Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as Told by Christian (45 page)

“This way, Mr. Reed.” She bustles over to the nurses’ station and checks her computer. “She’s on the second floor; Behavioral Health ward. Take the elevators at the end of the corridor.”

“Thanks.” I reward her with a wink and she pushes a stray lock behind her ear, giving me a flirtatious smile that reminds me of a certain girl I left in Georgia.

As I step out of the elevator on the second floor I know something is wrong. On the other side of what look like locked doors, two security guards and a nurse are combing the corridor, checking each room. My scalp prickles, but I walk over to the reception area, pretending not to notice the commotion.

“Can I help you?” asks a young man with a ring through his nose.

“I’m looking for Leila Reed. I’m her brother.”

He pales. “Oh. Mr. Reed. Can you come with me?”

I follow him to a waiting room and sit down on the plastic chair that he points to; I note it’s bolted to the floor. “The doctor will be with you shortly.”

“Why can’t I see her?” I ask.

“The doctor will explain,” he says, his expression guarded, and he exits before I can ask any further questions.

Shit.
Perhaps I’m too late.

The thought nauseates me. I get up and pace the small room, contemplating a call to Gail, but I don’t have to wait long. A young man with short dreads and dark, intelligent eyes enters. Is he her doctor?

“Mr. Reed?” he asks.

“Where’s Leila?”

He assesses me for a moment, then sighs and steels himself. “I’m afraid I don’t know,” he says. “She’s managed to give us the slip.”

“What?”

“She’s gone. How she got out I don’t know.”

“Got out?” I exclaim in disbelief, and sink onto one of the chairs. He sits down opposite me.

“Yes. She’s disappeared. We’re doing a search for her now.”

“She’s still here?”

“We don’t know.”

“And who are you?” I ask.

“I’m Dr. Azikiwe, the on-call psychiatrist.”

He looks too young to be a psychiatrist. “What can you tell me about Leila?” I ask.

“Well, she was admitted after a failed suicide attempt. She tried to slash one of her wrists at an ex-boyfriend’s house. His housekeeper brought her here.”

I feel the blood draining from my face. “And?” I ask. I need more information.

“That’s about as much as we know. She said it was an error of judgment, that she was fine, but we wanted to keep her here under observation and ask her further questions.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“I did.”

“Why did she do this?”

“She said it was a cry for help. Nothing more. And, having made such a spectacle of herself, she was embarrassed and wanted to go home. She said she didn’t want to kill herself. I believed her. I suspect it was just suicidal ideation on her part.”

“How could you let her escape?” I run my hand through my hair, trying to contain my frustration.

“I don’t know how she’s gotten away. There’ll be an internal investigation. If she contacts you, I suggest you urge her to come back. She needs help. Can I ask you some questions?”

“Sure,” I agree, distracted.

“Is there any history of mental illness in your family?” I frown, then remember that he’s talking about Leila’s family.

“I don’t know. My family is very private about such matters.”

He looks concerned. “Do you know anything about this ex-boyfriend?”

“No,” I state, a little too quickly. “Have you contacted her husband?”

The doctor’s eyes widen. “She’s married?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not what she told us.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll call him. I won’t waste any more of your time.”

“But I have more questions for you—”

“I’d rather spend my time looking for her. She’s obviously in a bad way.” I rise.

“But, this husband—”

“I’ll get in touch with him.” This is getting me nowhere.

“But we should do that—” Dr. Azikiwe stands.

“I can’t help you. I need to find her.” I head to the door.

“Mr. Reed—”

“Good-bye,” I mutter, hurrying out of the waiting room and not bothering with the elevator. I take the fire escape stairs two at a time. I loathe hospitals. A memory from my childhood surfaces: I’m small and scared and mute, and the smell of disinfectant and blood clouds my nostrils.

I shudder.

As I step out of the hospital I stand for a moment and let the torrential rain wash that memory away. It’s been a stressful afternoon, but at least the rain is a refreshing relief from the heat in Savannah. Taylor swings around to pick me up in the SUV.

“Home,” I direct him, as I get back in the car. Once I’ve buckled my seatbelt I call Welch from my cell.

“Mr. Grey,” he growls.

“Welch, I have a problem. I need you to locate Leila Reed, née Williams.”

GAIL IS PALE AND
quiet as she studies me with concern. “You’re not going to finish, sir?” she asks.

