"I like to make the odd impromptu visit. It keeps management on their toes,
wives in their place. You know ." 1 le shrugs, his month set in an arrogant late.
Wives in their place! "I had no idea you could spare the time," I snap.
His eyes frost. "Why don't you want to change your name here?" he asks, his
voice deathly quiet.
"I'm here. I don't see win not."
He gazes at me, his eyes cool and assessing — distant even. I marvel that he
mad — really mad. When will he learn not to overreact?
"No! Christian, of course not." I scowl at him. "This is about me — not you."
"How is this not about me?" He cocks his head to one side, genuinely per-
plexed, some of his detachment slipping as he stares at me with wide eyes, and I
son 1 want to hurt. I have to make hint see my logic I hac to explain my rcason-
"Christian. w het! I took this job. I'd only just met you." 1 say patiently, strug-
gling to find the right words. "I didn't know you were going to buy the
company — "
What can I say about that event in our brief history? His deranged reasons for
doing so — his contrc li t ilkcr lendc te mad iven completely
free rein because he is so wealthy. I know he wants to keep me safe, but it's his
ownership of SIP that is the fundamental problem here. If he'd never interfered, I
could continue as normal and not have to face the disgruntled and whispered re-
criminations of my colleagues. I put m> head in m hands rust to break eye con-
"Why is il so imporuml lo you'.'" 1 ask, desperalely trying to hold on to my
fraying temper. I look up. a; his impassive stare. Ins eyes luminous, giving nothing
away, his earlier hurt now hidden. But even as I ask the question, deep down I
know the answer before he says it.
"I want everyone to know that you're mine."
"I am yours — look." I hold up my left hand, showing my wedding and en-
gagement rings.
"It's not enough."
""Not enough that i married you?" My voice is barely a whisper.
He blinks, registering the horror on my face. Where can I go from here?
What else can I do?
"Thai's not what I mean." he snaps and runs a hand through his overlong hair
so that it flops onto his forehead.
lie swallows 1 want your worl i begin n lend ill) me," he says, his ex-
pression raw. His comment completely derails me It's like he's punched me hard
in the stomach, winding and wounding me. And the vision comes to mind of a
small, frightened I n itched ill fitting
"It does," I say without guile, because it's the truth. "I'm just trying to estab-
lish a career, and I don't want to trade on your name. I have to do something.
Christian. I can't stay imprisoned at Escala or the new house with nothing to do.
I'll go crazy. I'll suffocaie. I've always worked, and 1 enjoy this. This is my
dream job; it's all I've ever vvanlc I t ut in. i locsn't mc i i I c ou I
You are the world to me." h Ihroal svv ells and tears prick the back of my eyes. I
must not cry, not here. I repeat it over and over in my head. / must not cry. I must
He stares at mc ing nolliii I li I t I ice as if he's con-
sidering what I've said.
"I suffocate you?" His voice is bleak, and it's an echo of a question he's
asked me before.
"No . . . yes . . . no." This is such an exasperating conversation — not one that
I want to have now, here. I close my eyes and rub my forehead, trying to fathom
how we got to this.
"Look, we were talking about my name. I want to keep my name here be-
cause I want to put some distance between you and mc . . . but only here, that's
all. Youknow ceinn thinks 1 got th job because ol m w hen the reality is — "
I stop, when his eyes widen. Oh no . . . it is because of him?
"Do you want to know why you got the job, Anastasia?"
Anastasia? Shit. "What? What do you mean?"
I le shifts in his chair as if steeling himself. Do I want to know?
"The management here gave you Hyde's job to babysit. They didn't want the
expense of hiring a senior executive when the company was mid-sale. They had
no idea what the new owner would do with it once it passed into his ownership,
and wisely, they didn't want an e.pensie redundancy So they gave you Hyde's
job to caretakc until the new ow net" — he pauses, and his lips twitch in an ironic
smile — "namely me, took over."
Holy crap! "What are you saying?" So it was because of him. Fuck! I'm
horrified.
He smiles and shakes his head at my alarm. "Relax. You've more than risen
to the challenge. You've done very well." There's the tiniest hint of pride in his
"Oh," I murmur incoherently, reeling from this news. I sit right back in my
chair, open-mouthed, staring at him. He shifts again.
"I don't want to suffocate you, Ana. I don't want to put you in a gilded cage,
it le pat tit II it i ut I me doesn't."
He strokes his chin thoughtfully as his mind concocts some plan.
