Fifty Shades of Grey

“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.

I glance nervously around the bar but cannot see him.

“Ana, what is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“It’s Christian, he’s here.”

“What? Really?” 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 – anger? Tension? His 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 disappears, his expression now guarded. I am thrilled to see him, but completely thrown off balance, my anger about Mrs. Robinson simmering through my veins. I don’t know if I want to shout at him or throw myself into his arms – but I don’t think he’d like either – and I want to know how long he has been watching us. I’m also a little anxious about the email I just sent him.

“I came to see you, of course.” He gazes down at me impassively. Oh, what is he thinking? “I’m staying in this hotel.”

“You’re staying here?” I sound like a sophomore on amphetamines, too high-pitched even for my own ears.

“Well, yesterday you said you wished I was here.” He pauses trying to gauge my reaction. “We aim to please, Miss Steele.” His voice is quiet with no trace of humor.

Crap – Is he mad? Maybe the Mrs. Robinson comments? Or the fact that I am on my third, soon to be fourth Cosmo? My mother is glancing anxiously at the two of us.

“Won’t you join us for a drink, Christian?” She waves to the waiter who is at her side in a nanosecond.

“I’ll have a gin and tonic,” Christian says. “Hendricks if you have it or Bombay Sap-phire. Cucumber with the Hendricks, lime with the Bombay.”

Holy hell… only Christian could make a meal out of ordering a drink.

“And two more Cosmos please,” I add, looking anxiously at Christian. I am drinking with my mother – no way can he be angry about that.

“Please pull up a chair, Christian.”