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Chapter 142
Chapter 142
A+A++
Love you.
A x
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Frustrated
Date: June 17 2011 09:12
To: Anastasia Steele
I hate it when you keep things from me.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Indulging you
Date: June 17 2011 09:14
To: Christian Grey
It’s for your birthday.
Another surprise.
Don’t be so petulant.
A x
Another surprise? When I pat down my jacket pocket, I’m reassured by the presence of the box that
Ana’s given me.
She’s spoiling me.
ROS AND I ARE in the car on the way to Boeing Field. My phone flashes. It’s a text from Elliot.
ELLIOT
Hey, asshole. Bar. This evening.
Kate’s getting in touch with Ana.
You’d better be there.
Where are you?
ELLIOT
Layover Atlanta
Missed me?
No.
ELLIOT
Yeah you have. Well I’m back and
you’re getting your beer on tonight Bro.
It’s been a while since I went drinking with my brother and at least I won’t be alone with Ana and her
photographer friend.
If you insist.
Safe travels.
ELLIOT
Laters dude.
Our flight to Portland is uneventful, though it’s a revelation how giddy Ros can be. She’s like a kid in
a candy store during the flight. Fidgeting. Pointing. Nonstop commentary on everything she sees.
It’s a side of Ros I never knew existed. Where’s the cool, collected lawyer I know? I’m reminded
how quietly appreciative Ana was when I first took her up in Charlie Tango.
When we land, I pick up a voice mail from the realtor. The seller has accepted my offer. They must
want a quick sale.
“What?” asks Ros.
“I’ve just bought that house.”
“Congratulations.”
AFTER A LENGTHY MEETING with the president and vice president of economic development at
WSU in Vancouver, Ros and I are in conversation with Professor Gravett and her postgraduate
team. The professor is in full flow. “We’ve been able to isolate the DNA of the microbe that’s
responsible for nitrogen fixation.”
“What does that mean, exactly?” I ask.
“In layman’s terms, Mr. Grey, nitrogen fixation is essential for soil diversity, and as you know, diverse
soils recover from shocks like drought far more quickly. We can now study how to activate the DNA
in the microbes that live in the soil in the sub-Saharan region. In a nutshell, we’ll be able to get the
soil to hold its nutrients for far longer, making it more productive per hectare.”
“Our results will be published in the Soil Science Society of America Journal in a couple of months.
We’re sure to double our funding once the article comes out,” Professor Choudury says. “And we’ll
need to get your input on potential funding sources that align with your philanthropic objectives.”
“Of course,” I say, offering my support. “As you know, I think your work here should be shared
broadly to benefit as many people as possible.”
“We’ve kept that goal front and center in all that we’re doing.”
“Good to hear.”
The president of the university nods in agreement. “We’re very excited about this discovery.”
“It is quite the achievement. Congratulations, Professor Gravett, and to your team.”
She glows in response to the compliment. “Thanks to you.”
Embarrassed, I glance at Ros, and it’s as if she can read my mind. “We should be going,” she says
to the group, and we push our chairs back.
The president shakes my hand. “Thank you for your continued support, Mr. Grey. As you’ve seen,
your contribution to the environmental sciences department makes a huge difference to us.”
“Keep up the good work,” I say. I’m anxious to get back to Seattle. The photographer will be
delivering those photographs to Escala, and then seeing Ana. I’m fighting my jealous impulses and,
so far, successfully keeping them under control. But I will be happier when we set back down at
Boeing Field and I join them both at the bar. In the meantime, I have a surprise for Ros.
OUR TAKEOFF IS SMOOTH; I pull back the collective and Charlie Tango ascends like a graceful
bird into the air above the Portland heliport. Ros smiles with girlish delight. I shake my head; I had
no idea she could be this excitable, but then again, I always feel a rush on takeoff. Once I’ve
finished talking to the tower, Ros’s disembodied voice asks over my headset, “How is your private
merger going?”
“Good, thanks.”
“Hence the house?”
“Yeah. Something like that.”
She nods and we fly in silence over Vancouver and WSU, homebound toward my goal.
“Did you know Andrea was getting married?” I ask her. This has bothered me since I found out.
“No. When?”
“Last weekend.”
“She kept that quiet.” Ros sounds surprised.
“She says that she didn’t tell me because of our non-fraternization policy. I didn’t know we had one.”
“It’s a standard clause within our employment contracts.”
“Seems a little harsh.”
“She’s married someone in-house?”
“Damon Parker.”
“Engineering?”
“Yes. Can we help him with a green card? I believe he’s on an H-1B visa at the moment.”
“I’ll look into it. Though I’m not sure there are any shortcuts.”
“I’d appreciate it, and I have a surprise for you.” I veer a few degrees northeast and we fly for about
ten minutes. “There!” I point toward the barnacle on the horizon that will become Mount St. Helens
as we get closer.
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