Part II 12

I narrow my eyes at him. “That sounds like a very evasive answer.” “I am always honest with you, Ana. I don’t want to play games. Well, not those sorts of games,” he qualifies, as his eyes heat. “What sort of games do you want to play?” He inclines his head to one side and smirks at me. “Miss Steele, you are so easily distracted.” I giggle. He’s right. “Mr. Grey, you are distracting on so many levels.” I gaze at his dancing gray eyes alight with humor. “My fa一vorite sound in the whole world is your giggle, Anastasia. Now—what was your original question?” he asks smoothly, and I think he’s laughing at me. I try to twist my mouth to show my displeasure, but I like playful Fifty—he’s fun. I love some early morning banter. I frown, trying to recall my question. “Oh yes. You only saw your subs on the weekends?” “Yes, that’s correct,” he says regarding me nervously. I grin at him. “So, no sex during the week.” He laughs. “Oh, that’s where we’re going with this.” He looks vaguely relieved. “Why do you think I work out He looks vaguely relieved. “Why do you think I work out every weekday?” Now he really is laughing at me, but I don’t care. I want to hug myself with glee. Another first— well, several firsts. “You look very pleased with yourself, Miss Steele.” “I am, Mr. Grey.” “You should be.” He grins. “Now eat your breakfast.” Oh, bossy Fifty . . . he’s never far away. We are in the back of the Audi. Taylor is driving with the intention of dropping me off at work, then Christian. Sawyer is riding shotgun. “Didn’t you say your roommate’s brother was arriving today?” Christian asks, almost casually, his voice and expression giving nothing away. “Oh, Ethan,” I gasp. “I forgot. Oh Christian, thank you for reminding me. I’ll ha一ve to go back to the apartment.” His face falls. “What time?” “I’m not sure what time he’s arriving.” “I don’t want you going anywhere on your own,” he says sharply. “I know,” I mutter and resist rolling my eyes at Mr. Over-Reaction. “Will Sawyer be spying—um . . . patrolling today?” I glance slyly in Sawyer’s direction to see the backs of his ears turn red. “Yes,” Christian snaps, his eyes glacial. “If I was driving the Saab it would be easier,” I mutter petulantly. “Sawyer will ha一ve a car, and he can drive you to your “Sawyer will ha一ve a car, and he can drive you to your apartment, depending on what time.” “Okay. I think Ethan will probably contact me during the day. I’ll let you know what the plans are then.” He gazes at me, saying nothing. Oh, what is he thinking? “Okay,” he acquiesces. “Nowhere on your own. Do you understand?” He wa一ves a long finger at me. “Yes, dear,” I mutter. There’s a trace of a smile on his face. “And maybe you should just use your Blackberry—I’ll e-mail you on it. That should prevent my IT guy ha一ving a thoroughly interesting morning, okay?” His voice is sardonic. “Yes, Christian.” I can’t resist. I roll my eyes at him, and he smirks at me. “Why Miss Steele, I do believe you’re making my palm twitch.” “Ah, Mr. Grey, your perpetually twitching palm. What are we going to do with that?” He laughs and then is distracted by his Blackberry, which must be on vibrate because it doesn’t ring. He frowns when he sees the caller ID. “What is it?” he snaps into the phone, then listens intently. I use the opportunity to study his lovely features— his straight nose, his hair hanging scruffily over his forehead. I am distracted from my surreptitious ogling by his expression, which turns from incredulity to amusement. I pay attention. “You’re kidding . . . For a scene . . . When did he tell you this?” Christian chuckles, almost reluctantly. “No, you this?” Christian chuckles, almost reluctantly. “No, don’t worry. You don’t ha一ve to apologize. I’m glad there’s a logical explanation. It did seem a ridiculously low amount of money . . . I ha一ve no doub一t you’ve something evil and creative planned for your revenge. Poor Isaac.” He smiles. “Good . . . Good-bye.” He snaps the phone shut and glances at me. His eyes are suddenly wary, but oddly, he looks relieved, too. “Who was that?” I ask. “You really want to know?” he asks quietly. And, I know. I shake my head and stare out my window at the gray Seattle day, feeling forlorn. Why can’t she lea一ve him alone? “Hey.” He reaches for my hand and kisses each of my knuckles in turn, and suddenly he’s sucking my little finger, hard. Then biting it softly. Whoa! He has a hotline to my groin, I gasp and glance nervously at Taylor and Sawyer, then at Christian, and his eyes are darker. He gives me a slow carnal smile. “Don’t sweat it, Anastasia,” he murmurs. “She’s in the past.” And he plants a kiss in the center of my palm, sending tingles everywhere, and my momentary pique is forgotten. “Morning, Ana,” Jack mutters as I make my way to my desk. “Nice dress.” I flush. The dress is part of my new wardrobe, courtesy of my incredibly rich boyfriend. It’s a sleeveless shift dress of pale blue linen, quite fitted, and I’m wearing shift dress of pale blue linen, quite fitted, and I’m wearing cream high-heeled sandals. Christian likes heels, I think. I smile secretly at the thought but quickly recover my bland professional smile for my boss. “Good morning, Jack.” I set about ordering a messenger to take his brochure to the printers. He pops his head around his office door. “Could I ha一ve a coffee, please, Ana?” “Sure.” I wander into the kitchen and bump into Claire from reception, who is also