Download Fifty Shades Darker (Movie Tie-in Edition): Book Two of the Fifty Shades Trilogy (Fifty Shades of Grey Series) Free PDF eBook
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About the Author After twenty-five years working in TV, E L James decided to pursue her childhood dream, and set out to write stories that readers would fall in love with. The result was the sensuous romanceFifty Shades of Greyand its two sequels,Fifty Shades DarkerandFifty Shades Freed,a trilogy that went on to sell more than 125 million copies worldwide in 52 languages. In 2012 E L James was named one of Barbara Walters's 'Ten Most Fascinating People of the Year,' one ofTimemagazine's 'Most Influential People in the World,' andPublishers Weeklys 'Person of the Year.Fifty Shades of Greystayed on theNew York TimesBest Seller List for 133 consecutive weeks, and in 2015 the film adaptationon which James worked as producerbroke box-office records all over the world for Universal Pictures. E L James lives in West London with her husband, the novelist and screenwriter Niall Leonard, and their two sons. She continues to write novels while acting as producer on the upcoming movie versions ofFifty Shades DarkerandFifty Shades Freed. Read more Excerpt. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. PROLOGUE Hes come back. Mommys asleep or shes sick again. I hide and curl up small under the table in the kitchen. Through my fingers I can see Mommy. She is asleep on the couch. Her hand is on the sticky green rug, and hes wearing his big boots with the shiny buckle and standing over Mommy shouting. He hits Mommy with a belt. Get up! Get up! You are one fucked-up bitch. You are one fucked-up bitch. You are one fucked-up bitch. You are one fucked-up bitch. You are one fucked-up bitch. You are one fucked-up bitch. Mommy makes a sobbing noise. Stop. Please stop. Mommy doesnt scream. Mommy curls up small. I have my fingers in my ears, and I close my eyes. The sound stops. He turns and I can see his boots as he stomps into the kitchen. He still has the belt. He is trying to find me. He stoops down and grins. He smells nasty. Of cigarettes and drink. There you are, you little shit. A chilling wail wakes him. Christ! Hes drenched in sweat and his heart is pounding. What the fuck? He sits bolt upright in bed and puts his head in hands. Fuck. Theyre back. The noise was me. He takes a deep steadying breath, trying to rid his mind and nostrils of the smell of cheap bourbon and stale Camel cigarettes. CHAPTER ONE I have survived Day Three Post-Christian, and my first day at work. It has been a welcome distraction. The time has flown by in a haze of new faces, work to do, and Mr. Jack Hyde. Mr. Jack Hyde . . . he smiles down at me, his blue eyes twinkling, as he leans against my desk. Excellent work, Ana. I think were going to make a great team. Somehow, I manage to curl my lips upward in a semblance of a smile. Ill be off, if thats okay with you, I murmur. Of course, its five thirty. Ill see you tomorrow. Good night, Jack. Good night, Ana. Collecting my bag, I shrug on my jacket and head for the door. Out in the early evening air of Seattle, I take a deep breath. It doesnt begin to fill the void in my chest, a void thats been present since Saturday morning, a painful hollow reminder of my loss. I walk toward the bus stop with my head down, staring at my feet and contemplating being without my beloved Wanda, my old Beetle . . . or the Audi. I shut the door on that thought immediately. No. Dont think about him. Of course, I can afford a cara nice, new car. I suspect he has been overgenerous in his payment, and the thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, but I dismiss it and try to keep my mind as numb and as blank as possible. I cant think about him. I dont want to start crying againnot out on the street. The apartment is empty. I miss Kate, and I imagine her lying on a beach in Barbados sipping a cool cocktail. I turn on the flat-screen television so theres noise to fill the vacuum and provide some semblance of company, but I dont listen or watch. I sit and stare blankly at the brick wall. I am numb. I feel nothing but the pain. How long must I endure this? The door buzzer startles me from my anguish, and my heart skips a beat. Who could that be? I press the intercom. Delivery for Ms. Steele. A bored, disembodied voice answers, and