Oh. where is he going >i ///; ihh? Christian looks tip suddenly, as if he's had a
eureka moment. "So one of the reasons I'm here — apart from dealing w ith my er-
rant wife," he says, narrow ing his ev es, "is to discuss w hat 1 am going to do with
this company."
Errant wife! I am not errant, and I'm not an asset! 1 scowl at Christian again
and the threat of tears subsides.
"So what are your plans?" I incline my head to one side, mirroring him, and I
can't help my sarcastic tone. His lips twitch with the hint of a smile.
Jeez — change of mood, again! How can 1 ewer keep up w ith Mr. Mercurial?
"I'm renaming the company — to Grey Publishing."
Holy shit.
"And in a year's time, it will be yours."
My mouth drops open once more — wider this time.
"This is my wedding present to you."
I shut my mouth then open it, trying to articulate something — but there's
nothing there. My mind is blank.
""So. do I need lo change the name to Sieeie Publishing'.'"
He's serious. Holy fuck.
"Christian," I whisper when m brain finally reconnects with my mouth.
"You gave me a watch ... I can't run a business."
He tills his head to one side again and gives me a censorious frown. "I ran my
own business from t he age of twenty-one."
"But you're . . . you. Control freak and w luz-kid extraordinaire. Jeez Christi-
an, you majored in economics at Harvard before you dropped out. At least you
have some idea. I sold paint and cable ties for three years on a part-time basis, for
heaven's sake. I've seen so little of the world, and I know next to nothing!" My
voice rises, growing louder and higher, as I complete m> tirade.
"You're also the most well-read person 1 know." lie counters earnestly "You
love a good book. You couldn't leave your job while we were on our honeymoon.
You read how many manuscripts? Four?"
"And you wrote full reports on all of them You're a very bright woman.
Anastasia. I'm sure you'll manage."
"Are you crazy?"
"Crazy for you," he whispers.
And I snort because it's the only expression my nod;, can make. He narrows
"You'll be a laughing -.lock. Buy ing a company for the little woman, who has
nly had a full time job ft I i t >i i idult life."
"Do you think I give a fuck what people think? Besides, you won't be on
I gape at him. He really has lost his marbles this time. "Christian, I ..." I put
my head in my hands m> emotions hae been through a w ringer. Is he crazy?
And from somewhere dark and deep inside 1 ha . e the sudden, inappropriate need
to laugh. When I look up at him again, his eyes widen.
"Something amusing you, Ms. Steele?"
"Yes. You."
His eyes widen further, locked bul also amused. ""Laughing at your hus-
band? That will never do. And you're biting your lip." His eyes darken ... in that
way. Oh no — I know that look. Sultry, seductive, salacious . . . No, no, no! Not
"Don't even think about it," I warn, alarm clear in my voice.
"Think about what, Anastasia?"
""I know that look. We're at work."
He leans tor ss it luci I nine, i Ilea i i 1 hungr> Hoh shit!
I sw allow instinctively. "We're in a small, reasonably sound-proofed office with a
lockable door."
"Gross moral turpitude." I enunciate each word carefully.
"Not with your husband.""
"With my boss's boss's boss." 1 hiss.
"You're my wife."
"Christian, no. I mean it. You can fuck me seven shades of Sunday this even-
ing. But not now. Not here!"
He blinks and narrows his eyes once more. Then unexpectedly he laughs.
"Seven shades of Sunday?" He arches an eyebrow, intrigued. "I may hold
you to that, Ms. Steele."
"Oh, stop with the Ms Steele 1 ' 1 snap and thump the desk, startling us both.
"For heaven's sake. Christian. If it means so much to sou. I'll change my name!"
His mouth pops open as he inhales sharply. And then he grins, a radiant, all-
teeth-showing, joyous grin. Wow . . .
"Good." He claps his hands, and all of a sudden he stands.
"Mission accomplished. Now, I have work to do. If you'll excuse me, Mrs.
Gah — this man is so maddening! "But — "
"But what, Mrs. Grey?"
I sag. "Just go."
"I intend to. I'll see you this evening. I'm looking forward to scs en shades of
Sunday."
"Oh, and I bas e a stack of business-related social engagements coming up,
and I'd like you to accompany me."
1 gape at him. Will you iu.i «o. v
"I'll have Andrea call Hannah to put the dates in your calendar. There are
some people you need to meet. You should get Hannah to handle your schedule
"Okay," I nu n ipleieK bemused. I il shell li
He leans over my desk. What now? I am caught in his hypnotic gaze.
