Darker (41 page)

“Well, look what the fucking cat dragged in,” Hyde says and sneers. “The boy fucking wonder.”

“Pack your things. Get out. And she may not press charges.”

“Fuck you, Grey. I’ll be pressing charges against that little bitch, for kicking me in the balls in a completely unprovoked attack—and I’ll be sending your goon here down for assault, too. Hi, handsome,” he calls to Taylor, and blows him a kiss.

Taylor remains stoic.

“I won’t tell you again,” I state, glaring at the cocksucker.

“Like I said, fuck you. You can’t come in here throwing your fucking weight around.”

“I own this company. You are surplus to requirements. Get out while you can still walk.” My tone is low.

The color drains from Hyde’s face.

Yeah. Mine. Fuck you, Hyde.

“I knew it. I knew something shady was going on. That little bitch your spy?”

“If you mention Anastasia once more, if you even think about her, if you even think about thinking about her, I will end you.”

His eyes narrow. “You like it when she kicks you in the balls?”

I hit him square on the nose and he topples backward and smacks his head on the shelves behind him before he slumps onto the floor.

“You mentioned her. Get up. Clear your desk. And get out. You’re fired.”

Blood is pouring from his nose.

Taylor steps into his office with a box of tissues and places them on the desk for Hyde.

“You saw him,” Hyde whines to the security guard.

“I saw you fall,” the security guard says. The name on his badge is M. Mathur.
Good job.

Hyde struggles onto his feet and grabs a handful of tissues to stem his nosebleed. “I’m pressing charges. She attacked me.” Hyde continues to snivel, but he begins to put his belongings in the box.

“Three hushed-up harassment cases in New York and Chicago and the two warnings you’ve had here. I don’t think you’d get very far.”

He regards me with dark eyes and unadulterated, feral hatred.

“Pack your things. You’re done,” I spit.

Turning, I head out of his office to wait with Taylor while Hyde packs up his stuff. I need to distance myself.

I want to kill him.

He takes forever, but he does it in silence. He’s mad. Real mad. I can almost smell his blood boiling. He gives me the occasional poisonous glance, but I remain impassive. The sight of his messed-up face gives me some satisfaction.

Eventually he’s done and he picks up the box. Mathur follows him out of the building.

“Are we finished here, Mr. Grey?” Taylor asks.

“For now.”

“I found him groveling on the floor, sir.”

“Really?”

“Miss Steele appears to know how to defend herself.”

“She’s always full of surprises. Let’s go.”

We follow Hyde out of the building and both of us head to the Audi. Because Ana is already in the front seat, Taylor gives me the key and I slide into the driver’s seat. Taylor gets into the back.

Ana is quiet as I pull out into the traffic.

I don’t know what to say to her.

The car phone rings.

“Grey,” I answer.

“Mr. Grey, Barney here.”

“Barney, I’m on speakerphone, and there are others in the car.”

“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.” He hangs up and I stop at a red light.

“Are you talking to me?” Ana asks.

I glance at her. “No,” I mutter. I’m still too mad. I told her he was trouble. And I told her to use her phone for e-mail. I was right about everything. I feel vindicated.

Grey, grow up, you’re behaving like a child.

Flynn’s words circle my brain.
I’ve long held the belief that you never really had an adolescence—emotionally speaking. I think you’re experiencing it now.

I glance across at her in the hope I can say something amusing, but she’s staring out of the window. I’ll wait until we get home.

OUTSIDE ESCALA, I OPEN
Ana’s car door while Taylor climbs into the driver’s seat.

“Come,” I say, and she takes my hand.

While we wait for the elevator, Ana whispers, “Christian, why are you so mad at me?”

“You know why.”

As we enter the elevator, I punch the code into the keypad. “God, if something had happened to you, he’d be dead by now. As it is, I’m going to ruin his career so he can’t take advantage of young women anymore, miserable excuse for a man that he is.” If anything had happened to her…
Leila yesterday. Hyde today. Hell.

Slowly she sinks her teeth into her lower lip while staring at me.

