grey: fifty shades of grey as told by christian

Bastille is the only one who can beat me, and now he wants another pound of flesh on the golf course. His parting words rub salt into my wounds because, despite my heroic attempts during our workout today, my personal trainer has kicked my ass. “Golf, this week, Grey.” Bastille grins with easy arrogance, knowing that his victory on the golf course is assured. “TOMORROW,” I MUTTER, DISMISSING Claude Bastille as he stands at the threshold of my office. I stop the treadmill, breathless, and head down to the shower to start another monotonous day. I’ve nothing but meetings, though I’m seeing my personal trainer later for a workout at my office-Bastille is always a welcome challenge. I head upstairs to my gym, switch on the TV for the morning business news, and step onto the treadmill. Outside, a leaden sky promises rain, and I’m not in the mood to be rained on during my run today. What the hell was that about? I grasp at the fragments as they recede, but fail to catch any of them.ĭismissing it, like I do most mornings, I climb out of bed and find some newly laundered sweats in my walk-in closet. I open my eyes and my dream fades in the early-morning light. I pull her hand and she lies back and closes her eyes. But Mommy stays on the couch staring at the wall.

Today she sits on the couch staring at the wall. I like when Mommy plays with the cars and me.

Grey: fifty shades of grey as told by christian