Grey : 50 nuances de zizi qui parle (24)

Le début de nos aventures douteuses au pays des pervers et des nénuphars est toujours disponible là.

Résumé des épisodes précédents : Notre PPB est tout perdu et pour cause : il dort avec le nénunu et se fait du souci pour elle… mais bien plus que pour toutes les autres (il se comporte en être humain normal, on comprend que ça le perturbe le pauvre enfant). Il a même failli arriver en retard tant il dormait bien avec son petit nénunu ! Du coup il n’a même pas eu le temps de se raser pour sa réunion, mais pour une fois, il survivra, d’autant qu’il n’a même pas vraiment écouté parce qu’il envoyait des mail à son nénuphar…

Let’s go pour la fin du chapitre !

Friday, May 27, 2011
(chap. 12 – part 2)

Ros is glaring at me when I unmute her. “What the hell, Christian?”
“What?” I feign innocence.
Mais oui bien sûr, tu respires l’innocence ! Autant qu’une d’égout sent la rosée !

“You know what. Don’t hold a goddamn meeting when you’re obviously not interested.”
“Was it that obvious?”
“Yes. Fuck. This could be a huge contract for us.”
Uh uh uh, il s’est fait grondé par la maitreeeeesseuh ! ^w^

“I know. I know. I’m sorry.” I grin. “I don’t know what’s got into you lately.”
… ou plutôt dans quoi tu as gotten into, non ?

She shakes her head, but I can tell she’s trying to mask her amusement with exasperation.
“It’s the Portland air.”
“Well, the sooner you’re back here, the better.”
“I’m heading back around lunchtime. In the meantime, ask Marco to investigate all the publishing houses in Seattle and see if any are ripe for a takeover.”
“You want to go into publishing?” Ros splutters. “It’s not a highpotential-growth sector.”
She’s probably right.
“Just investigate. That’s all.”
« J’ai trop d’argent j’ai envie d’acheter des trucs » #TraduisonsLes

She sighs. “If you insist. Will you be in later this afternoon? We can have a proper catch-up.”
“Depends on the traffic.”
“I’ll pencil in a catch-up with Andrea.”
“Great. Bye for now.”
I close WebEx, then phone Andrea.
“Mr. Grey.”
“Call Dr. Baxter and have him come to my apartment on Sunday, around midday. If he’s not available, find a good gynecologist. Get the best.”

“Yes, sir,” she says. “Anything else?”
On comprend pourquoi il la garde : quoiqu’il demande elle ne s’étonne de rien. Tout va bien.

“Yes. What’s the name of the personal shopper I use at Neiman Marcus at the Bravern center?”

“Caroline Acton.”
“Text me her number.”
“Will do.”
“I’ll see you later this afternoon.”
“Yes, sir.”
I hang up.
So far it’s been one interesting morning. I can’t recall any exchange of emails being that fun, ever.
Change d’amis ! … ah oui pardon ‘est vrai : t’es tellement une plaie que t’en as aucun -_-« 

I glance at the laptop, but there’s nothing new. Ana must be at work.
I run my hands through my hair.
Ros noticed how distracted I was during that conversation.
Shit, Grey. Get your act together.

I wolf down my breakfast, drink some cold coffee, and head into my bedroom to shower and change. Even when I’m washing my hair I can’t get that woman out of my head. Ana.
Amazing Ana.
The image of her bouncing up and down on top of me comes to mind; of her lying over my knee, ass pink; of her tethered to the bed, mouth open in ecstasy. Lord, that woman is hot.

And this morning, waking up next to her, it wasn’t so bad, and I slept well…really well.
Shouty capitals. Her e-mails make me laugh. They’re entertaining. She’s funny. I never knew I liked that in a woman. I’ll need to think about what we’ll do on Sunday in my playroom…something fun, something new for her.
While shaving I have an idea, and as soon as I’m dressed I get back on my laptop to browse my favorite toy store. I need a riding crop—brown plaited leather. I smirk. I’m going to make Ana’s dreams come true.