I shake my head.

“Was the food okay?”

“Yes, of course.” I give her a small smile. “After today’s events, I’m not hungry. How are you bearing up?”

“I’m good, Mr. Grey. It was a total shock. I just want to keep busy.”

“I hear you. Thanks for making dinner. If you remember anything, let me know.”

“Of course. But like I said, she only wanted to speak to you.”

Why?
What is she expecting me to do?

“Thanks for not involving the police.”

“The police are not what that girl needs. She needs help.”

“She does. I wish I knew where she was.”

“You’ll find her,” she says with quiet confidence, surprising me.

“Do you need anything?” I ask.

“No, Mr. Grey. I’m fine.” She takes the plate with my half-eaten meal to the sink.

The news from Welch about Leila is frustrating. The trail has gone cold. She’s not at the hospital, and they’re still mystified as to how she escaped. A small part of me admires that; she was always resourceful. But what could have made her so unhappy? I rest my head in my hands. What a day—from the sublime to the ridiculous. Soaring with Ana, and now this mess to deal with. Taylor is at a loss as to how Leila got into the apartment, and Gail has no idea, either. Apparently, Leila marched into the kitchen demanding to know where I was. And when Gail said I wasn’t there, she cried out “He’s gone,” then slashed her wrist with a box cutter. Fortunately, the cut wasn’t deep.

I glance at Gail cleaning up in the kitchen. My blood runs cold. Leila could have hurt her. Perhaps Leila’s objective was to hurt me.
But why?
I scrunch my eyes, trying to remember if anything in our last correspondence might give me a clue as to why she’s gone off the rails. I draw a blank, exasperated, and with a sigh I head into my study.

As I sit down my phone buzzes with a text.

Ana?

It’s Elliot.

Hey Hotshot. Wanna shoot some pool?

Shooting pool with Elliot means him coming here and drinking all my beer. Frankly, I’m not in the mood.

Working. Next week?

Sure. Before I hit the beach.

I’ll thrash you.

Laters.

I toss my phone onto the desk and pore over Leila’s file, looking for anything that might give me a clue as to where she is. I find her parents’ address and phone number, but nothing for her husband. Where is he? Why isn’t she with him?

I don’t want to call her parents and alarm them. I call Welch and give him their number; he can find out if she’s been in touch with them.

When I switch on my iMac there’s an e-mail from Ana.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Safe Arrival?

Date:
June 2 2011 22:32 EST

To:
Christian Grey

Dear Sir,

Please let me know that you have arrived safely. I am starting to worry. Thinking of you.

Your Ana x

Before I know it, my finger is on the little kiss she’s sent me.

Ana.

Sappy, Grey. Sappy. Get a grip.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Sorry

Date:
June 2 2011 19:36

To:
Anastasia Steele

Dear Miss Steele,

I have arrived safely, and please accept my apologies for not letting you know. I don’t want to cause you any worry. It’s heartwarming to know that you care for me. I am thinking of you, too, and as ever looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I press send and wish that she was here with me. She brightens up my home, my life…me. I shake my head at my fanciful thoughts and look through the rest of my e-mails.

A ping tells me there’s a new one from Ana.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
The Situation

Date:
June 2 2011 22:40 EST

To:
Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey,

I think it is very evident that I care for you deeply. How could you doubt that?

I hope your “situation” is under control.

Your Ana x

P.S.: Are you going to tell me what I said in my sleep?

She cares for me deeply? That’s nice. All at once that foreign feeling, absent all day, stirs and expands in my chest. Beneath it is a well of pain I don’t want to acknowledge or deal with. It tugs at a lost memory of a young woman brushing out her long, dark hair…

Fuck.

Don’t go there, Grey.

I respond to Ana’s e-mail—and as a distraction decide to tease her.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Pleading the Fifth

Date:
June 2 2011 19:45

To:
Anastasia Steele

Dear Miss Steele,

I like very much that you care for me. The “situation” here is not yet resolved.

With regard to your P.S., the answer is no.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Pleading Insanity

Date:
June 2 2011 22:48 EST

To:
Christian Grey

I hope it was amusing. But you should know I cannot accept any responsibility for what comes out of my mouth when I am unconscious. In fact—you probably misheard me.

A man of your advanced years is surely a little deaf.