"Love doing bu in i i n ' 11 is ii closci as I sit para-
lyzed, and he plants a soft tender kiss on my lips. "Laters, baby," he murmurs. He
stands abruptly, winks at me, and leaves.
I lay my head on my desk, feeling like I've been run over by a freight
train — the freight train Ilia! is my helm cd husband. 1 Ic has to be the most frustrat-
ing, annoying, contrary man on the planet. I sit up and frantically rub my eyes.
What have I just agreed to? Okay, Ana Grey running SIP — I mean, Grey Publish-
ing. The man is insane. There's a knock on the door, and 1 lannali pokes her head
around.
"'You okay?" she asks.
I just stare at her. She frowns.
"I know you don'l like me doing this but can 1 make you some tea?"
J stare blankly at my computer sereen, still in shoe]... Mow can I make him
understand.' E-mail!
Subject: NOT AN ASSET!
Date: August 22, 2011 14:23
To: Christian Grey
Mr. Grey
Next time you conn 1 nak< 1 pointmcnt, so I cai it least have some
prior warning of your adolescent overfx
Anastasia Grey < please note name.
Commissioning Editor, SIP
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Seven Shades of Sunday
Date: August 22, 2011 14:34
To: Anastasia Steele
My Dear Mrs. Grey (emphasis on My)
What can I say in my defense? I was in the neighborhood.
And no, you are not an asset, you are my beloved wife.
As ever, you make my day.
Christian Grey
CEO & Overbearing Megalomaniac, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
He's trying to be funny, but I am in no mood to laugh. I take a deep breath and go
Christian is quiet when I climb into the car that evening.
"Hi," he responds, warily— as he should.
"Disrupl anyone else's work today?" I ask too sweetly.
A li 111 mil I i Only Flynn's."
Oh.
"Next time you go to see him, I'll give you a list of topics I want covered," I
hiss at him.
"You seem out of sorts, Mrs. Grey."
I glare steadily at the backs of Ryan and Sawyer's heads in front of me.
Christian shifts beside me.
"Hey," he says softly and reaches for my hand. All afternoon, when I should
have been concentrating on work, I was trying to figure out what to say to him.
But I became angrier and angrier with each passing hour. I'c had enough of his
cavaliei petulant i 1 i I 1 i o I tatel i> hand out hi in a
cavalier, petulant, and childish manner.
"You're mad at me?" he whispers.
"Yes," I hiss. Folding my arms protectively across my body, I gaze out my
window. He shifts beside me once more, but I will myself not to look at him. I
I M i 1 i nad at hin ui I am. Reall fucking mad.
As soon as we pull up outside liseala. 1 break protocol and leap out of the car
with my briefcase. I stomp into the building, not checking to sec who is following.
1 u UN i u in I i i In dm n i I to ih U t o pi in il
button.
"What?" I snap when I'm alongside him. His cheeks redden.
"Apologies, ma'am," he mutters.
C hrislian comes and stands beside me to wait for the elevator, and Ryan
"So it's not just me you're mad at?" Christian murmurs dryly. I glare up at
him and see a trace of a smile on his face.
"Are you laughing at me?" I narrow my eyes.
"I wouldn't dare," he says, holding his hands up like I'm threatening him at
gunpoint. He's in hi i nil. lookii p ai i lh iloppy sex-hair and a
"You need a haircut," I mutter. Turning away from him, I step into the
"Do I?" he says while brushing his hair off his forehead. He follows me in.
""Yes." I tap the code for our apartment into the kepad.
"So you're talking to me now .'"
"Just."
"What exactly are you mad about? I need an indication," he asks cautiously.
I turn and gape at him.
"Do you really have no idea? Surely, for someone so bright, you must have
an inkling" 1 can't belice vou're that obtuse."
He lakes an alarmed step back. "You really are mad. I thought we had sorted
all this in oiii office." he murmurs, perplexed.
"Christian, I just capitulated to our petulant demands- Hint'-, all."
The elevator doors open and I storm out. Taylor is standing in the hallway,
lie takes a ep back and quiekl; diuls his mouth a 1 steam past him
"Hi, Taylor," I mutter.
"Mrs. Grey," he murmurs.
I I ! Ill 1 1 room. Mrs. Jones
is at the stove.
"Good evening, Mrs. Grey."
