Chapter 14


    A+A++


    “Good day, sir.”


    In the elevator at Grey House, I read her response.


    * * *


    From: Anastasia Steele


    Subject: Pest


    Date: June 10 2011 08:39


    To: Christian Grey


    Mr. Grey—I am trying to work for a living—and it’s you who will be begging.


    Anastasia Steele


    Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP


    Ha! I don’t think so.


    “Good morning, Andrea.” I give her a friendly nod as I stride past her desk.


    “Um,” she stalls, but recovers quickly, because she’s ever the adept PA. “Good morning, Mr. Grey.


    Coffee?”


    “Please. ck.” I close my office door, and when seated at my desk respond to Ana.


    * * *


    From: Christian Grey


    Subject: Bring It On!


    Date: June 10 2011 08:42


    To: Anastasia Steele


    Why, Miss Steele, I love a challenge…


    Christian Grey


    CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.


    I LOVE THAT SHE’S so feisty over e-mail. Life is never boring with Ana. I lean back in my chair with


    my hands behind my head, trying to understand my effervescent mood. When have I ever felt this


    cheerful? It’s frightening. She has the power to give me hope, and the power to make me despair. I


    know which I prefer. There’s a nk space on my office wall; perhaps one of her portraits should fill


    the void. Before I can brood on this further, there’s a knock on the door. Andrea enters, carrying my


    coffee.


    “Mr. Grey, may I have a word?”


    “Of course.”


    She perches on the chair opposite me, looking nervous. “Do you remember I’m not here this


    afternoon and I’m not in on Monday?”


    I stare at her,pletely nk. What the hell? I don’t remember this. I hate it when she’s not here.


    “I thought I should remind you,” she adds.


    “Do you have someone covering for you?”


    “Yes. HR is sending someone from another department. Her name is Montana Brooks.”


    “Okay.”


    “It’s only a day and a half, sir.”


    Iugh. “Do I look that worried?”


    Andrea gives me a rare smile. “Yes, Mr. Grey, you do.”


    “Well, whatever you’re up to, I hope it’s fun.”


    She stands. “Thank you, sir.”


    “Do I have anything scheduled for this weekend?”


    “You have golf tomorrow with Mr. Bastille.”


    “Cancel it.” I’d rather have fun with Ana.


    “Will do. You also have the masquerade ball at your parents’ ce for Coping Together,” Andrea


    reminds me.


    “Oh. Damn.”


    “It’s been in the schedule for months.”


    “Yes. I know. Leave that.”


    I wonder if Ana wille as my date?


    “Okay, sir.”


    “Did you find someone to rece Senator ndino’s daughter?”


    “Yes, sir. Her name is Sarah Hunter. She starts on Tuesday when I’m back.”


    “Good.”


    “You have a nine o’clock with Miss Bailey.”


    “Thanks, Andrea. Get me Welch on the line.”


    “Yes, Mr. Grey.”


    ROS IS CONCLUDING HER report on the Darfur airdrop. “Everything has gone as scheduled and


    early reports from the NGOs on the ground are that it’se at the right time and to the right


    ce,” Ros says. “Frankly, it’s been a huge sess. We’re going to help so many people.”


    “Great. Perhaps we should do it every year where it’s needed.”


    “It’s expensive, Christian.”


    “I know. But it’s the right thing to do. And it’s only money.”


    She gives me a slightly exasperated look.


    “Are we done?” I ask.


    “For now, yes.”


    “Good.”


    She continues to regard me with curiosity.


    What?


    “I’m d you’re back with us,” she says.


    “What do you mean?”


    “You know what I mean.” She gets up and gathers her papers. “You’ve been absent, Christian.” Her


    eyes narrow.


    “I was here.”


    “No, you weren’t. But I’m d you’re back and focused, and you seem happier.” She gives me a


    broad smile and heads for the door.


    Is it that obvious?


    “I saw the photo in the paper this morning.”


    “Photo?”


    “Yes. You and a young woman at a photo exhibition.”


    “Oh, yes.” I can’t hide my smile.


    Ros nods. “I’ll see youter this afternoon for the meeting with Marco.”


    “Sure.”


    She leaves, and I’m left wondering how the rest of my staff will react to me today.


    BARNEY, MY TECH WIZARD and senior engineer, has produced three prototypes of the sr


    tablet. It’s a product I hope we’ll sell at a premium globally, and also underwrite phnthropically in


    the developing world. Democratizing technology is one of my passions—making it cheap,


    functional, and avable in the poorest nations to help bring these countries out of poverty.


    Later that morning we’re gathered in theb discussing the prototypes that are scattered over the


    workbench. Fred, the VP of our tel division, is making a pitch to incorporate the sr cells into


    the rear casing of each device.


    “Why can’t we incorporate them into the entire casing of the tablet, even into the screen?” I ask.


    Seven heads turn my way in unison.


    “Not the screen, but a cover…maybe?” says Fred.


    “Expense?” Barney pipes up at the same time.


    “This is blue sky, people. Don’t concern yourselves with the economics,” I answer. “We’ll sell it as a


    Owned by N?velDrama.Org.


    premium brand here and practically give it away in the third world. That’s the point.”


    The room erupts in creativity and two hourster we have three ideas about how to cover the device


    in sr cells.


    “…Of course we’ll make it WiMAX-enabled for the home market,” Fred states.


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