Текст книги "Fifty shades darker"

Автор книги: Erika Leonard James

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 29 страниц)

“Ana, thanks. Since you’re not coming with me, I’m going to need you to work late.

We need to get these briefs ready. Hope you don’t have plans.” He smiles up at me warmly,

and I flush.

“No, that’s fine,” I say with a bright smile and a sinking heart. This is not going to go

down well. Christian will freak, I’m sure.

As I head back to my desk I decide not to tell him immediately, otherwise he might

have time to interfere in some way. I sit and eat the chicken salad sandwich Mrs. Jones

made for me. It’s delicious. She makes a mean sandwich.

Of course, if I moved in with Christian, she would make lunch for me every weekday.

The idea is unsettling. I have never had dreams of obscene wealth and all the trappings—

only love. To find someone who loves me and doesn’t try to control my every move. The

phone rings.

“Jack Hyde’s office—”

“You assured me you wouldn’t go out,” Christian interrupts me, his voice cold and

hard.My heart sinks for the millionth time this day. Shit. How the hell does he know?

“Jack sent me out for some lunch. I couldn’t say no. Are you having me watched?” My

scalp prickles at the notion. No wonder I felt so paranoid—someone waswatching me. The

thought makes me angry.

“This is why I didn’t want you going back to work,” Christian snaps.

“Christian, please. You’re being”– So Fifty—“so suffocating.”

“Suffocating?” he whispers, surprised.

“Yes. You have to stop this. I’ll talk to you this evening. Unfortunately, I have to work

late because I can’t go to New York.”

“Anastasia, I don’t want to suffocate you,” he says quietly, appalled.

“Well, you are. I have work to do. I’ll talk to you later.” I hang up, feeling drained and

vaguely depressed.

After our wonderful weekend, the reality is hitting home. I have never felt more like

running. Running to some quiet retreat so I can think about this man, about how he is,

and about how to deal with him. On one level, I know he’s broken—I can see that clearly

now—and it’s both heartbreaking and exhausting. From the small pieces of precious infor-

mation that he’s given me about his life, I understand why. An unloved child; a hideously

abusive environment; a mother who couldn’t protect him, whom he couldn’t protect, and

who died in front of him.

I shudder. My poor Fifty. I am his, but not to be kept in some gilded cage. How am I

going to make him see this?

With a heavy heart, I drag one of the manuscripts Jack wants me to summarize into my

lap and continue to read. I can think of no easy solution to Christian’s fucked-up control

issues. I will just have to talk to him later, face to face.

Half an hour later, Jack e-mails me a document that I need to tidy up and polish, ready

for printing tomorrow in time for his conference. It will take me not just the rest of the

afternoon but well into the evening, too. I set to work.

When I look up, it’s after seven and the office is deserted, though the light in Jack’s

office is still on. I hadn’t noticed everyone leaving, but I am nearly finished. I e-mail the

document back to Jack for his approval and check my inbox. There’s nothing new from

Christian, so I quickly glance at my Blackberry, and it startles me by buzzing—it’s Chris-

tian.“Hi,” I murmur.

“Hi, when will you be finished?”

“By seven thirty, I think.”

“I’ll meet you outside.”

“Okay.”

He sounds quiet, nervous even. Why? Wary of my reaction?

“I’m still mad at you, but that’s all,” I whisper. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“I know. See you at seven thirty.”

Jack comes out of his office.

“I have to go. See you later.” I hang up.

I look up at Jack as he strolls casually toward me.

“I just need a couple of tweaks. I’ve e-mailed the brief back to you.”

He leans over me while I retrieve the document, rather close—uncomfortably close.

His arm brushes mine. Accidentally? I flinch, but he pretends not to notice. His other arm

rests on the back of my chair, touching my back. I sit up so I’m not leaning against the

backrest.

“Pages sixteen and twenty-three, and that should be it,” he murmurs, his mouth inches

from my ear.

My skin crawls at his proximity, but I choose to ignore it. Opening the document, I

shakily start on the changes. He’s still leaning over me, and all my senses are hyperaware.

