Fifty Shades Of Grey PDF Download

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E L James is a TV executive, wife, and mother of two, based in West London. Since early
childhood, she dreamt of writing stories that readers would fall in love with, but put those
dreams on hold to focus on her family and her career. She finally plucked up the courage to
put pen to paper with her first novel, Fifty Shades of Grey.
E L James is currently working on the sequel to Fifty Shades of Grey and a new romantic
thriller with a supernatural twist.

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I am indebted to the following people for their help and support:
To my husband Niall - thank you for tolerating my obsession, being a domestic god and
doing the first edit.
To my boss Lisa - thank you for putting up with me over the last year or so while I indulged
in this madness.
To CCL - I'll never tell but thank you.
To the original bunker babes - thank you for your friendship and constant support.
To SR - thank you for all the helpful advice from the start and for going first.
To Sue - thanks for sorting me out.
To Amanda and all at TWCS - thank you for taking a punt.

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I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror. Damn my hair - it just won't behave, and
damn Katherine Kavanagh for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be studying
for my final exams, which are next week, yet here I am trying to brush my hair into
submission.I must not sleep with it wet. I must not sleep with it wet.Reciting this mantra
several times, I attempt, once more, to bring it under control with the brush. I roll my eyes in
exasperation and gaze at the pale, brown-haired girl with blue eyes too big for her face
staring back at me, and give up. My only option is to restrain my wayward hair in a ponytail
and hope that I look semi-presentable.
Kate is my roommate, and she has chosen today of all days to succumb to the flu. Therefore,
she cannot attend the interview she'd arranged to do, with some mega-industrialist tycoon
I've never heard of, for the student newspaper. So I have been volunteered. I have final
exams to cram for, one essay to finish, and I'm supposed to be working this afternoon, but
no - today I have to drive a hundred and sixty-five miles to downtown Seattle in order to
meet the enigmatic CEO of Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. As an exceptional entrepreneur
and major benefactor of our university, his time is extraordinarily precious - much more
precious than mine - but he has granted Kate an interview. A real coup, she tells me. Damn
her extracurricular activities.
Kate is huddled on the couch in the living room.
"Ana, I'm sorry. It took me nine months to get this interview. It will take another six to
reschedule, and we'll both have graduated by then. As the editor, I can't blow this off. Please,"
Kate begs me in her rasping, sore throat voice. How does she do it? Even ill she looks gamine
and gorgeous, strawberry blonde hair in place and green eyes bright, although now red-
rimmed and runny. I ignore my pang of unwelcome sympathy.
"Of course I'll go, Kate. You should get back to bed. Would you like some Nyquil or
"Nyquil, please. Here are the questions and my mini-disc recorder. Just press record here.
Make notes, I'll transcribe it all."
"I know nothing about him," I murmur, trying and failing to suppress my rising panic.
"The questions will see you through. Go. It's a long drive. I don't want you to be late."
"Okay, I'm going. Get back to bed. I made you some soup to heat up later." I stare at her
fondly.Only for you, Kate, would I do this.
"I will. Good luck. And thanks, Ana - as usual, you're my lifesaver."

