Текст книги "Fifty shades darker"

Автор книги: Erika Leonard James

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 29 страниц)

bath.” His voice is hoarse, and he continues quickly when I make no response. “And I

dressed her in some of your clothes. I hope you don’t mind. But she was filthy.”

Holy fuck.He bathed her?

What an inappropriate thing to do. I’m reeling, staring down at my uneaten macaroni.

The sight of it now makes me nauseous.

Try to rationalize this, my subconscious coaches. That cool, intellectual part of my

brain knows that he just did that because she was dirty, but it’s too hard. My fragile jealous

self can’t bear it.

Suddenly I want to cry—not succumb to ladylike tears that trickle decorously down

my cheeks, but howling at the moon crying. I take a deep breath to suppress the urge, but

my throat is arid and uncomfortable from my unshed tears and sobs.

“It was all I could do, Ana,” he says softly.

“You still have feelings for her?”

“No!” he says, appalled, and closes his eyes, his expression one of anguish. I turn

away, staring once more at my nauseating food. I can’t bear to look at him.

“To see her like that—so different, so broken. I care about her, one human being to

another.” He shrugs as if to shake off an unpleasant memory. Jeez, is he expecting my

sympathy?

“Ana, look at me.”

I can’t. I know that if I do, I will burst into tears. This is just too much to absorb. I’m

like an overflowing tank of gasoline—full, beyond capacity. There is no room for any

more. I simply cannot cope with any more crap. I will combust and explode, and it will be

ugly if I try. Jeez!

Christian caring for his ex-sub in such an intimate fashion—the image flashes through

my brain. Bathing her, for fuck’s sake—naked. A harsh, painful shudder wracks my body.

“Ana.”

“What?”

“Don’t. It doesn’t mean anything. It was like caring for a child, a broken, shattered

child,” he mutters.

What the hell would he know about caring for a child? This was a woman he had a very

full-on, deviant sexual relationship with.

Oh, this hurts.I take a deep, steadying breath. Or perhaps he’s referring to himself.

He’s the broken child. That makes more sense . . . or maybe it makes no sense at all. Oh,

this is so fucked-up, and suddenly I’m bone crushingly tired. I need sleep.

“Ana?”

I stand, take my plate to the sink, and scrape the contents into the trash.

“Ana, please.”

I whirl around and face him. “Just stop, Christian! Just stop with the ‘Ana, please’!” I

shout at him, and my tears start to trickle down my face. “I’ve had enough of all this shit

today. I am going to bed. I am tired and emotional. Now let me be.”

I turn on my heel and practically run to the bedroom, taking with me the memory of his

wide-eyed, shocked stare. Nice to know I can shock him, too. I strip out of my clothes in

double-quick time, and after rifling through his chest of drawers, drag on one of his T-shirts

and head for the bathroom.

I gaze at myself in the mirror, hardly recognizing the gaunt, pink-eyed, blotchy-

cheeked harridan staring back at me, and it’s too much. I sink to the floor and surrender to

the overwhelming emotion I can no longer contain, sobbing huge chest-wrenching sobs,

finally letting my tears flow unrestrained.

“Hey,” Christian’s says gently as he pulls me into his arms, “please don’t cry, Ana, please,”

he begs. He’s on the bathroom floor, and I am in his lap. I put my arms around him and

weep into his neck. Cooing softly into my hair, he gently strokes my back, my head.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers, and that makes me cry harder and hug him tighter.

We sit like this forever. Eventually, when I’m all cried out, Christian staggers to his

feet, holding me, and carries me into his room where he lays me down in the bed. In a few

moments, he’s beside me and the lights are off. He pulls me into his arms, hugging me

tightly, and I finally drift off into a dark and troubled sleep.

I awake with a jolt. My head is fuzzy and I’m too warm. Christian is wrapped around me

like a vine. He grumbles in his sleep as I slip out of his arms, but he doesn’t wake. Sitting

up I glance at the alarm clock. It’s three in the morning. I need an Advil and a drink. I swing

my legs out of bed and make my way to the kitchen in the great room.