It’s distracting and awkward, and inside I am screaming, Back off!

“Once this is done, it’ll be good to go to print. You can organize that tomorrow. Thank

you for staying late and doing this, Ana.” His voice is smooth, gentle, like he’s talking to a

wounded animal. My stomach twists.

“I think the least I could do is reward you with a quick drink. You deserve one.” He

tucks a strand of my hair that’s come loose from my hair tie behind my ear and gently ca-

resses the lobe.

I cringe gritting my teeth, and I jerk my head away. Shit!Christian was right. Don’t

touch me.

“Actually, I can’t this evening.” Or any other evening, Jack.

“Just a quick one?” he coaxes.

“No, I can’t. But thank you.”

Jack sits on the end of my desk and frowns. Alarm bells sound loudly in my head. I

am on my own in the office. I cannot leave. I glance nervously at the clock. Another five

minutes before Christian is due.

“Ana, I think we make a great team. I’m sorry that I couldn’t pull off this New York

trip. It won’t be the same without you.”

I’m sure it won’t.I smile weakly up at him, because I can’t think of what to say. And

for the first time all day, I feel the tiniest hint of relief that I am not going.

“So, did you have a good weekend?” he asks smoothly.

“Yes, thanks.” Where is he going with this?

“See your boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“What does he do?”

Owns your ass . . .“He’s in business.”

“That’s interesting. What kind of business?”

“Oh, he has his fingers in all sorts of pies.”

Jack cocks his head to one side as he leans in toward me, invading my personal space—

again.

“You’re being very coy, Ana.”

“Well, he’s in telecommunications, manufacturing, and agriculture.”

Jack raises his eyebrows. “So many things. Who does he work for?”

“He works for himself. If you’re happy with the document, I’d like to go, if that’s

okay?”

He leans back. My personal space is safe again.

“Of course. Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you,” he says disingenuously.

“What time does the building close?”

“Security is here until eleven.”

“Good.” I smile, and my subconscious flops down in her armchair, relieved to know

that we are not alone in the building. Switching off my computer, I grab my purse and stand

up, ready to leave.

“You like him then? Your boyfriend?”

“I love him,” I answer, looking Jack squarely in the eye.

“I see.” Jack frowns and he stands up from my desk. “What’s his surname?”

I flush.

“Grey. Christian Grey,” I mumble.

Jack’s mouth drops open. “Seattle’s richest bachelor? That Christian Grey?”

“Yes. The same.” Yes, that Christian Grey, your future boss who will have you for

breakfast if you invade my personal space again.

“I thought he looked familiar,” Jack says darkly and his brow creases again. “Well, he’s

a lucky man.”

I blink at him. What do I say to that?

“Have a good evening, Ana.” Jack smiles, but the smile doesn’t touch his eyes, and he

walks stiffly back into his office without a backward glance.

I let out a long sigh of relief. Well, that problem might be solved. Fifty works his magic

again. Just his name is my talisman, and it has this man retreating with his tail between his

legs. I allow myself a small victorious smile. You see, Christian? Even your name protects

me—you didn’t have to go to all that trouble of clamping down on expenses.I tidy my desk

and check my watch. Christian should be outside.

The Audi is parked up against the sidewalk, and Taylor leaps out to open the rear pas-

senger door. I have never been so pleased to see him, and I scramble into the car out of the

rain. Christian is in the rear seat, gazing at me, his eyes wide and wary. He’s bracing himself

for my anger, his jaw tight and tense.

“Hi,” I murmur.

“Hi,” he replies cautiously. He reaches over and grasps my hand, squeezing it tightly,

and my heart thaws a little. I’m so confused. I haven’t even worked out what I need to say

to him.

“Are you still mad?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I murmur. He raises my hand and lightly grazes my knuckles with soft

butterfly kisses.

“It’s been a shitty day,” he says.

“Yes, it has.” But for the first time since he left for work this morning, I begin to relax.

Just being in his company is a soothing balm, and all the shit from Jack, and the snarky

e-mails to and fro, and the nuisance that is Elena fade into the background. It’s just me and

my control freak in the back of the car.