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Gathering my satchel, I smile wryly at her, then head out the door to the car. I cannot believe
I have let Kate talk me into this. But then Kate can talk anyone into anything. She'll make an
exceptional journalist. She's articulate, strong, persuasive, argumentative, beautiful - and
she's my dearest, dearest friend.
The roads are clear as I set off from Vancouver, WA toward Portland and the I-5. It's early,
and I don't have to be in Seattle until two this afternoon. Fortunately, Kate's lent me her
sporty Mercedes CLK. I'm not sure Wanda, my old VW Beetle, would make the journey in
time. Oh, the Merc is a fun drive, and the miles slip away as I floor the pedal to the metal.
My destination is the headquarters of Mr. Grey's global enterprise. It's a huge twenty-story
office building, all curved glass and steel, an architect's utilitarian fantasy, with Grey House
written discreetly in steel over the glass front doors. It's a quarter to two when I arrive,
greatly relieved that I'm not late as I walk into the enormous - and frankly intimidating -
glass, steel, and white sandstone lobby.
Behind the solid sandstone desk, a very attractive, groomed, blonde young woman smiles
pleasantly at me. She's wearing the sharpest charcoal suit jacket and white shirt I have ever
seen. She looks immaculate.
"I'm here to see Mr. Grey. Anastasia Steele for Katherine Kavanagh."
"Excuse me one moment, Miss Steele." She arches her eyebrow slightly as I stand self-
consciously before her. I am beginning to wish I'd borrowed one of Kate's formal blazers
rather than wear my navy blue jacket. I have made an effort and worn my one and only skirt,
my sensible brown knee-length boots and a blue sweater. For me, this is smart. I tuck one of
the escaped tendrils of my hair behind my ear as I pretend she doesn't intimidate me.
"Miss Kavanagh is expected. Please sign in here, Miss Steele. You'll want the last elevator
on the right, press for the twentieth floor." She smiles kindly at me, amused no doubt, as I
sign in.
She hands me a security pass that has VISITOR very firmly stamped on the front. I can't help
my smirk. Surely it's obvious that I'm just visiting. I don't fit in here at all.Nothing changes,I
inwardly sigh. Thanking her, I walk over to the bank of elevators past the two security men
who are both far more smartly dressed than I am in their well-cut black suits.
The elevator whisks me with terminal velocity to the twentieth floor. The doors slide open,
and I'm in another large lobby - again all glass, steel, and white sandstone. I'm confronted by
another desk of sandstone and another young blonde woman dressed impeccably in black and
white who rises to greet me.
"Miss Steele, could you wait here, please?" She points to a seated area of white leather chairs.
Behind the leather chairs is a spacious glass-walled meeting room with an equally spacious
dark wood table and at least twenty matching chairs around it. Beyond that, there is a floor-
to-ceiling window with a view of the Seattle skyline that looks out through the city toward
the Sound. It's a stunning vista, and I'm momentarily paralyzed by the view.Wow.
I sit down, fish the questions from my satchel, and go through them, inwardly cursing Kate
for not providing me with a brief biography. I know nothing about this man I'm about to
interview. He could be ninety or he could be thirty. The uncertainty is galling, and my nerves
resurface, making me fidget. I've never been comfortable with one-on-one interviews,
preferring the anonymity of a group discussion where I can sit inconspicuously at the back of
the room. To be honest, I prefer my own company, reading a classic British novel, curled up
in a chair in the campus library. Not sitting twitching nervously in a colossal glass and stone
I roll my eyes at myself.Get a grip, Steele.Judging from the building, which is too clinical
and modern, I guess Grey is in his forties: fit, tanned, and fair-haired to match the rest of the

