Fifty Shades on Socialist Feminism
After I send in my preliminary report, Christian Grey turns up at my work unannounced.
‘I can’t stop thinking about you, Emma,” he says, “I feel like you really see me. Like you know parts of me nobody has ever known before.’
‘That’s because nobody has ever taken a detailed look at your overseas tax holdings before.’
‘I’d like to take you to dinner, but first you have to sign this non-disclosure agreement.”
“I’m signing nothing,” I say. “Come back with a detailed breakdown of your payroll and we can talk.”
Christian Grey fixes me with a penetrating stare, like he wants to beat fifty shades of shit out of me.
“Stay away from me, Emma,” he says, “I’m dangerous.”
“Alright,” I say, “Get the hell out of my office, I’ve got work to do.”