He answers on the second ring. “Anastasia. You okay?” he asks concerned. “They’ve just given me Jack’s job to mind, temporarily,” I blurt out. “You’re kidding,” he whispers, shocked. “Did you ha一ve anything to do with this?” My voice is sharper than I mean it to be. “No—no, not at all. I mean, with all due respect, “No—no, not at all. I mean, with all due respect, Anastasia, you’ve only been there for a week or so—and I don’t mean that unkindly.” “I know.” I frown. “Apparently Jack really rated me.” “Did he now?” Christian’s tone is frosty and then he sighs. “Well, baby, if they think you can do it, I’m sure you can. Congratulations. Perhaps we should celebrate after we’ve seen Flynn.” “Hmm. Are you sure you had nothing to do with this?” He is silent for a moment, and then he says in a low menacing voice. “Do you doub一t me? It angers me that you do.” I swallow. Boy, he gets mad so easily. “I’m sorry,” I breathe, chastened. “If you need anything, let me know. I’ll be here. And Anastasia?” “What?” “Use your Blackberry,” he adds tersely. “Yes, Christian.” He doesn’t hang up as I expect him to but takes a deep breath. “I mean it. If you need me, I’m here.” His words are much softer, conciliatory. Oh, he’s so mercurial . . . his mood swings are like a metronome set at presto. “Okay,” I murmur. “I’d better go. I ha一ve to move offices.” “If you need me. I mean it,” he murmurs. “I know, thank you, Christian. I love you.” I sense his grin at the other end of the phone. I’ve won I sense his grin at the other end of the phone. I’ve won him back. “I love you, too, baby.” Oh, will I ever tire of him saying those words to me? “I’ll talk to you later.” “Laters, baby.” I hang up and glance at Jack’s office. My office. Holy cow—Anastasia Steele, Acting Commissioning Editor. Who would ha一ve thought? I should ask for more money. What would Jack think if he knew? I shudder at the thought and wonder idly how he’s spent his morning, not in New York as he expected. I stroll into his—my office—sit down at the desk, and start reading the job description. At twelve thirty, Elizabeth buzzes me. “Ana, we need you in a meeting at one o’clock in the boardroom. Jerry Roach and Kay Bestie will be there— you know, the company president and vice president? All the commissioning editors will be attending.” Shit! “Do I need to prepare anything?” “No, this is just an informal gathering we do once a month. Lunch will be provided.” “I’ll be there.” I hang up. Holy shit! I check through the current roster of Jack’s authors. Yes, I’ve pretty much got those nailed. I ha一ve the five manuscripts he’s championing, plus two more, which should really be considered for publication. I take a deep breath—I cannot believe it’s lunchtime already. The day has flown by, and I’m loving it. There has been so much to absorb this morning. A ping from my calendar announces absorb this morning. A ping from my calendar announces an appointment. Oh no—Mia! In all the excitement I ha一ve forgotten about our lunch. I fish out my Blackberry and try frantically to find her phone number. My phone buzzes. “It’s him, in reception.” Claire’s voice is hushed. “Who?” For a moment, I think it might be Christian. “The blond god.” “Ethan?” Oh, what does he want? I immediately feel guilty for not ha一ving called him. Ethan, dressed in a checked blue shirt, white T-shirt, and jeans, beams at me when I appear. “Wow! You look hot, Steele,” he says, nodding appreciatively. He gives me a quick hug. “Is everything okay?” I ask. He frowns. “Everything’s fine, Ana. I just wanted to see you. I’ve not heard from you in a while, and I wanted to check how Mr. Mogul was treating you.” I flush and can’t help my smile. “Okay!” Ethan exclaims, holding up his hands. “I can tell by the secret smile. I don’t want to know any more. I came by on the off chance you could do lunch. I’m enrolling at Seattle for psych courses in September. For my master’s.” “Oh Ethan. So much has happened. I ha一ve a ton to tell you, but right now, I can’t. I ha一ve a meeting.” An idea hits me hard. “And I wonder if you can do me a really, really, really big fa一vor?” I clasp my hands together in supplication. “Sure,” he says, bemused by my pleading. “I’m supposed to be ha一ving lunch with Christian and Elliot’s sister—but I can’t get hold of her, and this meeting’s just been sprung on me. Please will you take her for lunch? Please?” “Aw, Ana! I don’t want to babysit some brat.” “Please, Ethan.” I give him the biggest-bluest-longesteye- lashed look that I can manage. He rolls his eyes and I know I’ve got him. “You’ll cook me something?” he mutters. “Sure, whatever, whenever.” “So where is she?” “She’s due here now.” And as if on cue, I hear her voice. “Ana!” she calls from the front door. We both turn, and there she is—all curvaceous and tall with her sleek black bob—wearing a short mint-green minidress and matching high-heeled pumps with straps around her slim ankles. She looks stunning. “The brat?” he whispers, gaping at her. “Yes. The brat that needs babysitting,” I whisper back. “Hi, Mia.” I give her a quick hug as she stares rather blatantly at Ethan. “Mia—this is Ethan, Kate’s brother.” He nods, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Mia blinks several times as she gives him her hand. “Delighted to meet you,” Ethan murmurs smoothly and Mia blinks again—silent for once. She blushes. Holy