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Another elegant, flawlessly dressed blonde comes out of a large door to the right. What is it
with all the immaculate blondes? It's like Stepford here. Taking a deep breath, I stand up.
"Miss Steele?" the latest blonde asks.
"Yes," I croak, and clear my throat. "Yes." There, that sounded more confident.
"Mr. Grey will see you in a moment. May I take your jacket?"
"Oh please." I struggle out of the jacket.
"Have you been offered any refreshment?"
"Um - no." Oh dear, is Blonde Number One in trouble?
Blonde Number Two frowns and eyes the young woman at the desk.
"Would you like tea, coffee, water?" she asks, turning her attention back to me.
"A glass of water. Thank you," I murmur.
"Olivia, please fetch Miss Steele a glass of water." Her voice is stern. Olivia scoots up
immediately and scurries to a door on the other side of the foyer.
"My apologies, Miss Steele, Olivia is our new intern. Please be seated. Mr. Grey will be
another five minutes."
Olivia returns with a glass of iced water.
"Here you go, Miss Steele."
"Thank you."
Blonde Number Two marches over to the large desk, her heels clicking and echoing on the
sandstone floor. She sits down, and they both continue their work.
Perhaps Mr. Grey insists on all his employees being blonde. I'm wondering idly if that's legal,
when the office door opens and a tall, elegantly dressed, attractive African-American man
with short dreads exits. I have definitely worn the wrong clothes.
He turns and says through the door. "Golf, this week, Grey."
I don't hear the reply. He turns, sees me, and smiles, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners.
Olivia has jumped up and called the elevator. She seems to excel at jumping from her seat.
She's more nervous than me!
"Good afternoon, ladies," he says as he departs through the sliding door.
"Mr. Grey will see you now, Miss Steele. Do go through," Blonde Number Two says. I stand
rather shakily trying to suppress my nerves. Gathering up my satchel, I abandon my glass of
water and make my way to the partially open door.
"You don't need to knock - just go in." She smiles kindly.
I push open the door and stumble through, tripping over my own feet, and falling head first
into the office.
Double crap - me and my two left feet! I am on my hands and knees in the doorway to Mr.
Grey's office, and gentle hands are around me helping me to stand. I am so embarrassed,
damn my clumsiness. I have to steel myself to glance up. Holy cow - he's so young.
"Miss Kavanagh." He extends a long-fingered hand to me once I'm upright. "I'm Christian
Grey. Are you all right? Would you like to sit?"
So young - and attractive, very attractive. He's tall, dressed in a fine gray suit, white shirt,
and black tie with unruly dark-copper-colored hair and intense, bright gray eyes that regard
me shrewdly. It takes a moment for me to find my voice.
"Um. Actually-" I mutter. If this guy is over thirty then I'm a monkey's uncle. In a daze, I
place my hand in his and we shake. As our fingers touch, I feel an odd exhilarating shiver run
through me. I withdraw my hand hastily, embarrassed. Must be static. I blink rapidly, my
eyelids matching my heart rate.
"Miss Kavanagh is indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don't mind, Mr. Grey."
"And you are?" His voice is warm, possibly amused, but it's difficult to tell from his
impassive expression. He looks mildly interested, but above all, polite.

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"Anastasia Steele. I'm studying English Literature with Kate, um... Katherine... um... Miss
Kavanagh at Washington State."
"I see," he says simply. I think I see the ghost of a smile in his expression, but I'm not sure.
"Would you like to sit?" He waves me toward a white leather-buttoned L-shaped couch.
His office is way too big for just one man. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, there's a
huge modern dark-wood desk that six people could comfortably eat around. It matches the
coffee table by the couch. Everything else is white - ceiling, floors, and walls, except on the
wall by the door where a mosaic of small paintings hang, thirty-six of them arranged in a
square. They are exquisite - a series of mundane, forgotten objects painted in such precise
detail they look like photographs. Displayed together, they are breathtaking.
"A local artist. Trouton," says Grey when he catches my gaze.
"They're lovely. Raising the ordinary to extraordinary," I murmur, distracted both by him and
the paintings. He cocks his head to one side and regards me intently.
"I couldn't agree more, Miss Steele," he replies, his voice soft and for some inexplicable
reason I find myself blushing.
Apart from the paintings, the rest of the office is cold, clean, and clinical. I wonder if it
reflects the personality of the Adonis who sinks gracefully into one of the white leather chairs
opposite me. I shake my head, disturbed at the direction of my thoughts, and retrieve Kate's
questions from my satchel. Next, I set up the mini-disc recorder and am all fingers and
thumbs, dropping it twice on the coffee table in front of me. Mr. Grey says nothing, waiting
patiently - I hope - as I become increasingly embarrassed and flustered. When I pluck up the
courage to look at him, he's watching me, one hand relaxed in his lap and the other cupping
his chin and trailing his long index finger across his lips. I think he's trying to suppress a
"Sorry," I stutter. "I'm not used to this."
"Take all the time you need, Miss Steele," he says.
"Do you mind if I record your answers?"
"After you've taken so much trouble to set up the recorder - you ask me now?"
I flush. He's teasing me? I hope. I blink at him, unsure what to say, and I think he takes pity
on me because he relents. "No, I don't mind."
"Did Kate, I mean, Miss Kavanagh, explain what the interview was for?"
"Yes. To appear in the graduation issue of the student newspaper as I shall be conferring the
degrees at this year's graduation ceremony."
Oh!This is news to me, and I'm temporarily preoccupied by the thought that someone not
much older than me - okay, maybe six years or so, and okay, mega-successful, but still - is
going to present me with my degree. I frown, dragging my wayward attention back to the task
at hand.
"Good," I swallow nervously. "I have some questions, Mr. Grey." I smooth a stray lock of
hair behind my ear.
"I thought you might," he says, deadpan. He's laughing at me. My cheeks heat at the
realization, and I sit up and square my shoulders in an attempt to look taller and more
intimidating. Pressing the start button on the recorder, I try to look professional.
"You're very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?" I
glance up at him. His smile is rueful, but he looks vaguely disappointed.
"Business is all about people, Miss Steele, and I'm very good at judging people. I know how
they tick, what makes them flourish, what doesn't, what inspires them, and how to incentivize
them. I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well." He pauses and fixes me with
his gray stare. "My belief is to achieve success in any scheme one has to make oneself master
of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail. I work hard, very hard to do that. I