“Jesus, Ana!” I pull her to me and twist so that she’s pinned in the corner of the elevator. Tugging her hair, upturning her face, I capture her lips with mine and pour my fear and desperation into my kiss. Her hands grasp my biceps as she returns my kiss, her tongue seeking mine. I pull back and we’re both breathless. “If anything had happened to you. If he’d harmed you—” I shudder. “BlackBerry. From now on. Understand?”

She nods, her expression earnest, and I straighten up and release her. “He said you kicked him in the balls.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Ray is ex-Army. He taught me well.”

“I’m very glad he did. I’ll need to remember that.” As we exit the elevator, I take her hand and we walk through the foyer and into the living room. Mrs. Jones is in the kitchen cooking. It smells good.

“I need to call Barney. I won’t be long.”

Sitting down at my desk, I pick up the phone.

“Mr. Grey.”

“Barney, what did you find on Hyde’s computer?”

“Well, sir, it was a little unsettling. There are articles and photographs of you, your mom and dad, and your brother and sister, all stored in one folder called ‘Greys.’ ”

“That’s odd.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Could you send me what he has?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And keep this between us for now.”

“Will do, Mr. Grey.”

“Thanks, Barney. And go home.”

“Yes, sir.”

Barney’s e-mail arrives almost immediately, and I open the “Greys” folder. Sure enough, there are online articles about my parents and their charitable work; articles on me, my company,
Charlie Tango
and the Gulfstream; and photographs of Elliot, my parents, and me taken, I assume, from Mia’s Facebook page. And last, two photos of Ana and me—at her graduation and at the photographer’s exhibition.

What the hell would Hyde want with all that shit? It makes no sense. I know he has a thing for Ana, that’s consistent with his modus operandi. But my family? Me? It’s like he’s obsessed with us. Or maybe it’s all about Ana? This is weird. And frankly disturbing. I resolve to call Welch in the morning to discuss. He can investigate further and get me some answers.

I close the e-mail, and sitting in my inbox are a couple of final acquisition agreements from Marco. I need to read them tonight—but first some dinner.

“Evening, Gail,” I call out to her when I’m back in the living room.

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

Ana is sitting at the kitchen counter with a glass of wine. After dealing with that asshole, I think she’s earned it. I’ll join her. I retrieve the open bottle of Sancerre and pour one for myself.

“Sounds good,” I respond to Gail and raise my glass to Ana. “To ex-military men who train their daughters well.”

“Cheers,” she says, but she looks a little crestfallen.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know if I still have a job.”

“Do you still want one?”

“Of course.”

“Then you still have one.”

She rolls her eyes, and I smile and take another sip of my wine.

“So, did you talk to Barney?” she asks, as I take a seat beside her.

“I did.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What did Jack have on his computer?”

“Nothing important.”

Mrs. Jones places our food in front of us. Chicken pot pie. One of my favorites.

“Thanks, Gail.”

“Enjoy, Mr. Grey. Ana,” she says pleasantly, and departs.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” Ana persists.

“Tell you what?”

She sighs and purses her lips, then takes another bite of her meal.

The contents of Jack’s computer are not something I want Ana to worry about.

“José called,” she says, changing the subject.

“Oh?”

“He wants to deliver your photos on Friday.”

“A personal delivery.” Why is the artist doing this and not the gallery? “How accommodating of him.”

“He wants to go out. For a drink. With me.”

“I see.”

“And Kate and Elliot should be back.”

I put my fork down on my plate. “What exactly are you asking?”

“I’m not asking anything. I’m informing you of my plans for Friday. Look, I want to see José, and he wants to stay over. Either he stays here or he can stay at my place, but if he does, I should be there, too.”

“He made a pass at you.”

“Christian, that was weeks ago. He was drunk, I was drunk, you saved the day—it won’t happen again. He’s no Jack, for heaven’s sake.”

“Ethan’s there. He can keep him company.”

“He wants to see me, not Ethan,” Ana says.

I scowl at her.

“He’s just a friend,” she continues.

She’s already endured Hyde—what if Rodriguez gets drunk and tries his luck again with Ana? “I don’t like it.”

Ana takes a deep breath; she’s trying to keep her cool. “He’s my friend, Christian. I haven’t seen him since his show. And that was too brief. I know you don’t have any friends, apart from that god-awful woman, but I don’t moan about you seeing her.”