For the first time since I got back to Seattle, I laugh. What a welcome distraction she is.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Pleading Guilty

Date:
June 2 2011 19:52

To:
Anastasia Steele

Dear Miss Steele,

Sorry, could you speak up? I can’t hear you.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

Her response is swift.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Pleading Insanity Again

Date:
June 2 2011 22:54 EST

To:
Christian Grey

You are driving me crazy.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
I Hope So…

Date:
June 2 2011 19:59

To:
Anastasia Steele

Dear Miss Steele,

I intend to do exactly that on Friday evening. Looking forward to it.

;)

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I’ll have to think of something extra-special for my little freak.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Grrrrrr

Date:
June 2 2011 23:02 EST

To:
Christian Grey

I am officially pissed at you.

Good night.

Miss A. R. Steele

Whoa.
Would I tolerate this from anyone else?

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Wild Cat

Date:
June 2 2011 20:05

To:
Anastasia Steele

Are you growling at me, Miss Steele?

I possess a cat of my own for growlers.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

She doesn’t respond. Five minutes go by and nothing. Six…Seven.

Damn.
She means it. How can I tell her that while she slept she said she wouldn’t leave me? She’ll think I’m crazy.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
What You Said in Your Sleep

Date:
June 2 2011 20:20

To:
Anastasia Steele

Anastasia,

I’d rather hear you say the words that you uttered in your sleep when you’re conscious, that’s why I won’t tell you. Go
to sleep. You’ll need to be rested, with what I have in mind for you tomorrow.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

She doesn’t respond; I hope for once she’s doing what she’s told and she’s asleep. Briefly I think of what we could do tomorrow, but it’s too arousing, so I push the thought aside and concentrate on my e-mails.

But I have to confess I feel a little lighter after some e-mail banter with Miss Steele. She’s good for my dark, dark soul.

FRIDAY, JUNE 3, 2011

I can’t sleep. It’s after two and I’ve been staring at the ceiling for an hour. Tonight it’s not my sleeping nightmares that are keeping me awake. It’s a waking one.

Leila Williams.

The smoke detector on my ceiling is winking at me, its flashing green light mocking me.

Hell!

I close my eyes and let my thoughts run free.

Why was Leila suicidal? What possessed her? Her desperate unhappiness resonates with a younger, miserable me. I’m trying to quash my memories, but the anger and desolation of my solitary teen years resurfaces and it won’t go away. It reminds me of my pain and of how I lashed out at everyone during my youth. Suicide crossed my mind often, but I always held back. I resisted for Grace. I knew she’d be devastated. I knew she would blame herself if I took my life, and she’d done so much for me—how could I hurt her like that? And after I met Elena…everything changed.

Rising from the bed, I push these disquieting thoughts to the back of my mind. I need the piano.

I need Ana.

If she’d signed the contract and everything had gone according to plan, she would be with me, upstairs, asleep. I could wake her, and lose myself in her…or, under our new arrangement, she would be beside me, and I could fuck her and then watch her sleep.

What would she make of Leila?

As I sit down on the piano bench I know that Ana will never
meet Leila, which is a good thing. I know how she feels about Elena. Lord knows how she’d feel about an ex…a wayward ex.

This is what I can’t reconcile: Leila was happy, mischievous, and bright when I knew her. She was an excellent submissive; I thought she’d settled down and was happily married. Her e-mails never indicated that anything was awry. What went wrong?

I start to play…and my troubled thoughts recede until it’s just the music and me.

Leila is servicing my cock with her mouth.

Her skilled mouth.

Her hands are tied behind her back.

Her hair braided.

She’s on her knees.

Eyes cast down. Modest. Alluring.

Not seeing me.

And suddenly she’s Ana.

Ana on her knees before me. Naked. Beautiful.

My cock in her mouth.

But Ana’s eyes are on mine.

Her blazing blue eyes see everything.

See me. My soul.

She sees the darkness and the monster beneath.

Her eyes widen in horror and suddenly she disappears.

Shit!
I wake with a start, and a painful erection that wanes as soon as I recall Ana’s wounded look in my dream.

What the hell?

I rarely have erotic dreams.
Why now?
I check my alarm; I’ve beaten it by a few minutes. The morning sunlight is creeping between the buildings as I rise. Already I’m restless, no doubt as a result of my disturbing dream, so I decide to go for a run to burn off some energy. There are no new e-mails, no messages, no updates on Leila. The apartment is quiet as I leave. There’s no sign of Gail yet. I hope she’s recovered from yesterday’s ordeal.