cow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her blush. “I can’t make lunch,” I say lamely. “Ethan has agreed to take you, if that’s okay? Can we ha一ve a rain check?” “Sure,” she says quietly. Mia quiet, this is novel. “Yeah, I’ll take it from here. Laters, Ana,” Ethan says, offering Mia his arm. She accepts it with a shy smile. “Bye, Ana.” Mia turns to me and mouths, “Oh. My. God!” giving me an exaggerated wink. Jeez . . . she likes him! I wa一ve at them as they lea一ve the building. I wonder what Christian’s attitude is about his sister dating? The thought makes me uneasy. She’s my age, so he can’t object, can he? This is Christian we’re dealing with. My snarky subconscious is back, hatchet-mouthed, cardigan and purse in the crook of her arm. I shake off the image. Mia is a grown woman and Christian can be reasonable, can’t he? I dismiss the thought and head back to Jack’s . . . er . . . my office to prep for the meeting. It’s three thirty when I return. The meeting went well. I ha一ve even secured approval to progress the two manuscripts I was championing. It’s a heady feeling. On my desk is an enormous wicker basket crammed with stunning white and pale pink roses. Wow—the fragrance alone is hea一venly. I smile as I pick up the card. I know who sent them. Congratulations, Miss Steele And all on your own! No help from your overfriendly, neighborhood, megalomaniac CEO Love Christian I pick up my Blackberry to e-mail him. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Megalomaniac . . . Date: June 16, 2011 15:43 To: Christian Grey . . . is my fa一vorite type of maniac. Thank you for the beautiful flowers. They’ve arrived in a huge wicker basket that makes me think of picnics and blankets. x From: Christian Grey Subject: Fresh Air Date: June 16, 2011 15:55 To: Anastasia Steele Maniac, eh? Dr. Flynn may ha一ve something to say about that. You want to go on a picnic? We could ha一ve fun in the great outdoors, Anastasia . . . We could ha一ve fun in the great outdoors, Anastasia . . . How is your day going, baby? Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. Oh my. I flush reading his response. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Hectic Date: June 16, 2011 16:00 To: Christian Grey The day has flown by. I ha一ve hardly had a moment to myself to think about anything other than work. I think I can do this! I’ll tell you more when I’m home. Outdoors sounds . . . interesting. Love you. A x PS: Don’t worry about Dr. Flynn. My phone buzzes. It’s Claire from reception, desperate to know who sent the flowers and what happened to Jack. Holed up in the office all day, I ha一ve missed the gossip. I tell her quickly that the flowers are from my boyfriend and that I know very little about Jack’s departure. My that I know very little about Jack’s departure. My Blackberry buzzes and I ha一ve another e-mail from Christian. From: Christian Grey Subject: I’ll try . . . Date: June 16, 2011 16:09 To: Anastasia Steele . . . not to worry. Laters, baby. x Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. At five thirty, I pack up my desk. I can’t believe how quickly the day has gone. I ha一ve to get back to Escala and prepare to meet Dr. Flynn. I ha一ven’t even had time to think of questions. Perhaps today we can ha一ve an initial meeting, and maybe Christian will let me see him again. I shrug off the thought as I dash out of the office, wa一ving a quick good-bye to Claire. I’ve also got Christian’s birthday to think about. I know what I’m going to give him. I’d like him to ha一ve it tonight before we meet Flynn, but how? Beside the parking lot is a small store selling touristy trinkets. Inspiration hits me and I duck inside. Christian is on his Blackberry, standing and staring out the glass wall as I enter the great room half an hour later. Turning, he beams at me and wraps up his call. “Ros, that’s great. Tell Barney and we’ll go from there . . . Good-bye.” He strides over to me as I stand shyly in the entryway. He’s changed now into a white T-shirt and jeans, all bad boy and smoldering. Whoa. “Good evening, Miss Steele,” he murmurs and he bends to kiss me. “Congratulations on your promotion.” He wraps his arms around me. He smells delicious. “You’ve showered.” “I’ve just had a work-out with Claude.” “Oh.” “Managed to knock him on his ass twice.” Christian beams, boyish and pleased with himself. His grin is infectious. “That doesn’t happen often?” “No. Very satisfying when it does. Hungry?” I shake my head. “What?” He frowns at me. “I’m nervous. About Dr. Flynn.” “Me, too. How was your day?” He releases me, and I him give a brief summary. He listens attentively. “Oh—there’s one more thing I should tell you,” I add. “I was supposed to ha一ve lunch with Mia.” He raises his eyebrows, surprised. “You never mentioned that.” “I know, I forgot. I couldn’t make it because of the meeting, and Ethan took her out to lunch instead.” His face darkens. “I see. Stop biting your lip.” “I’m going to freshen up,” I say changing the subject and turning to lea一ve before he can react any further. Dr. Flynn’s office is a short drive from Christian’s apartment. Very handy, I muse, for emergency sessions. “I usually run here from home,” Christian says as he parks my Saab. “This is a great car.” He smiles at me. “I think so, too.” I smile back at him. “Christian . . . I —” I gaze anxiously at him. “What is it, Ana?” “Here.” I