What has Elena got to do with this? And I’m reminded that I haven’t responded to her texts.

“I want to see him,” she continues. “I’ve been a poor friend to him.”

“Is that what you think?” I ask.

“Think about what?”

“Elena. You’d rather I didn’t see her?”

“Exactly. I’d rather you didn’t see her.”

“Why didn’t you say?”

“Because it’s not my place to say. You think she’s your only friend.” She’s exasperated. “Just as it’s not your place to say if I can or can’t see José. Don’t you see that?”

She has a point. If he stays here, then he can’t make a pass at her. Can he?

“He can stay here, I suppose. I can keep an eye on him.”

“Thank you! You know, if I am going to live here, too…” Her voice trails off.

Yes. She’ll need to invite her friends here. Jesus. I hadn’t thought about that.

“It’s not like you haven’t got the space.” She waves a hand in the general direction of my apartment.

“Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?”

“Most definitely, Mr. Grey.” She gets up and clears both of our plates.

“Gail will do that,” I say as she sashays over to the dishwasher. But I’m too late.

“I’ve done it now.”

“I have to work for a while.”

“Cool. I’ll find something to do.”

“Come here.”

She steps between my legs and puts her arms around my neck. I hold her close against me. “Are you okay?” I whisper into her hair.

“Okay?”

“After what happened with that fucker? After what happened yesterday?” I lean back and study her expression.

“Yes,” she replies, solemn and emphatic.

To try to reassure me?

I tighten my arms around her. What a weird couple of days this has been. Too much too fast, maybe. And my old life impinging on my new one. She still hasn’t responded to my marriage proposal. Perhaps I shouldn’t push her for an answer right now.

She holds me close and, for the first time since this morning, I feel calm and centered. “Let’s not fight.” I kiss her hair. “You smell heavenly as usual, Ana.”

“So do you.” She kisses my neck.

Reluctantly, I release her and stand. I have to read those agreements. “I should only be a couple of hours.”

MY EYES ARE TIRED.
I rub my face and pinch the bridge of my nose, and glance out of the window. It’s getting dark, but I’ve finished going through both documents. I’ve made notes and forwarded them to Marco.

Now it’s time to find Ana.

Maybe she’d like to watch TV or something. I loathe TV, but I’d sit with her and watch a film.

I expect to find her in the library, but she’s not there.

Maybe she took a bath?

No. She’s not in the bedroom or the ensuite.

I decide to check the sub’s room but on my way there I notice that the playroom door is open. Looking inside, I see Ana is sitting on the bed, gazing with distaste at all the canes. With a grimace she looks away.

I should get rid of them.

I lean against the doorframe in silence and watch her. She slips from the bed onto the couch, her hands running over the soft leather. She spies the chest of drawers, rises, makes her way toward it, and opens the top drawer.

Well, this is unexpected.

From the chest, she pulls out a large butt plug and, fascinated, examines it, then tests the weight in her hand. It’s a little big for a newcomer to anal pleasure, but I’m mesmerized by her captivated expression. Her hair is a little damp and she’s wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt.

No bra.

Nice.

Glancing up, she spots me by the door. “Hi,” she says, all breathy and nervous.

“What are you doing?”

She blushes. “Um, I was bored and curious.”

“That’s a very dangerous combination.” I wander into the room to join her. Leaning over, I glance at the open drawer to see what else is inside. “So, what exactly are you curious about, Miss Steele? Perhaps I could enlighten you.”

“The door was open,” she says hastily. “I—” She stops, looking guilty.

Put her out of her misery, Grey.

“I was in here earlier today, wondering what to do with it all. I must have forgotten to lock it.”

“Oh?”

“But now here you are, curious as ever.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“I feel like I’m trespassing. And you’re always mad at me.”

Am I?
“Yes, you’re trespassing, but I’m not mad. I hope that one day you’ll live with me here, and all this”—I wave my hand around the room—“will be yours, too. That’s why I was in here today. Trying to decide what to do.” I watch her expression, thinking about what she’s just said. I’m mostly angry at myself, not her. “Am I angry with you all the time? I wasn’t this morning.”