wartorn
land where nothing grows and the horizons are bleak.
Yes, that’s me. I can interact impersonally at work, but
that’s it. If I talk to Mom, I know I will break even further
—and I ha一ve nothing left to break.
I am finding it difficult to eat. By Wednesday lunchtime,
I manage a cup of yogurt, and it’s the first thing I’ve eaten
I manage a cup of yogurt, and it’s the first thing I’ve eaten
since Friday. I am surviving on a newfound tolerance for
lattes and Diet Coke. It’s the caffeine that keeps me going,
but it’s making me anxious.
Jack has started to hover over me, irritating me, asking
me personal questions. What does he want? I’m polite,
but I need to keep him at arm’s length.
I sit and begin trawling through a pile of
correspondence addressed to him, and I’m pleased with
the distraction of menial work. My e-mail pings, and I
quickly check to see who it’s from.
Holy shit. An e-mail from Christian. Oh no, not
here . . . not at work.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Tomorrow
Date: June 8, 2011 14:05
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Anastasia
Forgive this intrusion at work. I hope that it’s going well. Did you
get my flowers?
I note that tomorrow is the gallery opening for your friend’s show,
and I’m sure you’ve not had time to purchase a car, and it’s a long
drive. I would be more than happy to take you—should you wish.
Let me know.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
Tears swim in my eyes. I hastily lea一ve my desk and bolt to
the restroom to escape into one of the stalls. José’s show.
Crap. I’d forgotten all about it, and I promised him I’d go.
Shit, Christian is right; how am I going to get there?
I clutch my forehead. Why hasn’t José phoned? Come
to think of it—why hasn’t anyone phoned? I’ve been so
absentminded, I ha一ven’t noticed that my cell phone has
been silent.
Shit! I am such an idiot! I still ha一ve it on divert to the
Blackberry. Holy hell. Christian’s been getting my calls—
unless he’s just thrown the Blackberry away. How did he
get my e-mai
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