I laugh. “Thank you, Andrea.”
“I’ll get your coffee.”
“Great, thanks.”
At my desk, I wake my iMac. There’s another e-mail from Ana.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: The Limitations of Language
Date: June 20 2011 09:38
To: Christian Grey
**. ****, **** *******!
*** ***** ** **********.
* **** ***, ***.
Ax
I laugh out loud even though I have no idea what she’s written. Andrea enters with my coffee and sits down so we can run through the day’s schedule ahead of my first call.
I’ve been on the phone for what feels like three solid hours. When I finally hang up, stand, and stretch, it’s 1:15. Charlie Tango is being recovered today and should be back at Boeing Field tonight. The Federal Aviation Administration has handed the inquiry into the emergency landing over to the National Transportation Safety Board. The Eurocopter engineer who was one of the first on-site says it’s incredibly fortunate that I put the fire out with the extinguishers. It will help to speed up theirs and the NTSB’s investigation. I’m hoping to have their initial report tomorrow.
Welch has informed me that as a precaution, he’s secured all of last week’s CCTV footage from the helipad in Portland, and from in and around Charlie Tango’s private hangar at Boeing Field. A shiver skates up my spine. Welch thinks it might be sabotage, and I have to admit the possibility has been at the back of my mind since both engines caught fire.
Sabotage.
But why?
asked him to have his team comb through all the recordings and
agreed to a brief press conference later this afternoon. Sam’s nagging voice rings in my head. “You need to get in
drama. I hope that a press briefing
Andrea buzzes my phone.
“What?”
on the line
“Okay, put her through.” Leaning against my desk, I wait for her dulcet
you’re busy, but
“Yes, Mother.”
Alondra Gutierrez. She organized this
my
week. Secondly, your father really wants to talk to
at length on the night I announced my engagement. We were also celebrating my twenty-eighth year in the world and, as you know, I’m always reluctant to mark these milestones.” I’m on a roll. “And I’d just survived a hair-raising crash-landing.” My voice is rising. “Dad really rained on my parade. I think he said enough then. I don’t want to talk
He’s a pompous prick.
Stop sulking. Talk to
I’m fucking
between us,
I’ll think about it.” The other
well, darling. I’ll let you know about
“Good-bye, Mom.”
phone buzzes again. “Mr. Grey, I
rancor disappears. “Great.
small, and
catches in my throat. “Ana, is everything all