Fifty Shades of Grey (book 1+ 2)

Chapter 137

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

passengers 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

class 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.

"Hello, 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." This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

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 hell on wheels, was an anom-aly. Perhaps he's embarrassed

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 buttons on the steering wheel, and the gentle strains of Pachelbel's canon fills the

space 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 butterflies 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 goddess 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 glass 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.

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