Chapter 30: Chapter 30

Date: July 6 2011 14:32

To: Anastasia Steele

I'm fine.

Busy.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I press send and hope myresponse will alleviate her worries. Andrea eyes me warily when I exit the elevator into the outer office.

"Yes?" I snap.

"It's nothing, Mr. Grey. I just wanted to know if you wanted any coffee?"

"Where's Sarah?"

"She's photocopying the reports you requested."

"Good. And no thanks to coffee," I add in a softer tone. Why am Ibeing an asshole to my staff? "Get me Welch on the line."

She nods and picks up the phone.

"Thanks," I mumble, and head into my office. I slouch into my chair and stare despondently out of the window. The day is bright, unlike mymood. My phone buzzes. "Grey."

"I have Anastasia Steele on the line for you."

Shit. Is she okay?

"Put her through."

"Hi." Her voice wavers, soft and breathy. She sounds uncertain and sad, and a chill grips my heart.

"What is it? Are you okay?" I ask.

"I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about."

My relief turns to irritation. Myworry is misplaced. "I'm fine, but busy."

"Let's talk when you get home."

"Okay," I reply, knowing that I'mbeing abrupt.

She doesn't respond, but I hear her breathing on the other end ofthe line. She sounds, unsettled, and the chill I felt a moment earlier isreplaced by a familiar homesickness. What is it, Ana? What do you want to say? Silence stretches between us, full of recrimination and unspoken truths.

"Christian," she says eventually.

"Anastasia, I have things to do. Ihave to go."

"Tonight," she whispers.

"Tonight." I hang up and scowl atthe phone.

It's not too much to ask, Anastasia.

"Home?" Taylor asks as he takes the wheel of the Audi.

"Sure," I murmur, distracted. Part of me doesn't want to go home. Istill don't have a coherent argument to persuade Ana to change her mind. And I have work to do this evening. A reading project-two weighty reports from the Environmental Sciences Department at WSU-results from the test sites in Africa and Professor Gravett'spaper on the microbe responsible for nitrogen fixation in soils. Apparently, microbes are essential to soil regeneration and regeneration holds the key tocarbon sequestration. Later this week, I'll be reviewing my funding to her department.

Perhaps I should take Ana out, and we can discuss her vows atdinner. Maybe I can sway her over aglass of wine. I'm reminded of our dinner to discuss the D/s contract.

Hell. That didn't go to plan.

Feeling glum, I stare through the privacy glass at the jostling tourists and commuters, and a sense ofrighteous indignation settles over me. I'm not asking for much, for fuck's sake. It's the only thing that Iwant. She can have whatever she likes. Knowing that she'll obey mewill give me a sense of security. Does she not understand?

On the sidewalk a young man inshades and loud, flowery shorts isarguing with a woman in an equally loud dress. Their fight is attracting disconcerted looks from passersby.

That will be Ana and me tonight. I know it. And the thought depresses me even more.

I'll just have to tell her what itmeans to me. I need to keep her safe.

Yes. She'll see.

The woman turns, and in adramatic gesture raises her arms and storms off, leaving the man alone and bewildered on the sidewalk. I think he's drunk.

Asshole.

Maybe I could fuck Ana into agreeing. That might work. The thought gives me a modicum ofhope, and I settle back into my seat for the rest of the drive to Escala.

"Good evening, Mr. Grey," Mrs. Jones chimes as I enter the living room. From the enticing aroma Iknow there's a pot of her delicious Bolognese sauce bubbling on the stove. My mouth waters. "Hello, Gail. Smells good. Where's Ana?"

"I believe she's in the library, sir."

"Thank you."

"Dinner in half an hour?"

"Works for me. Thanks." I'll have time for a quick run on the treadmill, since I missed my workout this morning.

I head to the bedroom to change, avoiding the library.

The Boss blares in my ears as Ipush my body to its limits. I run three miles in twenty minutes, and I'm a panting hot mess when I come off the treadmill. Dragging air into my lungs and using the back of myhand to wipe the sweat that'spouring off my brow, I bend over tocatch my breath and stretch myhamstrings.

It feels good.

When I stand, Anastasia isleaning against the frame in the doorway, watching me, eyes wide and wary. She's wearing a pale gray sleeveless shirt and a tight gray skirt. She looks every bit the publishing executive. But young. Soyoung. And miserable.

Shit.

"Hi," she says.

"Hi," I respond between breaths.

"You didn't say hello when you came in. Are you avoiding me?"

Ana does not beat around the bush. And in that moment, I want tobanish the look of misery on her face and her wariness. "I needed toexercise," I pant. "I can say hello now." I open my arms and step toward her, knowing full well I'msoaked with sweat.

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