Darker (14 page)

“My niche is out in the real world. Not in academia. It’s stifling.”

“Have you met someone?” Grace asks.

“No,” I lie smoothly. I knew Elena before I went off to Harvard.

Grace narrows her eyes and the tips of my ears burn.

“We cannot condone this reckless move, son.” Carrick is summoning his full-on pompous-prick dad mode, and I worry he’s going to give me his signature “study hard, work hard, and family first” lecture.

Grace emphasizes her point. “Christian, you’re gambling with the rest of your life.”

“Mom. Dad. It’s done. I’m sorry to disappoint you again. My decision is already made. I’m just informing you.”

“But what about the wasted tuition?” My mother is wringing her hands.

Shit.

“I’ll pay you back.”

“How? And how in heaven’s name are you going to start a business? You need capital.”

“Don’t worry about that, Mom. It’s in hand. And I will pay you back.”

“Christian, darling, it’s not about the money…”

The only lesson I learned at college was how to read a balance sheet, and I found the peace that single sculls brought me.

“You don’t seem to have done too badly dropping out. What was your major?” Ana says, bringing me back to our conversation.

“Politics and economics.”

“So, she’s rich?” Ana is fixated on Elena’s loan to me.

“She was a bored trophy wife, Anastasia. Her husband was wealthy—big in timber.” This always makes me smile. I give Ana a sideways smirk. Lincoln Timber. What an unpleasant asshole he turned out to be. “He wouldn’t let her work. You know, he was controlling. Some men are like that.”

“Really? A controlling man?” Ana sounds scornful. “Surely a mythical creature.” Sarcasm drips off every word. She’s in a sassy mood, but her response makes me grin.

“She lent you her husband’s money?”

She sure did.

“That’s terrible.”

“He got his own back.”

The asshole.

My thoughts take a dark turn. He nearly killed his wife because she was fucking me. I shudder to think what he’d have done to her if I hadn’t shown up. Fury surges through my body and I clutch the steering wheel as we wait for the Escala garage barrier to open. Blood drains from my knuckles. Elena was in the hospital for three months and she refused to press charges.

Control yourself, Grey.

I relax my hold on the steering wheel.

“How?” asks Ana, as curious as ever, wanting to know about Linc’s revenge.

I’m not telling her that story. I shake my head and park in one of my allotted spaces and turn off the ignition. “Come—Franco will be here shortly.”

In the elevator, I glance down at her. The little
v
is there between her brows. She’s pensive, maybe processing what I told her—or is it something else?

“Still mad at me?” I ask.

“Very.”

“Okay.” At least I know.

Taylor has returned from visiting Sophie, his daughter. He greets us when we arrive in the foyer.

“Good afternoon, sir,” he says quietly to me.

“Has Welch been in touch?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And?”

“Everything’s arranged.”

“Excellent. How’s your daughter?”

“She’s fine, thank you, sir.”

“Good. We have a hairdresser arriving at one—Franco De Luca.”

“Miss Steele,” Taylor greets Ana.

“Hi, Taylor. You have a daughter?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How old is she?”

“She’s seven.”

Ana looks confused.

“She lives with her mother,” Taylor explains.

“Oh, I see,” she says, and he gives her a rare smile.

I turn and head into my living room. I’m not sure I appreciate Taylor charming Miss Steele or vice versa. I hear Ana behind me.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

She shakes her head and her eyes scan the room. She hasn’t been here since the awful day she left me. I want to tell her I’m glad she’s back, but she’s mad at me right now.

“I have to make a few calls. Make yourself at home.”

“Okay,” she says.

IN MY STUDY,
on my desk, I find a large cloth bag. Inside is a stunning silver mask with navy plumes for Ana. Beside it there’s a small Chanel bag containing a red lipstick. Taylor has done well. However, I don’t think Ana will be too impressed with my lipstick idea—at least not at the moment. I place the mask on a shelf and pocket the lipstick, then sit down at my computer.

It was an enlightening and diverting morning with Anastasia. She’s been as challenging as ever since we woke, whether it was about the check for her death trap of a Beetle, my relationship with Elena, or who pays for breakfast.

