Free Fifty Shades of Grey by E. L. James Page B

the single worst moment of my life. My head is still swimming as I try to remember a worse one—and I can only come up with Christian’s rejection—and this is so, so many shades darker in terms of humiliation. I risk a peek at him. He’s staring down at me, his face composed, giving nothing away. Turning, I glance at José, who looks pretty shamefaced himself and, like me, intimidated by Grey. I glare at him. I have a few choice words for my so-called friend, none of which I can repeat in front of Christian Grey, CEO.
Ana
,
who are you kidding? He’s just seen you hurl all over the ground and into the local flora. There’s no disguising your lack of ladylike behavior
.
    “I’ll, er … see you inside,” José mutters, but we both ignore him, and he slinks off back into the building. I’m on my own with Grey. Double crap. What should I say to him? Apologize for the phone call.
    “I’m sorry,” I mutter, staring at the handkerchief, which I am furiously worrying with my fingers.
It’s so soft
.
    “What are you sorry for, Anastasia?”
    Damn it, he wants his damned pound of flesh.
    “The phone call, mainly. Being sick. Oh, the list is endless,” I murmur, feeling my skin coloring up.
Please, please, can I die now?
    “We’ve all been here, perhaps not quite as dramatically as you,” he says dryly. “It’s about knowing your limits, Anastasia. I mean, I’m all for pushing limits, but really this is beyond the pale. Do you make a habit of this kind of behavior?”
    My head buzzes with excess alcohol and irritation. What the hell has it got to do with him? I didn’t invite him here. He sounds like a middle-aged man scolding me like an errant child. Part of me wants to say that if I want to get drunk every night like this, then it’s my decision and nothing to do with him—but I’m not brave enough. Not now that I’ve thrown up in front of him. Why is he still standing there?
    “No,” I say contritely. “I’ve never been drunk before and right now I have no desire to ever be again.”
    I just don’t understand why he’s here. I begin to feel faint. He notices my dizziness and grabs me before I fall and hoists me into his arms, holding me close to his chest like a child.
    “Come on, I’ll take you home,” he murmurs.
    “I need to tell Kate.”
I’m in his arms again
.
    “My brother can tell her.”
    “What?”
    “My brother Elliot is talking to Miss Kavanagh.”
    “Oh?” I don’t understand.
    “He was with me when you phoned.”
    “In Seattle?” I’m confused.
    “No, I’m staying at the Heathman.”
    Still? Why?
    “How did you find me?”
    “I tracked your cell phone, Anastasia.”
    Oh, of course he did. How is that possible? Is it legal?
Stalker
, my subconscious whispers at me through the cloud of tequila that’s still floating in my brain, but somehow, because it’s him, I don’t mind.
    “Do you have a jacket or a purse?”
    “Er … yes, I came with both. Christian, please, I need to tell Kate. She’ll worry.” His mouth presses into a hard line, and he sighs heavily.
    “If you must.”
    He sets me down and, taking my hand, leads me back into the bar. I feel weak, still drunk, embarrassed, exhausted, mortified, and, on some strange level, absolutely off-the-charts thrilled. He’s clutching my hand—such a confusing array of emotions. I’ll need at least a week to process them all.
    It’s noisy, crowded, and the music has started so there is a large crowd on the dance floor. Kate is not at our table, and José has disappeared. Levi looks lost and forlorn on his own.
    “Where’s Kate?” I shout at Levi above the noise. My head is beginning to pound in time to the thumping bass line of the music.
    “Dancing,” Levi shouts, and I can tell he’s mad. He’s eyeing Christian suspiciously. I struggle into my black jacket and place my small shoulder bag over my head so it sits at my hip. I’m ready to go, once I’ve seen Kate.
    I touch Christian’s arm and lean