pull the small black gift box from my purse. “This is for you for your birthday. I wanted to give it to you now—but only if you promise not to open it until Saturday, okay?” He blinks at me in surprise and swallows. “Okay,” he murmurs cautiously. Taking a deep breath, I hand it to him, ignoring his bemused expression. He shakes the box, and it produces a very satisfactory rattle. He frowns. I know he’s desperate to see what it contains. Then he grins, his eyes alight with youthful, carefree excitement. Oh boy . . . he looks his age—and so beautiful. “You can’t open it until Saturday,” I warn him. “You can’t open it until Saturday,” I warn him. “I get it,” he says. “Why are you giving this to me now?” He pops the box into the inside pocket of his blue pinstriped jacket, close to his heart. How apt, I muse. I smirk at him. “Because I can, Mr. Grey.” His mouth twists with wry amusement. “Why, Miss Steele, you stole my line.” We are ushered into Dr. Flynn’s palatial office by a brisk and friendly receptionist. She greets Christian warmly, a little too warmly for my taste—jeez, she’s old enough to be his mother—and he knows her name. The room is understated: pale green with two dark green couches facing two leather winged chairs, and it has the atmosphere of a gentlemen’s club. Dr. Flynn is seated at a desk at the far end of the room. As we enter, he stands and walks over to join us in the seating area. He wears black pants and a pale-blue opennecked shirt—no tie. His bright blue eyes seem to miss nothing. “Christian.” He smiles amicably. “John.” Christian shakes John’s hand. “You remember Anastasia?” “How could I forget? Anastasia, welcome.” “Ana, please,” I mumble as he shakes my hand firmly. I do love his English accent. “Ana,” he says kindly, ushering us toward the couches. Christian gestures to one of them for me. I sit, trying to look relaxed, resting my hand on the couch rest, and he look relaxed, resting my hand on the couch rest, and he sprawls on the other couch beside me so that we’re at right angles to each other. A small table with a simple lamp is between us. I note with interest a box of tissues beside the lamp. This isn’t what I expected. I had in my mind’s eye a stark white room with a black leather chaise longue; my inner goddess might ha一ve felt more at home then. Looking relaxed and in control, Dr. Flynn takes a seat in one of the winged chairs and picks up a leather notepad. Christian crosses his legs, his ankle resting on his knee, and stretches one arm along the back of the couch. Reaching across with his other hand, he finds my hand on the couch rest and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Christian has requested that you accompany him to one of our sessions,” Dr. Flynn begins gently. “Just so you know, we treat these sessions with absolute confidentiality —” I raise my eyebrow at Flynn, halting him mid-speech. “Oh—um . . . I’ve signed an NDA,” I murmur, embarrassed that he’s stopped. Both Flynn and Christian stare at me, and Christian releases my hand. “A non-disclosure agreement?” Dr. Flynn’s brow furrows, and he glances quizzically at Christian. Christian shrugs. “You start all your relationships with women with an NDA?” Dr. Flynn asks him. “The contractual ones, I do.” Dr. Flynn’s lip twitches. “You’ve had other types of relationships with women?” he asks, and he looks amused. relationships with women?” he asks, and he looks amused. “No,” Christian answers after a beat, and he looks amused, too. “As I thought.” Dr. Flynn turns his attention back to me. “Well, I guess we don’t ha一ve to worry about confidentiality, but may I suggest that the two of you discuss this at some point? As I understand, you’re no longer entering into that kind of contractual relationship.” “Different kind of contract, hopefully,” says Christian softly, glancing at me. I flush and Dr. Flynn narrows his eyes. “Ana. You’ll ha一ve to forgive me, but I probably know a lot more about you than you think. Christian has been very forthcoming.” I glance nervously at Christian. What has he said? “An NDA?” he continues. “That must ha一ve shocked you.” I blink at him. “Oh, I think the shock of that has paled into insignificance, given Christian’s most recent revelations,” I answer, my voice soft and hesitant. I sound so nervous. “I’m sure.” Dr. Flynn smiles kindly at me. “So, Christian, what would you like to discuss?” Christian shrugs like a surly teen. “Anastasia wanted to see you. Perhaps you should ask her.” Dr. Flynn’s face registers his surprise once more, and he gazes shrewdly at me. Holy shit. This is mortifying. I gaze down at my fingers. “Would you be more comfortable if Christian left us for “Would you be more comfortable if Christian left us for a while?” My eyes dart to Christian and he’s gazing at me expectantly. “Yes,” I whisper. Christian frowns and opens his mouth but closes it again quickly and stands in one swift graceful movement. “I’ll be in the waiting room,” he says, his mouth a flat, grumpy line. Oh no. “Thank you, Christian,” Dr. Flynn says impassively. Christian gives me one long, searching look then stalks out of the room—but he doesn’t slam the door. Phew. I immediately relax. “He intimidates you?” “Yes. But not as much as he used to.” I feel disloyal but it’s the truth. “That doesn’t surprise me, Ana. What can I help you with?” I stare down at my knotted fingers. What