Ana’s fiercely independent and still doesn’t seem interested in my money. She doesn’t take, she gives; but then she’s always been that way. It’s refreshing. All of my submissives used to love their gifts.
Grey, who are you kidding?
They said they did, but perhaps that was because of the role they were playing.

I put my head in my hands. This is difficult. I’m on an uncharted course with Ana.

Her anger toward Elena is unfortunate. Elena is a friend.

Is Ana jealous?

I can’t help my past, and after all that Elena has done for me, it’s going to be awkward dealing with Ana’s hostility.

Is this what my life will be like from now on, mired in this uncertainty? It will make an interesting topic to discuss with Flynn the next time I see him. Perhaps he can coach me through this.

Shaking my head, I activate the iMac and check my e-mails. Welch has sent through a copy of Leila’s forged concealed-weapons license. She’s using the name Jeanne Barry and an address in Belltown. The photograph is her likeness, though she looks older, thinner, and sadder than she did when I knew her. It’s depressing. The woman needs help.

I print out a couple of spreadsheets from SIP— P&Ls for the last three years that I will examine later. Then I review the résumés of the additional close protection team that Taylor has approved; two of them are ex-Feds and two are ex–Navy Seals. But I have yet to broach the subject of additional security with Ana.

One step at a time, Grey.

WHEN I’VE FINISHED RESPONDING
to a few work e-mails, I go in search of Ana.

She’s not in the living room or my bedroom but while there
I collect a couple of condoms from my bedside and continue my search. I want to go upstairs to check whether she’s in the sub’s room, but I hear the elevator doors and Taylor greeting someone. My watch reads 12:55. Franco must have arrived.

The doors of the foyer open, and before Taylor opens his mouth I say, “I’ll fetch Miss Steele.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Let me know as soon as the security detail gets here.”

“Will do, Mr. Grey.”

“And thanks for the mask and lipstick.”

“You’re welcome, sir.” Taylor closes the door.

Upstairs, I can’t see her, but I hear her.

Ana’s talking to herself in the closet.

What the hell is she doing in there?

Taking a deep breath, I open the door and she’s sitting cross-legged on the floor. “There you are. I thought you’d run off.”

She holds up a finger and I realize that she’s on the phone, and not talking to herself at all. Leaning against the doorjamb, I watch as she tucks her hair behind her ear and starts winding a strand around her index finger.

“Sorry, Mom, I have to go. I’ll call again soon…” She’s jittery. Do I make her feel that way? Perhaps she’s hiding in here to get away from me. She needs some space? The thought is disheartening.

“Love you, too, Mom.” She hangs up and turns to me, her expression expectant.

“Why are you hiding in here?” I ask.

“I’m not hiding. I’m despairing.”

“Despairing?” Anxiety pricks my skin. She
is
thinking of running.

“Of all this, Christian.” She gestures toward the dresses hanging in the closet.

The clothes? She doesn’t like them?

“Can I come in?” I ask.

“It’s your closet.”

My closet. Your clothes, Ana.

Slowly I sink to the floor opposite her, trying to gauge her mood. “They’re just clothes. If you don’t like them, I’ll send them back.” I sound resigned rather than conciliatory.

“You’re a lot to take on, you know?”

She’s not wrong. Scratching my unshaved chin, I consider what to say.

Be real. Be truthful.
Flynn’s words ring in my head.

“I know. I’m trying,” I reply.

“You’re very trying,” she quips.

“As are you, Miss Steele.”

“Why are you doing this?” She gestures between us.

Her and me.

She and I.

Ana and Christian.

“You know why.”
I need you.

“No, I don’t,” she insists.

I scrape my hands through my hair, looking for inspiration. What does she want me to say? What does she want to hear? “You are one frustrating female.”

“You could have a nice brunette submissive. One who’d say, ‘How high?’ every time you said jump, provided of course she had permission to speak. So why me, Christian? I just don’t get it.”