fixing coffee. “Hey, Ana,” she says cheerfully. “Hi, Claire.” We chat briefly about her extended-family gathering over the weekend, which she enjoyed immensely, and I tell her about sailing with Christian. “Your boyfriend is so dreamy, Ana,” she says, her eyes glazing over. I am tempted to roll my eyes at her. “He’s not bad-looking,” I smile and we both start laughing. “You took your time!” Jack snaps when I bring in his coffee. Oh! “I’m sorry.” I flush then frown. I took the usual amount of time. What’s his problem? Perhaps he’s nervous about something. He shakes his head. “Sorry, Ana. I didn’t mean to bark at you, honey.” Honey? “There’s something going on at senior management level, and I don’t know what it is. Keep your ear to the ground, okay? If you hear anything—I know how you girls talk.” He grins at me, and I feel slightly sick. He has no idea how we “girls” talk. Besides, I know what’s happening. “You’ll let me know, right?” “Sure,” I mutter. “I’ve sent the brochure to the printers. It will be back by two o’clock.” “Great. Here.” He hands me a pile of manuscripts. “All these need synopses of the first chapter, then filing.” “I’ll get on it.” I am relieved to step out of his office and sit down at my desk. Oh, it’s hard being in the know. What will he do when he finds out? My blood runs cold. Something tells me Jack will be annoyed. I glance at my Blackberry and smile. There’s an e-mail from Christian. From: Christian Grey Subject: Sunrise Date: June 14, 2011 09:23 To: Anastasia Steele I love waking up to you in the morning. Christian Grey Completely & Utterly Smitten CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. I think my face splits in two with my grin, and my inner goddess back-flips over her chaise longue. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Sundown Date: June 14, 2011 09:35 To: Christian Grey Dear Completely & Utterly Smitten I love waking up to you, too. But I love being in bed with you and in elevators and on pianos and billiard tables and boats and desks and showers and bathtubs and strange wooden crosses with shackles and four-poster beds with red satin sheets and boathouses and childhood bedrooms. Yours Sex Mad and Insatiable xx From: Christian Grey Subject: Wet Hardware Date: June 14, 2011 09:37 To: Anastasia Steele Dear Sex Mad and Insatiable I’ve just spat coffee all over my keyboard. I don’t think that’s ever happened to me before. I do admire a woman who concentrates on geography. Am I to infer you just want me for my body? Christian Grey Completely & Utterly Shocked CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Giggling—and wet too Date: June 14, 2011: 09:42 To: Christian Grey Dear Completely & Utterly Shocked Always. I ha一ve work to do. Stop bothering me. SM&I xx From: Christian Grey Subject: Do I ha一ve to? Date: June 14, 2011 09:50 To: Anastasia Steele To: Anastasia Steele Dear SM&I As ever, your wish is my command. Love that you are giggling and wet. Laters, baby. x Christian Grey, Completely & Utterly Smitten, Shocked and Spellbound CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. I put the Blackberry down and get on with my work. At lunchtime, Jack asks me to go down to the deli for his lunch. I call Christian as soon as I lea一ve Jack’s office. “Anastasia.” He answers immediately, his voice warm and caressing. How is it that this man can make me melt over the phone? “Christian, Jack has asked me to get his lunch.” “Lazy bastard,” Christian gripes. I ignore him and continue. “So I’m going to get it. It might be handy if you ga一ve me Sawyer’s number, so I don’t ha一ve to bother you.” “It’s no bother, baby.” “Are you on your own?” “No. There are six people staring at me at the moment wondering who the hell I’m talking to.” Shit . . . “Really?” I gasp, panicked. “Yes. Really. My girlfriend,” he announces away from the phone. Holy cow! “They probably all thought you were gay, you know.” He laughs. “Yeah, probably.” I hear his grin. “Er—I’d better go.” I am sure he can tell how embarrassed I am to be interrupting him. “I’ll let Sawyer know.” He laughs again. “Ha一ve you heard from your friend?” “Not yet. You’ll be the first to know, Mr. Grey.” “Good. Laters, baby.” “Bye, Christian.” I grin. Every time he says that, it makes me smile . . . so un-Fifty, but somehow so him, too. When I exit moments later, Sawyer is waiting on the doorstep of the building. “Miss Steele,” he greets me formally. “Sawyer.” I nod in response and together we head down to the deli. I don’t feel as comfortable with Sawyer as I do with Taylor. He continually scans the street as we make our way along the block. It actually makes me more nervous, and I find myself mirroring his actions. Is Leila out there? Or are we all infected by Christian’s paranoia? Is this part of his fifty shades? What I’d give for half an hour of candid discussion with Dr. Flynn, to find out. out. There’s nothing amiss, just lunchtime Seattle—people rushing for lunch, shopping, meeting friends. I watch two young women hug as they meet up. I miss Kate. It’s only been two weeks since she left for her vacation, but it feels like the longest two weeks of my life. So much has happened—she’ll never believe me when I tell her. Well, tell her the edited NDA-compliant version. I frown. I’ll ha一ve to talk to Christian about that. What would Kate make of it? I blanch at the thought. Perhaps she’ll be back with Ethan. I feel a rush of excitement at the thought, but I think it’s unlikely. She’d stay on with Elliot surely. “Where do you stand when you’re waiting and watching outside?” I ask Sawyer as we get in line for lunch. Sawyer is in front of me, facing the door, continually monitoring the street and anyone who comes in. It’s unnerving. “I sit in the coffee shop directly across the street, Miss Steele.” “Doesn’t it get very boring?” “Not to me, ma’am. It’s what I do,” he says stiffly. I flush. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply . . .” My voice trails off at his kind, understanding expression. “Please, Miss Steele. My job is to protect you. And that’s what I’ll do.” “So, no sign of Leila?” “No, ma’am.” I frown. “How do you know what she looks like?” “I’ve seen her photograph.” “I’ve seen her photograph.” “Oh, do you ha一ve it on you?” “No, ma’am.” He taps his skull. “Committed to memory.” Of course. I’d really like to examine a photograph of Leila to see what she looked like before she became Ghost Girl. I wonder if Christian would let me ha一ve a copy? Yes, he probably would—for my safety. I hatch a plan, and my subconscious gloats and nods approvingly. The brochures arrive back at the office, and I ha一ve to say, they look great. I take one into Jack’s office. His eyes light up, and I don’t know if it’s at me or the brochure. I choose to believe it’s the latter. “These look great, Ana.” Idly, he flicks through it. “Yeah, good job. Are you seeing your boyfriend this evening?” His lip curls as he says boyfriend. “Yes. We live together.” It’s sort of the truth. Well, we do at the moment. And I ha一ve officially agreed to move in, so it’s not much of a white lie. I hope that it’s enough to throw him off the scent. “Would he object to you coming out for a quick drink tonight? To celebrate all your hard work?” “I ha一ve a friend coming in from out of town tonight, and we’re all going out for dinner.” And I’ll be busy every night, Jack. “I see.” He sighs, exasperated. “Maybe when I’m back from New York, huh?” He raises his eyebrows in expectation, and his gaze darkens suggestively. expectation, and his gaze darkens suggestively. Oh no. I smile, noncommittal, stifling a shudder. “Would you like some coffee or tea?” I ask. “Coffee, please.” His voice is low and husky as if he’s asking for something else. Fuck. He’s not going to back off. I can see that now. Oh . . . What to do? I breathe a long sigh of relief when I am out of his office. He makes me tense. Christian is right about him, and part of me is pissed that Christian is right about him. I sit down at my desk and my Blackberry rings—a number I don’t recognize. “Ana Steele.” “Hi, Steele!” Ethan’s drawl catches me momentarily off guard. “Ethan! How are you?” I almost squeal with delight. “Glad to be back. I am seriously fed up with sunshine and rum punches, and my baby sister being hopelessly in love with the big guy. It’s been hell, Ana.” “Yeah! Sea, sand, sun, and rum punches sounds like Dante’s Inferno.” I giggle. “Where are you?” “I’m at Sea-Tac, waiting for my bag. What are you doing?” “I’m at work. Yes, I am gainfully employed,” I respond to his gasp. “Do you want to come here and collect the keys? I can meet you later at the apartment.” “Sounds great. I’ll see you in about 45 minutes, an hour maybe? What’s the address?” I give him SIP’s address. “See you soon, Ethan.” “Laters,” he says and hangs up. What? Not Ethan, “Laters,” he says and hangs up. What? Not Ethan, too? And it dawns on me that he’s just spent a week with Elliot. I quickly type an e-mail to Christian. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Visitors from Sunny Climes. Date: June 14, 2011: 14:55 To: Christian Grey Dearest Completely & Utterly SS&S Ethan is back, and he’s coming here to collect keys to the apartment. I’d really like to make sure he’s settled in okay. Why don’t you collect me after work? We can go to the apartment then we can ALL go out for a meal maybe? My treat? Your Ana x Still SM&I Anastasia Steele Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP From: Christian Grey Subject: Dinner Out Date: June 14, 2011 15:05 To: Anastasia Steele I approve of your plan. Except the part about you paying! My treat. I’ll collect you at 6:00. x PS: Why aren’t you using your Blackberry!!! Christian Grey Completely and Utterly Annoyed, CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Bossiness Date: June 14, 2011: 15:11 To: Christian Grey Oh, don’t be so crusty and cross. It’s all in code. I’ll see you at 6:00. Ana x Anastasia Steele Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP From: Christian Grey Subject: Maddening Woman Date: June 14, 2011 15:18 To: Anastasia Steele Crusty and cross! I’ll give you crusty and cross. And look forward to it. Christian Grey Completely and Utterly More Annoyed, but smiling for some unknown reason, CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Promises. Promises. Date: June 14, 2011: 15:23 To: Christian Grey Bring it on, Mr. Grey I look forward to it too. ;D Ana x Anastasia Steele Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP He doesn’t reply, but then I don’t expect him to. I imagine him moaning about mixed signals, and the thought makes me smile. I daydream briefly about what he might do to me but find myself shifting about in my chair. My subconscious gazes at me disapprovingly over her half-moon specs—get on with your work. A little later, my phone buzzes. It’s Claire at reception. “There’s a real