can I ask? “Dr. Flynn, I’ve never been in a relationship before, and Christian is . . . well, he’s Christian. And over the last week or so, a great deal has happened. I ha一ven’t had a chance to think things through.” “What do you need to think through?” I glance up at him, and his head is cocked to one side as he gazes at me with compassion, I think. “Well . . . Christian tells me that he’s happy to give up . . . er—” I stumble and pause. This is so much more difficult to discuss than I’d imagined. difficult to discuss than I’d imagined. Dr. Flynn sighs. “Ana, in the very limited time that you’ve known him, you’ve made more progress with my patient than I ha一ve in the last two years. You ha一ve had a profound effect on him. You must see that.” “He’s had a profound effect on me, too. I just don’t know if I’m enough. To fulfill his needs,” I whisper. “Is that what you need from me? Reassurance?” I nod. “Needs change,” he says simply. “Christian has found himself in a situation where his methods of coping are no longer effective. Very simply, you’ve forced him to confront some of his demons and rethink.” I blink at him. This echoes what Christian has told me. “Yes, his demons,” I murmur. “We don’t dwell on them—they’re in the past. Christian knows what his demons are, as do I—and now I’m sure you do, too. I’m much more concerned with the future and getting Christian to a place where he wants to be.” I frown and he raises an eyebrow. “The technical term is SFB一T—sorry.” He smiles. “That stands for Solution-Focused Brief Therapy. Essentially, it’s goal oriented. We concentrate on where Christian wants to be and how to get him there. It’s a dialectical approach. There’s no point in breast-beating about the past—all that’s been picked over by every physician, psychologist, and psychiatrist Christian’s ever seen. We know why he’s the way he is, but it’s the future that’s important. Where Christian envisages himself, where he wants to be. It took you walking out on him to make him take this form of therapy seriously. He realizes that his goal is a loving relationship with you. It’s that simple, and that’s what we’re working on now. Of course there are obstacles— his haphephobia for one.” Oh jeez . . . his what? I gasp. “I’m sorry. I mean his fear of being touched,” Dr. Flynn says, shaking his head as if scolding himself. “Which I’m sure you’re aware of.” I flush and nod. Oh that! “He has a morbid self-abhorrence. I’m sure that comes as no surprise to you. And of course there’s the parasomnia . . . um—night terrors, sorry, to the layperson.” I blink at him, trying to absorb all these long words. I know about all of this. But Flynn hasn’t mentioned my central concern. “But he’s a sadist. Surely, as such, he has needs which I can’t fulfill.” Dr. Flynn actually rolls his eyes, and his mouth presses into a hard line. “That’s no longer recognized as a psychiatric term. I don’t know how many times I ha一ve told him that. It’s not even classified as a paraphilia any more, not since the nineties.” Dr. Flynn has lost me again. I blink at him. He smiles kindly at me. “This is a pet peeve of mine.” He shakes his head. “Christian just thinks the worst of any given situation. It’s part of his self-abhorrence. Of course, there’s such a thing as sexual sadism, but it’s not a disease; it’s a lifestyle choice. And if it’s practiced in a safe, sane relationship between consenting adults, then it’s a nonissue. My understanding is that Christian has conducted all of his BDSM relationships in this manner. You’re the first lover who hasn’t consented, so he’s not willing to do it.” Lover! “But surely it’s not that simple.” “Why not?” Dr. Flynn shrugs good-naturedly. “Well . . . the reasons he does it.” “Ana, that’s the point. In terms of solution-focused therapy, it is that simple. Christian wants to be with you. In order to do that, he needs to forego the more extreme aspects of that kind of relationship. After all, what you’re asking for is not unreasonable . . . is it?” I flush. No, it’s not unreasonable, is it? “I don’t think so. But I worry that he does.” “Christian recognizes that and has acted accordingly. He’s not insane.” Dr. Flynn sighs. “In a nutshell, he’s not a sadist, Ana. He’s an angry, frightened, brilliant young man, who was dealt a shit hand of cards when he was born. We can all beat our breasts about it, and analyze the who, the how and the why to death—or Christian can move on and decide how he wants to live. He’d found something that worked for him for a few years, more or less, but since he met you, it no longer works. And as a consequence, he’s changing his modus operandi. You and I ha一ve to respect his choice and support him in it.” I gape at him. “That’s my reassurance?” “As good as it gets, Ana. There are no guarantees in this life.” He smiles. “And that is my professional opinion.” I smile, too, weakly. Doctor jokes . . . jeez. “But he thinks of himself as a recovering alcoholic.” “Christian will always think the worst of himself. As I said, it’s part of his self-abhorrence. It’s in his makeup, no matter what. Naturally he’s anxious about making this change in his life. He’s potentially exposing himself to a whole world of emotional pain, which, incidentally, he had a taste of when you left him. Naturally he’s apprehensive.” Dr. Flynn pauses. “I don’t mean to stress how important a role you