Текст книги "Fifty shades darker"

Автор книги: Erika Leonard James

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 29 страниц)

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 have 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, understand-

ing 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.”

“Oh, do you have 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 have a copy? Yes, he

probably would—for my safety. I hatch a plan, and my subconscious gloats and nods ap-

provingly.

The brochures arrive back at the office, and I have 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 have

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 have a friend coming in from out of town tonight, and we’re all going out for din-

ner.” 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.

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 isright 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, 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 sig-

nals, 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?”

“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 have 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 have 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 unread-

able. 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 have no idea. I’ll have 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.

“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! Have 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 favorite 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 ador-

able, complex, flawed man is in love with me, and I with him. Joy bursts unexpectedly

inside me, and I savor 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 break-

through 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 have 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 fin-

gers.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 have 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 sub-

conscious 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 terror. What if she’s harmed him? I start breathing rapidly as adrena-

line 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 ill-kempt

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.

“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 have 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 have 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 befud-

dled 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 have a fit if he saw me

right this minute. His army training would have kicked in, and he’d have 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

have 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 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 brave, I turn and fetch a couple

of cups from the cupboard.

“What do you have 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 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 have 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 have 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 throat swell and ache as a huge knot forms there, al-

most 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 wavering in the slightest. He glares at her with an intensity I have

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 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 have 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 con-

tinue 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 chang-

es. The tension is building so that I can sense their connection, the charge between them .

No!Suddenly I feel I’mthe 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 subtly. 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. Wheth-

er 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 skit-

ters uselessly across the wooden floor. Holy fuck.

Christian walks calmly over to where the gun has fallen and bends gracefully to pick

it up. He regards it with ill-disguised 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 leaving 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 leave him—leave

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 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 hap-

pened 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 im-

mobilized 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 leave 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 de-

serted 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 heavens he’s okay!When Taylor sets me down, I practically throw 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. “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 have 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 leave 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 have nothing.

“My purse—”

“Don’t worry,” Ethan murmurs, his face full of concern. “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 have signed an NDA. And for the first time, I really resent that fact and that Chris-

tian’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.”

“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 eavesdroppers.

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 com-

panion, 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 heavily-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.

“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 have 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. Mo-

ments 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.

“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.

“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 wave 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 have 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?

“Have 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.”