Текст книги "Fifty shades darker"

Автор книги: Erika Leonard James

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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 29 страниц)

Dr. Flynn can see us tomorrow evening.

x

Christian Grey

Still Pissed CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

And an even later one . . . Oh no.

From:Christian Grey

Subject:Crickets

Date:June 15, 2011 12:15

To:Anastasia Steele

I haven’t heard from you.

Please tell me you are okay.

You know how I worry.

I will send Taylor to check!

x

Christian Grey,

Over-Anxious CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

I roll my eyes, and call him. I don’t want him to worry.

“Christian Grey’s phone, Andrea Parker speaking.”

Oh. I am so disconcerted that it’s not Christian who answers that it halts me in the

street, and the young man behind me mutters angrily as he swerves to avoid bumping into

me. I stand under the green awning of the deli.

“Hello? Can I help you?” Andrea fills the void of awkward silence.

“Sorry . . . Er . . . I was hoping to speak to Christian—”

“Mr. Grey is in a meeting at the moment.” She bristles with efficiency. “Can I take a

message?”

“Can you tell him Ana called?”

“Ana? As in Anastasia Steele?”

“Er . . . Yes.” Her question confuses me.

“Hold one second please, Miss Steele.”

I listen attentively as she puts the phone down, but I can’t tell what’s going on. A few

seconds later Christian is on the line. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

I hear the quick release of his held breath. He’s relieved.

“Christian, why wouldn’t I be okay?” I whisper reassuringly.

“You’re normally so quick at responding to my e-mails. After what I told you yester-

day, I was worried,” he says quietly, and then he’s talking to someone in his office.

“No, Andrea. Tell them to wait,” he says sternly. Oh, I know that tone of voice.

I can’t hear Andrea’s response.

“No. I said wait,” he snaps.

“Christian, you’re obviously busy. I only called to let you know that I’m okay, and I

mean that—just very busy today. Jack has been cracking the whip. Er . . . I mean . . .” I

flush and fall silent.

Christian says nothing for a moment.

“Cracking the whip, eh? Well, there was a time when I would have called him a lucky

man.” His voice is full of dry humor. “Don’t let him get on top of you, baby.”

“Christian!” I scold him and I know he’s grinning.

“Just watch him, that’s all. Look, I’m glad you’re okay. What time shall I collect you?”

“I’ll e-mail you.”

“From your Blackberry,” he says sternly.

“Yes, Sir,” I snap back.

“Laters, baby.”

“Bye . . .”

He’s still hanging on.

“Hang up,” I scold, smiling.

He sighs heavily down the phone. “I wish you’d never gone to work this morning.”

“Me, too. But I am busy. Hang up.”

“You hang up.” I hear his smile. Oh, playful Christian. I love playful Christian.

Hmm . . . I love Christian, period.

“We’ve been here before.”

“You’re biting your lip.”

Shit, he’s right. How does he know?

“You see, you think I don’t know you, Anastasia. But I know you better than you

think,” he murmurs seductively in that way that makes me weak, and wet.

“Christian, I’ll talk to you later. Right now, I really wish I hadn’t left this morning,

too.”

“I’ll wait for your e-mail, Miss Steele.”

“Good day, Mr. Grey.”

Hanging up, I lean against the cold, hard glass of the deli store window. Oh my, even

on the phone he owns me. Shaking my head to clear it of all thoughts Grey, I head into the

deli, depressed by all thoughts Jack.

He is scowling when I get back.

“Is it okay if I take my lunch now?” I ask tentatively. He gazes up at me and his scowl

deepens.

“If you must,” he snaps. “Forty-five minutes. Make up the time you lost this morning.”

“Jack, can I ask you something?”

“What?”

“You seem, kind of out of sorts today. Have I done something to offend you?”

He blinks at me momentarily. “I don’t think I’m in the mood to list your misdemeanors

right now. I’m busy.” He continues to stare at his computer screen, effectively dismissing

me. Whoa . . . What have I done?

I turn and leave his office, and for a moment I think I’m going to cry. Why has he taken

such a sudden and intense dislike to me? A very unwelcome idea pops into my head, but I

ignore it. I don’t need his shit right now—I have enough of my own.