ha一ve in his Damascene conversion—his road to Damascus. But you ha一ve. Christian would not be in this place if he had not met you. Personally I don’t think that an alcoholic is a very good analogy, but if it works for him for now, then I think we should give him the benefit of the doub一t.” Give Christian the benefit of the doub一t. I frown at the thought. “Emotionally, Christian is an adolescent, Ana. He bypassed that phase in his life totally. He’s channeled all his energies into succeeding in the business world, and he has beyond all expectations. His emotional world has to play catch-up.” “So how do I help?” Dr. Flynn laughs. “Just keep doing what you’re doing,” he grins at me. “Christian is head over heels. It’s a delight to see.” to see.” I flush, and my inner goddess is hugging herself with glee, but something bothers me. “Can I ask you one more thing?” “Of course.” I take a deep breath. “Part of me thinks that if he wasn’t this broken he wouldn’t . . . want me.” Dr. Flynn’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “That’s a very negative thing to say about yourself, Ana. And frankly it says more about you than it does about Christian. It’s not quite up there with his self-loathing, but I’m surprised by it.” “Well, look at him . . . and then look at me.” Dr. Flynn frowns. “I ha一ve. I see an attractive young man, and I see an attractive young woman. Ana, why don’t you think of yourself as attractive?” Oh no . . . I don’t want this to be about me. I stare down at my fingers. There’s a sharp knock on the door that makes me jump. Christian comes back into the room, glaring at both of us. I flush and glance quickly at Flynn, who is smiling benignly at Christian. “Welcome back, Christian,” he says. “I think time is up, John.” “Nearly, Christian. Join us.” Christian sits down, beside me this time, and places his hand possessively on my knee. His action does not go unnoticed by Dr. Flynn. “Did you ha一ve any other questions, Ana?” Dr. Flynn asks and his concern is obvious. Shit . . . I should not ha一ve asked that question. I shake my head. asked that question. I shake my head. “Christian?” “Not today, John.” Flynn nods. “It may be beneficial if you both come again. I’m sure Ana will ha一ve more questions.” Christian nods, reluctantly. I flush. Shit . . . he wants to delve. Christian clasps my hand and regards me intently. “Okay?” he asks softly. I smile at him, nodding. Yes, we’re going for the benefit of the doub一t, courtesy of the good doctor from England. Christian squeezes my hand and turns to Flynn. “How is she?” he asks softly. Me? “She’ll get there,” he says reassuringly. “Good. Keep me updated of her progress.” “I will.” Holy fuck. They’re talking about Leila. “Shall we go and celebrate your promotion?” Christian asks me pointedly. I nod shyly as Christian stands. We say our quick good-byes to Dr. Flynn, and Christian ushers me out with unseemly haste. In the street, he turns to me. “How was that?” his voice is anxious. “It was good.” “It was good.” He regards me suspiciously. I cock my head to one side. “Mr. Grey, please don’t look at me that way. Under doctor’s orders I am going to give you the benefit of the doub一t.” “What does that mean?” “You’ll see.” His mouth twists and his eyes narrow. “Get in the car,” he orders while opening the passenger door of the Saab. Oh, change of direction. My Blackberry buzzes. I haul it out of my purse. Shit, José! “Hi!” “Ana, hi . . .” I stare at Fifty, who is eyeing me suspiciously. “José,” I mouth at him. He stares impassively at me, but his eyes harden. Does he think I don’t notice? I turn my attention back to José. “Sorry I ha一ven’t called you. Is it about tomorrow?” I ask José, but stare up at Christian. “Yeah, listen—I spoke with some guy at Grey’s place, so I know where I’m delivering the photos, and I should get there between five and six . . . after that, I’m free.” Oh. “Well, I’m actually staying with Christian at the moment, and if you want to, he says you can stay at his place.” Christian presses his mouth in a hard line. Hmm— some host he is. some host he is. José is silent for a moment, absorbing this news. I cringe. I ha一ven’t had a chance to talk to him about Christian. “Okay,” he says eventually. “This thing with Grey, it’s serious?” I turn away from the car and pace to the other side of the sidewalk. “Yes.” “How serious?” I roll my eyes and pause. Why does Christian ha一ve to be listening? “Serious.” “Is he with you now? That why you’re speaking in monosyllables?” “Yes.” “Okay. So are you allowed out tomorrow?” “Of course I am.” I hope. I automatically cross my fingers. “So where shall I meet you?” “You could collect me from work,” I offer. “Okay.” “I’ll text you the address.” “What time?” “Say six?” “Sure. I’ll see you then, Ana. Looking forward to it. I miss you.” I grin. “Cool. I’ll see you then.” I switch the phone off and turn. Christian is leaning against the car watching me Christian is leaning against the car watching me carefully, his expression impossible to read. “How’s your friend?” he asks coolly. “He’s well. He’ll pick me up from work, and I think we’ll go for a drink. Would you like to join us?” Christian hesitates, his gray eyes cool. “You don’t think he’ll try anything?” “No!” My tone is exasperated—but I refrain from rolling my eyes. “Okay,” Christian holds his hands up in defeat. “You hang out with your friend, and