Order placed, I turn to work e-mails, energized and productive, until Taylor interrupts me. “Good morning, Taylor.”
“Mr. Grey.” He nods, looking at me with a puzzled expression, and I realize I’m grinning because I’m thinking about her e-mails again.
Descriptive linguistics is a hard limit for me.
“I’ve had a good morning,” I find myself explaining.
“I’m pleased to hear it, sir.
Tu m’étonnes ! Ce n’est pas un truc qu’il doit entendre souvent ^^;

I have Miss Steele’s laundry from last week.”
“Pack it with my things.”
“Will do.”
“Thank you.” I watch him walk into my bedroom. Even Taylor is noticing the Anastasia Steele effect. My phone buzzes: it’s a text from Elliot.

E: You still in Portland?
Yes. But I’m leaving soon.
E: I’ll be there later. I’m gonna help the girls move.
E : Shame you can’t stay.
E: Our first DOUBLE DATE since Ana popped your cherry.
Fuck off. I’m picking up Mia.
E: I need deets bro. Kate tells me nothing.
Good. Fuck off. Again.
Bon là faut avouer c’est pas sympa de la part d’Elliot : s’il veut pas en parler il a pas à le faire et lui n’a pas à insister.

“Mr. Grey?” Taylor interrupts once more, my luggage in hand. “The courier has been dispatched with the BlackBerry.”
He nods, and as he leaves I type up another e-mail to Miss Steele.
Voilà. Histoire de bien la distraire pour mieux lui reprocher ensuite qu’elle ne travaille pas. Comme avec le fait de dormir quoi -_-

From: Christian Grey
Subject: BlackBerry ON LOAN
Date: May 27 2011 11:15
To: Anastasia Steele

I need to be able to contact you at all times, and since this is your most honest form of communication, I figured you needed a BlackBerry.
Ou encore « je veux te pister à la trace, même quand tu vas faire pipi et j’ai plein d’argent. REGARDE COMME J’AI PLEIN D’ARGENT ! » 

Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

And maybe you’ll answer this phone when I call.
… ou pas. On rappelle que la nana avait pas d’ordi, donc pas sûre de ce qu’elle va faire un BB…

At 11:30 I have another conference call, with our director of finance, to discuss GEH’s charitable giving for the next quarter. That takes the best part of an hour, and when it’s over I finish a light lunch and read the rest of my Forbes magazine.
As I swallow the last forkful of salad, I realize I have no other reason to stay at the hotel. It’s time to go, yet I’m reluctant. And deep down I have to acknowledge it’s because I won’t see Ana until Sunday, unless she changes her mind.
Fuck. I hope not.
Aaaah si seulement *.*

Pushing that unpleasant thought aside, I start packing my papers into my messenger bag, and when I reach for my laptop to put it away, I see there’s an e-mail from Ana.

From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Consumerism Gone Mad
Date: May 27 2011 13:22
To: Christian Grey

I think you need to call Dr. Flynn right now.
Your stalker tendencies are running wild.
Bof, pas plus que d’habitude hein…

I am at work. I will e-mail you when I get home.

Thank you for yet another gadget.

I wasn’t wrong when I said you were the ultimate consumer.

Why do you do this?
*voix éraillée par rassurante du tout* C’est pour mieux te stalker mon enfant….


She’s scolding me! I respond immediately.

From: Christian Grey
Subject: Sagacity from One So Young
Date: May 27 2011 13:24
To: Anastasia Steele

Fair point well made, as ever, Miss Steele.
Dr. Flynn is on vacation.

And I do this because I can.
Mouais… « I DO WHAT I WANT!! » mais sans la classe de Loki quoi ^^;

Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

She doesn’t answer straightaway, so I pack my laptop. Grabbing my bag, I head down to reception and check out. While I’m waiting for my car, Andrea calls to tell me that she’s found an ob-gyn to come to Escala on Sunday.
“Her name is Dr. Greene, and she comes highly recommended by your M.D., sir.”
“She runs her practice out of Northwest.”
“Okay.” Where is Andrea going with this?
“There’s one thing sir—she’s expensive.”
I dismiss her concern. “Andrea, whatever she wants is fine.”