“It’s better now that you’re here,” he murmurs. We sit in silence as Taylor weaves

through the evening traffic, both of us brooding and contemplative; but I feel Christian

slowly unwind beside me as he, too, relaxes, gently running his thumb across my knuckles

in a soft, soothing rhythm.

Taylor drops us outside the apartment building, and we both duck inside, out of the

rain. Christian clasps my hand as we wait for the elevator, his eyes scanning the front of

the building.

“I take it you haven’t found Leila yet.”

“No. Welch is still looking for her,” he mutters despondently.

The elevator arrives and in we step. Christian glances down at me, his gray eyes un-

readable. Oh, he just looks glorious—tousled hair, white shirt, dark suit. And suddenly it’s

there, from nowhere, that feeling. Oh my—the longing, the lust, the electricity. If it were

visible, it would be an intense blue aura around and between us it’s so strong. His lips part

as he gazes at me.

“Do you feel it?” he breathes.

“Yes.”

“Oh, Ana.” He groans and he grabs me, his arms snaking around me, one hand at the

nape of my neck, tipping my head back as his lips find mine. My fingers are in his hair and

caressing his cheek as he pushes me back against the elevator wall.

“I hate arguing with you,” he breathes against my mouth, and there’s a desperate, pas-

sionate quality to his kiss that mirrors mine. Desire explodes in my body, all the tension

of the day seeking an outlet, straining against him, seeking more. We’re all tongues and

breathing and hands and touch and sweet, sweet sensation. His hand is on my hip, and

abruptly he’s pulling up my skirt, his fingers stroking my thighs.

“Sweet Jesus, you’re wearing stockings.” He moans in appreciative awe as his thumb

caresses the flesh above my stocking line. “I want to see this,” he breathes, and he pulls my

skirt right up, exposing the tops of my thighs.

Stepping back, he reaches over to press the stop button, and the elevator coasts smooth-

ly to a halt between the twenty-second and twenty-third floors. His eyes are dark, lips

parted, and he’s breathing as hard as am I. We gaze at each other, not touching. I am grate-

ful for the wall against my back, holding me up while I bask in this beautiful man’s sensual,

carnal appraisal.

“Take your hair down,” he orders, his voice husky. I reach up and undo the tie, releas-

ing my hair so it tumbles in a thick cloud around my shoulders to my breasts. “Undo the

top two buttons of your shirt,” he whispers, his eyes wilder now.

He makes me feel so wanton. My inner goddess is writhing on her chaise longue, wait-

ing, wanting, and panting. I reach up and undo each button, achingly, slowly, so that the

tops of my breasts are tantalizingly revealed.

He swallows. “Do you have any idea how alluring you look right now?”

Very deliberately, I bite my lip and shake my head. He closes his eyes briefly, and

when he opens them again, they are blazing. He steps forward and places his hands on the

elevator walls on either side of my face. He’s as close as he can be without touching me.

I tip my face up to meet his gaze, and he leans down and runs his nose against mine,

so it’s the only contact between us. I am so hot in the confines of this elevator with him. I

want him—now.

“I think you do, Miss Steele. I think you like to drive me wild.”

“Do I drive you wild?” I whisper.

“In all things, Anastasia. You are a siren, a goddess.” And he reaches for me, grasping

my leg above my knee and hitching it around his waist, so that I am standing on one leg,

leaning into him. I feel him against me, feel him hard and wanting above the apex of my

thighs as he runs his lips down my throat. I moan and wrap my arms around his neck.

“I’m going to take you now, Anastasia,” he breathes and I arch my back in response,

pressing myself against him, eager for the friction. He groans deep and low in the back of

his throat and boosts me higher as he undoes his fly.

“Hold tight, baby,” he murmurs, and magically produces a foil packet that he holds in

front of my mouth. I take it between my teeth, and he tugs, so that between us, we rip it

open.“Good girl.” He steps back a fraction as he slides on the condom. “God, I can’t wait for

the next six days,” he growls and gazes down at me through hooded eyes. “I do hope you’re

not overly fond of these panties.” He tears through them with his adept fingers, and they

disintegrate in his hands. My blood is pounding through my veins. I am panting with need.

