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Chapter 134
Chapter 134
Of course he doesn't ask me for my mother's address. He knows it already, stalker that he is. When he
pulls up outside the house, I don't comment. What's the point?
"Do you want to come in?" I ask shyly.
"I need to work, Anastasia, but I'll be back this evening. What time?"
I ignore the unwelcome stab of disappointment. Why do I want to spend every single minute with this
controlling sex godOh yes, I've fallen in love with him, and he can fly.
"Thank you... for the more."
"My pleasure, Anastasia." He kisses me, and I inhale his sexy Christian smell.
"I'll see you later."
"Try and stop me," he whispers.
I wave goodbye as he drives off into the Georgia sunshine. I'm still wearing his sweatshirt and his
underwear, and I'm too warm.
In the kitchen, my mom is in a complete flap. It's not every day she has to entertain a multi-zillionaire,
and it's stressing her out.
"How are you, darling?" she asks, and I flush because she must know what I was doing last night.
"I'm good. Christian took me gliding this morning." I hope the new information will distract her.
"GlidingAs in a small plane with no engineThat sort of gliding?"
I nod.
"Wow."
She's speechless - a novel concept for my mother. She gapes at me, but eventually recovers herself
and resumes her original line of questioning.
"How was last nightDid you talk?"
Jeez. I flush bright scarlet.
"We talked - last night and today. It's getting better."
"Good." She turns her attention back to the four cookery books she has open on the kitchen table.
"Mom... if you like, I'll cook this evening."
"Oh, honey, that's kind of you, but I want to do it."
"Okay." I grimace, knowing full well that my mother's cooking is pretty hit or miss.
Perhaps she's improved since she moved to Savannah with Bob. There was a time I wouldn't subject
anyone to her cooking... even - who do I hateOh yes - Mrs. Robinson
- Elena. Well, maybe her. Will I ever meet this damned woman?
I decide to send a quick thank-you to Christian.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Soaring as opposed to sore-ing
Date: June 2 2011 10:20 EST
To: Christian Grey
Sometimes, you really know how to show a girl a good time.
Thank you
Ana x
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Soaring vs sore-ing
Date: June 2 2011 10:24 EST
To: Anastasia Steele
I'll take either of those over your snoring. I had a good time too.
But I always do when I'm with you.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: SNORING
Date: June 2 2011 10:26 EST
To: Christian Grey
I DO NOT SNORE. And if I do, it's very ungallant of you to point it out.
You are no gentleman Mr. Grey! And you are in the Deep South too!
Ana
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Somniloquy
Date: June 2 2011 10:28 EST
To: Anastasia Steele
I have never claimed to be a gentleman, Anastasia, and I think I have demonstrated that point to you
on numerous occasions. I am not intimidated by your SHOUTY capitals. But I will confess to a small
white lie: No - you don't snore, but you do talk. And it's fascinating.
What happened to my kiss?
Christian Grey
Cad & CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
Holy shit. I know I talk in my sleep. Kate has told me enough times. What the hell have I saidOh no.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Spill the Beans
Date: June 2 2011 10:32 EST
To: Christian Grey
You are a cad and a scoundrel - definitely no gentleman.
So, what did I sayNo kisses for you until you talk!
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Sleeping talking Beauty
Date: June 2 2011 10:35 EST
To: Anastasia Steele
It would be most ungallant of me to say, and I have already been chastised for that.
But if you behave yourself, I may tell you this evening. I do have to go into a meeting now.
Laters, baby.
Christian Grey Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.
CEO, Cad & Scoundrel, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
Right! I shall maintain radio silence until this evening. I fume. Jeez. Supposing I've said I hate him, or
worse still, that I love him, in my sleep. Oh, I hope not. I am not ready to tell him that, and I'm sure he's
not ready to hear it, if he ever wants to hear it. I scowl at my computer and decide that whatever I cook,
I will make bread.
My mom has decided on gazpacho soup and a barbecue with steaks marinated in olive oil, garlic, and
lemon. Christian likes meat, and it's simple to do. Bob has volunteered to man the BBQ grill. What is it
about men and fire, I ponder as I trail after my mother through the supermarket with the shopping cart?
As we browse the raw meat cabinet, my phone rings. I scramble for it, thinking it may be Christian. I
don't recognize the number.
"Hello?" I answer breathlessly.
"Anastasia Steele?"
"Yes."
"It's Elizabeth Morgan from SIP."
"Oh - hi."
"I'm calling to offer you the job of assistant to Mr. Jack Hyde. We'd like you to start on Monday."
"Wow. That's great. Thank you!"
"You know the salary details?"
"Yes. Yes... that's - I mean, I accept your offer. I'd love to come and work for you."
"Excellent. We'll see you Monday at 8:30 a.m.?"
"See you then. Goodbye. And thank you."
I beam at my mom.
"You have a job?"
I nod gleefully, and she squeals and hugs me in the middle of Publix supermarket.
"Congratulations, darling! We have to buy some champagne!" She's clapping her hands and jumping
up and down. Is she forty-two or twelve?
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