disappointment crashes through me. I listlessly make my way downstairs and find a young man noisily chewing gum, holding a large cardboard box, and leaning against the front door. I sign for the package and take it upstairs. The box is huge and surprisingly light. Inside are two dozen long-stemmed, white roses and a card. Congratulations on your first day at work. I hope it went well. And thank you for the glider. That was very thoughtful. It has pride of place on my desk. Christian I stare at the typed card, the hollow in my chest expanding. No doubt, his assistant sent this. Christian probably had very little to do with it. Its too painful to think about. I examine the rosesthey are beautiful, and I cant bring myself to throw them in the trash. Dutifully, I make my way into the kitchen to hunt down a vase. And so a pattern develops: wake, work, cry, sleep. Well, try to sleep. I cant even escape him in my dreams. Gray burning eyes, his lost look, his hair burnished and bright all haunt me. And the music . . . so much musicI cannot bear to hear any music. I am careful to avoid it at all costs. Even the jingles in commercials make me shudder. I have spoken to no one, not even my mother or Ray. I dont have the capacity for idle talk now. No, I want none of it. I have become my own island state. A ravaged, war-torn land where nothing grows and the horizons are bleak. Yes, thats me. I can interact impersonally at work, but thats it. If I talk to Mom, I know I will break even furtherand I have nothing left to break. I am finding it difficult to eat. By lunchtime on Wednesday, I manage a cup of yogurt, and its the first thing Ive eaten since Friday. I am surviving on a newfound tolerance for lattes and Diet Coke. Its the caffeine that keeps me going, but its making me anxious. Jack has started to hover over me, irritating me, asking me personal questions. What does he want? Im polite, but I need to keep him at arms length. I sit and begin trawling through a pile of correspondence addressed to him, and Im pleased with the distraction of menial work. My e-mail pings, and I quickly check to see who its from. Holy shit. An e-mail from Christian. Oh no, not here . . . not at work. From: Christian Grey Subject: Tomorrow Date: June 8 2011 14:05 To: Anastasia Steele Dear Anastasia Forgive this intrusion at work. I hope that its going well. Did you get my flowers? I note that tomorrow is the gallery opening for your friends show, and Im sure youve not had time to purchase a car, and its a long drive. I would be more than happy to take youshould you wish. Let me know. Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc. Tears swim in my eyes. I hastily leave my desk and bolt to the restroom to escape into one of the stalls. Joss show. Id forgotten all about it, and I promised him Id go. Shit, Christian is right; how am I going to get there? I clutch my forehead. Why hasnt Jos phoned? Come to think of itwhy hasnt anyone phoned? Ive been so absentminded I havent noticed that my cell phone has been silent. Shit! I am such an idiot! I still have it set to forward calls to the BlackBerry. Holy hell. Christians been getting my callsunless hes just thrown the BlackBerry away. How did he get my e-mail address? He knows my shoe size; an e-mail address is hardly going to present him with many problems. Can I see him again? Could I bear it? Do I want to see him? I close my eyes and tilt my head back as grief and longing lance through me. Of course I do. Perhapsperhaps I can tell him Ive changed my mind . . . No, no, no. I cannot be with someone who takes pleasure in inflicting pain on me, someone who cant love me. Torturous memories flash through my mindthe gliding, holding hands, kissing, the bathtub, his gentleness, his humor, and his dark, brooding, sexy stare. I miss him. Its been five days, five days of agony that has felt like an eternity. I cry myself to sleep at night, wishing I hadnt walked out, wishing that he could be different, wishing that we were together. How long will this hideous overwhelming feeling last? I am in purgatory. I wrap my arms around my body, hugging myself tightly, holding myself together. I miss him. I really miss him . . . I love him. Simple. Anastasia Steele, you are at work! I must be strong, but I want to go to Joss show, and deep down, the masochist in me wants to see Christian. Taking a deep breath, I head back to my desk. