Keep it factual, Grey.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Portland
Date: September 15 2011 06:45
To: Anastasia Grey
Ana,
I am flying down to Portland today.
I have some business to conclude with WSU.
I thought you would want to know.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
But I know my real intention in sending an e-mail isn’t to inform her…but to get a response.
I live in hope.
Stephan is on hand to fly us down to Portland. After my sleepless night, I’m dog-tired. If I fall asleep, I’ll be more comfortable in the rear, so for the first time ever, I offer Taylor the front passenger seat, remove my jacket, and take a back seat in Charlie Tango. I leaf through the notes I have for the meeting, and once I’ve done that, I lean back and close my eyes.
Ana is running through the meadow at the new house. She’s laughing as I chase her. I’m laughing, too. I catch her and pull her down into the long grass. She giggles and I kiss her. Her lips are soft, because she’s been crying. No. Don’t cry. Baby, don’t cry. Please don’t cry. She closes her eyes. She sleeps. She won’t wake. Ana! Ana! She’s lying on a thread worn rug. Pale. Unmoving. Ana. Wake up. Ana!
Gasping, I wake, and I’m momentarily disoriented. Wait—I’m in Charlie Tango, and we’ve just landed in Portland. The rotors are still spinning, and Stephan is talking to the tower. I rub my face to rouse myself and unbuckle my harness.
Taylor opens his door and steps out onto the helipad while I don my jacket, careful not to snag the cable of my headphones.
“Thanks, Stephan,” I say over the cans.
“No problem, Mr. Grey.”
“We should be back around one this afternoon.”
“We’ll be ready and waiting.” He frowns, his concern evident in the creases across his brow, while Taylor, head down, opens my door
Shit. I hope that concern is not directed at me. I remove my headphones and clamber out to join Taylor. It’s a crisp morning, brighter than Seattle, but with a brisk breeze that carries the scent of fall. There’s no sign of Joe, the old-timer who’s normally here to oversee arrivals and departures. Maybe it’s too early in the day, or he’s not slated to work this morning…or it’s an omen or some shit.
For fuck’s sake, Grey. Pull yourself together.
Our driver is waiting outside the helipad building. Taylor opens the door of the Escalade and I slide in, then he takes the passenger seat up front.
With my bad dream about Ana still in mind, I call Sawyer.
“Mr. Grey.”
“Luke. Stay close to Mrs. Grey today.”
“Will do, sir.”
“Is she having breakfast?” I keep my voice low as I’m a little embarrassed to be asking. But I want to know she’s okay.
“I believe so, sir. We’re leaving in about fifteen minutes for the office.”
“Good. Thanks.” I hang up and stare morosely out the window at the Willamette River. Its metallic gray waters look chilly as we cross over the Steel Bridge. I shudder. This is hell. I need to talk to Ana. We can’t go on like this.
I have one option that might work.
Apologize, Grey.
Yeah. It’s my only option.
Because I behaved like an asshole.
Ana’s words come back to me: You need to grow up and smell the fucking coffee, and stop behaving like a petulant adolescent.
Fuck. She’s not wrong.
Now is not the time. I have to help the WSU Environmental Science Department nail additional funding from the USDA. It’s vital to progress the work that Professor Gravett and her team are undertaking in soil technology. Her work is reaping huge benefits in our test sites in Ghana. This is a game changer. Soil could be a key initiative not only in feeding the planet and alleviating food insecurity and poverty, but also through carbon sequestration reversing climate change. From my briefcase I pull out my notes and scan them once more.
The meeting has been a resounding success—we’ve secured an additional million dollars from the USDA. It appears that feeding the world is quite high on the federal government’s agenda, too. With the gratitude of Professors Choudury and Gravett ringing in my ears, Taylor and I head back to Portland. I check my phone, but there’s no word from my wife—not even a snarky response to my e-mail. It’s depressing. I’m anxious to get home and find some way to smooth her ruffled feathers…if I can.
Maybe a meal out?
A movie?
Soaring?
Sailing?
Sex?
What can I do?
I miss her.
The Escalade parks outside the helipad building, as Taylor makes a call.
“Sawyer, I read your text,” he murmurs, and he has my full attention.
Text? Is Ana okay?
He frowns as he listens. “Copy.” Taylor’s eyes meet mine. “I see. Hold on,” he says to Luke, then addresses me. “Mrs. Grey is feeling unwell. Sawyer is taking her back to the apartment.”
“Is it serious?”
“No reason to think so.”
“Okay. We’ll fly straight to Escala.”