In the fridge, I find a carton of orange juice and pour myself a glass. Hmm . . . it’s

delicious, and my fuzzy head eases immediately. I hunt through the cupboards looking for

some painkillers and eventually come across a plastic box full of meds. I sink two Advil

and pour myself another orange juice.

Wandering to the great wall of glass, I look out on a sleeping Seattle. The lights twinkle

and wink beneath Christian’s castle in the sky, or should I say fortress? I press my forehead

against the cool window—it’s a relief. I have so much to think about after all the revela-

tions of yesterday. I place my back against the glass and slide down onto the floor. The

great room is cavernous in the dark, the only light coming from the three lamps above the

kitchen island.

Could I live here, married to Christian? After all that he’s done here? All the history

this place holds for him?

Marriage. It’s almost unbelievable and completely unexpected. But then everything

about Christian is unexpected. My lips quirk up with irony. Christian Grey, expect the un-

expected—Fifty Shades of Fucked-Up.

My smile fades. I look like his mother. This wounds me, deeply, and the air leaves my

lungs in a rush. We all look like his mom.

How the hell do I move on from the disclosure of that little secret? No wonder he didn’t

want to tell me. But surely he can’t remember much of his mother. I wonder once more, if

I should talk to Dr. Flynn. Would Christian let me? Perhaps he could fill in the gaps.

I shake my head. I feel world weary, but I’m enjoying the calm serenity of the great

room and its beautiful works of art—cold and austere, but in their own way, still beautiful

in the shadows and surely worth a fortune. Could I live here? For better, for worse? In sick-

ness and in health? I close my eyes, lean my head back against the glass, and take a deep,

cleansing breath.

The peaceful tranquility is shattered by a visceral, primeval cry that makes every single

hair on my body stand to attention. Christian! Holy fuck—what’s happened?I am on my

feet, running back to the bedroom before the echoes of that horrible sound have died away,

my heart thumping with fear.

I flip one of the light switches, and Christian’s bedside light comes to life. He’s tossing

and turning, writhing in agony. No!He cries out again, and the eerie, devastating sound

lances through me anew.

Shit—a nightmare!

“Christian!” I lean over him, grab his shoulders, and shake him awake. He opens his

eyes, and they are wild and vacant, scanning quickly round the empty room before coming

back to rest on me.

“You left, you left, you must have left,” he mumbles—his wide-eyed stare becoming

accusatory—and he looks so lost, it wrenches at my heart. Poor Fifty.

“I’m here.” I sit down on the bed beside him. “I’m here,” I murmur softly in an effort

to reassure him. I reach out to place my palm on the side of his face, trying to soothe him.

“You were gone,” he whispers rapidly. His eyes are still wild and frightened, but he

seems to be calming.

“I went to get a drink. I was thirsty.”

He closes his eyes and rubs his face. When he opens them again, he looks so desolate.

“You’re here. Oh, thank God.” He reaches for me, and grabbing me tightly, he pulls me

down on the bed beside him.

“I just went for a drink,” I murmur.

Oh, the intensity of his fear . . . I can feel it.His T-shirt is drenched in sweat, and his

heartbeat is pounding as he hugs me close. He’s gazing at me as if reassuring himself that

I am really here. I gently stroke his hair and then his cheek.

“Christian, please. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” I say soothingly.

“Oh, Ana,” he breathes. He grasps my chin to hold me in place, and then his mouth is

on mine. Desire sweeps through him, and unbidden my body responds—it’s so tied and

attuned to him. His lips are at my ear, my throat, then back at my mouth, his teeth gently

pulling at my lower lip, his hand traveling up my body from my hip to my breast, dragging

my T-shirt up. Caressing me, feeling his way through the dips and shallows of my skin, he

elicits the same familiar reaction, his touch sending shivers through me. I moan as his hand

cups my breast and his fingers tighten over my nipple.

“I want you,” he murmurs.

“I’m here for you. Only you, Christian.”