I head out of the building to the nearby Starbucks, order a latte, and sit down in the

window. Taking my iPod from my purse, I plug my headphones in. I choose a song haphaz-

ardly and press repeat so it will play over and over again. I need music to think by.

My mind drifts. Christian the sadist. Christian the submissive. Christian the untouch-

able. Christian’s oedipal impulses. Christian bathing Leila. I groan and close my eyes while

that last image haunts me.

Can I really marry this man? He’s so much to take in. He’s complex and difficult, but

deep down I know I don’t want to leave him despite all his issues. I could never leave him.

I love him. It would be like cutting off my right arm.

Right now, I have never felt so alive, so vital. I’ve encountered all manner of perplex-

ing, profound feelings and new experiences since I met him. It’s never a dull moment with

Fifty.

Looking back on my life before Christian, it’s as if everything was in black and white

like José’s pictures. Now my whole world is in rich, bright, saturated color. I am soaring in

a beam of dazzling light, Christian’s dazzling light. I am still Icarus, flying too close to his

sun. I snort to myself. Flying with Christian—who can resist a man who can fly?

Can I give him up? Do I want to give him up? It’s as if he’s flipped a switch and lit me

up from within. It’s been an education knowing him. I have discovered more about myself

in the last few weeks than ever before. I’ve learned about my body, my hard limits, my soft

limits, my tolerance, my patience, my compassion, and my capacity for love.

And it strikes me like a thunderbolt—that’s what he needs from me, what he’s entitled

to—unconditional love. He never received it from the crack whore—it’s what he needs.

Can I love him unconditionally? Can I accept him for who he is regardless of his revela-

tions last night?

I know he’s damaged, but I don’t think he’s irredeemable. I sigh, recalling Taylor’s

words. “ He’s a good man, Miss Steele.”

I’ve seen the weighty evidence of his goodness—his charity work, his business ethics,

his generosity—and yet he doesn’t see it in himself. He doesn’t feel deserving of any love.

Given his history and his predilections, I have an inkling of his self-loathing—that’s why

he’s never let anyone in. Can I get past this?

He said once that I couldn’t begin to understand the depths of his depravity. Well, he’s

told me now, and given the first few years of his life, it doesn’t surprise me. Though it was

still a shock to hear it out loud. At least he’s told me—and he seems happier now that he

has. I know everything.

Does it devalue his love for me? No, I don’t think so. He’s never felt this way before

and neither have I. In truth we’ve both come so far.

Tears prick and pool in my eyes as I recall his final barriers crumbling last night when

he let me touch him. Jeez,it took Leila and all her crazy to get us to there.

Perhaps I should be grateful. The fact that he bathed her is not quite such a bitter taste

on my tongue now. I wonder which clothes he gave her. I hope it wasn’t the plum dress. I

liked that.

So can I love this man with all his issues unconditionally? Because he deserves nothing

less. He still needs to learn boundaries and little things like empathy, and to be less control-

ling. He says he no longer feels the compulsion to hurt me; perhaps Dr. Flynn will be able

to cast some light on that.

Fundamentally, that’s what concerns me most—that he needs that and has always

found like-minded women who need it, too. I frown. Yes, this is the reassurance I need. I

want to be all things to this man, his Alpha and his Omega and all things in between be-

cause he is to me.

I hope Flynn will have the answers, and maybe then I can say yes. Christian and I can

find our own slice of heaven close to the sun.

I gaze out at bustling, lunchtime Seattle. Mrs. Christian Grey—who would have

thought? I glance at my watch. Shit!I leap up from my seat and dash to the door—a whole

hour of just sitting—where did the time go? Jack is going to go ballistic!

I slink back to my desk. Fortunately, he’s not in his office. It looks like I’ve got away with

it. I gaze intently at my computer screen, unseeing, trying to reassemble my thoughts into

work mode.

“Where were you?”

I jump. Jack is standing, arms folded, behind me.

“I was in the basement, photocopying,” I lie. Jack lips press into a thin, uncompromis-

ing line.

“I’m leaving for my plane at six thirty. I need you to stay until then.”