I’ll see you later in the evening.” I was expecting a fight, and his easy acquiescence throws me off balance. “See? I can be reasonable.” He smirks. My mouth twists. We’ll see about that. “Can I drive?” Christian blinks at me, surprised by my request. “I’d rather you didn’t.” “Why, exactly?” “Because I don’t like to be driven.” “You managed this morning, and you seem to tolerate Taylor driving you.” “I trust Taylor’s driving implicitly.” “And not mine?” I put my hands on my hips. “Honestly —your control freakery knows no bounds. I’ve been driving since I was fifteen.” He shrugs in response, as if this is of no consequence whatsoever. Oh—he’s so exasperating! Benefit of the doub一t? Well, screw that. “Is this my car?” I demand. He frowns at me. “Of course it’s your car.” “Then give me the keys, please. I’ve driven it twice, and only to and from work. Now you’re ha一ving all the fun.” I am in full-on pout mode. Christian’s lips twitch with a repressed smile. “But you don’t know where we’re going.” “I’m sure you can enlighten me, Mr. Grey. You’ve done a great job of it so far.” He gazes at me stunned then smiles, his new shy smile that totally disarms me and takes my breath away. “Great job, eh?” he murmurs. I blush. “Mostly, yes.” “Well, in that case.” He hands me the keys, walks round to the driver’s door, and opens it for me. “Left here,” Christian orders, and we head north toward the I-5. “Hell—gently, Ana.” He grabs hold of the dashboard. Oh, for hea一ven’s sake. I roll my eyes, but don’t turn to look at him. Van Morrison croons in the background over the car sound system. “Slow down!” “I am slowing down!” Christian sighs. “What did Flynn say?” I hear his anxiety leaching into his voice. “I told you. He says I should give you the benefit of the doub一t.” Damn—maybe I should ha一ve let Christian drive. Then I could watch him. In fact . . . I signal to pull over. “What are you doing?” he snaps, alarmed. “Letting you drive.” “Why?” “So I can look at you.” He laughs. “No, no—you wanted to drive. So, you drive, and I’ll look at you.” I scowl at him. “Keep your eyes on the road!” he shouts. My blood boils. Right! I pull over to the curb just before a stoplight and storm out of the car, slamming the door, and stand on the sidewalk, arms folded, I glare at him. He climbs out of the car. “What are you doing?” he asks angrily, staring down at me. “No. What are you doing?” “You can’t park here.” “I know that.” “So why ha一ve you?” “Because I’ve had it with you barking orders. Either you drive or you shut up about my driving!” “Anastasia, get back in the car before we get a ticket.” “No.” He blinks at me, at a total loss, then runs his hands through his hair, and his anger becomes bewilderment. He looks so comical all of a sudden, and I can’t help but smile at him. He frowns. “What?” he snaps once more. “What?” he snaps once more. “You.” “Oh, Anastasia! You are the most frustrating female on the planet.” He throws his hands in the air. “Fine—I’ll drive.” I grab the edges of his jacket and pull him to me. “No—you are the most frustrating man on the planet, Mr. Grey.” He gazes down at me, his eyes dark and intense, he snakes his arms around my waist and embraces me, holding me close. “Maybe we’re meant for each other, then,” he says softly and inhales deeply, his nose in my hair. I wrap my arms around him and close my eyes. For the first time since this morning, I feel myself relax. “Oh . . . Ana, Ana, Ana,” he breathes, his lips pressed against my hair. I tighten my arms around him, and we stand, immobile, enjoying a moment of unexpected tranquility, on the street. Releasing me, he opens the passenger door. I climb in and sit quietly, watching him walk around the car. Restarting the car, Christian pulls out into the traffic, absentmindedly humming along to Van Morrison. Whoa. I’ve never heard him sing, not even in the shower, ever. I frown. He has a lovely voice—of course. Hmm . . . has he heard me sing? He wouldn’t be asking you to marry him if he had! My subconscious has her arms crossed and is wearing Burberry check . . . jeez. The song finishes and Christian smirks. “You know, if we had gotten a ticket, the title of this “You know, if we had gotten a ticket, the title of this car is in your name.” “Well, good thing I’ve been promoted—I can afford the fine,” I say smugly, staring at his lovely profile. His lips twitch. Another Van Morrison song starts playing as he takes the on-ramp to I-5, heading north. “Where are we going?” “It’s a surprise. What else did Flynn say?” I sigh. “He talked about FFFSTB or something.” “SFB一T. The latest therapy option,” he mutters. “You’ve tried others?” Christian snorts. “Baby, I’ve been subjected to them all. Cognitivism, Freud, functionalism, Gestalt, beha一viorism . . . You name it, over the years I’ve done it,” he says and his tone betrays his bitterness. The rancor in his voice is distressing. “Do you think this latest approach will help?” “What did Flynn say?” “He said not to dwell on your past. Focus on the future —on where you want to be.” Christian nods but shrugs at the same time, his expression cautious. “What else?” he persists. “He talked about your fear of being touched, although he called it something else. And about your nightmares and your self-abhorrence.” I glance at him, and in the evening light, he’s pensive, chewing on his thumbnail as he drives. He