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Tomorrow Date: June 8 2011 14:25 To: Christian Grey Hi Christian Thank you for the flowers; they are lovely. Yes, I would appreciate a lift. Thank you. Anastasia Steele Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP Checking my phone, I find that it is still set to forward calls to the BlackBerry. Jack is in a meeting, so I quickly call Jos. Hi, Jos. Its Ana. Hello, stranger. His tone is so warm and welcoming its almost enough to push me over the edge again. I cant talk long. What time should I be there tomorrow for your show? Youre still coming? He sounds excited. Yes, of course. I smile my first genuine smile in five days as I picture his broad grin. Seven thirty. See you then. Good-bye, Jos. Bye, Ana. From: Christian Grey Subject: Tomorrow Date: June 8 2011 14:27 To: Anastasia Steele Dear Anastasia What time shall I pick you up? Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Tomorrow Date: June 8 2011 14:32 To: Christian Grey Joss show starts at 7:30. What time would you suggest? Anastasia Steele Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP From: Christian Grey Subject: Tomorrow Date: June 8 2011 14:34 To: Anastasia Steele Dear Anastasia Portland is some distance away. I shall pick you up at 5:45. I look forward to seeing you. Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Tomorrow Date: June 8 2011 14:38 To: Christian Grey See you then. Anastasia Steele Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP Oh my. Im going to see Christian, and for the first time in five days, my spirits lift a fraction and I allow myself to wonder how hes been. Has he missed me? Probably not like Ive missed him. Has he found a new submissive? The thought is so painful that I dismiss it immediately. I look at the pile of correspondence I need to sort for Jack and tackle it as I try to push Christian out of my mind once more. That night in bed, I toss and turn, trying to sleep and its the first time in a while I havent cried myself to sleep. In my minds eye, I visualize Christians face the last time I saw him as when I left. His tortured expression haunts me. I remember he didnt want me to go, which was odd. Why would I stay when things had reached such an impasse? We were each skirting around our own issuesmy fear of punishment, his fear of . . . what? Love? Turning on my side, I hug my pillow, filled with an overwhelming sadness. He thinks he doesnt deserve to be loved. Why does he feel that way? Does it have to do with his upbringing? His birth mom, the crack whore? My thoughts plague me into the early hours until eventually I fall into a fitful, exhausted sleep. The day drags and drags and Jack is unusually attentive. I suspect its due to Kates plum dress and the black high-heeled boots Ive stolen from her closet, but I dont dwell on the thought. I resolve to go clothes shopping with my first paycheck. The dress is looser on me than it was, but I pretend not to notice. Finally its five thirty, and I collect my jacket and purse, trying to quell my nerves. Im going to see him! Do you have a date tonight? Jack asks as he strolls past my desk on his way out. Yes. No. Not really. He raises an eyebrow, his interest clearly piqued. Boyfriend? I flush. No, a friend. An ex-boyfriend. Maybe tomorrow youd like to come for a drink after work. Youve had a stellar first week, Ana. We should celebrate. He smiles and an unknown, unsettling emotion flits across his face, making me uneasy. Putting his hands in his pockets, he saunters through the double doors. I frown at his retreating back. Drinks with the boss, is that a good idea? I shake my head. I have an evening of Christian Grey to get through first. How am I going to do this? I hurry into the restroom to make last-minute adjustments. In the large mirror on the wall, I take a long, hard look at my face. Im my usual pale self, dark circles around my too-large eyes. I look gaunt, haunted. I wish I knew how to use makeup. I apply some mascara and eyeliner and pinch my cheeks, hoping for some color. Tidying my hair so that it hangs artfully down my back, I take a deep breath. This will have to do. Nervously I walk through the foyer with a smile and a wave to Claire at Reception. I think she and I could become friends. Jack is talking to Elizabeth as I head for the doors. Smiling broadly, he hurries over