cute guy in reception to see you. We must go out for drinks sometime, Ana. You sure know some hunky guys,” she hisses conspiratorially through the phone. Ethan! Grabbing my keys from my purse, I hurry out to the foyer. Holy shit—sun-bleached blond hair, a tan to die for, and glowing hazel eyes gaze up at me from the green leather couch. As soon as he sees me, his mouth drops open, and he’s on his feet coming toward me. “Wow, Ana.” He frowns at me as he bends to give me hug. “You look well.” I grin up at him. “You look . . . wow—different. Worldly, more sophisticated. What’s happened? You changed your hair? Clothes? I don’t know, Steele, but you look hot!” I blush furiously. “Oh, Ethan. I’m just in my work clothes,” I scold as Claire looks on with an arched eyebrow and a wry smile. “How was Barbados?” “How was Barbados?” “Fun,” he says. “When’s Kate back?” “She and Elliot are flying back Friday. They’re pretty damn serious about each other.” Ethan rolls his eyes. “I’ve missed her.” “Yeah? How ha一ve you been doing with Mr. Mogul?” “Mr. Mogul?” I snicker. “Well, it’s been interesting. He’s taking us out for dinner this evening.” “Cool.” Ethan seems genuinely pleased. Phew! “Here.” I hand him the keys. “You ha一ve the address?” “Yeah. Laters.” He leans over and kisses my cheek. “Elliot’s expression?” “Yeah, kind of grows on you.” “It does. Laters.” I smile at him as he collects his large shoulder bag from beside the green couch and exits the building. When I turn, Jack is watching me from the far side of the foyer, his expression unreadable. I smile brightly at him and head back to my desk, feeling his eyes on me the whole time. This is beginning to get on my nerves. What to do? I ha一ve no idea. I’ll ha一ve to wait until Kate is back. She’s bound to come up with a plan. The thought dispels my bleak mood, and I pick up the next manuscript. At five to six, my phone buzzes. It’s Christian. “Crusty and Cross here,” he says and I grin. He’s still playful Fifty. My inner goddess is clapping her hands with glee like a small child. glee like a small child. “Well, this is Sex Mad and Insatiable. I take it you’re outside?” I ask dryly. “I am indeed, Miss Steele. Looking forward to seeing you.” His voice is warm and seductive, and my heart flutters wildly. “Ditto, Mr. Grey. I’ll be right out.” I hang up. I switch off my computer and gather up my purse and cream cardigan. “I’m off now, Jack,” I call through. “Okay, Ana. Thanks for today, honey! Ha一ve a great evening.” “You, too.” Why can’t he be like that all the time? I don’t understand him. The Audi is parked at the curb, and Christian climbs out as I approach. He’s taken off his jacket, and he’s wearing his gray pants, my fa一vorite ones that hang from his hips—in that way. How can this Greek god be meant for me? I find myself grinning like a loon in answer to his own idiotic grin. He’s spent the whole day acting like a boyfriend in love—in love with me. This adorable, complex, flawed man is in love with me, and I with him. Joy bursts unexpectedly inside me, and I sa一vor the moment as I feel briefly that I could conquer the world. “Miss Steele, you look as captivating as you did this morning.” Christian pulls me into his arms and kisses me soundly. “Mr. Grey, so do you.” “Let’s go get your friend.” He smiles down at me and opens the car door. As Taylor heads to the apartment, Christian fills me in on his day—a much better one than yesterday, it seems. I gaze at him adoringly as he attempts to explain some breakthrough the environmental science department at WSU in Vancouver has made. His words mean very little to me, but I’m captivated by his passion and interest in this subject. Maybe this is what it will be like, good days and bad days, and if the good days are like this, I won’t ha一ve much to complain about. He hands me a sheet of paper. “These are the times that Claude is free this week,” he says. Oh! The trainer. As we pull up to my apartment building, he fishes his Blackberry from his pocket. “Grey,” he answers. “Ros, what is it?” He listens intently, and I can tell it’s an involved conversation. “I’ll go and get Ethan. I’ll be two minutes,” I mouth at Christian and hold up two fingers. He nods, obviously distracted by the call. Taylor opens my door, smiling at me warmly. I grin at him, even Taylor’s feeling it. I press the entry phone and shout happily into it. “Hi, Ethan, it’s me. Let me in.” The door buzzes, and I head upstairs to the apartment. It occurs to me that I ha一ve not been here since Saturday morning. That seems so long ago. Ethan has kindly left the front door open. I step into the apartment, and I don’t know why, but I freeze instinctively as soon as I step inside. I take a moment to realize it’s because the pale, wan figure standing by the kitchen island, holding a small revolver is Leila, and she’s gazing impassively at me. Holy fuck. She’s here, gazing at me with an unnerving blank expression, holding a gun. My subconscious swoons into a dead faint, and I don’t think even smelling salts will bring her back. I blink repeatedly at Leila as my mind goes into overdrive. How did she get in? Where’s Ethan? Holy shit! Where is Ethan? A creeping cold fear grips my heart, and my scalp prickles as each and every follicle on my head tightens with prickles as each and every follicle on my head tightens with terror. What if she’s harmed him? I start breathing rapidly as adrenaline and bone-numbing dread course