"Hi, Mrs. Jones," 1 mutter once more. I head straight to the fridge and pull
out a bottle of white wine. Christian follows me into the kitchen and watches me
like a hawk as I take a glass down from the cupboard. He removes his jacket and
casually places it on the countertop.
"Do you want a drink?" I ask super sweelb
"No thanks," he says, not taking his eyes off me, and I know that he's help-
less. He does not know what to do with me. It's comical on one level and tragic
on another. Well, icivu him'. I am having trouble I. .eating m compassionate sell'
since our meeting this afternoon. Slowly, he removes his tie then opens the top
button of his shut 1 tr n i . 1 1 I ignot blanc and Christian
runs a hand through his hair. When I turn around, Mrs. Jones has disappeared.
Shiil She's in; human shield. I take a slug of vv inc. 1 1mm It tastes good.
"Stop this," Christian whispers. He takes the two steps between us so he's
t in li in front of mi ' ie il h in 1 tnv hair bchii d u i ud tress m
ear lobe vv ilh his fingertips, sending a shiver through inc. Is this vv hat I've missed
all day? His touch? I shake m head, causing him ie, release my car and gaze up at
"Talk to me," he murmurs.
"What's the point? You don't listen to me."
"Vv 1 do You're one of the few people I do listen to."
I take another swig of wine.
"Is this about your name?"
"Yes and no. It's how you dealt with the fact thai I disagreed with you." I
>i | i ling i i to be angered.
His brow furrows. "Ana, you know 1 have . . issues. It's hard for mc lo let
go where you're concerned. You know that."
"But I'm not a child, and I'm not an asset."
"I know." He sighs.
"Then stop treating me as though I am." I v, hUpei. imploring him.
He brushes the back of his fingers down my cheek and runs the tip of his
thumb across my bottom lip.
"Don't be mad. You're so precious to me. Like a priceless asset, like a child, "
he w hispcrs, a somber ie erenl expression on Iris face, ills w ords distract me. Like
a child. Precious like a child ... a child would be precious to him!
"I'm neither of those things. ( htislian. I'm your wife. If you were hurt that I
wasn't going to take oui name, sou should hae said."
"Hurt?" He frowns deeply, and I know that he's exploring the possibility in
his mind. He straightens suddenh . still frow iiing. and glances quickly at his wrist-
watch. "The architect will be here in just under an hour. We should cat."
Oh no. 1 groan inwardly. He hasn't answered me, and now I have to deal with
(iia Matleo. My shitiy day just got shinier. ! scow ! at C hristian
"This discussion isn't finished." I mutter.
"What else is there to discuss?"
"You could sell the company."
Christian snorts. "Sell it?"
"Yes."
"You think I'd find a buyer lit today's market?"
"How much did it cost ou?"
"It was relatively cheap." His tone is guarded.
"So if it folds?"
He smirks. "We'll survive. But I won't let it fold, Anastasia. Not while
you're there."
"And if I leave?"
"And do what?"
"I don't knows Something else."
"You've already said this is your dream job. And forgive me if I'm wrong,
but I promised be to d v t i i i i I it t it re I
and dearest to chcrisl on. up i p nd d n nd keep you safe at
my side."
"Quoting your wedding vows to me is not playing fair."
"I've never promised to play fail -.'.here >ou're concerned. Besides." he adds,
"you ' e wielded your vows at me like a weapon before."
I scowl at him. This is true.
"Anastasia, if you're still angry with me, take it out on me in bed later." His
voice is suddenly los id full siial I i his eves heated.
What? Bed? How?
lie smiles indulgently down al m expression. Is he expecting me to tie him
up? Holy crap Ms line .1 n c h i 1 earbi md starts listening
with rapt attention.
"Seven shades of Sunday," he whispers. "Looking forward to it."
Whoa!
"Gail!" he shout brupil ind loin conds 1 i h loncs appear Where
was she? Taylor's office? Listening? Oh jeez.
"Mr. Grey?"
"We'd like to eat now, please."
"Very good, sir."
Christian doesn't take his eyes off me. He watches me vigilantly as if I'm
some exotic creature about to bolt. I take a sip of my wine.
"1 think I'll join you in a glass," he says, sighing, and runs a hand through his
"You're not going to finish?"
"No." I gaze down 1 i 1 1 II ni I i 1 I
an's darkening expression. Before he can say anything, I stand and clear our
plates from the dining table.
"Gia will be with us shortly," I mutter. Christian's mouth twists in an un-
happy scowl, but he says nothing.
"I'll take those, Mrs. Grey," says Mrs. lones as I walk into the kitchen.
