From:Christian Grey

Subject:The Answer is NO

Date:June 13, 2011 10.50

To:Anastasia Steele

Ana

I have seen how “effective” you are at fighting off unwanted attention. I remember that’s

how I had the pleasure of spending my first night with you. At least the photographer has

feelings for you. The sleazeball, on the other hand, does not. He is a serial philanderer,

and he will try to seduce you. Ask him what happened to his previous PA and the one

before that.

I don’t want to fight about this.

If you want to go to New York, I’ll take you. We can go this weekend. I have an apartment

there.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Oh, Christian!That’s not the point. He’s so damn frustrating. And of course he has an

apartment there. Where else does he own property? Trust him to bring up José. Will I ever

live that down? I was drunk, for heaven’s sake. I wouldn’t get drunk with Jack.

I shake my head at the screen, but figure I cannot continue to argue with him over

e-mail. I shall have to bide my time until this evening. I check the clock. Jack is still not

back from his meeting with Jerry, and I need to deal with Elena. I read her e-mail again

and decide that the best way to handle it is to send it to Christian. Let him concentrate on

her rather than me.

From:Anastasia Steele

Subject:FW Lunch date or Irritating Baggage

Date:June 13, 2011 11:15

To:Christian Grey

Christian

While you have been busy interfering in my career and saving your ass from my careless

missives, I received the following e-mail from Mrs. Lincoln. I really don’t want to meet with

her—even if I did, I am not allowed to leave this building. How she got hold of my e-mail

address, I don’t know. What would you suggest I do? Her e-mail is below:

Dear Anastasia, I would really like to have lunch with you. I think we got off on the

wrong foot, and I’d like to make that right. Are you free sometime this week?

Elena Lincoln

Anastasia Steele

Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP

From:Christian Grey

Subject:Irritating Baggage

Date:June 13, 2011 11:23

To:Anastasia Steele

Don’t be mad at me. I have your best interests at heart.

If anything happened to you, I would never forgive myself.

I’ll deal with Mrs. Lincoln.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From:Anastasia Steele

Subject:Laters

Date:June 13, 2011: 11:32

To:Christian Grey

Can we please discuss this tonight?

I am trying to work, and your continued interference is very distracting.

Anastasia Steele

Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP

Jack returns after midday and tells me that New York is off for me though he is still going

and there’s nothing he can do to change senior management policy. He strides into his of-

fice, slamming the door, obviously furious. Why is he so angry?

Deep down, I know his intentions are less than honorable, but I am sure I can deal with

him, and I wonder what Christian knows about Jack’s previous PAs. I park these thoughts

and continue with some work, but resolve to try to make Christian change his mind, though

the prospects are bleak.

At one o’clock, Jack pokes his head out of the office door.

“Ana, please could you go and get me some lunch?”

“Sure. What would you like?”

“Pastrami on rye, hold the mustard. I’ll give you the money when you’re back.”

“Anything to drink?”

“Coke, please. Thanks, Ana.” He heads back into his office as I reach for my purse.

Crap. I promised Christian I wouldn’t go out. I sigh. He’ll never know, and I’ll be

quick.

Claire from reception offers me her umbrella since it is still pouring with rain. As I

head out of the front doors, I pull my jacket around me and take a furtive glance in both

directions from beneath the overlarge golf umbrella. Nothing seems amiss. There’s no sign

of Ghost Girl.

I march briskly, and I hope inconspicuously, down the block to the deli. However, the

closer I get to the deli, the more I have a creepy sense that I am being watched, and I don’t

know if it’s my heightened feeling of paranoia or a reality. Shit. I hope it’s not Leila with

a gun.

It’s just your imagination, my subconscious snaps. Who the hell would want to shoot

you?

Within fifteen minutes, I am back—safe, sound but relieved. I think Christian’s ex-

treme paranoia and his overprotective vigilance is beginning to get to me.

As I take Jack’s lunch in to him, he glances up from the phone.

“Ana, thanks. Since you’re not coming with me, I’m going to need you to work late.

We need to get these briefs ready. Hope you don’t have plans.” He smiles up at me warmly,

and I flush.

“No, that’s fine,” I say with a bright smile and a sinking heart. This is not going to go

down well. Christian will freak, I’m sure.

As I head back to my desk I decide not to tell him immediately, otherwise he might

have time to interfere in some way. I sit and eat the chicken salad sandwich Mrs. Jones

made for me. It’s delicious. She makes a mean sandwich.

Of course, if I moved in with Christian, she would make lunch for me every weekday.

The idea is unsettling. I have never had dreams of obscene wealth and all the trappings—

only love. To find someone who loves me and doesn’t try to control my every move. The

phone rings.

“Jack Hyde’s office—”

“You assured me you wouldn’t go out,” Christian interrupts me, his voice cold and

hard.My heart sinks for the millionth time this day. Shit. How the hell does he know?

“Jack sent me out for some lunch. I couldn’t say no. Are you having me watched?” My

scalp prickles at the notion. No wonder I felt so paranoid—someone waswatching me. The

thought makes me angry.

“This is why I didn’t want you going back to work,” Christian snaps.

“Christian, please. You’re being”— So Fifty—“so suffocating.”

“Suffocating?” he whispers, surprised.

“Yes. You have to stop this. I’ll talk to you this evening. Unfortunately, I have to work

late because I can’t go to New York.”

“Anastasia, I don’t want to suffocate you,” he says quietly, appalled.

“Well, you are. I have work to do. I’ll talk to you later.” I hang up, feeling drained and

vaguely depressed.

After our wonderful weekend, the reality is hitting home. I have never felt more like

running. Running to some quiet retreat so I can think about this man, about how he is,

and about how to deal with him. On one level, I know he’s broken—I can see that clearly

now—and it’s both heartbreaking and exhausting. From the small pieces of precious infor-

mation that he’s given me about his life, I understand why. An unloved child; a hideously

abusive environment; a mother who couldn’t protect him, whom he couldn’t protect, and

who died in front of him.

I shudder. My poor Fifty. I am his, but not to be kept in some gilded cage. How am I

going to make him see this?

With a heavy heart, I drag one of the manuscripts Jack wants me to summarize into my

lap and continue to read. I can think of no easy solution to Christian’s fucked-up control