glances quickly at me. “Eyes on the road, Mr. Grey,” I admonish, my eyebrow cocked at him. eyebrow cocked at him. He looks amused, and slightly exasperated. “You were talking forever, Anastasia. What else did he say?” I swallow. “He doesn’t think you’re a sadist,” I whisper. “Really?” Christian says quietly and frowns. The atmosphere in the car takes a nosedive. “He says that term’s not recognized in psychiatry. Not since the nineties,” I mutter, quickly trying to rescue the mood between us. Christian’s face darkens, and he exhales slowly. “Flynn and I ha一ve differing opinions on this,” he says quietly. “He said you always think the worst of yourself. I know that’s true,” I murmur. “He also mentioned sexual sadism—but he said that was a lifestyle choice, not a psychiatric condition. Maybe that’s what you’re thinking about.” His gray eyes flash toward me again, and his mouth sets in a grim line. “So—one talk with the good doctor and you’re an expert,” he says acidly and turns his eyes front. Oh dear . . . I sigh. “Look—if you don’t want to hear what he said, don’t ask me,” I mutter softly. I don’t want to argue. Anyway he’s right—what the hell do I know about all his shit? Do I even want to know? I can list the salient points—his control freakery, his possessiveness, his jealousy, his overprotectiveness—and I completely understand where he’s coming from. I can I completely understand where he’s coming from. I can even understand why he doesn’t like to be touched—I’ve seen the physical scars. I can only imagine the mental ones, and I’ve only glimpsed his nightmares once. And Dr. Flynn said— “I want to know what you discussed.” Christian interrupts my thoughts as he heads off I-5 on exit 172, heading west toward the slowly sinking sun. “He called me your lover.” “Did he now?” His tone is conciliatory. “Well, he’s nothing if not fastidious about his terms. I think that’s an accurate description. Don’t you?” “Did you think of your subs as lovers?” Christian’s brow creases once more, but this time he’s thinking. He turns the Saab smoothly north once again. Where are we going? “No. They were sexual partners,” he murmurs, his voice cautious again. “You’re my only lover. And I want you to be more.” Oh . . . there’s that magical word again, brimming with possibility. It makes me smile, and inside I hug myself, my inner goddess radiating joy. “I know,” I whisper, trying hard to hide my excitement. “I just need some time, Christian. To get my head around these last few days.” He glances at me oddly, perplexed, his head inclined to one side. After a beat, the stoplight we’re stationed at turns green. He nods and turns the music up, and our discussion is over. Van Morrison is still singing—more optimistically now Van Morrison is still singing—more optimistically now —about it being a marvelous night for moondancing. I gaze out the windows at the pines and spruce dusted gold by the fading light of the sun, their long shadows stretching across the road. Christian has turned into a more residential street, and we’re heading west toward the Sound. “Where are we going?” I ask again as we turn into a road. I catch a road sign—9TH A一VE NW. I am baffled. “Surprise,” he says and smiles mysteriously. Christian continues to drive past single-story, well-kept, clapboard houses where kids play either clustered around their basketball hoops in their yards or cycling and running around in the street. It all looks affluent and wholesome with the houses nestling among the trees. Perhaps we’re going to visit someone? Who? A few minutes later, Christian turns sharply left, and we’re confronted by two ornate white metal gates set in a sixfoot- high, sandstone wall. Christian presses a button on his door handle and the electric window hums quietly down into the doorframe. He punches a number into the keypad and the gates swing open in welcome. He glances at me, and his expression has changed. He looks uncertain, nervous even. “What is it?” I ask, and I can’t mask the concern in my voice. “An idea,” he says quietly and eases the Saab through the gates. We head up a tree-lined lane just wide enough for two We head up a tree-lined lane just wide enough for two cars. On one side, the trees ring a densely wooded area, and on the other there’s a vast area of grassland where a once-cultivated field has been left fallow. Grasses and wildflowers ha一ve reclaimed it, creating a rural idyll—a meadow, where the late evening breeze softly ripples through the grass and the evening sun gilds the wildflowers. It’s lovely—utterly tranquil, and suddenly I imagine myself lying in the grass and gazing up at a clear blue summer sky. The thought is tantalizing yet makes me feel homesick for some strange reason. How odd. The lane curves around and opens into a sweeping driveway in front of an impressive Mediterranean-style house of soft pink sandstone. It’s palatial. All the lights are on, each window brightly illuminated in the dusk. There’s a smart, black BMW parked in front of the four-car garage, but Christian pulls up outside the grand portico. Hmm . . . I wonder who lives here? Why are we visiting? Christian glances anxiously at me as he switches off the car engine. “Will you keep an open mind?” he asks. I frown. “Christian, I’ve needed an open mind since the day I met you.” He smiles ironically and nods. “Fair point well made, Miss Steele. Let’s