"You didn't like it?" she asks, concerned.
"It was fine. I'm just not hungry."
Giving me a small sympathetic smile, she turns to clear my plate and put
everything in the dishwasher.
"I'm going to n ' i couple ol ill (n i iniioiiii gis ing me an as-
sessing look before he disappears into his studs .
I let out a sigh of relief and head lo our bedroom. Dinner w as aw kw ard. I'm
still mad at Christian, and he doesn't seem to think he's done anything wrong.
Has he? My subcot ous cock an cyebiw il me and gazes benignly over hcr
half-moon glasses. Yes, he has. He's made it even more awkward for me at work.
He didn't wait to discuss this issue with me when we were in the relative privacy
of our own home, li I h ci I 1 i i into hi i i !
down the law? And to cap it all, he wants to give me SIP! How the hell could I
I gaze out at the S idle li n earl pin light of dusk. And
as usual, he wants to solve our differences in the bedroom . . . um . . . foyer . . .
playroom ... TV room . . . kitchen countertop . . . Stop! It always comes back to
> i I I 1 l] s ! i I I l t 111 i
I wander into the bathroom and scowl at my reflection in the mirror. Coming
back to the real world is hard. We managed to skate over all our differences while
we were in our bubble because we were so wrapped up in each other. But now?
Briefly I am dragged back to my wedding, icmi.mbs.rins m> concern;, thai
day — marry in haste . . . No, I muslin think like this. I know he was Filly Shades
when I married him. I just have lo hang in there and try lo talk litis through w ilh
I squint at myself in the mirror. I look pale, and now 1 have that woman to
I'm wearing my gray pencil skirt and a sleeveless blouse. Right! My inner
cleavage. I wash my fa ill id il redo ip pply ing more mascara
vigorously from root to tip. When I stand, my hair is a chestnut haze around me
tii>' pumps, rather than my fiats.
When I reemergc into the great room, Christian has the house plans spread
out on the dining tab 11 ha n e play i ' tgh the soun stem. Il slo|
me in my tracks.
"Mrs. Grey," he says warmly then looks quizzically at me.
"What's this?" I ask. The music is stunning.
"Faure's Requiem. You look different," he says, distracted.
"Oh. I've not heard il before."
"It's very calming, relaxing." he savs and raises an eyebrow. "Have you done
something to your hair?"
"Brushed it," 1 mutter I'm! a i li ml voices Abandoning
the plans on the table, he walks toward me. a slow saunter in lime to the music.
"Dance with mc?" he murmurs.
"To this 7 It's a requiem." ! squeak, shocked.
"Yes." He pulls me into his arms and holds me, burying his nose in my hair
and swaying gently from side 10 side, lie smells his heavenly self.
Oh . . . I'e missed him. 1 w rap m arms around him and light the urge to cry.
Why are you so infuriating''
"I hale fighting with you." he whispers.
"Well, stop being such an arse."
He chuckles and the captivating sound reverberates through his chest. He
lightens his hold on me. "Arse?"
"You should. It suits you."
He laughs once more and kisses the top of my head.
"A le | ell 1 1 I I ill I
He shrugs. "It's just a lovely piece of music, Ana."
Tav lor coughs discreed;, al die enlraneevvay. and Christian releases me.
"Miss Matteo is here," he says.
"Show her in," Christian says. He reaches over and clasps my hand as Miss
Gia Matteo enters the room.
Chapter Eight
Gia Matteo is a good-looking woman — a tall, good-looking woman. She wears
her short, salon-blond feci 11 ered i I il'I'ed hail like a sophisticated
crown. She's dressy] n a pale gi ( inisni In I i n lilted jacket hug hcr
lush curves. Her clothes look epensie. At the base of her throat, a solitary dia-
mond glints, matching the single-carat studs in her cars. She is well
groomed — one of those women who grew up with money and breeding, though
I I lic blouse i undone too
far. Like mine. I flush.
"Christian. Ana." She beams, showing perfect white teeth, and holds out a
manicured hand to shake first Christian's, then my hand. It means I have to re-
lease Christian's hand to reciprocate. She's a fraction shorlcr lhan Christian, but
then site's in killer heels.
' (in Chttsti ii i i I i i i I
"You both look so well after your honeymoon." she says smoothly, her
brown eyes gazing 1 Chrisli Hum I n is. Kill lies Christian puts his
arm around me, holding me close.