“In that case, she can be at your apartment one thirty on Sunday.”
“Great. Go ahead.”
“Will do, Mr. Grey.”
I hang up, and I’m tempted to call my mother to check Dr. Greene’s credentials, as they work in the same hospital; but that might provoke too many questions from Grace.

Once in the car I send Ana an e-mail with details about Sunday.

From: Christian Grey
Subject: Sunday
Date: May 27 2011 13:40
To: Anastasia Steele

Shall I see you at 1 p.m. Sunday?
The doctor will be at Escala to see you at 1:30.

I’m leaving for Seattle now.

I hope your move goes well, and I look forward to Sunday.

Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

Right. All done. I ease the R8 onto the road and roar toward I-5. As I pass the exit for Vancouver I’m inspired. I call Andrea on the hands-free and ask her to organize a housewarming present for Ana and Kate.
“What would you like to send?”
“Bollinger La Grande Année Rosé, 1999 vintage.”

“Yes, sir. Anything else?”
“What do you mean, anything else?”
« Flowers? Chocolates? A balloon?”
“What sort of balloons?”
Ben… Qui vole un peu j’imagine et qui est coloré sans doute ?

“Well…they have everything.”
“Okay. Good idea—see if you can get a helicopter balloon.”
“Yes, sir. And a message for the card?”
“ ‘Ladies, good luck in your new home. Christian Grey.’ Got that?”
Non elle est neuneu elle a pas compris 4 mots -__-«  »

“I have. What’s the address?”
Shit. I don’t know. “I’ll text it to you either later today or tomorrow. Will that work?”
“Yes, sir. I can get it delivered tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Andrea.”
“You’re welcome.” She sounds surprised.
Ben… oui ? Encore une fois tu fais montre des traits d’un être humain. Elle n’a pas l’habitude.

I hang up and floor my R8.
Voilà, va donc tuer des passants et faire un délit de fuite, tu n’es plus à sa près !

BY 6:30 I’M HOME and my earlier ebullient mood has soured—I still haven’t heard from Ana. I select a pair of cuff links from the drawers in my closet and as I knot my bow tie for the night’s event I wonder if she’s okay. She said she would contact me when she got home; I’ve called her twice, but I’ve heard nothing, and it’s pissing me off. I try her once more and this time I leave a message.
“I think you need to learn to manage my expectations. I’m not a patient man.

If you say you are going to contact me when you finish work, then you should have the decency to do so. Otherwise I worry, and it’s not an emotion I’m familiar with, and I don’t tolerate it very well. Call me.”
If she doesn’t call soon I am going to explode.

I’M SEATED AT A table with Whelan, my banker. I’m his guest at a charity function for a nonprofit that aims to raise awareness of global poverty.
“Glad you could make it,” Whelan says. “It’s a good cause.”
“And thank you for your generous contribution, Mr. Grey.” His wife is cloying, thrusting her perfect, surgically enhanced breasts in my direction.
J’aime ce mec : si tu l’écoutes, TOUTES les meufs qu’il croise se pâment devant son auguste présence. Ca va les chevilles ?

“Like I said, it’s a good cause.” I give her a patronizing smile.
Why hasn’t Ana called me back?
I check my phone again.

I look around the table at all the middle-aged men with their second or third trophy wives. God forbid this should ever be me.
I’m bored. Seriously bored and seriously pissed.
What is she doing?
Des trucs qui te concernent pas ? Rhaaa mais c’est pas possible d’être relou comme ça !

Could I have brought her here? I suspect she would have been bored stiff, too. When the conversation around the table moves to the state of the economy, I’ve had enough. Making my excuses, I leave the ballroom and exit the hotel. While the valet is retrieving my car, I call Ana again.
There’s still no answer.
Perhaps now that I’m gone she wants nothing to do with me.
Il est impératif qu’il se mette au yoga. Il est stressé.

When I get home, I head straight to my study and switch on the iMac.

From: Christian Grey
Subject: Where Are You?
Date: May 27 2011 22:14
To: Anastasia Steele

“I am at work. I will e-mail you when I get home.”
Are you still at work or have you packed your phone, BlackBerry, and MacBook?