“Okay.” I smile as sweetly as I can manage.

“I’d like my itinerary for New York printed out and photocopied ten times. And get

the brochures packaged up. And get me some coffee!” he snarls and stalks into his office.

I breathe a sigh of relief and stick my tongue out at him as he closes the door. Bastard.

At four o’clock, Claire rings from reception.

“I have Mia Grey for you.”

Mia? I hope she doesn’t want to hang at the mall.

“Hi, Mia!”

“Ana, hi. How are you?” Her excitement is stifling.

“Good. Busy today. You?”

“I am so bored! I need to find something to do, so I’m arranging a birthday party for

Christian.”

Christian’s birthday? Jeez, I had no idea. “When is it?”

“I knew it. I knew he wouldn’t tell you. It’s on Saturday. Mom and Dad want everyone

over for a meal to celebrate. I’m officially inviting you.”

“Oh, that’s lovely. Thank you, Mia.”

“I’ve already called Christian and told him, and he gave me your number here.”

“Cool.” My mind is in a flat spin—what the hell am I going to get Christian for his

birthday? What do you buy the man who has everything?

“And maybe next week, we can go out one lunchtime?”

“Sure. How about tomorrow? My boss is away in New York.”

“Oh, that would be cool, Ana. What time?”

“Say, twelve forty-five?”

“I’ll be there. Bye, Ana.”

“Bye.” I hang up.

Christian. Birthday. What on earth should I get him?

From:Anastasia Steele

Subject:Antediluvian

Date:June 15, 2011 16:11

To:Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey

When, exactly, were you going to tell me?

What shall I get my old man for his birthday?

Perhaps some new batteries for his hearing aid?

A x

Anastasia Steele

Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP

From:Christian Grey

Subject:Prehistoric

Date:June 15, 2011 16:20

To:Anastasia Steele

Don’t mock the elderly.

Glad you are alive and kicking.

And that Mia has been in touch.

Batteries are always useful.

I don’t like celebrating my birthday.

x

Christian Grey,

Deaf as a Post CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From:Anastasia Steele

Subject:Hmmm.

Date:June 15, 2011 16:24

To:Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey

I can imagine you pouting as you wrote that last sentence.

That does things to me.

A xox

Anastasia Steele

Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP

From:Christian Grey

Subject:Rolling Eyes

Date:June 15, 2011 16:29

To:Anastasia Steele

Miss Steele

WILL YOU USE YOUR BLACKBERRY!!!

x

Christian Grey

Twitchy Palmed, CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

I roll my eyes. Why is he so touchy about e-mails?

From:Anastasia Steele

Subject:Inspiration

Date:June 15, 2011 16:33

To:Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey

Ah . . . your twitchy palms can’t stay still for long, can they?

I wonder what Dr. Flynn would say about that?

But now I know what to give you for your birthday—and I hope it makes me sore . . .

;)

A x

From:Christian Grey

Subject:Angina

Date:June 15, 2011 16:38

To:Anastasia Steele

Miss Steele

I don’t think my heart could stand the strain of another e-mail like that, or my pants for

that matter.

Behave.

x

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From:Anastasia Steele

Subject:Trying

Date:June 15, 2011 16:42

To:Christian Grey

Christian

I am trying to work for my very trying boss.

Please stop bothering me and being trying yourself.

Your last e-mail nearly made me combust.

xPS: Can you collect me at 6:30?

From:Christian Grey

Subject:I’ll Be There

Date:June 15, 2011 16:38

To:Anastasia Steele

Nothing would give me greater pleasure.

Actually, I can think of any of number of things that would give me greater pleasure, and

they all involve you.

x

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

I flush reading his response and shake my head. E-mail banter is all well and good, but we

really need to talk. Perhaps once we’ve seen Flynn. I put my Blackberry down and finish

my petty cash reconciliation.

By six fifteen, the office is deserted. I have everything ready for Jack. His cab to the airport

is booked, and I just have to hand him his documents. I glance anxiously through the glass,

but he’s still deep in his telephone call, and I don’t want to interrupt him—not in the mood

he’s in today.