"We had a wonderful time, thank noil" lie brushes his lips against my
temple, taking me by surprise.
S is; in t _ in it n n it 11 I _ i i i i Right now
I really love you, Christian Grey. I slip my hand around his waist then into his
rear pocket of his pants and squeeze his behind. Gia gives us a thin smile.
"Have you managed to look over the plans?"
"We have," 1 tnut t i i p at Chrisliai i w n at me, one eye-
i . hi I I
table. Taking m h h u i i > i i i i i in out wake. I finally re-
mould you like something to drink'.'" 1 ask. "A glass of w ine'.'"
"That would be lovely," Gia says. "Dry white if you have it."
husband's side, I head over to the kitchen. I hear the iPod hiss as Christian
switches off the music.
"Would you like some more wine, Christian?" I call.
"Please, baby," he croons, grinning at me. Wow, he can be so swoonworthy
at times yet so aggravating at others.
Reaching up to open the cupboard, I'm aware his eyes are on me, and I'm
gripped by the uncanm feeling that Chrisli nd I arc putting on a show, playing
a game together — but this time we're on the same side pitted against Ms. Matteo.
Does he know that she's attracted to him and is being too obvious about it? It
gives me a small rush, of pleasure w hen i realize nun be he's trying to reassure me.
Or maybe he's just sending a message loud and clear to this woman that he's
Mine. Yeah, bitch — mine. My inner goddess is wearing her gladialrix outfit,
and she's taking no prisoners. Smiling to myself I collect three glasses from the
cupboard, take the opened bottle of sauvignon blanc from the fridge, and place
them all on the breakfast bar. Gia is leaning over the table while Christian stands
beside her and points at something on the plans.
"I think Ana lias sonic opinions on the glass wall, but generally we're both
pleased with the ideas you've come up with."
"Oh, I'm glad." Gin gushes. ob ioush. relics cel. and as she says it, she briefly
touches his arm in a small 11 in c li i liai il ens imincdialcK but
subtly. She doesn't even seem to notice.
Leave him the fuel ' ' i c lo he touched.
Stepping casually aside so he's out of her reach, Christian turns to me.
"Thirsty here," he says.
""Coming right up lie A pi i n lie ma him uncomfortable.
Why didn't I see that before? That's why I don't like her. He's used to how wo-
men react to him. I've seen it often enough, and usually he thinks nothing of it.
I iii I 1 ( i rescue
to my knight in distress. Offering a glass to Gia. 1 deliberately position myself
'I ill 1 c i i ii ne of amused gratitude
"Cheers," Christian says to us both, but looking at me. Gia and I raise our
"Ana, you ha e sonic issue- with die glass v. all?" Gia asks.
"Yes. I love it — don't get me wrong. But I was hoping that we could incor-
porate it more organicalh into the house, lier all. i fell in love with the house as
il was. and 1 don't want lo make am radical changes."
"I just want the design lo be sympathetic. ou know . . . more in keeping with
the original house." 1 glance up al Christian, who is gazing al me IhoughlfulK .
"No major renovations?" he murmurs.
"No." I shake my head to emphasize my point.
"You like it as it is?"
"Mostly, yes. I alw i u I needed some TLC."
Christian's eyes glow warmly.
(iia glances al die pair of us. and I to r checks pink. "Okay." she says. "I think I
get where you're coming from, Ana. How about if we retain the glass wall, but
have il open oul nl I i th i 1 j ! ilh the Medilcrran I,
We have the stone 1^ i Ih ih i < i a p i pillars in matching slonc,
widely spaced so you'll still have the view. Add a glass roof, or tile it as per the
rest of the house. It'll also make a sheltered al fresco dining and seated area."
Got to give the woman her due . . . she's good.
"Or instead of lite dec!... we could incorporate a wood color of your choice in-
to the glass doors — that might help to keep the Mediterranean spirit," she
continues.
"Like the bright blue shutters in the South of France." I murmur to Christian,
who is watching me intent 1 I le takes a sip of w me and slangs, very noncommit-
tal. Hmm. He doesn't like that idea but lie doesn't ocrrulc me. shoot me down, or
make me feel stupid (iod. litis man is a mass of contradictions. His words from
yesterday come to mind: "I want this house to be the way you want. Whatever you
want. It 's yours. " He wants me to be happy — happy in everything 1 do. Deep
down I think I know this. It's just — I stop myself. Don 't think about our argument
Gia is looking a Christian lilin or him to mal t . decision. I watch as
her pupils dilate 1111 li i ips pan. I ler loi i iiiickh, over her top
lip before she takes a sip of her wine When 1 turn lo Christian, he's still looking
at me — not at her at all. Yes! My inner goddess fist pumps the air. I am going to
have words with Ms. Mattco.