through my body. Keep calm, keep calm—I repeat the mantra over and over in my head. She tilts her head to one side, regarding me as if I’m an exhibit in a freak show. Jeez, I’m not the freak here. It feels like an eon has passed while I process all this, though in reality it is only a split second. Leila’s expression remains blank, and her appearance is as scruffy and illkempt as ever. She’s still wearing that grubby trench coat, and she looks desperately in need of a wash. Her hair is greasy and lank, plastered against her head, and her eyes are a dull brown, cloudy, and vaguely confused. Despite the fact that my mouth has no moisture in it whatsoever, I attempt to speak. “Hi. Leila, isn’t it?” I rasp. She smiles, but it’s a disturbing curl of her lip rather than a true smile. “She speaks,” she whispers, and her voice is soft and hoarse at the same time, an eerie sound. hoarse at the same time, an eerie sound. “Yes, I speak,” I say gently as if to a child. “Are you here alone?” Where is Ethan? My heart pounds at the thought that he might ha一ve come to some harm. Her face falls, so much so that I think she’s about to burst into tears—she looks so forlorn. “Alone,” she whispers. “Alone.” And the depth of sadness in that one word is heart wrenching. What does she mean? I am alone? She’s alone? She’s alone because she’s harmed Ethan? Oh . . . no . . . I ha一ve to fight the choking fear clawing at my throat as tears threaten. “What are you doing here? Can I help you?” My words are a calm, gentle interrogation despite the suffocating fear in my throat. Her brow furrows as if she’s completely befuddled by my questions. But she makes no violent move against me. Her hand is still relaxed around her gun. I take a different tack, trying to ignore my tightening scalp. “Would you like some tea?” Why am I asking her if she wants tea? It’s Ray’s answer to any emotional situation, resurfacing inappropriately. Jeez, he’d ha一ve a fit if he saw me right this minute. His army training would ha一ve kicked in, and he’d ha一ve disarmed her by now. She’s not actually pointing that gun at me. Perhaps I can move. She shakes her head and tilts it from side to side as if stretching her neck. I take a deep precious lungful of air, trying to calm my panicked breathing, and move toward the kitchen island. She frowns as if she can’t quite understand what I am doing and shifts a little so she is still facing me. I reach the kettle and with a shaking hand fill it from the faucet. As I move, my breathing eases. Yes, if she wanted me dead, surely she would ha一ve shot me by now. She watches me with an absent, bemused curiosity. As I switch on the kettle, I’m plagued by the thought of Ethan. Is he hurt? Tied up? “Is there anyone else in the apartment?” I ask tentatively. She inclines her head the other way, and with her right hand—the hand not holding the revolver—she grabs a hand—the hand not holding the revolver—she grabs a strand of her long greasy hair and starts twirling and fiddling with it, pulling and twisting. It’s obviously a nervous habit, and while I am distracted by this, I am struck once again by how much she resembles me. I hold my breath, waiting for her answer, the anxiety building to an almost unbearable pitch. “Alone. All alone,” she murmurs. I find this comforting. Maybe Ethan isn’t here. The relief is empowering. “Are you sure you don’t want tea or coffee?” “Not thirsty,” she answers softly, and she takes a cautious step toward me. My feeling of empowerment evaporates. Fuck! I start panting with fear again, feeling it surge thick and rough through my veins. In spite of this and feeling beyond bra一ve, I turn and fetch a couple of cups from the cupboard. “What do you ha一ve that I don’t?” she asks, her voice assuming the singsong intonation of a child. “What do you mean, Leila?” I ask as gently as I can. “Master—Mr. Grey—he lets you call him by his given “Master—Mr. Grey—he lets you call him by his given name.” “I’m not his submissive, Leila. Er . . . Master understands that I am unable, inadequate to fulfill that role.” She tilts her head to the other side. It’s wholly unnerving and unnatural as a gesture. “In-ad-e-quate.” She tests the word, sounding it out, seeing how it feels on her tongue. “But Master is happy. I ha一ve seen him. He laughs and smiles. These reactions are rare . . . very rare for him.” Oh. “You look like me.” Leila changes tack, surprising me, her eyes seeming to focus on me properly for the first time. “Master likes obedient ones who look like you and me. The others, all the same . . . all the same . . . and yet you sleep in his bed. I saw you.” Shit! She was in the room. I didn’t imagine it. “You saw me in his bed?” I whisper. “I never slept in Master’s bed,” she murmurs. She’s like a fallen ethereal wraith. Half a person. She looks so slight, and in spite of the fact that she’s holding a gun, I suddenly feel overwhelmed with sympathy for her. Her hands flex around the weapon, and my eyes widen, threatening to pop from my head. “Why does Master like us like this? It makes me think something . . . something . . . Master is dark . . . Master is a dark man, but I love him.” No, no, he’s not. I bristle internally. He’s not dark. He’s a good man, and he’s not in the dark. He’s joined me in the light. And now she’s here, trying to drag him back with some warped idea that she loves him. “Leila, do you want to give me the gun?” I ask softly. Her hand grips it tightly, and