As I wait for him to finish, it occurs to me that I have not eaten today. Oh shit, that’s

not going to go down well with Fifty. I quickly skip down to the kitchen to see if there are

any cookies left.

As I’m opening the communal cookie jar, Jack appears unexpectedly in the kitchen

doorway, startling me.

Oh. What’s he doing here?

He stares at me. “Well, Ana, I think this might be a good time to discuss your misde-

meanors.” He steps in, closing the door behind him, and my mouth instantly dries as alarm

bells ring loud and piercing in my head.

Oh fuck.

His lips twitch into a grotesque smile, and his eyes gleam a deep, dark cobalt. “At last,

I have you on your own,” he says, and he slowly licks his lower lip.

What?

“Now . . . are you going to be a good girl and listen very carefully to what I say?”

Jack’s eyes flash the darkest blue, and he sneers as he casts a leering look down my body.

Fear chokes me. What is this? What does he want? From somewhere deep inside and

despite my dry mouth, I find the resolve and courage to squeeze out some words, my self-

defense class keep-them-talking mantra circling my brain like an ethereal sentinel.

“Jack, now might not be a good time for this. Your cab is due in ten minutes, and I need

to give you all your documents.” My voice is quiet but hoarse, betraying me.

He smiles, and it’s a despotic fuck-you smile that finally touches his eyes. They glint

in the harsh fluorescent glow of the strip light above us in the drab windowless room. He

takes a step toward me, glaring at me, his eyes never leaving mine. His pupils are dilating

as I watch—the black eclipsing the blue. Oh no. My fear escalates.

“You know I had to fight with Elizabeth to give you this job . . .” His voice trails off as

he takes another step toward me, and I step back against the dingy wall cupboards. Keep-

him-talking, keep-him-talking, keep-him-talking.

“Jack, what exactly is your problem? If you want to air your grievances, then perhaps

we should ask HR to get involved. We could do this with Elizabeth in a more formal set-

ting.”Where is security? Are they in the building yet?

“We don’t need HR to overmanage this situation Ana,” he sneers. “When I hired you,

I thought you would be a hard worker. I thought you had potential. But now, I don’t know.

You’ve become distracted and sloppy. And I wondered . . . is it your boyfriendwho’s lead-

ing you astray?” He says boyfriendwith chilling contempt.

“I decided to check through your e-mail account to see if I could find any clues. And

you know what I found, Ana? What was out of place? The only personal e-mails in your

account were to your hot-shot boyfriend.” He pauses, assessing my reaction. “And I got to

thinking . . . where are the e-mails from him? There are none. Nada. Nothing. So what’s

going on, Ana? How come his e-mails to you aren’t on our system? Are you some company

spy, planted in here by Grey’s organization? Is that what this is?”

Holy shit, the e-mails. Oh no.What have I said?

“Jack, what are you talking about?” I try for bewildered, and I’m pretty convincing.

This conversation is not going as I expected, but I don’t trust him in the slightest. Some

subliminal pheromone that Jack is exuding has me on high alert. This man is angry, vola-

tile, and totally unpredictable. I try to reason with him.

“You just said that you had to persuade Elizabeth to hire me. So how could I be planted

as a spy? Make up your mind, Jack.”

“But Grey fucked the New York trip, didn’t he?”

Oh shit.

“How did he manage that, Ana? What did your rich, Ivy League boyfriend do?”

What little blood remains in my face drains away, and I think I’m going to faint. “I

don’t know what you’re talking about, Jack,” I whisper. “Your cab will be here shortly.

Shall I fetch your things?” Oh please, let me go. Stop this.

Jack continues, enjoying my discomfort. “And he thinks I’d make a pass at you?” He

smirks and his eyes heat. “Well, I want you to think about something while I’m in New

York. I gave you this job, and I expect you to show me some gratitude. In fact, I’m entitled

to it. I had to fight to get you. Elizabeth wanted someone better qualified, but I—I saw

something in you. So, we need to work out a deal. A deal where you keep me happy. D’you

understand what I’m saying, Ana?”

Fuck!

“Look at it as refining your job description, if you like. And if you keep me happy, I

won’t dig any further into how your boyfriend is pulling strings, milking his contacts, or

cashing in some favor from one of his Ivy League frat-boy sycophants.”