He groans and kisses me once more, passionately, with a fervor and desperation I’ve

not felt from him before. Grabbing the hem of his T-shirt, I tug and he helps me pull it off

over his head. Kneeling between my legs, he hastily pulls me upright and drags my T-shirt

off. His eyes are serious, wanting, full of dark secrets—exposed. He folds his hands around

my face and kisses me, and we sink down into the bed once more, his thigh between both

of mine so that he’s half-lying on top of me. His erection is rigid against my hip through

his boxer briefs. He wants me, but his words from earlier choose this moment to come back

and haunt me, what he said about his mother. And it’s like a bucket of cold water on my

libido. Fuck. I can’t do this. Not now.

“Christian . . . Stop. I can’t do this,” I whisper urgently against his mouth, my hands

pushing on his upper arms.

“What? What’s wrong?” he murmurs and starts kissing my neck, running the tip of his

tongue lightly down my throat. Oh . . .

“No, please. I can’t do this, not now. I need some time, please.”

“Oh, Ana, don’t overthink this,” he whispers as he nips my earlobe.

“Ah!” I gasp, feeling it in my groin, and my body bows, betraying me. This is so con-

fusing.

“I am just the same, Ana. I love you and I need you. Touch me. Please.” He rubs his

nose against mine, and his quiet heartfelt plea moves me and I melt.

Touch him. Touch him while we make love. Oh my.

He rears up over me, gazing down, and in the half-light from the dimmed bedside light,

I can tell that he’s waiting, waiting for my decision, and he’s caught in my spell.

I reach up and tentatively place my hand on the soft patch of hair over his sternum. He

gasps and scrunches his eyes closed as if in pain, but I don’t take my hand away this time.

I move it up to his shoulders, feeling the tremor run through him. He groans, and I pull him

down to me and place both my hands on his back, where I’ve never touched him before, on

his shoulder blades, holding him to me. His strangled moan arouses me like nothing else.

He buries his head in my neck, kissing and sucking and biting me, before trailing his

nose up my chin and kissing me, his tongue possessing my mouth, his hands moving over

my body once more. His lips move down . . . down . . . down to my breasts, worshipping

as they go, and my hands stay on his shoulders and his back, enjoying the flex and ripple

of his finely honed muscles, his skin still damp from his nightmare. His lips close over my

nipple, pulling and tugging, so that it rises to greet his glorious skilled mouth.

I groan and run my fingernails across his back. And he gasps, a strangled moan.

“Oh, fuck, Ana,” he chokes, and it’s half cry, half groan. It tears at my heart, but also

deep inside me, tightening all the muscles below my waist. Oh, what I can do to him! My

inner goddess is writhing with want and I’m panting now, matching his tortured breaths

with my own.

His hand travels south, over my belly, down to my sex—and his fingers are on me, then

in me. I groan as he moves his fingers around inside me, in that way, and I push my pelvis

up to welcome his touch.

“Ana,” he breathes. He suddenly releases me and sits up; he removes his boxer briefs

and leans over to the bedside table to grab a foil packet. His eyes are a blazing gray as he

passes me the condom. “You want to do this? You can still say no. You can always say no,”

he murmurs.

“Don’t give me a chance to think, Christian. I want you, too.” I rip the packet open

with my teeth as he kneels between my legs, and with trembling fingers I slide it on to him.

“Steady,” he says. “You are going to unman me, Ana.”

I marvel at what I can do to this man with my touch. He stretches out over me, and for

now my doubts are pushed down and locked away in the dark, scary depths at the back of

my mind. I’m intoxicated with this man, my man, my Fifty Shades. He shifts suddenly,

completely taking me by surprise, so I am on top. Whoa.

“You—take me,” he murmurs, his eyes glowing with a feral intensity.

Oh my, and slowly, oh-so-slowly, I sink down on to him. He tilts his head back and

closes his eyes as he groans. I grab his hands and start to move, reveling in the fullness

of my possession, reveling in his reaction, watching him unravel beneath me. I feel like a

goddess. I lean down and kiss his chin, running my teeth along his stubbled jaw. He tastes

delicious. He clasps my hips and steadies my rhythm, slow and easy.

“Ana, touch me . . . please.”

Oh.I lean forward and steady myself with my hands on his chest. And he calls out, his

cry almost a sob, and he thrusts deep inside me.

“Ahh,” I whimper and run my fingernails gently over his chest, through the hair there,

and he groans loudly and twists abruptly so I am once more beneath him.