"Ana, what do you want to do?" Christian murmurs, very clearly deferring to
"I like the deck idea. "
"Me, too."
I turn back to Gia. Hey, lady, look at me, not him. I'm the one making the de-
cisions on this. "1 think I'd like to see revised drawings showing the bigger deck
and pillars that are in keeping with the house."
Reluctantly, Gia drags her greedy eyes away from my husband and smiles
down at me. Docs she think km not going to notice?
' Sine she k ii i i i i 1 t in
Other than you I i i ' liri tin nils to lemodel the
There's a discreet cough from the entrance to the great room. We three turn
as one to find Taylor standing there.
"Taylor?" Christian asks.
"I need to confer with you on an urgent matter, Mr. Grey."
Christian clasps m lioul from b nd ai iddic ses Gia.
"Mrs. Gre is in charg li is jcct. She 1 bsolnl I nehc
Whatever she wants, it's Dots. I completely trust het instincts. She's very shrewd."
His voice alters subtly. In it 1 hear pride and a veiled warning — a warning to Gia?
He trusts my instincts? ( >h. litis man's exasperating. M instincts let him run
roughshod oei m i lit t lierno n. 1 sha n h J frustration but I'm
grateful that he s te I i 1 I i i I i tin l Oood-At-Her-Job
just who's in charge. 1 cat ess his hand as a rests on my shoulder.
"If you'll excuse me." Christian squeezes m> shoulders before following
Taylor. I wonder idly what's going on.
"So ... the master suite?" Gia asks nervously.
out of earshot. Then calling on all my inner strength and the fact that I've been
"You're right to be nervous, Gia, because right now your work on this project
hangs in the balance. But I'm sure we'll be fine as long as you keep your hands
off my husband."
She gasps.
"Otherwise, you're fired. Understand?" I enunciate each word clearly.
She blinks rapidly, utterly stunned. She cannot believe what I've said. / can-
widening brown ees.
Don 't back down. Don 't back down! I've learned this maddening impassive
expression from Christian who does impassive like no one else. I know that
renovating the (n e tain residen i ] <. . i us oj I for Cia's architectur-
al firm — a resplendent feather in her cap. She can't lose this commission. And
right now I don't give a hool that site's Elliot's friend.
"Ana — Mrs. Grey . . . I-I'm so sorry. I never — " She flushes, unsure what
else she can say.
"Let me be clear. M husband jv not interested in you."
"Of course," she murmurs, tiie blood draining from her face.
"As I said, I just wanted to be clear."
"Mrs. Grey, 1 sincerely apologize if you think ... I have — " She stops, still
floundering for something to sa .
"Good. As long as we understand each other, we'll be fine. Now, I'll let you
know what we have in mind for the master suite, then I'd like a ran down on all
the materials you intend to use. As you know, Christian and I arc determined that
this house should be ecological!) sustainable, and I'd like io reassure him as to
where all site materials are coming from and v hat they arc."
"Of c-course," she stutters, wide-eyed and frankly a little intimidated by inc.
This is a first. M in i i it i the frenzied
Gia pats her hair into place, and I realize this is a nervous gesture.
"The master suite?" she prompts anxiously, her voice a breathless whisper.
Now that I have the upper hand. I feel myself relax for the first time since my
meeting with Chrisli nth ternoon. 1 can do I 1 inn goddess is celebrat-
ing her inner bitch.
Christian joins usjusi as we're finishing up.
"All done?" he asks. He puts his arm around my waist and turns to Gia.
"Yes, Mr. Grey," Gia smiles brighlb. though her smile looks brittle. "I'll
have the revised plans to you in a couple of days."
"Excellent. You're happy?" he asks me directly, his eyes warm and probing. I
nod and blush for some reason that I don't understand.
"I'd bettci be _ < i I i I mi Has her hand to me
first this time, then to Christian.
"Until next time, Gia," I murmur.
"Yes, Mrs. Grey. Mr. Grey."
Taylor appears at the entrance of the great room.
her hair once more, she turns on her high heels and leaves the great room, fol-
lowed closely by Taylor.
S c ticeably coolei n I i i I c
"Was she? 1 didn't nolice." I shrug, trying lo remain nculral. "What did
Taylor want?" I ask partly because I'm curious and partly because I want to
change the subject.