go.” The dark wood doors open, and a woman with dark brown hair, a sincere smile, and a sharp lilac suit stands waiting. I’m grateful I changed into my new na一vy shift waiting. I’m grateful I changed into my new na一vy shift dress to impress Dr. Flynn. Okay, I’m not wearing killer heels like her—but still, I’m not in jeans. “Mr. Grey.” She smiles warmly and they shake hands. “Miss Kelly,” he says politely. She smiles at me and holds out her hand, which I shake. Her isn’t-he-dreamily-gorgeous-wish-he-was-mine flush does not go unnoticed. “Olga Kelly,” she announces breezily. “Ana Steele,” I mutter back at her. Who is this woman? She stands aside, welcoming us into the house. It’s a shock when I step in. The place is empty— completely empty. We find ourselves in a large entrance hall. The walls are a faded primrose yellow with scuffmarks where pictures must once ha一ve hung. All that remains are the old-fashioned crystal light fixtures. The floors are dull hardwood. There are closed doors to either side of us, but Christian gives me no time to assimilate what’s happening. “Come,” he says, and taking my hand, he leads me through the archway in front of us into a larger inner vestibule. It’s dominated by a curved, sweeping staircase with an intricate iron balustrade but still he doesn’t stop. He takes me through to the main living area, which is empty, sa一ve for a large faded gold rug—the biggest rug I ha一ve ever seen. Oh—and there are four crystal chandeliers. But Christian’s intention is now clear as we head across the room and outside through open French doors to a large stone terrace. Below us there’s half a football to a large stone terrace. Below us there’s half a football field of manicured lawn, but beyond that is the view. Wow. The panoramic, uninterrupted vista is breathtaking— staggering even: twilight over the Sound. Oh my. In the distance lies Bainbridge Island, and further still on this crystal clear evening, the setting sun sinks slowly, glowing blood and flame orange, beyond Olympic National Park. Vermillion hues bleed into the sky—opals, aquamarines, ceruleans—melding with the darker purples of the scant wispy clouds and the land beyond the Sound. It is nature’s best, a visual symphony orchestrated in the sky and reflected in the deep, still waters of the Sound. I am lost to the view—staring, trying to absorb such beauty. I realize I’m holding my breath in awe, and Christian is still holding my hand. As I reluctantly turn my eyes away from the view, he’s gazing anxiously at me. “You brought me here to admire the view?” I whisper. He nods, his expression serious. “It’s staggering, Christian. Thank you,” I murmur, letting my eyes feast on it once more. He releases my hand. “How would you like to look at it for the rest of your life?” he breathes. What? I whip my face back to his, startled blue eyes to pensive gray. I think my mouth drops open, and I gape at him blankly. “I’ve always wanted to live on the coast. I sail up and down the Sound coveting these houses. This place hasn’t been on the market long. I want to buy it, demolish it, and been on the market long. I want to buy it, demolish it, and build a new house—for us,” he whispers, and his eyes glow, translucent with his hopes and dreams. Holy cow. Somehow I remain upright. I’m reeling. Live, here! In this beautiful ha一ven! For the rest of my life . . . “It’s just an idea,” he adds, cautiously. I glance back to assess the interior of the house. How much is it worth? It must be, what—five, ten million dollars? I ha一ve no idea. Holy shit. “Why do you want to demolish it?” I ask, looking back at him. His face falls slightly. Oh no. “I’d like to make a more sustainable home, using the latest ecological techniques. Elliot could build it.” I gaze back at the room again. Miss Olga Kelly is on the far side, hovering by the entrance. She’s the realtor, of course. I notice the room is huge and double height, a little like the great room at Escala. There’s a balcony above— that must be the landing on the second floor. There’s a huge fireplace and a whole line of French doors opening onto the terrace. It has an old-world charm. “Can we look around the house?” He blinks at me. “Sure,” he shrugs, puzzled. Miss Kelly’s face lights up like Christmas when we head back in. She’s delighted to take us on a tour and gives us the spiel. The house is enormous: twelve thousand square feet on six acres of land. As well as this main living room, there’s the eat-in—no, banquet-in—kitchen with family room attached—Family!—a music room, a library, a study and, attached—Family!—a music room, a library, a study and, much to my amazement, an indoor pool and exercise suite with sauna and steam room attached. Downstairs in the basement there’s a cinema—Jeez—and game room. Hmm . . . what sort of games could we play in here? Miss Kelly points out all sorts of features, but basically the house is beautiful and was obviously at one time a happy family home. It’s a little shabby now, but nothing that some TLC couldn’t cure. As we follow Miss Kelly up the magnificent main stairs to the second floor, I can hardly contain my excitement . . . this house has everything I could ever wish for in a home. “Couldn’t you make the existing house more ecological and self-sustaining?” Christian blinks at me, nonplussed. “I’d ha一ve to ask Elliot. He’s the expert in all this.”