Call me, or I may be forced to call Elliot.
Mais ! Qu’est-ce qu’il vient foutre là celui-là ? LUI AU MOINS IL PORTE DES CARTONS ! èé/

Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I stare out of my window toward the dark waters of the Sound. Why did I volunteer to collect Mia? I could be with Ana, helping her pack all her shit, then going out for pizza with her and Kate and Elliot—or whatever ordinary people do.
Sauf que tu voulais pas te salir les mains : juste laqueue, par l’intermédiaire d’un capote.

For God’s sake, Grey.
That’s not you. Get a grip.
Mais oui enfin ! Cesse de vouloir faire des choses comme les gens normaux enfin ! C’est dégradant !

I wander around my apartment, my footsteps echoing through the living room, and it seems achingly empty since I was last here. I undo my bow tie. Perhaps it’s me that’s empty.

I pour myself an Armagnac and stare back out at the Seattle skyline toward the Sound.
Are you thinking about me, Anastasia Steele? The winking lights of Seattle have no answer.
My phone buzzes.
Thank. Fuck. Finally. It’s her.
J’aimerais que ça soit quelqu’un d’autre. Juste pour le contrarier ^________^

“Hi.” I’m relieved that she’s called.
“Hi,” she says.
“I was worried about you.”
“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t reply, but I’m fine.”
Fine? I wish I was…
“Did you have a pleasant evening?” I ask, reining in my temper.
“Yes. We finished packing, and Kate and I had Chinese takeout with José.”
Oh, this just gets better and better. The fucking photographer again. That’s why she hasn’t called.
Oui. Parce qu’elle était occupée. Tu sais ? Occupée à FAIRE les cartons que tu N’AIDERAS PAS à déplacer…

“How about you?” she inquires when I don’t respond, and there’s a hint of desperation in her voice.
Why? What isn’t she telling me?
Qu’ils ont fait plein de trucs salaces avec José, Kat ET Elliot. Moche que t’aies pas été là ^w^

Oh, stop overthinking this, Grey!
I sigh. “I went to a fund-raising dinner. It was deathly dull. I left as soon as I could.”
“I wish you were here,” she whispers.
“Do you?”
“Yes,” she says fervently.
Oh. Perhaps she’s missed me.

“I’ll see you Sunday?” I confirm, trying to keep the hope out of my voice.
“Yes, Sunday,” she says, and I think she’s smiling.
“Good night.”
“Good night, Sir.” Her voice is husky and it takes my breath away.
Je crois que même dans le plus mauvais des Harlequins ils n’oseraient pas ce genre de chose…

“Good luck with your move tomorrow, Anastasia.”
She stays on the line, her breathing soft. Why doesn’t she hang up? She doesn’t want to?
“You hang up,” she whispers.

She doesn’t want to hang up and my mood lightens immediately. I grin out at the view of Seattle.
“No, you hang up.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Neither do I.”
“Were you very angry with me?” she asks.
“Are you still?”
“No.” Now I know you’re safe.
Il a vraiment de gros souci d’angoisse et d’anxiété galopante ce petit…

“So you’re not going to punish me?”
“No. I’m an in-the-moment kind of guy.”
“I’ve noticed,” she teases, and that makes me smile.
“You can hang up now, Miss Steele.”
“Do you really want me to, Sir?”
“Go to bed, Anastasia.”
“Yes, Sir.”
She doesn’t hang up, and I know she’s grinning. It lifts my spirits higher. “Do you ever think you’ll be able to do what you’re told?” I ask.

“Maybe. We’ll see after Sunday,” she says, temptress that she is,
and the line goes dead.
Anastasia Steele, what am I going to do with you?
Actually, I have a good idea, provided that riding crop turns up in time.
And with that enticing thought I toss down the rest of the Armagnac and go to bed.
Voilà, fais donc ça, au moins quand tu dors tu n’agresses personne. Normalement…


Notre nénuphar va-t-elle déménager sans problème ? Notre PPB va-t-il recevoir sa cravache à temps ? Et quels peuvent être ces fameux plans ? Notre zizi parlant va-t-il resté enfermé dans son mutisme après les frémissement de vie du chapitre précédent ? Espérons que nous aurons des débuts de réponse dans le prochaine épisode !



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