My mouth drops open. He’s blackmailing me. For sex!And what can I say? News of

Christian’s takeover is embargoed for another three weeks. I can barely believe this. Sex—

with me!

Jack moves closer until he’s standing right in front of me, staring down into my eyes.

His cloying sweet cologne invades my nostrils—it’s nauseating—and if I’m not mistaken,

the bitter stench of alcohol is on his breath. Fuck, he’s been drinking . . . when?

“You are such a tight-assed, cock-blocking, prick tease, you know, Ana,” he whispers

through clenched teeth.

What? Prick tease . . . Me?

“Jack, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I whisper, as I feel the adrenaline

surge through my body. He’s closer now. I am waiting to make my move. Ray will be

proud. Ray taught me what to do. Ray knows his self-defense. If Jack touches me—if he

even breathes too close to me—I will take him down. My breath is shallow. I must not faint,

I must not faint.

“Look at you.” He gives me a leering look. “You’re so turned on, I can tell. You’ve

really led me on. Deep down you want it. I know.”

Holy fuck.The man is completely delusional. My fear rises to defcon one, threatening

to overwhelm me. “No, Jack. I have never led you on.”

“You have, you prick-teasing bitch. I can read the signs.” Reaching up, he gently

strokes my face with the back of his knuckles, down to my chin. His index finger strokes

my throat, and my heart leaps into my mouth as I fight my gag reflex. He reaches the dip at

the base of my neck, where the top button of my black shirt is open, and presses his hand

against my chest.

“You want me. Admit it, Ana.”

Keeping my eyes firmly fixed on his and concentrating on what I have to do—rather

than my mushrooming revulsion and dread—I place my hand gently over his in a caress.

He smiles in triumph. I grab his little finger, and twist it back, pulling it sharply down

backward to his hip.

“Arrgh!” he cries out in pain and surprise, and as he leans off balance, I bring my knee,

swift and hard, up into his groin, and make perfect contact with my goal. I dodge deftly to

my left as his knees buckle, and he collapses with a groan onto the kitchen floor, grasping

himself between his legs.

“Don’t you ever touch me again,” I snarl at him. “Your itinerary and the brochures are

packaged on my desk. I am going home now. Have a nice trip. And in the future, get your

own damn coffee.”

“You fucking bitch!” he half screams, half groans at me, but I am already out the door.

I run full pelt to my desk, grab my jacket and my purse, and dash to front reception, ig-

noring the moans and curses emanating from the bastard still prostrate on the kitchen floor.

I burst out of the building and stop for a moment as the cool air hits my face, take a deep

breath, and compose myself. But I haven’t eaten all day, and as the very unwelcome surge

of adrenaline recedes, my legs give out beneath me and I sink to the ground.

I watch with mild detachment the slow motion movie that plays out in front of me:

Christian and Taylor in dark suits and white shirts, leaping out of the waiting car and run-

ning toward me. Christian sinks to his knees at my side, and on some unconscious level, all

I can think is: He’s here. My love is here.

“Ana, Ana! What’s wrong?” He scoops me into his lap, running his hands up and down

my arms, checking for any signs of injury. Grabbing my head between his hands, he stares

with wide, terrified, gray eyes into mine. I sag against him, suddenly overwhelmed with

relief and fatigue. Oh, Christian’s arms. There is no place I’d rather be.

“Ana.” He shakes me gently. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

I shake my head as I realize I need to start communicating.

“Jack,” I whisper, and I sense rather than see Christian’s swift glance at Taylor, who

abruptly disappears into the building.

“Fuck!” Christian enfolds me in his arms. “What did that sleazeball do to you?”

And from somewhere just the right side of crazy, a giggle bubbles in my throat. I recall

Jack’s utter shock as I grabbed his finger.

“It’s what I did to him.” I start giggling and I can’t stop.

“Ana!” Christian shakes me again, and my giggling fit ceases. “Did he touch you?”

“Only once.”

I feel Christian’s muscles bunch and tense as rage sweeps through him, and he stands

up swiftly, powerfully—rock steady—with me in his arms. He’s furious. No!