I open the glass doors in the lobby, step outside into a balmy, sunny morning, and carefully scan the street. As I start my run I check down the alleys and in the doorways I pass, and behind the parked cars, to see if Leila is there.

Where are you, Leila Williams?

I turn the volume up on the Foo Fighters and my feet pound the sidewalk.

OLIVIA IS EXCEPTIONALLY IRRITATING
today. She’s spilled my coffee, dropped an important call, and keeps mooning at me with her big brown eyes.

“Get Ros back on the line,” I bark at her. “Better still, get her up here.” I shut my office door and go back to my desk; I must try not to take my temper out on my staff.

Welch has no news, except that Leila’s parents think their daughter is still in Portland with her husband. There’s a knock on my door.

“Come in.” I hope to God it’s not Olivia. Ros pokes her head around.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes. Sure. Come in. Where are we with Woods?”

ROS EXITS JUST BEFORE
ten. All is on track: Woods has decided to accept the deal, and the aid for Darfur will soon be on the road to Munich in preparation for the airlift. There’s no news yet from Savannah about their offer.

I check my inbox and find a welcome e-mail from Ana.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Homeward Bound

Date:
June 3 2011 12:53 EST

To:
Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey,

I am once again ensconced in first class, for which I thank
you. I am counting the minutes until I see you this evening and perhaps torturing the truth out of you about my nocturnal admissions.

Your Ana x

Torturing me?
Oh, Miss Steele, I think it will be the other way around.
As I have a great deal to do, I keep my reply short.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Homeward Bound

Date:
June 3 2011 09:58

To:
Anastasia Steele

Anastasia, I look forward to seeing you.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

But Ana is not satisfied.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Homeward Bound

Date:
June 3 2011 13:01 EST

To:
Christian Grey

Dearest Mr. Grey,

I hope everything is okay re “the situation.” The tone of your e-mail is worrying.

Ana x

At least I still earned a kiss. Surely she should be airborne by now?

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Homeward Bound

Date:
June 3 2011 10:04

To:
Anastasia Steele

Anastasia,

The situation could be better. Have you taken off yet? If so, you should not be e-mailing. You are putting yourself at risk, in direct contravention of the rule regarding your personal safety. I meant what I said about punishments.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I’m about to call Welch for an update, but there’s a ping—Ana again.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Overreaction

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

A reluctant smile tugs at my lips.
Mr. Grumpy, eh?
And no kiss.
Oh dear.

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

My kiss is back.
Well, that’s a relief.
Grudgingly, I drag myself away from the computer screen and pick up my phone to call Welch.

AT ONE O’CLOCK I
decline Andrea’s offer of lunch at my desk. I need to get out. The walls of my office are closing in on me, and I think it’s because there’s been no news about Leila.

I’m worried about her.
Hell, she came to see me.
She decided to use my home as her stage. How could I not take this personally? Why didn’t she e-mail me or phone? If she was in trouble, I could have helped. I would have helped—I’ve done it before.

I need some fresh air. I march past Olivia and Andrea, who both look busy, though I catch Andrea’s puzzled look as I step into the elevator.

Outside, it’s a bright, bustling afternoon. I take a deep breath and detect the soothing tang of salt water from the Sound. Perhaps I should take the rest of the day off? But I can’t. I have a meeting with the mayor this afternoon. It’s irritating—I’m seeing him tomorrow at the Chamber of Commerce gala.

The gala!

Suddenly I have an idea, and with a renewed sense of purpose I head toward a small store I know.

AFTER MY MEETING AT
the mayor’s office, I walk the ten or so blocks back to Escala; Taylor has gone to collect Ana from the airport. Gail is in the kitchen when I enter the living room.

“Good evening, Mr. Grey.”

“Hi, Gail. How was your day?”

“Good, thank you, sir.”

“Feeling better?”

“Yes, sir. The clothes arrived for Miss Steele—I unpacked them and hung them in the closet in her room.”

“Great. No sign of Leila?” Dumb question: Gail would have called me.

“No, sir. This also arrived.” She holds up a small red store bag.

“Good.” I take the bag from her, ignoring the delighted twinkle in her eye.

“How many for supper this evening?”