she hugs it to her chest. “This is mine. It’s all I ha一ve left.” She gently caresses the gun. “So she can join her love.” Holy shit! Which love—Christian? It’s like she’s punched me in the stomach. I know he will be here momentarily to find out what’s keeping me. Does she mean to shoot him? The thought is so horrific, I feel my mean to shoot him? The thought is so horrific, I feel my throat swell and ache as a huge knot forms there, almost choking me, matching the fear that’s balled tightly in my stomach. Right on cue the door bursts open, and Christian is standing in the doorway, Taylor behind him. Glancing at me briefly, Christian’s eyes sweep over me from head to toe, and I notice the small spark of relief in his look. But his relief is fleeting as his gaze darts to Leila and stills, focusing on her, not wa一vering in the slightest. He glares at her with an intensity I ha一ve not seen before, his eyes wild, wide, angry, and scared. Oh no . . . oh no. Leila’s eyes widen, and for a moment, it seems her reason returns. She blinks rapidly while her hand tightens once more around the gun. My breath catches in my throat, and my heart starts thumping so loud that I hear the blood pounding in my ears. No, no, no! My world teeters precariously in the hands of this My world teeters precariously in the hands of this poor, fucked-up woman. Will she shoot? Both of us? Christian? The thought is crippling. But after an eternity, as time hangs suspended around us, her head dips slightly and she gazes up at him, through her long lashes, her expression contrite. Christian holds up his hand, signaling to Taylor to stay where he is. Taylor’s blanched face betrays his fury. I ha一ve never seen him like this, but he stands stock-still as Christian and Leila stare at each other. I realize I’m holding my breath. What will she do? What will he do? But they just continue to stare at each other. Christian’s expression is raw, full of some unnamed emotion. It could be pity, fear, affection . . . or is it love? No, please, not love! His eyes bore into her, and agonizingly slowly, the atmosphere in the apartment changes. The tension is building so that I can sense their connection, the charge between them. No! Suddenly I feel I’m the interloper, intruding on them as they stand gazing at each other. I’m an outsider— a voyeur, spying on a forbidden, intimate scene behind closed curtains. Christian’s intense gaze burns brighter, and his bearing changes sub一tly. He looks taller, more angular somehow, colder, and more distant. I recognize this stance. I’ve seen him like this before—in his playroom. My scalp prickles anew. This is Dominant Christian, and how at ease he looks. Whether he was born to or made for this role, I just don’t know, but with a sinking heart and sickened stomach, I watch as Leila responds, her lips parting, her breathing picking up as the first flush of color stains her cheeks. No! It’s such an unwelcome glimpse into his past, agonizing to witness. Finally, he mouths a word at her. I can’t make out what it is, but the effect on Leila is immediate. She drops to the floor on her knees, her head bowed, and the gun falls and skitters uselessly across the wooden floor. Holy fuck. Christian walks calmly over to where the gun has fallen Christian walks calmly over to where the gun has fallen and bends gracefully to pick it up. He regards it with illdisguised disgust then slips it into his jacket pocket. He gazes once more at Leila as she kneels compliantly beside the kitchen island. “Anastasia, go with Taylor,” he commands. Taylor crosses the threshold and stares at me. “Ethan,” I whisper. “Downstairs.” He responds matter-of-factly, his eyes never lea一ving Leila. Downstairs. Not here. Ethan’s okay. Relief floods hard and fast through my blood, and for a moment I think I’m going to faint. “Anastasia,” Christian’s tone is clipped in warning. I blink at him, and I’m suddenly unable to move. I don’t want to lea一ve him—lea一ve him with her. He moves to stand beside Leila as she kneels at his feet. He’s hovering over her, protectively. She’s so still, it’s unnatural. I can’t take my eyes off the two of them—together . . . “For the love of God, Anastasia, will you do as you’re “For the love of God, Anastasia, will you do as you’re told for once in your life and go!” Christian’s eyes lock with mine as he glowers at me, his voice a blistering cold shard of ice. The anger beneath the quiet, deliberate delivery of his words is palpable. Angry at me? Surely not. Please—No! I feel like he’s slapped me hard. Why does he want to stay with her? “Taylor. Take Miss Steele downstairs. Now.” Taylor nods at him as I stare at Christian. “Why?” I whisper. “Go. Back to the apartment.” His eyes blaze frostily at me. “I need to be alone with Leila.” He says it urgently. I think he’s trying to convey some kind of message, but I’m so thrown by all that’s happened that I’m not sure. I glance down at Leila and notice a very small smile cross her lips, but otherwise she remains truly impassive. A complete submissive. Fuck! My heart chills. This is what he needs. This is what he likes. No! I want to wail. “Miss Steele. Ana.” Taylor holds his hand out to me, imploring me to come. I am immobilized by the horrific spectacle before me. It confirms my worst fears and plays on all my insecurities: Christian and Leila together—the Dom and his sub. “Taylor,” Christian urges, and Taylor leans down and scoops me