His words are intoxicating, all my angst from the day forgotten. It’s just him and me,

doing what we do best. Without taking his eyes off mine, he sinks slowly into me. My body

bows and I tilt my head back, closing my eyes, relishing the feel of him inside me. He pulls

back and then moves into me again, so slow, so sweet. I groan.

“You’re mine, Anastasia,” he murmurs against my throat.

“Yes. Yours. When will you accept that?” I pant. He groans and starts to move, really

move. And I surrender myself to his relentless rhythm, savoring each push and pull, his

ragged breathing, his need for me, reflecting mine.

It makes me feel powerful, strong, desired and loved—loved by this captivating, com-

plicated man, whom I love in return with all my heart. He pushes harder and harder, his

breathing ragged, losing himself in me as I lose myself in him.

“Oh, baby,” Christian moans, his teeth grazing my jaw, and I come hard around him.

He stills, clutches me, and follows suit, whispering my name.

Now that Christian is spent, calm and kissing me gently, his breathing eases. He holds me

upright against the elevator wall, our foreheads pressed together, and my body is like jelly,

weak but gratifyingly sated from my climax.

“Oh, Ana,” he murmurs. “I need you so much.” He kisses my forehead.

“And I you, Christian.”

Releasing me, he straightens my skirt and does up the two buttons on my shirt, then

punches the combination into the keypad that starts the elevator again. It rises with a jolt so

that I reach out and clasp his arms.

“Taylor will be wondering where we are,” he grins lasciviously at me.

Oh crap.I drag my fingers through my hair in a vain attempt to combat the just-fucked

look, then give up and tie it in a ponytail.

“You’ll do.” Christian smirks as he does up his fly and puts the condom in his pants

pocket.

Once more he looks the embodiment of an American entrepreneur, and since his hair

looks just fucked most of the time, there’s very little difference. Except now he’s smiling,

relaxed, his eyes crinkling with boyish charm. Are all men this easily placated?

Taylor is waiting when the doors open.

“Problem with the elevator,” Christian murmurs as we both step out, and I cannot look

either of them in the face. I scurry through the double doors to Christian’s bedroom in

search of some fresh underwear.

When I return, Christian has removed his jacket and is sitting at the breakfast bar chatting

with Mrs. Jones. She smiles kindly at me as she puts out two plates of hot food for us.

Mmm, it smells delicious– coq au vin, if I am not mistaken. I am famished.

“Enjoy, Mr. Grey, Ana,” she says and leaves us to it.

Christian fetches a bottle of white wine from the fridge, and as we sit and eat, he tells

me about how much nearer he’s getting to perfecting a solar-powered mobile phone. He’s

animated and excited about the whole project, and I know then that he hasn’t had an en-

tirely shitty day.

I ask him about his properties. He smirks, and it turns out he only has the apartment in

New York and Aspen, and Escala. Nothing else. When we’re done, I collect his plate and

mine and take them to sink.

“Leave that. Gail will do it,” he says. I turn and gaze at him, and he’s watching me

intently. Will I ever get used to having someone clean up after me?

“Well, now that you are more docile, Miss Steele, shall we talk about today?”

“I think you’re the one who’s more docile. I think I’m doing a good job in taming you.”

“Taming me?” he snorts, amused. When I nod, he frowns as if reflecting on my words.

“Yes. Maybe you are, Anastasia.”

“You were right about Jack,” I murmur, serious now, and I lean across the kitchen is-

land gauging his reaction. Christian’s face falls and his eyes harden.

“Has he tried anything?” he whispers, his voice deathly cold.

I shake my head to reassure him. “No, and he won’t, Christian. I told him today that

I’m your girlfriend, and he backed right off.”

“You’re sure? I could fire the fucker.” Christian scowls.

I sigh, emboldened by my glass of wine. “You really have to let me fight my own

battles. You can’t constantly second-guess me and try to protect me. It’s stifling, Christian.