“Enough.” He moans. “No more, please.” And it’s a heartfelt plea.

Reaching up, I clasp his face in my hands, feeling the dampness on his cheeks, and pull

him down to my lips so that I can kiss him. I curl my hands around his back.

He groans deep and low in his throat as he moves inside me, pushing me onward and

upward, but I can’t find my release. My head is too cloudy, cloudy with issues. I am too

wrapped up in him.

“Let go, Ana,” he urges me.

“No.”

“Yes,” he snarls. He shifts slightly and gyrates his hips, again and again.

Jeez . . . argh!

“Come on baby, I need this. Give it to me.”

And I explode, my body a slave to his, and wrap myself around him, clinging to him

like a vine as he cries out my name, and climaxes with me, then collapses, his full weight

pressing me into the mattress.

I cradle Christian in my arms, his head on my chest, as we lie in the afterglow of our love-

making. I run my fingers through his hair as I listen to his breathing return to normal.

“Don’t ever leave me,” he whispers, and I roll my eyes in the full knowledge that he

can’t see me.

“I know you’re rolling your eyes at me,” he murmurs, and I hear the trace of humor in

his voice.

“You know me well,” I murmur.

“I’d like to know you better.”

“Back at you, Grey. What was your nightmare about?”

“The usual.”

“Tell me.”

He swallows and tenses before he sighs, a long drawn-out sigh. “I must be about three,

and the crack whore’s pimp is mad as hell again. He smokes and smokes, one cigarette

after another, and he can’t find an ashtray.” He stops, and I freeze as a creeping chill grips

my heart.

“It hurt,” he says, “It’s the pain I remember. That’s what gives me nightmares. That and

the fact that she did nothing to stop him.”

Oh no. This is unbearable. I tighten my grip around him, my legs and arms holding him

to me, and I try not to let my despair choke me. How could anyone treat a child like that?

He raises his head and pins me with his intense gray gaze.

“You’re not like her. Don’t ever think that. Please.”

I blink back at him. It’s very reassuring to hear. He puts his head on my chest again,

and I think he’s finished, but he surprises me by continuing.

“Sometimes in the dreams she’s just lying on the floor. And I think she’s asleep. But

she doesn’t move. She never moves. And I’m hungry. Really hungry.”

Oh fuck.

“There’s a loud noise and he’s back, and he hits me so hard, cursing the crack whore.

His first reaction was always to use his fists or his belt.”

“Is that why you don’t like to be touched?”

He closes his eyes and hugs me tighter. “That’s complicated,” he murmurs. He nuzzles

me between my breasts, inhaling deeply, trying to distract me.

“Tell me,” I prompt.

He sighs. “She didn’t love me. I didn’t love me. The only touch I knew was . . . harsh.

It stemmed from there. Flynn explains it better than I can.”

“Can I see Flynn?”

He raises his head to look at me. “Fifty Shades rubbing off on you?”

“And then some. I like how it’s rubbing off at the moment.” I wriggle provocatively

underneath him and he smiles.

“Yes, Miss Steele, I like that, too.” He leans up and kisses me. He gazes at me for a

moment.

“You are so precious to me, Ana. I was serious about marrying you. We can get to know

each other then. I can look after you. You can look after me. We can have kids if you want.

I will lay my world at your feet, Anastasia. I want you, body and soul, forever. Please think

about it.”

“I will think about it, Christian. I will,” I reassure him, reeling once more. Kids? Jeez.

“I’d really like to talk to Dr. Flynn, though, if you don’t mind.”

“Anything for you, baby. Anything. When would you like to see him?”

“Sooner rather than later.”

“Okay. I’ll make the arrangements in the morning.” He glances at the clock. “It’s late.

We should sleep.” He shifts to switch off his bedside light and pulls me against him.

I glance at the alarm clock. Crap, it’s three forty-five.

He curls his arms around me, his front to my back, and nuzzles my neck. “I love you,

Ana Steele, and I want you by my side, always,” he murmurs as he kisses my neck. “Now

go to sleep.”

I close my eyes.

Reluctantly, I open my heavy eyelids and bright light fills the room. I groan. I feel

cloudy, disconnected from my leaden limbs, and Christian is wrapped around me like ivy.