to open them for me. After you, Ana, he murmurs. Thank you. I smile, embarrassed. Outside on the curb, Taylor is waiting. He opens the rear door of the car. I glance hesitantly at Jack, who has followed me out. Hes looking toward the Audi SUV in dismay. I turn and climb into the back, and there he sitsChristian Greywearing his gray suit, no tie, white shirt open at the collar. His gray eyes are glowing. My mouth dries. He looks glorious except hes scowling at me. Why? When did you last eat? he snaps as Taylor closes the door behind me. Crap. Hello, Christian. Yes, its nice to see you, too. I dont want your smart mouth now. Answer me. His eyes blaze. Holy shit. Um . . . I had a yogurt at lunchtime. Ohand a banana. When did you last have a real meal? he asks acidly. Taylor slips into the drivers seat, starts the car, and pulls out into the traffic. I glance up and Jack is waving at me, though how he can see me through the dark glass, I dont know. I wave back. Whos that? Christian snaps. My boss. I peek up at the beautiful man beside me, and his mouth is pressed into a hard line. Well? Your last meal? Christian, that really is none of your concern, I murmur, feeling extraordinarily brave. Whatever you do concerns me. Tell me. No, it doesnt. I groan in frustration, rolling my eyes heavenward, and Christian narrows his eyes. And for the first time in a long time, I want to laugh. I try hard to stifle the giggle that threatens to bubble up. Christians face softens as I struggle to keep a straight face, and a trace of a smile kisses his lovely sculptured lips. Well? he asks, his voice softer. Pasta alla vongole, last Friday, I whisper. He closes his eyes as fury, and possibly regret, sweeps across his face. I see, he says, his voice expressionless. You look like youve lost at least five pounds, possibly more since then. Please eat, Anastasia, he scolds. I stare down at the knotted fingers in my lap. Why does he always make me feel like an errant child? He shifts and turns toward me. How are you? he asks, his voice still soft. Well, Im shit, really . . . I swallow. If I told you I was fine, Id be lying. He inhales sharply. Me, too, he murmurs and reaches over and clasps my hand. I miss you, he adds. Oh no. Skin against skin. Christian, I Ana, please. We need to talk. Im going to cry. No. Christian, I . . . please . . . Ive cried so much, I whisper, trying to keep my emotions in check. Oh, baby, no. He tugs my hand, and before I know it Im on his lap. He has his arms around me, and his nose is in my hair. Ive missed you so much, Anastasia, he breathes. I want to struggle out of his hold, to maintain some distance, but his arms are wrapped around me. Hes pressing me to his chest. I melt. Oh, this is where I want to be. I rest my head against him, and he kisses my hair repeatedly. This is home. He smells of linen, fabric softener, body wash, and my favorite smellChristian. For a moment, I allow myself the illusion that all will be well, and it soothes my ravaged soul. A few minutes later Taylor pulls to a stop at the curb, even though were still in the city. ComeChristian shifts me off his lapwere here. What? Helipadon the top of this building. Christian glances toward the building by way of explanation. Of course. Charlie Tango. Taylor opens the door and I slide out. He gives me a warm, avuncular smile that makes me feel safe. I smile back. I should give you back your handkerchief. Keep it, Miss Steele, with my best wishes. I blush as Christian comes around the car and takes my hand. He looks quizzically at Taylor, who stares impassively back at him, revealing nothing. Nine? Christian says to him. Yes, sir. Christian nods as he turns and leads me through the double doors into the grandiose foyer. I revel in the feel of his hand and his long, skilled fingers curled around mine. The familiar pull is thereIm drawn, Icarus to his sun. Ive been burned already, and yet here I am again. Reaching the elevators, he presses the call button. I peek up at him, and hes wearing his enigmatic half smile. As the doors open, he releases my hand and ushers me in. The doors close and I risk a second peek. He glances down at me, and its there in the air between us, that electricity. Its palpable. I can almost taste it, pulsing between us, drawing us together. Oh my, I gasp as I bask briefly in the intensity of this visceral, primal attraction. I