“Why the sudden interest in Georgia, Christian?”
“It’s personal.”
She huffs down the phone. “Since when have you let your personal life interfere with business?”
Since I met Anastasia Steele.
“I don’t like Detroit,” I snap.
“Okay.” She backs off.
“I might meet the Savannah Brownfield liaison for a drink later,” I add, attempting to placate her.
“Whatever, Christian. There are a few other things we need to talk about. The aid has arrived in Rotterdam. Do you still want to go ahead?”
“Yes. Let’s get it done. I made a commitment at the End Global Hunger launch. This needs to happen before I can face that committee again.”
“Okay. Any further thoughts on the publishing acquisition?”
“I’m still undecided.”
“I think SIP has some potential.”
“Yeah. Maybe. Let me think about it for a while longer.”
“I’m seeing Marco to discuss the Lucas Woods situation.”
“Okay, let me know how that goes. Call me later.”
“Will do. Bye for now.”
I’m avoiding the inevitable. I know this. But I decide it would be better to tackle Miss Steele—via e-mail or phone, I’ve yet to decide which—on a full stomach, so I order dinner. While I’m waiting there’s a text from Andrea letting me know my drinks appointment is off. I’m fine with that. I’ll see them tomorrow morning, provided I’m not soaring with Ana.
Before room service arrives, Taylor calls.
“Mr. Grey.”
“Taylor. Are you checked in?”
“Yes, sir. Your luggage will be on its way up in a moment.”
“Great.”
“The Brunswick Soaring Association has a glider free. I’ve asked Andrea to fax through your flying credentials to them. Once the paperwork’s signed, we’re good to go.”
“Great.”
“They’ll do anytime from six a.m.”
“Even better. Have them ready from then. Send me the address.”
“Will do.”
There’s a knock on the door—my luggage and room service have arrived simultaneously. The food smells delicious: fried green tomatoes and shrimp and grits. Well, I’m in the South.
While I eat I contemplate my strategy with Ana. I could pay a visit to her mom’s tomorrow at breakfast. Bring bagels. Then take her soaring. That’s probably the best plan. She hasn’t been in touch all day, so I guess she’s mad. I reread her last message once I’ve finished dinner.
What the hell has she got against Elena? She knows nothing about our relationship. What we had happened a long time ago and now we’re just friends. What right does Ana have to be mad?
And if it wasn’t for Elena, God knows what would have happened to me.
There’s a knock on the door. It’s Taylor.
“Good evening, sir. Happy with your room?”
“Yes, it’s fine.”
“I have the paperwork for the Brunswick Soaring Association here.”
I scan the hire agreement. It looks fine. I sign it and give it back to him. “I’ll drive myself tomorrow. I’ll see you there?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be there from six.”
“I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
“Shall I unpack for you, sir?”
“Please. Thanks.”
He nods and takes my suitcase into the bedroom.
I’m restless, and I need to get what I’m going to say to Ana clear in my mind. I glance at my watch; it’s twenty past nine. I’ve left this really late. Perhaps I should have a quick drink first. I leave Taylor to unpack and decide to check out the hotel bar before I speak to Ros again and write to Ana.
The rooftop bar is crowded, but I find a seat at the end of the counter and order a beer. It’s a hip, contemporary place, with moody lighting and a relaxed vibe. I scan the bar, avoiding eye contact with the two women sitting next to me…and a movement captures my attention: a frustrated flip of glossy mahogany hair that catches and refracts the light.
It’s Ana. Fuck.
She’s facing away from me, seated opposite a woman who could only be her mother. The resemblance is striking.
What are the fucking odds?
In all the gin joints…Jesus.
I watch them, transfixed. They’re drinking cocktails—Cosmopolitans, by the look of them. Her mother is stunning: like Ana, but older; she looks late thirties, with long, dark hair, and eyes that are Ana’s shade of blue. She has a bohemian vibe about her…not someone I’d automatically associate with the golf club set. Perhaps she’s dressed that way because she’s out with her young, beautiful daughter.
This is priceless.
Seize the day, Grey.
I fish my phone out of my jeans pocket. It’s time to e-mail Ana. This should be interesting. I’ll test her mood…and I get to watch.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Dinner Companions
Date: June 1 2011 21:40 EST
To: Anastasia Steele
Yes, I had dinner with Mrs. Robinson. She is just an old friend, Anastasia.
Looking forward to seeing you again. I miss you.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Her mother looks earnest; maybe she’s concerned for her daughter, or maybe she’s trying to extract information from her.
Good luck, Mrs. Adams.
And for a moment I wonder if they’re discussing me. Her mother stands; it looks like she’s visiting the restroom. Ana checks her purse and pulls out her BlackBerry.