I’m too warm as per usual. Surely it’s just five in the morning. The alarm has not gone off

yet. I stretch out to free myself from his heat, turning in his arms, and he mumbles some-

thing unintelligible in his sleep. I glance at the clock. Eight forty-five.

Shit, I’m going to be late. Fuck.I scramble out of bed and dash to the bathroom. I am

showered and out within four minutes.

Christian sits up in bed watching me with ill-concealed amusement coupled with wari-

ness as I continue to dry myself while gathering my clothes. Perhaps he’s waiting for me to

react to yesterday’s revelations. Right now, I just don’t have time.

I check my clothes—black slacks, black shirt—all a bit Mrs. R, but I don’t have a sec-

ond to change my mind. I hastily don black bra and panties, conscious that he’s watching

my every move. It’s . . . unnerving. The panties and bra will do.

“You look good,” Christian purrs from the bed. “You can call in sick, you know.” He

gives me his devastating, lopsided, one hundred and fifty percent panty-busting smile. Oh,

he’s so tempting. My inner goddess pouts provocatively at me.

“No, Christian, I can’t. I am not a megalomaniac CEO with a beautiful smile who can

come and go as he pleases.”

“I like to come as I please.” He smirks and cranks his glorious smile up another notch

so it’s in full Hd imax.

“Christian!” I scold. I throw my towel at him and he laughs.

“Beautiful smile, huh?”

“Yes. You know the effect you have on me.” I put on my watch.

“Do I?” he blinks innocently.

“Yes, you do. The same effect you have on all women. Gets really tiresome watching

them all swoon.”

“Does it?” He cocks his eyebrow at me, more amused.

“Don’t play the innocent, Mr. Grey, it really doesn’t suit you,” I mutter distractedly as

I scoop my hair into a ponytail and pull on my black high-heeled shoes. There, that will do.

When I bend to kiss him good-bye, he grabs me and pulls me down onto the bed,

leaning over me and smiling from ear to ear. Oh my.He’s so beautiful—eyes bright with

mischief, floppy just-fucked-again hair, that dazzling smile. Now he’s playful.

I’m tired, still reeling from all the disclosures of yesterday, while he’s bright as a button

and sexy as fuck. Oh, exasperating Fifty.

“What can I do to tempt you to stay?” he says softly, and my heart skips a beat and

begins to pound. He is temptation personified.

“You can’t,” I grumble, struggling to sit back up. “Let me go.”

He pouts and I give up. Grinning, I trace my fingers over his sculptured lips—my Fifty

Shades. I love him so in all his monumental fuckedupness. I haven’t even begun to process

yesterday’s events and how I feel about them.

I lean up to kiss him, thankful that I have brushed my teeth. He kisses me long and hard

and then swiftly sets me on my feet, leaving me dazed, breathless, and slightly wobbly.

“Taylor will take you. Quicker than finding somewhere to park. He’s waiting outside

the building,” Christian says kindly, and he seems relieved. Is he worried about my reac-

tion this morning? Surely last night—er, this morning—proved that I am not going to run.

“Okay. Thank you,” I mutter, disappointed that I am upright on my feet, confused by

his hesitancy, and vaguely irritated that once again I won’t be driving my Saab. But he’s

right, of course—it will be quicker with Taylor.

“Enjoy your lazy morning, Mr. Grey. I wish I could stay, but the man who owns the

company I work for would not approve of his staff ditching just for hot sex.” I grab my

purse.

“Personally, Miss Steele, I have no doubt that he would approve. In fact he might insist

on it.”

“Why are you staying in bed? It’s not like you.”

He folds his hands behind his head and grins at me.

“Because I can, Miss Steele.”

I shake my head at him. “Laters, baby.” I blow him a kiss, and I am out of the door.

Taylor is waiting for me, and he seems to understand that I am late because he drives like

a bat out of hell to get me to work by nine fifteen. I am grateful when he pulls up at the

curb—grateful to be alive–his driving was scary. And grateful that I am not hideously

late—only fifteen minutes.

“Thank you, Taylor,” I mutter, ashen-faced. I remember Christian telling me he drove

tanks; maybe he drives for nascar, too.