feel it, too, he says, his eyes clouded and intense. Desire pools dark and deadly in my groin. He clasps my hand and grazes my knuckles with his thumb, and all my muscles clench tightly, deliciously, deep inside me. How can he still do this to me? Please dont bite your lip, Anastasia, he whispers. I gaze up at him, releasing my lip. I want him. Here, now, in the elevator. How could I not? You know what it does to me, he murmurs. Oh, I still affect him. My inner goddess stirs from her five-day sulk. Abruptly the doors open, breaking the spell, and were on the roof. Its windy, and despite my black jacket, Im cold. Christian puts his arm around me, pulling me into his side, and we hurry across to where Charlie Tango stands in the center of the helipad, with its rotor blades slowly spinning. A tall, blond, square-jawed man in a dark suit leaps out and, ducking low, runs toward us. Shaking hands with Christian, he shouts above the noise of the rotors. Ready to go, sir. Shes all yours! All checks done? Yes, sir. Youll collect her around eight thirty? Yes, sir. Taylors waiting for you out front. Thank you, Mr. Grey. Safe flight to Portland. Maam. He salutes me. Without releasing me, Christian nods, ducks down, and leads me to the helicopter door. Once inside he buckles me firmly into my harness, cinching the straps tight. He gives me a knowing look and his secret smile. This should keep you in your place, he murmurs. I must say I like this harness on you. Dont touch anything. I flush a deep crimson, and he runs his index finger down my cheek before handing me the headphones. Id like to touch you, too, but you wont let me. I scowl. Besides, hes pulled the straps so tight I can barely move. He sits in his seat and buckles himself in, then starts running through all his preflight checks. Hes just so competent. Its very alluring. He puts on his headphones and flips a switch and the rotors speed up, deafening me. Turning, he gazes at me. Ready, baby? His voice echoes through the headphones. Yes. He grins his boyish grin. WowIve not seen it for so long. Sea-Tac tower, this is Charlie Tango GolfGolf Echo Hotel, cleared for takeoff to Portland via PDX. Please confirm, over. The disembodied voice of the air traffic controller answers, issuing instructions. Roger, tower, Charlie Tango set, over and out. Christian flips two switches, grasps the stick, and the helicopter rises slowly and smoothly into the evening sky. Seattle and my stomach drop away from us, and theres so much to see. Weve chased the dawn, Anastasia, now the dusk, his voice comes through on the headphones. I turn and gape at him in surprise. What does this mean? How is it that he can say the most romantic things? He smiles, and I cant help my shy smile. As well as the evening sun, theres more to see this time, he says. The last time we flew to Seattle it was dark, but this evening the view is spectacular, literally out of this world. Were up among the tallest buildings, going higher and higher. Escalas over there. He points toward the building. Boeing there, and you can just see the Space Needle. I crane my head. Ive never been. Ill take youwe can eat there. Christian, we broke up. I know. I can still take you there and feed you. He glares at me. I shake my head and decide not to antagonize him. Its very beautiful up here, thank you. Impressive, isnt it? Impressive that you can do this. Flattery from you, Miss Steele? But Im a man of many talents. Im fully aware of that, Mr. Grey. He turns and smirks at me, and for the first time in five days, I relax a little. Perhaps this wont be so bad. Hows the new job? Good, thank you. Interesting. Whats your boss like? Oh, hes okay. How can I tell Christian that Jack makes me uncomfortable? Christian glances at me. Whats wrong? he asks. Aside from the obvious, nothing. The obvious? Oh, Christian, you really are very obtuse sometimes. Obtuse? Me? Im not sure I appreciate your tone, Miss Steele. Well, dont, then. His lips twitch into a smile. I have missed your smart mouth, Anastasia. I gasp and I want to shout, Ive missed youall of younot just your mouth! But I keep quiet and gaze out the glass fishbowl that is Charlie Tangos windshield as we continue south. The dusk is to our right, the sun low on the horizonlarge, blazing fiery orangeand I am Icarus again, flying far too close. 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