At four, Mr. and Mrs. Clayton gather all the other employees in the shop, and during

a hair-curlingly embarrassing speech, present me with a check for three hundred dollars.

In that moment, three weeks of – exams, graduation, intense, fucked-up billionaires, de-

flowering, hard & soft limits, playrooms with no consoles, helicopter rides – and the fact

that I will move tomorrow, all well up inside me. Amazingly, I hold myself together. My

subconscious is in awe. I hug the Claytons hard. They have been kind and generous em-

ployers, and I will miss them.

Kate is climbing out of her car when I arrive home.

“What’s that?” she says accusingly, pointing at the Audi. I can’t resist.

“It’s a car,” I quip. She narrows her eyes, and for a brief moment, I wonder if she’s go-

ing to put me across her knee too. “My graduation present.” I try and act nonchalant. Yes,

I get expensive cars given to me everyday.Her mouth drops open.

“Generous, over-the-top bastard, isn’t he?”

I nod.

“I did try not to accept it, but frankly, it’s just not worth the fight.”

Kate purses her lips.

“No wonder you’re so overwhelmed. I did note that he stayed.”

“Yeah.” I smile wistfully.

“Shall we finish packing?”

I nod and follow her inside. I check the email from Christian.

From:Christian Grey

Subject:Sunday

Date:May 27 2011 13:40

To:Anastasia Steele

Shall I see you at 1 p.m. Sunday?

The doctor will be at Escala to see you at 1:30.

I’m leaving for Seattle now.

I hope your move goes well, and I look forward to Sunday.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Jeez, he could be discussing the weather. I decide to email him once we’ve finished pack-

ing, he can be such fun one minute, and then he can be so formal and stuffy. It’s difficult

to keep up. Honestly, it’s like an email to an employee. I roll my eyes at it defiantly and

join Kate to pack.

Kate and I are in the kitchen when there’s a knock at the door. Taylor stands on the porch,

looking immaculate in his suit. I notice the trace of ex-army in his buzz cut, trim physique,

and his cool stare.

“Miss Steele,” he says. “I’ve come for your car.”

“Oh yes, of course. Come in, I’ll fetch the keys.”

Surely this is above and beyond the call of duty. I wonder again at Taylor’s job descrip-

tion. I hand him the keys, and we walk in an uncomfortable silence for me - toward the

light blue Beetle. I open the door and remove the flashlight from the glove box. That’s it.

I have nothing else that’s personal in the Wanda. Goodby,, Wanda. Thank you.I caress her

roof as I close the passenger door.

“How long have you worked for Mr. Grey?” I ask.

“Four years, Miss Steele.”

Suddenly, I have an overwhelming urge to bombard him with questions. What this

man must know about Christian, all his secrets. But then he’s probably signed an NDA.

I look nervously at him. He has the same taciturn expression as Ray, and I warm to him.

“He’s a good man, Miss Steele,” he says, and he smiles slightly. With that, he gives me

a little nod, climbs into my car, and drives away.

Apartment, Beetle, Claytons – it’s all change now. I shake my head as I wander back

inside. And the biggest change of all is Christian Grey. Taylor thinks he’s a good man.

Can I believe him?

José joins us with a Chinese take-out at eight. We’re done. We’re packed and ready

to go. He brings several bottles of beer, and Kate and I sit on the couch while he’s cross-

legged on the floor between us. We watch crap TV, drink beer, and as the evening wears

on, we fondly and loudly reminisce as the beer takes effect. It’s been a good four years.

The atmosphere between José and I has returned to normal, the attempted kiss forgot-

ten. Well, it’s been swept under the rug that my inner goddess is lying on, eating grapes

and tapping her fingers, waiting not so patiently for Sunday. There’s a knock on the door,

and my heart leaps into my throat. Is it?

Kate answers the door and is nearly knocked off her feet by Elliot. He seizes her in a

Hollywood-style clinch that moves quickly into a European art house embrace. Honestly…

get a room.José and I stare at each other. I’m appalled at their lack of modesty.

“Shall we walk down to the bar?” I ask José, who nods frantically. We are too uncom-

fortable with the unrestrained sexing unfolding in front of us. Kate looks up at me, flushed

and bright-eyed.

“José and I are going for a quick drink.” I roll my eyes at her. Ha! I can still roll my

eyes in my own time.

“Okay,” she grins.

“Hi Elliot, bye Elliot.”

He winks a big blue eye at me, and José and I are out of the door, giggling like teenag-

ers. As we stroll down to the bar, I put my arm through José’s. God, he’s so uncomplicated

- I hadn’t really appreciated that before.

“You’ll still come to the opening of my show, won’t you?”

“Of course, José, when is it?”

“June 9.”

“What day is that?” I suddenly panic.

“It’s a Thursday.”

“Yeah I should make that… and you will visit us in Seattle?”

“Try and stop me.” He grins.

It’s late when I arrive back from the bar. Kate and Elliot are nowhere to be seen but boy

can they be heard. Holy shit.I hope I’m not that loud. I know Christian isn’t. I flush at

the thought and escape to my room. After a brief not-at-all-awkward-thank-goodness hug,

José has gone. I don’t know when I’ll see him again, probably his photographic show, and

once again, I’m blown away that he finally has an exhibition. I shall miss him and his boy-

ish charm. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him about the Beetle, I know he’ll freak when he

finds out, and I can only deal with one man at a time freaking out at me. Once in my room,

I check the mean machine, and of course, there’s an email from Christian.

From:Christian Grey

Subject:Where Are You?

Date:May 27 2011 22:14

To:Anastasia Steele

‘I am at work. I will email you when I get home.’

Are you still at work or have you packed your phone, BlackBerry and MacBook?

Call me, or I may be forced to call Elliot.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Crap… José… shit.

I grab my phone. Five missed calls and one voice message. Tentatively, I listen to the

message. It’s Christian.

‘I think you need to learn to manage my expectations. I am not a patient man. If you

say you are going to contact me when you finish work, then you should have the decency to

do so. Otherwise, I worry, and it’s not an emotion I’m familiar with, and I don’t tolerate it

very well. Call me.’

Double crap. Will he ever give me a break? I scowl at the phone. He is suffocating

me. With a deep dread uncurling in my stomach, I scroll down to his number and press

dial. My heart is in my mouth as I wait for him to answer. He’d probably like to beat seven

shades of shit out of me .The thought is depressing.

“Hi,” he says softly, and his response knocks me off balance because I am expecting

his anger, but if anything, he sounds relieved.

“Hi,” I murmur.

“I was worried about you.”

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t reply, but I’m fine.”

He pauses for a beat.

“Did you have a pleasant evening?” He is crisply polite.