“Ana.” He nods a farewell, and I dash into my office, realizing as I open the door to

reception that Taylor seems to have overcome the Miss Steele formality. It makes me smile.

Claire grins at me as I rush through reception and make my way to my desk.

“Ana!” Jack calls me. “Get in here.”

Oh shit.

“What time do you call this?” he snaps.

“I’m sorry. I overslept.” I flush crimson.

“Don’t let it happen again. Fix me some coffee, and then I need you to do some letters.

Jump to it,” he shouts, making me flinch.

Why’s he so mad? What’s his problem? What have I done? I hurry to the kitchen to

fix his coffee. Maybe I should have ditched. I could be . . . well, doing something hot with

Christian, or having breakfast with him, or just talking—that would be novel.

Jack barely acknowledges my presence when I venture back into his office to deliver

his coffee. He thrusts a sheet of paper at me—it’s handwritten in a barely legible scrawl.

“Type this up, have me sign, then copy and mail it to all our authors.”

“Yes, Jack.”

He doesn’t look up as I leave. Boy, is he mad.

It is with some relief that I finally sit down at my desk. I take a sip of tea as I wait for

my computer to boot up. I check my e-mails.

From:Christian Grey

Subject:Missing you

Date:June 15, 2011 09:05

To:Anastasia Steele

Please use your Blackberry.

x

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From:Anastasia Steele

Subject:All Right for Some

Date:June 15, 2011 09:27

To:Christian Grey

My boss is mad.

I blame you for keeping me up late with your . . . shenanigans.

You should be ashamed of yourself.

Anastasia Steele

Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP

From:Christian Grey

Subject:Shenaniwhatagans?

Date:June 15, 2011 09:32

To:Anastasia Steele

You don’t have to work, Anastasia.

You have no idea how appalled I am at my shenanigans.

But I like keeping you up late ;)

Please use your Blackberry.

Oh, and marry me, please.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From:Anastasia Steele

Subject:Living to make

Date:June 15, 2011 09:35

To:Christian Grey

I know your natural inclination is toward nagging, but just stop.

I need to talk to your shrink.

Only then will I give you my answer.

I am not opposed to living in sin.

Anastasia Steele

Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP

From:Christian Grey

Subject:BLACKBERRY

Date:June 15, 2011 09:40

To:Anastasia Steele

Anastasia, if you are going to start discussing Dr. Flynn then USE YOUR BLACKBERRY.

This is not a request.

Christian Grey,

Now Pissed CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Oh shit. Now he’s mad at me, too. Well, he can stew for all I care. I take my Blackberry out

of my purse and eye it with skepticism. As I do, it starts ringing. Can’t he leave me alone?

“Yes,” I snap.

“Ana, hi—”

“José! How are you?” Oh, it’s good to hear his voice.

“I’m fine, Ana. Look, are you still seeing that Grey guy?”

“Er—yes . . . Why?” Where is he going with this?

“Well, he’s bought all your photos, and I thought I could deliver them up to Seattle.

The exhibition closes Thursday, so I could bring them up Friday evening and drop them

off, you know. And maybe we could catch a drink or something. Actually, I was hoping for

a place to crash, too.”

“José, that’s cool. Yeah, I’m sure we could work something out. Let me talk to Chris-

tian and call you back, okay?”

“Cool, I’ll wait to hear from you. Bye, Ana.”

“Bye.” And he’s gone.

Holy cow. I haven’t seen or heard from José since his show. I didn’t even ask him how

it went or if he sold any more pictures. Some friend I am.

So, I could spend the evening with José on Friday. How will Christian like that? I

become aware that I am biting my lip till it hurts. Oh, that man has double standards. He

can—I shudder at the thought—bathe his batshit ex-lover, but I will probably get a truck-

load of grief for wanting to have a drink with José. How am I going to handle this?

“Ana!” Jack pulls me abruptly out of my reverie. Is he still mad? “Where’s that letter?”

“Er—coming.” Shit. What is eating him?

I type up his letter in double-quick time, print it out, and nervously make my way into

his office.