into his arms. The last thing I see as we lea一ve is Christian gently stroking Leila’s head as he murmurs something softly to her. No! As Taylor carries me down the stairs, I lie limply in his arms trying to grasp what’s happened in the last ten minutes—was it longer? Or shorter? The concept of time has deserted me. Christian and Leila, Leila and Christian . . . together? What is he doing with her now? “Jesus, Ana! What the fuck is going on?” I am relieved to see Ethan as he paces the small lobby, still carrying his large shoulder bag. Oh, thank hea一vens he’s okay! When Taylor sets me down, I practically throw myself at Ethan, wrapping my arms around his neck. myself at Ethan, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Ethan. Oh, thank God!” I hug him, holding him close. I was so worried, and for a brief moment, I enjoy some respite from my rising panic at what is unfolding upstairs in my apartment. “What the fuck is going on, Ana? Who’s this guy?” “Oh, sorry, Ethan, this is Taylor. He works with Christian. Taylor, this is Ethan, my roommate’s brother.” They nod at each other. “Ana, upstairs, what’s going on? I was fishing for the apartment keys when these guys jumped out of nowhere and grabbed them. One of them was Christian . . .” Ethan’s voice trails off. “You were late . . . Thank God.” “Yeah. I met a friend from Pullman—we had a quick drink. Upstairs, what’s going on?” “There’s a girl, an ex of Christian’s. In our apartment. She’s gone postal, and Christian is . . .” My voice cracks, and tears pool in my eyes. “Hey,” Ethan whispers and pulls me close once more. “Hey,” Ethan whispers and pulls me close once more. “Has anyone called the cops?” “No, it’s not like that.” I sob into his chest and now I’ve started, I can’t stop crying, the tension of this latest episode releasing through my tears. Ethan tightens his arms around me, but I sense his bemusement. “Hey, Ana, let’s go get a drink.” He pats my back awkwardly. Abruptly, I feel awkward, too, and embarrassed, and in all honesty, I want to be on my own. But I nod, accepting his offer. I want to be away from here, away from whatever’s going on upstairs. I turn to Taylor. “Was the apartment checked?” I ask him tearfully, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. “This afternoon.” Taylor shrugs apologetically as he hands me a handkerchief. He looks devastated. “I’m sorry, Ana,” he murmurs. I frown. Jeez, he looks so guilty. I don’t want to make him feel worse. “She does seem to ha一ve an uncanny ability to evade us,” he adds scowling again. “Ethan and I will go for a quick drink then head back to Escala.” I dry my eyes. Taylor shuffles from foot to foot uncomfortably. “Mr. Grey wanted you to go back to the apartment,” he says quietly. “Well, we know where Leila is now.” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. “So, no need for all the security. Tell Christian we’ll see him later.” Taylor opens his mouth to speak and then wisely closes it again. “Do you want to lea一ve your bag with Taylor?” I ask Ethan. “No, I’ll keep it with me, thanks.” Ethan nods at Taylor, then ushers me out of the front door. Too late, I remember that I’ve left my purse in the back of Audi. I ha一ve nothing. “My purse—” “Don’t worry,” Ethan murmurs, his face full of concern. “It’s cool, it’s on me.” “It’s cool, it’s on me.” We choose a bar across the street, settling onto wooden bar stools by the window. I want to see what’s going on— who’s coming, and more importantly who’s going. Ethan hands me a bottle of beer. “Trouble with an ex?” he says gently. “It’s a bit more complicated than that,” I mutter, abruptly guarded. I can’t talk about this—I ha一ve signed an NDA. And for the first time, I really resent that fact and that Christian’s said nothing about rescinding it. “I’ve got time,” Ethan says kindly and takes a long slug of his beer. “She’s an ex, from years back. She left her husband for some guy. Then a couple of weeks or so ago he was killed in a car crash, and now she’s come after Christian.” I shrug. There, that didn’t give too much away. “Come after him?” “She had a gun.” “She had a gun.” “What the fuck!” “She didn’t actually threaten anyone with it. I think she meant to harm herself. But that’s why I was so worried about you. I didn’t know if you were in the apartment.” “I see. She sounds unstable.” “Yes, she is.” “And what’s Christian doing with her now?” The blood drains from my face and bile rises in my throat. “I don’t know,” I whisper. Ethan’s eyes widen—at last he’s got it. This is the crux of my problem. What the fuck are they doing? Talking, I hope. Just talking. Yet all I can see in my mind’s eye is his hand, tenderly stroking her hair. She’s disturbed and Christian cares about her , that’s all this is, I rationalize. But in the back of my mind, my subconscious is shaking her head sadly. It’s more than that. Leila was able to fulfill his needs in a way I cannot. The thought is depressing. I try to focus on all we’ve done in the last few days— his declaration of love, his flirty humor, his playfulness. But Elena’s words keep coming back to taunt me. It’s true what they say about ea一vesdroppers. Don’t you miss it . . . your playroom? I finish my beer in record time, and Ethan lines up another. I am not much of a companion, but to his credit he stays with me, chatting, trying to lift my spirits, talking about Barbados, and Kate and Elliot’s antics, which is wonderfully distracting. But it’s