“Two, thanks. And Gail—”

“Sir?”

“Can you put the satin sheets on the playroom bed?”

I really hope to get Ana in there at some point over the weekend.
“Yes, Mr. Grey,” she says, her tone a little surprised. She turns back to whatever she’s conjuring in the kitchen, leaving me a little baffled by her behavior.

Maybe Gail doesn’t approve, but it’s what I want from Ana.

In my study I take the Cartier box from its bag. It’s a present for Ana, which I’ll give to her tomorrow in time for the gala: a pair of earrings. Simple. Elegant. Beautiful. Just like her. I smile; even in her chucks and jeans she has a certain gamine charm.

I hope she accepts my gift. As my submissive, she’d have no choice, but under our alternative arrangement, I don’t know what her reaction will be. Whatever the outcome, it will be interesting. She always surprises me. As I put the box in my desk drawer a ping on my computer distracts me. Barney’s latest tablet designs are in my inbox, and I’m eager to see them.

Five minutes later, Welch calls.

“Mr. Grey,” he wheezes.

“Yes. What news?”

“I spoke with Russell Reed, Mrs. Reed’s husband.”

“And?” Immediately I’m agitated. I storm out of my study and across the living room to the windows.

“He says his wife is away visiting her parents,” Welch reports.

“What?”

“Precisely.” Welch sounds as pissed as I am.

Seeing Seattle at my feet, knowing Mrs. Reed aka Leila Williams is out there somewhere, increases my irritation. I rake my fingers through my hair.

“Maybe that’s what she told him.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But we’ve found nothing so far.”

“No trace?” I can’t believe she could just disappear.

“Nothing. But if she so much as uses an ATM, cashes a check, or logs in to her social media, we’ll find her.”

“Okay.”

“We’d like to scour the CCTV footage from around the hospital. It’s going to cost money and take a little longer. Is that acceptable?”

“Yes.” A tingle prickles my scalp—not from the call. For some
unknown reason I sense I’m being watched. Turning, I see Ana standing on the threshold of the room, scrutinizing me, her brow furrowed and her lips pensive, and she’s wearing a short, short skirt. She’s all eyes and legs…especially legs. I imagine them wrapped around my waist.

Desire, raw and real, fires my blood as I stare.

“We’ll get right on it,” Welch says.

I finish up with him, my eyes fixed on Ana’s, and I prowl toward her, stripping off my jacket and tie and tossing them onto the sofa.

Ana.

I wrap my arms around her, tugging at her ponytail, lifting her eager lips to mine. She tastes of heaven and home and fall and Ana. Her scent invades my nostrils as I take everything her warm, sweet mouth has to offer. My body hardens with expectation and hunger as our tongues entwine. I want to lose myself in her, to forget about the shitty end to my week, forget about everything but her.

My lips feverish against hers, I tug the hair tie from her ponytail as her fingers knot in mine. I’m suddenly overwhelmed by my need, desperate for her. And I pull away, staring down into a face that’s dazed with passion.

I feel the same way.
What is she doing to me?

“What’s wrong?” she whispers.

And the answer is clear, ringing in my head.

I’ve missed you.

“I’m so glad you’re back. Shower with me. Now.”

“Yes,” she responds, her voice hoarse. I take her hand and we head to my bathroom. I turn on the shower, then face her. She’s gorgeous, her eyes bright and gleaming with anticipation, as she watches me. My gaze rakes down her body to her naked legs. I’ve never seen her in such a short skirt, with so much of her flesh on display, and I’m not sure I approve.
She’s for my eyes only.

“I like your skirt. It’s very short.”
Too short.
“You have great legs.” Stepping out of my shoes, I take off my socks, and without breaking eye contact, she, too, slips off her shoes.

Fuck the shower. I want her now.

Stepping toward her, I clasp her head, and we step back so she’s against the tiled wall, her lips parting as she inhales. Holding her face and lacing my fingers into her hair, I kiss her: her cheek, her throat, her mouth. She’s nectar and I can’t get enough. Her breath catches in her throat and she grasps my arms, but at her touch there’s no protest from the darkness within. There’s just Ana, in all her beauty and innocence, kissing me back with a fervor that matches mine.

My blood is thick with desire, my erection painful. “I want you now. Here…fast, hard,” I murmur, as my hand runs up her naked thigh beneath her skirt. “Are you still bleeding?”