“Here you go.” I place it on his desk and turn to leave. Jack quickly casts his critical,

piercing, eyes over it.

“I don’t know what you’re doing out there, but I pay you to work,” he barks.

“I’m aware of that, Jack,” I mutter apologetically. I feel a slow flush creep up my skin.

“This is full of mistakes,” he snaps. “Do it again.”

Fuck. He’s beginning to sound like someone I know, but rudeness from Christian I can

tolerate. Jack is beginning to piss me off.

“And get me another coffee while you’re at it.”

“Sorry,” I whisper and scurry out of his office as quickly as I can.

Holy fuck. He’s being unbearable. I sit back down at my desk, hastily redo his letter,

which had two mistakes in it, and check it thoroughly before printing. Now it’s perfect. I

fetch him another coffee, letting Claire know with a roll of my eyes that I am in deep doo-

doo. Taking a deep breath, I approach his office again.

“Better,” he mumbles reluctantly as he signs the letter. “Photocopy it, file the original,

and mail out to all authors. Understand?”

“Yes.” I am not an idiot. “Jack, is there something wrong?”

He glances up, his blue eyes darkening as his gaze runs up and down my body. My

blood chills.

“No.” His answer is concise, rude, and dismissive. I stand there like the idiot I professed

not to be and then shuffle back out of his office. Perhaps he too suffers from a personality

disorder. Sheesh, I’m surrounded by them. I make my way to the photocopier—which of

course is suffering from a paper jam—and when I’ve fixed it, I find it’s out of paper. This

is not my day.

When I am finally back at my desk, stuffing envelopes, my Blackberry buzzes. I can

see through the glass wall that Jack is on the phone. I answer—it’s Ethan.

“Hi, Ana. How’d it go last night?”

Last night. A quick montage of images flashes through my mind—Christian kneeling,

his revelation, his proposal, macaroni and cheese, my weeping, his nightmare, the sex,

touching him . . .

“Eh . . . fine,” I mutter unconvincingly.

Ethan pauses and decides to collude in my denial. “Cool. Can I collect the keys?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll be over in about half an hour. Will you have time to grab a coffee?”

“Not today. I was late getting in, and my boss is like an angry bear with a sore head and

poison ivy up his ass.”

“Sounds nasty.”

“Nasty and ugly.” I giggle.

Ethan laughs and my mood lifts a little. “Okay. See you in thirty.” He hangs up.

I glance up at Jack and he’s staring at me. Oh shit. I studiously ignore him and continue

to stuff envelopes.

Half an hour later my phone buzzes. It’s Claire. “He’s here again, in reception. The

blond god.”

Ethan is a joy to see after all the angst of yesterday and the bad temper my boss is in-

flicting on me today, but all too soon, he’s saying his good-byes.

“Will I see you this evening?”

“I’ll probably stay with Christian.” I flush.

“You have got it bad,” Ethan observes good-naturedly.

I shrug. That’s not the half of it, and in that moment I realize, I have it more than bad.

I have it for life. And amazingly, Christian seems to feel the same. Ethan gives me a swift

hug.“Laters, Ana.”

I return to my desk, wrestling with my realization. Oh, what I would do for a day on

my own, to just think all this through.

“Where have you been?” Jack is suddenly looming over me.

“I had some business to attend to in reception.” He is really getting on my nerves.

“I want my lunch. The usual,” he says abruptly and stomps back into his office.

Why didn’t I stay home with Christian?My inner goddess crosses her arms and purses

her lips; she wants to know the answer to that one, too. Picking up my purse and my Black-

berry, I head for the door. I check my messages.

From:Christian Grey

Subject:Missing you

Date:June 15, 2011 09:06

To:Anastasia Steele

My bed is too big without you.

Looks like I’ll have to go to work after all.

Even megalomaniac CEOs need something to do.

x

Christian Grey

Twiddling His Thumbs CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

And there’s another from him, from earlier this morning.

From:Christian Grey

Subject:Discretion

Date:June 15, 2011 09:50

To:Anastasia Steele

Is the better part of valor.

Please use discretion . . . your work e-mails are monitored.

HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU THIS?

Yes. Shouty capitals as you say. USE YOUR BLACKBERRY.