frown at Taylor, and he glances at me in the rear-view mirror, our eyes meet. He"s saying no more. Jeez, he can be as tightlipped as the control freak himself.
"Is he okay?"
"I believe so, ma"am."
"Are you more comfortable calling me, Miss Steele?"
"Yes, ma"am."
"Oh, okay."
Well, that curtails our conversation, and we continue in silence. I begin to think that Taylor"s recent slip, when he told me that Christian had been h.e.l.l on wheels, was an anom-aly. Perhaps he"s embarra.s.sed about it, worried that he"s been disloyal. The silence is suffocating.
"Could you put some music on please?"
"Certainly, ma"am. What would you like to hear?"
"Something soothing."
I see a smile play on Taylor"s lips as our eyes meet briefly again in the mirror.
"Yes, ma"am."
He pushes a few b.u.t.tons on the steering wheel, and the gentle strains of Pachelbel"s canon fills the s.p.a.ce between us. Oh yes... this is what I need.
"Thank you." I sit back as we drive slowly but steadily along the I-5 into Seattle.
Twenty-five minutes, later he drops me outside the impressive fa?ade that is the entrance to Escala.
"In you go, ma"am," he says, holding the door open for me. "I"ll bring up your luggage is."H expression is soft, warm, avuncular even.
Jeez... Uncle Taylor, what a thought.
"Thank you for meeting me."
"It"s a pleasure, Miss Steele." He smiles, and I head into the building. The doorman nods and waves.
As I ride up to the thirtieth floor, a thousand b.u.t.terflies stretch their wings and flutter erratically in my stomach. Why am I so nervous And I know it"s because I have no idea what kind of mood Christian"s going to be in when I arrive. My inner G.o.ddess is hopeful for one type of mood, my subconscious, like me, is fraught with nerves.
The elevator doors open, and I"m in the foyer. It is so strange not to be met by Taylor.
Of course, he"s parking the car. In the great room, Christian is on his BlackBerry talking quietly as he stares out of the gla.s.s doors at the early evening Seattle skyline. He"s wearing a gray suit with the jacket undone, and he"s running his hand through his hair, he"s. H agi-tated, tense even. Oh no - what"s wrong Agitated or not, he"s still beyond beautiful. How can he look so... arrestingIt"s such a pleasure to stand and drink in the sheer sight of him.