into the fragile male ego. It's very disconcerting.
"You see, Ana, men think that anything that comes out of a woman's mouth is a problem to be solved. Not some vague idea that we'd like to kick around and talk about for a while and then forget. Men prefer action."
"Mom, why are telling me this?" I ask, failing to hide my exasperation. She's been like this all day.
"Darling, you sound so lost. You've never brought a boy home. You never even had a boyfriend when we were in Vegas. I thought something might develop with that guy you met in college, Jose."
"Mom, Jose's just a friend."
"I know, sweetheart. But something's up, and I don't think you're telling me everything." She gazes at me, her face etched with motherly concern.
"I just needed some distance from Christian to get my thoughts straight... that's all.
He tends to overwhelm me."
"Overwhelm?"
"Yeah. I miss him though." I frown.
I have not heard from Christian all day. No emails, nothing. I am tempted to call him to see if he's okay. My worst fear is that he's been in a car accident, my second worst fear is that Mrs. Robinson has got her evil claws into him again. I know it's irrational, but where
she's concerned, I seem to have lost all sense of perspective.
"Darling, I have to visit the powder room."
My mother's brief absence allows me another chance to check my BlackBerry. I have been trying surreptitiously to check emails all day. Finally - a response from Christian!
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.
He was having dinner with her. My scalp prickles as adrenaline and fury lance through my body, all my worst fears realized, crashing through me. How could he I am away for two days, and he runs off to that evil bitch.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: OLD Dinner Companions
Date: June 1 2011 21:42 EST
To: Christian Grey
She's not just an old friend.
Has she found another adolescent boy to sink her teeth into?
Did you get too old for her?
Is that the reason your relationship finished?
I press send as my mother returns.
"Ana, you're so pale. What's happened?"
I shake my head.
"Nothing. Let's have another drink," I mutter mulishly.
Her brow furrows, but she glances up and attracts the attention of one of the waiters, pointing to our glasses. He nods. He understands the universal language of 'same again, please.' As she does, I quickly glance at my BlackBerry.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Careful...
Date: June 1 2011 21:45 EST
To: Anastasia Steele
This is not something I wish to discuss via email.
How many Cosmopolitans are you going to drink?
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
Holy fuck, he's here.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I glance nervously around the bar but cannot see him.
"Ana, what is itYou look like you've seen a ghost."
"It's Christian, he's here."
"WhatReally?" She glances around the bar too.
I have neglected to mention Christian's stalker tendencies to my mom.
I see him. My heart leaps, beginning a juddering thumping beat as he makes his way toward us. He's really here - for me. My inner goddess leaps up cheering from her chaise longue. Moving smoothly through the crowd, his hair glints burnished copper and red under the recessed halogens. His bright gray eyes are shining with - angerTensionHis mouth is set in a grim line, jaw tense. Oh holy shit... no. I am so mad at him right now, and here he is. How can I be angry with him in front of my mother?
He arrives at our table, gazing at me warily. He's dressed in customary white linen shirt and jeans.
"Hi," I squeak, unable to hide my shock and awe at seeing him here in the flesh.
"Hi," he replies, and leaning down, he kisses my cheek, taking me by surprise.
"Christian, this is my mother, Carla." My ingrained manners take over.
He turns to greet my mom.
"Mrs. Adams, I am delighted to meet you."
How does he know her name He gives her the heart-stopping, Christian Grey patented, full-blown-no-prisoners-taken smile. She doesn't have a hope. My mother's lower jaw practically hits the table. Jeez, get a grip Mom. She takes his proffered hand and they shake. My mother hasn't replied. Oh, complete dumbfounded speechlessness is genetic
- I had no idea.
"Christian," she manages finally, breathlessly.
He smiles knowingly at her, his gray eyes twinkling. I narrow my eyes at them both.
"What are you doing here?" My question sounds more brittle than I mean, and his smile