“Where is that fucker?”

From inside the building we hear muffled shouting. Christian sets me on my feet.

“Can you stand?”

I nod.

“Don’t go in. Don’t, Christian.” Suddenly my fear is back, fear of what Christian will

do to Jack.

“Get in the car,” he barks at me.

“Christian, no.” I grab his arm.

“Get in the goddamned car, Ana.” He shakes me off.

“No! Please!” I plead with him. “Stay. Don’t leave me on my own.” I deploy my ulti-

mate weapon.

Seething, Christian runs his hand through his hair and glares down at me, clearly

wracked with indecision. The shouting inside the building escalates, and then stops sud-

denly.

Oh, no. What has Taylor done?

Christian fishes out his Blackberry.

“Christian, he has my e-mails.”

“What?”

“My e-mails to you. He wanted to know where your e-mails to me were. He was trying

to blackmail me.”

Christian’s look is murderous. Oh shit.“Fuck!” he splutters and narrows his eyes at

me. He punches a number into his Blackberry.

Oh no. I’m in trouble. Who’s he calling?

“Barney. Grey. I need you to access the SIP main server and wipe all Anastasia Steele’s

e-mails to me. Then access the personal data files of Jack Hyde and check they aren’t stored

there. If they are, wipe them . . . Yes, all of them. Now. Let me know when it’s done.”

He stabs the off button then dials another number.

“Roach. Grey. Hyde—I want him out. Now. This minute. Call security. Get him to

clear his desk immediately, or I will liquidate this company first thing in the morning. You

already have all the justification you need to give him his pink slip. Do you understand?”

He listens for a moment and hangs up seemingly satisfied.

“Blackberry,” he hisses at me through clenched teeth.

“Please don’t be mad at me.” I blink up at him.

“I am so mad at you right now,” he snarls and once more sweeps his hand through his

hair. “Get in the car.”

“Christian, please—”

“Get in the fucking car, Anastasia, or so help me I’ll put you in there myself,” he threat-

ens, his eyes blazing with fury.

Oh shit.“Don’t do anything stupid, please,” I beg.

“ STUPID!” he explodes. “I told you to use your fucking Blackberry. Don’t talk to me

about stupid. Get in the motherfucking car, Anastasia– NOW!” he snarls and a frisson of

fear runs through me. This is Very Angry Christian. I’ve not seen him this mad before. He’s

barely holding on to his self-control.

“Okay,” I mutter, placating him. “But please, be careful.”

Pressing his lips together in a hard line, he points angrily to the car, glaring at me.

Jeez, okay, I get the message.

“Please be careful. I don’t want anything to happen to you. It would kill me,” I murmur.

He blinks rapidly and stills, lowering his arm while he takes a deep breath.

“I’ll be careful,” he says, his eyes softening. Oh, thank the Lord. His eyes burn into

me as I head to the car, open the front passenger door, and climb in. Once I’m safely in

the comfort of the Audi, he disappears into the building, and my heart leaps again into my

throat. What’s he planning to do?

I sit and wait. And wait. And wait. Five eternal minutes. Jack’s cab pulls up in front of

the Audi. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Jeez, what are they doing in there, and how is Taylor? The

wait is agonizing.

Twenty-five minutes later, Jack emerges from the building, clutching a cardboard stor-

age box. Behind him is the security guard. Where was he earlier? And after them, Christian

and Taylor. Jack looks sick. He heads straight for the cab, and I’m grateful for the Audi’s

heavily tinted windows so he cannot see me. The cab drives off—presumably not to Sea-

Tac—as Christian and Taylor reach the car.

Opening the driver’s door, Christian slides smoothly into the seat, presumably because

I am in the front, and Taylor gets in behind me. Neither of them says a word as Christian

starts the car and pulls out into the traffic. I risk a quick glance at Fifty. His mouth is set in

a firm line, but he seems distracted. The in-car phone rings.

“Grey,” Christian snaps.

“Mr. Grey, Barney here.”

“Barney, I’m on speaker phone, and there are others in the car,” Christian warns.

“Sir, it’s all done. But I need to talk to you about what else I found on Mr. Hyde’s

computer.”