I’ll never flourish with your incessant interference. I need some freedom. I wouldn’t dream

of meddling in your affairs.”

He blinks at me. “I only want you safe, Anastasia. If anything happened to you, I—”

He stops.

“I know, and I understand why you feel so driven to protect me. And part of me loves

it. I know that if I need you, you’ll be there, as I am for you. But if we are to have any

hope of a future together, you have to trust me and trust my judgment. Yes, I’ll get it wrong

sometimes—I’ll make mistakes, but I have to learn.”

He stares at me, his expression anxious, spurring me to walk round to him so that I

am standing between his legs while he sits on the barstool. Grabbing his hands, I put them

around me and place my hands on his arms.

“You can’t interfere in my job. It’s wrong. I don’t need you charging in like a white

knight to save the day. I know you want to control everything, and I understand why, but

you can’t. It’s an impossible goal . . . you have to learn to let go.” I reach up and stroke his

face as he gazes at me, his eyes wide. “And if you can do that—give me that—I’ll move in

with you,” I add softly.

He inhales sharply, surprised. “You’d do that?” he whispers.

“Yes.”

“But you don’t know me.” He frowns and sounds choked and panicky all of a sudden,

very un-Fifty.

“I know you well enough, Christian. Nothing you tell me about yourself will frighten

me away.” I gently run my knuckles across his cheek. His expression turns from anxious to

dubious. “But if you could just ease up on me,” I plead.

“I’m trying, Anastasia. I couldn’t just stand by and let you go to New York with that . . .

sleazeball. He has an alarming reputation. None of his assistants have lasted more than

three months, and they’re never retained by the company. I don’t want that for you, baby.”

He sighs. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. You being hurt . . . the thought fills me

with dread. I can’t promise not to interfere, not if I think you’ll come to harm.” He pauses

and takes a deep breath. “I love you, Anastasia. I will do everything in my power to protect

you. I cannot imagine my life without you.”

Holy cow.My inner goddess, my subconscious, and I all gape at Fifty in shock.

Jeez, three little words. My world stands still, tilts, then spins on a new axis; and I savor

the moment, gazing into his sincere, beautiful gray eyes.

“I love you, too, Christian.” I lean over and kiss him, and the kiss deepens.

Entering unseen, Taylor clears his throat. Christian pulls back, gazing intently at me.

He stands, his arm around my waist.

“Yes?” he snaps at Taylor.

“Mrs. Lincoln is on her way up, sir.”

“What?”

Taylor shrugs apologetically. Christian sighs heavily and shakes his head.

“Well, this should be interesting,” he mutters and gives me a crooked grin of resigna-

tion. Fuck!Why can’t that damned woman leave us alone?

“Did you talk to her today?” I ask Christian as we wait for Mrs. Robinson’s arrival.

“Yes.”

“What did you say?”

“I said that you didn’t want to see her, and that I understood your reasons why. I also

told her that I didn’t appreciate her going behind my back.” His gaze is impassive, giving

nothing away.

Oh, good.“What did she say?”

“She brushed it off in a way that only Elena can.” His mouth flattens to a crooked line.

“Why do you think she’s here?”

“I have no idea.” Christian shrugs.

Taylor enters the great room again. “Mrs. Lincoln,” he announces.

And here she is . . .Why is she so damned attractive? She’s dressed entirely in black:

tight jeans, a shirt that emphasizes her perfect figure, and a halo of bright, glossy hair.

Christian pulls me close. “Elena,” he says, his tone puzzled.

She gapes at me in shock, frozen to the spot. She blinks before finding her soft voice.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company, Christian. It’s Monday,” she says as if this

explains why she’s here.

“Girlfriend,” he says by way of explanation and tilts his head to one side and smirks.

She smiles, a slow, beaming smile directed entirely at him. It’s unnerving.

“Of course. Hello, Anastasia. I didn’t know you’d be here. I know you don’t want to

talk to me. I accept that.”

“Do you?” I assert quietly, gazing at her and taking all of us by surprise. With a slight

frown, she moves farther into the room.