just that—a distraction. My mind, my heart, my soul are all still in that apartment with my Fifty Shades and the woman who used to be his submissive. A woman who thinks she still loves him. A woman who looks like me. During our third beer, a large cruiser with hea一vily-tinted windows pulls up next to the Audi in front of the apartment. I recognize Dr. Flynn as he climbs out, accompanied by a woman dressed in what look like pale blue scrubs. I glimpse Taylor as he lets them in through the front door. “Who’s that?” Ethan asks. “Who’s that?” Ethan asks. “His name’s Dr. Flynn. Christian knows him.” “What kind of doctor?” “A shrink.” “Oh.” We both watch, and a few minutes later they are back. Christian is carrying Leila who is wrapped in a blanket. What? I watch horrified as they all climb into the cruiser, and it speeds away. Ethan glances at me sympathetically, and I feel desolate, completely desolate. “Can I ha一ve something a bit stronger?” I ask Ethan, my voice small. “Sure. What would you like?” “A brandy. Please.” Ethan nods and retreats to the bar. I gaze through the window at the front door. Moments later Taylor emerges, climbs into the Audi, and heads off toward Escala . . . after Christian? I don’t know. Ethan places a large brandy in front of me. Ethan places a large brandy in front of me. “Come on, Steele. Let’s get drunk.” Sounds like the best offer I’ve had in a while. We clink glasses, and I take a gulp of the burning amber liquid, the fiery heat a welcome distraction from the hideous blossoming pain in my heart. It’s late, and I feel fuzzy. Ethan and I are locked out of the apartment. He insists on walking me back to Escala, but he won’t stay. He’s called the friend he met earlier for a drink and arranged to crash with him. “So, this is where the Mogul lives.” Ethan whistles through his teeth, impressed. I nod. “Sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” he asks. “No, I need to face this—or just go to bed.” “See you tomorrow?” “Yes. Thanks, Ethan.” I hug him. “Yes. Thanks, Ethan.” I hug him. “You’ll work it out, Steele,” he murmurs against my ear. He releases me and watches while I head into the building. “Laters,” he calls. I offer him a weak smile and a wa一ve then press the button to call the elevator. The elevator doors open, and I step into Christian’s apartment. Taylor is not waiting, which is unusual. Opening the double doors, I head toward the great room. Christian is on the phone, pacing the room near the piano. “She’s here,” he snaps. He turns to glare at me as he switches off his phone. “Where the fuck ha一ve you been?” he growls but doesn’t make a move toward me. Holy crap, he’s angry with me? He’s the one that just spent God knows how long with his loony ex-girlfriend, and he’s angry with me? “Ha一ve you been drinking?” he asks, appalled. “A bit.” I didn’t think it was that obvious. He gasps and runs his hand through his hair. “I told you to come back here.” His voice is menacingly quiet. “It’s now fifteen after ten. I’ve been worried about you.” “I went for a drink or three with Ethan while you attended to your ex,” I hiss at him. “I didn’t know how long you were going to be . . . with her.” He narrows his eyes and takes a few paces toward me but stops. “Why do you say it that like that?” I shrug and stare down at my fingers. “Ana, what’s wrong?” And for the first time, I hear something other than anger in his voice. What? Fear? I swallow, trying to work out what I want to say. “Where’s Leila?” I ask looking up at him. “In a psychiatric hospital in Fremont,” he says, and his face is scrutinizing mine. “Ana, what is it?” He moves toward me until he’s standing right in front of me. “What’s wrong?” he breathes. I shake my head. “I’m no good for you.” “What?” he breathes, his eyes widening in alarm. “Why do you think that? How can you possibly think that?” “I can’t be everything you need.” “I can’t be everything you need.” “You are everything I need. “Just seeing you with her . . .” My voice trails off. “Why do you do this to me? This is not about you, Ana. It’s about her.” He takes a sharp breath, running his hand through his hair again. “At the moment she’s a very sick girl.” “But I felt it . . . what you had together.” “What? No.” He reaches for me, and I step back instinctively. He drops his hand, blinking at me. He looks as though he’s seized with panic. “You’re running?” he whispers as his eyes widen with fear. I say nothing as I try to collect my scattered thoughts. “You can’t,” he pleads. “Christian . . . I—” I struggle to collect my thoughts. What am I trying to say? I need time, time to process this. Give me time. “No. No!” he says. “I . . .” “I . . .” He looks wildly around the room. For inspiration? For divine intervention? I don’t know. “You can’t go. Ana, I love you!” “I love you, too, Christian, it’s just—” “No . . . no!” he says in desperation and puts both hands on his head. “Christian . . .” “No,” he breathes, his eyes wide with panic, and suddenly he drops to his knees in front of me, head bowed, long-fingered hands spread out on his thighs. He takes a deep breath and doesn’t move. What? “Christian, what are you doing?” He continues to stare down, not looking at me. “Christian! What are you doing?” My voice is highpitched. He doesn’t move. “Christian, look at me!” I command in panic. His head sweeps up without hesitation, and he regards me passively with his cool gray gaze—he’s almost serene . . . expectant.