“I’ll call you when I reach my destination. And thanks, Barney.”

“No problem, Mr. Grey.”

Barney hangs up. He sounds much younger than I expected.

What else is on Jack’s computer?

“Are you talking to me?” I ask quietly.

Christian glances at me, before fixing his eyes back on the road ahead, and I can tell

he’s still mad.

“No,” he mutters sullenly.

Oh, there we go . . . how childish. I wrap my arms around myself and stare unseeing

out the window. Perhaps I should just ask him to drop me off at my apartment, then he can

“not talk” to me from the safety of Escala and save us both the inevitable quarrel. But even

as I think it, I know I don’t want to leave him to brood, not after yesterday.

Eventually, we pull up in front of his apartment building, and Christian climbs out of

the car. Moving with easy grace around to my side, he opens my door.

“Come,” he orders as Taylor clambers into the driver’s seat. I take his proffered hand

and follow him through the grand foyer to the elevator. He doesn’t let go of me.

“Christian, why are you so mad at me?” I whisper as we wait.

“You know why,” he mutters as we step into the elevator, and he punches in the code to

his floor. “God, if something had happened to you, he’d be dead by now.” Christian’s tone

chills me to the bone. The doors close.

“As it is, I’m going to ruin his career so he can’t take advantage of young women any-

more, miserable excuse for a man that he is.” He shakes his head. “Jesus, Ana!” He grabs

me suddenly, imprisoning me in the corner of the elevator.

His hands fist in my hair as he pulls my face up to his, and his mouth is on mine, a

passionate desperation in his kiss. I don’t know why this takes me by surprise, but it does.

I taste his relief, his longing, and his residual anger while his tongue possesses my mouth.

He stops, gazing down at me, resting his weight against me so I can’t move. He leaves me

breathless, clinging to him for support, staring up into that beautiful face etched with deter-

mination and without any trace of humor.

“If anything had happened to you . . . If he’d harmed you . . .” I feel the shudder that

runs through him. “Blackberry,” he commands quietly. “From now on. Understand?”

I nod, swallowing, unable to break eye contact from his grim, mesmerizing look.

He straightens, releasing me as the elevator comes to a stop. “He said you kicked him

in the balls.” Christian’s tone is lighter with a trace of admiration, and I think I’m forgiven.

“Yes,” I whisper, still reeling from the intensity of his kiss and his impassioned com-

mand.

“Good.”

“Ray is ex-army. He taught me well.”

“I’m very glad he did,” he breathes and adds, arching a brow, “I’ll need to remember

that.” Taking my hand, he leads me out of the elevator and I follow, relieved. I think that’s

as bad as his mood is going to get.

“I need to call Barney. I won’t be long.” He disappears into his study, leaving me

stranded in the vast living room. Mrs. Jones is adding the finishing touches to our meal. I

realize I am famished, but I need something to do.

“Can I help?” I ask.

She laughs. “No, Ana. Can I fix you a drink or something? You look beat.”

“I’d love a glass of wine.”

“White?”

“Yes, please.”

I perch on one of the bar stools, and she hands me a glass of chilled wine. I don’t know

what it is, but it’s delicious and slides down easily, soothing my shattered nerves. What was

I thinking about earlier today? How alive I have felt since I met Christian. How exciting my

life has become. Jeez, could I just have a few boring days?

What if I’d never met Christian? I’d be holed up in my apartment, talking it through

with Ethan, completely freaked by my encounter with Jack, knowing I would have to face

the sleazeball again on Friday. As it is, there’s every chance I’ll never set eyes on him again.

But who will I work for now? I frown. I hadn’t thought of that. Shit, do I even have a job?

“Evening, Gail,” Christian says as he comes back into the great room, dragging me

from my thoughts. Heading straight to the fridge, he pours himself a glass of wine.

“Good evening, Mr. Grey. Dinner in ten, sir?”

“Sounds good.”

Christian raises his glass.

“To ex-military men who train their daughters well,” he says and his eyes soften.

“Cheers,” I mutter, raising my glass.

“What’s wrong?” Christian asks.

“I don’t know if I still have a job.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Do you still want one?”