“Yes, I get the message. I’m not here to see you. Like I said, Christian rarely has com-

pany during the week.” She pauses. “I have a problem, and I need to talk to Christian about

it.” “Oh?” Christian straightens up. “Do you want a drink?”

“Yes, please,” she murmurs gratefully.

Christian fetches a glass while Elena and I stand awkwardly gazing at each other. She

fidgets with a large silver ring on her middle finger, while I don’t know where to look.

Finally, she gives me a small tight smile and approaches the kitchen island and sits on the

bar stool at the end. She obviously knows the place well and feels comfortable moving

around here.

Do I stay? Do I go? Oh, this is so difficult.My subconscious scowls at the woman with

her most hostile harpy face.

There’s so much I want to say to this woman, and none of it complimentary. But she’s

Christian’s friend—his only friend—and for all my loathing of this woman, I am innately

polite. Deciding to stay, I sit as gracefully as I can manage on the stool Christian’s vacated.

Christian pours wine into each of our glasses and sits between us at the breakfast bar. Can’t

he feel how weird this is?

“What’s up?” he asks her.

Elena looks nervously at me, and Christian reaches over and clasps my hand.

“Anastasia’s with me now,” he says to her silent query and squeezes my hand. I flush,

and my subconscious beams at him, harpy face forgotten.

Elena’s face softens as if she’s pleased for him. Reallypleased for him. Oh, I don’t

understand this woman at all, and I’m uncomfortable and edgy in her presence.

She takes a deep breath and shifts, perching on the edge of her bar stool and looking

agitated. She glances nervously down at her hands and starts manically twisting the large

silver ring around and around on her middle finger.

Jeez, what’s wrong with her? Is it my presence? Do I have that effect on her? Because I

feel the same way—I don’t want her here. She raises her head and looks Christian squarely

in the eye.

“I’m being blackmailed.”

Holy shit.Not what I expected out of her mouth. Christian stiffens. Has someone found

out about her penchant for beating and fucking underage boys? I suppress my revulsion,

and a fleeting thought about chickens coming home to roost crosses my mind. My subcon-

scious rubs her hands together with ill-disguised glee. Good.

“How?” Christian asks, his horror clear in his voice.

She reaches into her oversized, patent-leather, designer purse, pulls out a note, and

hands it to him.

“Put it down, lay it out.” Christian points to the breakfast bar counter with his chin.

“You don’t want to touch it?’

“No. Fingerprints.”

“Christian, you know I can’t go to the police with this.”

Why am I listening to this? Is she fucking some other poor boy?

She lays the note out for him, and he bends to read it.

“They’re only asking for five thousand dollars,” he says almost absentmindedly. “Any

idea who it might be? Someone in the community?”

“No,” she says in her soft sweet voice.

“Linc?”

Linc? Who’s that?

“What—after all this time? I don’t think so,” she grumbles.

“Does Isaac know?”

“I haven’t told him.”

Who’s Isaac?

“I think he needs to know,” Christian says. She shakes her head, and now I feel I’m

intruding. I want none of this. I try to retrieve my hand from Christian’s grasp, but he just

tightens his hold and turns to gaze at me.

“What?” he asks.

“I’m tired. I think I’ll go to bed.”

His eyes search mine, looking for what? Censure? Acceptance? Hostility? I keep my

expression as bland as possible.

“Okay,” he says. “I won’t be long.”

He releases me and I stand. Elena watches me warily. I stay tightlipped and return her

gaze, giving nothing away.

“Goodnight, Anastasia.” She gives me a small smile.

“Goodnight,” I mutter, my voice sounds cold. I turn to leave. The tension is too much

for me to bear. As I exit the room they continue their conversation.

“I don’t think there’s a great deal I can do, Elena,” Christian says to her. “If it’s a ques-

tion of money.” His voice trails off. “I could ask Welch to investigate.”

“No, Christian, I just wanted to share,” she says.

When I am out of the room, I hear her say, “You look very happy.”

“I am,” Christian responds.

“You deserve to be.”

“I wish that were true.”

“Christian,” she scolds.