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make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture
a good solid idea and good people. The bottom line is it's always down to good people."
"Maybe you're just lucky." This isn't on Kate's list - but he's so arrogant. His eyes flare
momentarily in surprise.
"I don't subscribe to luck or chance, Miss Steele. The harder I work the more luck I seem to
have. It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing their energies
accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said `the growth and development of people
is the highest calling of leadership.'"
"You sound like a control freak." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
"Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Steele," he says without a trace of humor in his
smile. I look at him, and he holds my gaze steadily, impassive. My heartbeat quickens, and
my face flushes again.
Why does he have such an unnerving effect on me? His overwhelming good looks maybe?
The way his eyes blaze at me? The way he strokes his index finger against his lower lip? I
wish he'd stop doing that.
"Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you
were born to control things," he continues, his voice soft.
"Do you feel that you have immense power?"Control Freak.
"I employ over forty thousand people, Miss Steele. That gives me a certain sense of
responsibility - power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in the
telecommunications business and sell up, twenty thousand people would struggle to make
their mortgage payments after a month or so."
My mouth drops open. I am staggered by his lack of humility.
"Don't you have a board to answer to?" I ask, disgusted.
"I own my company. I don't have to answer to a board." He raises an eyebrow at me. I flush.
Of course, I would know this if I had done some research. But holy crap, he's so arrogant. I
change tack.
"And do you have any interests outside your work?"
"I have varied interests, Miss Steele." A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Very varied." And
for some reason, I'm confounded and heated by his steady gaze. His eyes are alight with
some wicked thought.
"But if you work so hard, what do you do to chill out?"
"Chill out?" He smiles, revealing perfect white teeth. I stop breathing. He really is beautiful.
No one should be this good-looking.
"Well, to `chill out' as you put it - I sail, I fly, I indulge in various physical pursuits." He
shifts in his chair. "I'm a very wealthy man, Miss Steele, and I have expensive and absorbing
I glance quickly at Kate's questions, wanting to get off this subject.
"You invest in manufacturing. Why, specifically?" I ask. Why does he make me so
"I like to build things. I like to know how things work: what makes things tick, how to
construct and deconstruct. And I have a love of ships. What can I say?"
"That sounds like your heart talking rather than logic and facts."
His mouth quirks up, and he stares appraisingly at me.
"Possibly. Though there are people who'd say I don't have a heart."
"Why would they say that?"
"Because they know me well." His lip curls in a wry smile.
"Would your friends say you're easy to get to know?" And I regret the question as soon as I
say it. It's not on Kate's list.