Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as Told by Christian Read Online Free PDF

Barney’s report on his department’s graphene tests to read and I can work in peace.
    Peace? I haven’t known peace since Miss Steele fell into my office.
    WHEN I GLANCE UP, dusk has shrouded my suite in gray shadows. The prospect of a night alone again is depressing. While I contemplate what to do my phone vibrates against the polished wood of the desk and an unknown but vaguely familiar number with a Washington area code flashes on the screen. Suddenly my heart is pumping as if I’ve run ten miles.
    Is it her?
    I answer.
    “Er…Mr. Grey? It’s Anastasia Steele.”
    My face erupts in a shit-eating grin. Well, well. A breathy, nervous, soft-spoken Miss Steele. My evening is looking up.
    “Miss Steele. How nice to hear from you.” I hear her breath hitch and the sound travels directly to my groin.
    Great. I’m affecting her. Like she’s affecting me.
    “Um—we’d like to go ahead with the photo shoot for the article. Tomorrow, if that’s okay. Where would be convenient for you, sir?”
    In my room. Just you, me, and the cable ties.
    “I’m staying at The Heathman in Portland. Shall we say nine thirty tomorrow morning?”
    “Okay, we’ll see you there,” she gushes, unable to hide the relief and delight in her voice.
    “I look forward to it, Miss Steele.” I hang up before she senses my excitement and how pleased I am. Leaning back in my chair, I gaze at the darkening skyline and run both my hands through my hair.
    How the hell am I going to close this deal?

SUNDAY, MAY 15, 2011
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    With Moby blasting in my ears I run down Southwest Salmon Street toward the Willamette River. It’s 6:30 in the morning and I’m trying to clear my head. Last night I dreamed of her. Blue eyes, breathy voice…her sentences ending with “sir” as she knelt before me. Since I’ve met her, my dreams have been a welcome change from the occasional nightmare. I wonder what Flynn would make of that. The thought is disconcerting, so I ignore it and concentrate on pushing my body to its limits along the bank of the Willamette. As my feet pound the walkway, sunshine breaks through the clouds and it gives me hope.
    TWO HOURS LATER AS I jog back to the hotel I pass a coffee shop. Maybe I should take her for coffee.
    Like a date?
    Well. No. Not a date. I laugh at the ridiculous thought. Just a chat—an interview of sorts. Then I can find out a little more about this enigmatic woman and if she’s interested, or if I’m on a wild-goose chase. I’m alone in the elevator as I stretch out. Finishing my stretches in my hotel suite, I’m centered and calm for the first time since I arrived in Portland. Breakfast has been delivered and I’m famished. It’s not a feeling I tolerate—ever. Sitting down to breakfast in my sweats, I decide to eat before I shower.
    THERE’S A BRISK KNOCK on the door. I open it and Taylor stands on the threshold.
    “Good morning, Mr. Grey.”
    “Morning. They ready for me?”
    “Yes, sir. They’re set up in room 601.”
    “I’ll be right down.” I close the door and tuck my shirt into my gray pants. My hair is wet from my shower, but I don’t give a shit. One glance at the louche fucker in the mirror and I exit to follow Taylor to the elevator.
    Room 601 is crowded with people, lights, and camera boxes, but I spot her immediately. She’s standing to the side. Her hair is loose: a lush, glossy mane that falls beneath her breasts. She’s wearing tight jeans and chucks with a short-sleeved navy jacket and a white T-shirt beneath. Are jeans and chucks her signature look? While not very convenient, they do flatter her shapely legs. Her eyes, disarming as ever, widen as I approach.
    “Miss Steele, we meet again.” She takes my extended hand and for a moment I want to squeeze hers and raise it to my lips.
    Don’t be absurd, Grey.
    She turns her delicious pink and waves in the direction of her friend, who is standing too close, waiting for my attention.
    “Mr. Grey, this is Katherine Kavanagh,”