What should I tell her?
Because I’ve woken up since I met her? Because my whole world has changed. It’s rotating on a different axis. “You make me look at the world differently, Anastasia. You don’t want me for my money. You give me…” I search for the word. “Hope.”

“Hope for what?”

Everything.

“More,” I answer. It’s what Ana wanted. And now I want it, too.

Give her your whole pitch, Grey.

I tell her she’s right. “I’m used to women doing exactly what I say, when I say, doing exactly what I want. It gets old. There’s something about you, Anastasia, which calls to me on some deep level I don’t understand. It’s a siren’s call. I can’t resist you, and I don’t want to lose you.”

Whoa. Flowery, Grey.

I take her hand. “Don’t run, please. Have a little faith in me and a little patience. Please.”

And it’s there in her sweet smile. Her compassion. Her love. I could bask in that look all day. Every day. She places her hands on my knees, surprising me, and leans up to plant a kiss on my lips. “Okay. Faith and patience, I can live with that,” she says.

“Good. Because Franco’s here.”

She flips her hair over her shoulder. “About time!” Her girlish laugh is infectious, and together we stand.

Hand in hand, we make our way downstairs and I think we might be over whatever was making her mad.

FRANCO MAKES AN EMBARRASSING
fuss over my girl. I leave them in my bathroom. I’m not sure Ana would appreciate me micromanaging a haircut.

Heading back to my study, I feel tension in my shoulders. I feel it everywhere. This morning has been out of my control, and though she says she’s going to try faith and patience, I’ll have to see if she’s as good as her word.

But Ana has never given me a reason to doubt her.

Except when she left.

And she hurt me
…

I dismiss the dark thought and quickly check my e-mails. There’s one from Flynn.

From:
Dr. John Flynn

Subject:
Tonight

Date:
June 11 2011 13:00

To:
Christian Grey

Christian

Are you attending your parents’ benefit this evening?

JF

I respond immediately.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Tonight

Date:
June 11 2011 13:15

To:
Dr. John Flynn

Good afternoon, John.

I am indeed, and I’ll be accompanied by Miss Anastasia Steele.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I wonder what he’ll make of that. I think it’s the first time I’ve really followed his advice—and I am trying my relationship with Ana her way.

So far, so confusing.

I shake my head and retrieve the spreadsheets I printed out and a couple of bound reports I have to read about the shipping business in Taiwan.

I’M LOST IN THE
figures for SIP. They are hemorrhaging money. Their overhead is too high, their write-offs are astronomical, their production costs are rising, and their staff—

A movement out of the corner of my eye distracts me.

Ana.

She stands at the entrance of the living room, twisting one foot inward and looking awkward and shy. She’s staring anxiously at me, and I know she’s seeking my approval.

She’s stunning. Her hair a glossy mane.

“See! I tell you he like it.” Franco has followed her into the living room.

“You look lovely, Ana,” I say, and my compliment induces a fetching flush on her cheeks.

“My work ’ere is done,” Franco says, clapping his hands.

It’s time to see him out.

“Thank you, Franco,” I say, and attempt to direct him out of my living room. He grabs Ana and kisses her on both cheeks in a rather dramatic display of affection. “Never let anyone else be cutting your hair,
bellissima
Ana!”

I glare at him until he lets her go. “This way,” I say to get him out.

“Mr. Grey, she is a jewel.”

I know.

“Here.” I hand him three hundred dollars. “Thank you for coming at such short notice.”

“It was a pleasure. A real pleasure.” He pumps my hand, and not a moment too soon Taylor appears to escort him to the foyer.

Thank God.

Ana is standing where I left her.

“I’m glad you kept it long.” I take a strand of her hair and caress it between my fingers. “So soft,” I whisper. She watches me—anxious, I think. “Are you still mad at me?” I ask.

She nods.

Oh, Ana.

“What precisely are you mad at me about?”

She rolls her eyes at me…and I recall a moment in her bedroom in Vancouver when she made exactly the same mistake. But that was a lifetime ago in our short relationship, and I’m sure she wouldn’t let me spank her right now. Though I want to. Yes. I want to very much.

“You want the list?” she says.

“There’s a list?” I’m amused.