I freeze, listening intently. I can’t help it.

“Does she know how negative you are about yourself? About all your issues.”

“She knows me better than anyone.”

“Ouch! That hurts.”

“It’s the truth, Elena. I don’t have to play games with her. And I mean it, leave her

alone.”

“What is her problem?”

“You . . . What we were. What we did. She doesn’t understand.”

“Make her understand.”

“It’s in the past, Elena, and why would I want to taint her with our fucked-up relation-

ship? She’s good and sweet and innocent, and by some miracle she loves me.”

“It’s no miracle, Christian,” Elena scoffs good-naturedly. “Have a little faith in your-

self. You really are quite a catch. I’ve told you often enough. And she seems lovely, too.

Strong. Someone to stand up to you.”

I can’t hear Christian’s response. So I’m strong, am I? I certainly don’t feel that way.

“Don’t you miss it?” Elena continues.

“What?”

“Your playroom.”

I stop breathing.

“That really is none of your fucking business,” Christian snaps.

Oh.

“I’m sorry.” Elena snorts insincerely.

“I think you’d better go. And please, call before you come again.”

“Christian, I am sorry,” she says, and from her tone, this time she means it. “Since

when are you so sensitive?” She’s scolding him again.

“Elena, we have a business relationship which has profited us both immensely. Let’s

keep it that way. What was between us is part of the past. Anastasia is my future, and I

won’t jeopardize it in any way, so cut the fucking crap.”

His future!

“I see.”

“Look, I’m sorry for your trouble. Perhaps you should ride it out and call their bluff.”

His tone is softer.

“I don’t want to lose you, Christian.”

“I’m not yours to lose, Elena,” he snaps again.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” He’s brusque, angry.

“Look, I don’t want to argue with you. Your friendship means a lot to me. I’ll back off

from Anastasia. But I’m here if you need me. I always will be.”

“Anastasia thinks that you saw me last Saturday. You called, that’s all. Why did you

tell her otherwise?”

“I wanted her to know how upset you were when she left. I don’t want her to hurt you.”

“She knows. I’ve told her. Stop interfering. Honestly, you’re like a mother hen.” Chris-

tian sounds more resigned, and Elena laughs, but there’s a sad tone to her laugh.

“I know. I’m sorry. You know I care about you. I never thought you’d end up falling in

love, Christian. It’s very gratifying to see. But I couldn’t bear it if she hurt you.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he says dryly. “Now are you sure you don’t want Welch to sniff

around?”

She sighs heavily. “I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm.”

“Okay. I’ll call him in the morning.”

I listen to them bickering, trying to figure this out. They do sound like old friends,

as Christian says. Just friends. And she cares about him—maybe too much. Well, who

wouldn’t, if they knew him?

“Thank you, Christian. And I am sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll go. Next time I’ll

call.”“Good.”

She’s going! Shit!I scamper up the hallway to Christian’s bedroom and sit down on the

bed. Christian enters a few moments later.

“She’s gone,” he says warily, gauging my reaction.

I gaze up at him, trying to frame my question. “Will you tell me all about her? I am try-

ing to understand why you think she helped you.” I pause, thinking carefully about my next

sentence. “I loathe her, Christian. I think she did you untold damage. You have no friends.

Did she keep them away from you?”

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair.

“Why the fuck do you want to know about her? We had a very long-standing affair, she

beat the shit out of me often, and I fucked her in all sorts of ways you can’t even imagine,

end of story.”

I pale. Shit, he’s angry—with me. I blink at him. “Why are you so angry?”

“Because all of that shit is over!” he shouts, glowering at me. He sighs in exasperation

and shakes his head.

I blanch. Shit.I look down at my hands, knotted in my lap. I just want to understand.

He sits down beside me. “What do you want to know?” he asks wearily.

“You don’t have to tell me. I don’t mean to intrude.”

“Anastasia, it’s not that. I don’t like talking about this shit. I’ve lived in a bubble for

years with nothing affecting me and not having to justify myself to anyone. She’s always

been there as a confidante. And now my past and my future are colliding in a way I never

thought possible.”