Frowning, Christian releases me and begins u> mil up iho plans on the table.
"It was about Hyde."
"What about Hyde?" I whisper.
"It's nothing to worry about, Ana." Abandoning the plans, Christian draws
all." He kisses my I ir. th I ic an utshes his task.
"So what did you decide on?" he asks, and I know it's because he doesn't
want me to pursue the Hyde line of inquiry.
"Only what you and I discussed. I think she likes you," I say quietly.
He snorts. "Did you say something to her?" he asks and I flush. How does he
know? At a loss what to say, I stare down at my fingers.
"We were Christian and Ana when she arrived, and Mr. and Mrs. Grey when
she left." His tone is dry.
"I may have sail o u in In i bk VI t h 1 up at him, he's regard-
ing me warmly, and for an unguarded moment lie looks . . . pleased. He drops his
-i - h 1 i i- lu head i !! si: i > ession changes.
■ She s only react o th le soul guelv bitter, disgust i
Oh, Fifty, no!
What? He's bemuse I n i rpl ed exp I lis eves glow wide in
Iblushand swallow, then -.tare down ai my knotted fingers. Am /?
her? Of anyone? Nothing about her interests me." When I glance up, he's gaping
at me as if I've grown an additional limb. He runs a hand through his hair. "It's
only you, Ana," he says quietly. "It will only ever be you."
ill t i i t I 1 1 i i t w ltd me and
clasps my chin between his thumb and forefinger.
"How can you think otherwise'.' I lave 1 evei given you any indication thai 1
could be remotely interested in anyone else?" His eyes blaze as he stares into
"No," I whisper. "I'm being silly. It's just today . . . you . . ." All my conflict-
t n h i iti 1 1 i ii M It 1 1 it mfuscd I am? I've
been confounded ami frustrated b> his behaiot ihis afternoon in m office. One
minute he wants me to stay at home, the next he's gifting me a company. How am
I supposed to keep up?
"What about me?"
"Oh, Christian" — my bottom lip trembles — "I'm trying to adapt to this new
life that I had never imagined for myself. h erything is being handed to me on a
plate — the job, you, my beautiful husband, who I never ... I never knew I'd love
this way, this hard, this fast, this . . . indelibly." I take a deep steadying breath, as
his mouth drops open.
"But you're like a freight Irani, and I don't want to gel railroaded because the
girl you fell in love with will be crushed. And what'll be left? All that would be
left is a vacuous socia! -ray. Hilling from charily function lo charily function." 1
pause once more, struggling to find the words to convey how I feel. "And now
you want me to be a company CEO, which has never even been on my radar. I'm
bouncing between all these ideas, struggling. You want me at home. You want me
to run a company. It's so confusing.' 1 slop, lears threatening, and I force back a
"You've got to let me make my own decisions, take my own risks, and make
my own mistakes, and let me learn from them. I need to walk before I can run,
Christian, don't you see. I w am some independence. Thai's w hat my name means
to me." There, that's what I wanted to say this afternoon.
"You feel railroaded?" he whispers.
I nod.
He closes his i IK hi in II id ihli 1 li 1 U ition. "1 just want
from it, too. Keep you safe. But I also want everyone to know you're mine. I pan-
icked loday v lieu I gol your e-mail. Why didn'l you lell me aboul your name'.'"
I flush. He has a point.
1 I I I I I I II I e I 1 ! I I
want to burst the bubble, and 1 forgot aboul it. 1 onl remembered yesterday even-
ing. And then Jack . . . you know . it w as dislracling. I'm sorry. 1 should ha e lold
y ou or discussed il w ill; you. bin 1 could nc er seem lo find the right time."
C hristian" s intense gaze is unnerv ing, ii's as if he's Hying lo w ill his w ay into
my skull, but he says nothing.
"Why did you panic?" 1 ask.
"For heaven's sake, I'm noi n w I ou going to get that
he does sometimes to emphasize my point. "More than . . . eyesight, space, or
liberty." 1
His eyes widen. "A daughter's love?" He gives me an ironic smile.
"No," I laugh, despite nn self. "If s the 011K quote that came to mind."
"Mad King Lear?"
"Dear, dear Mad King Lear." I caress his face, and he leans into my touch,
would know that you belong to me?"
flat. He frowns. '"Belong to ou?" lie murmurs, testing the words.
"Mine."
"Yours," he sas. repealing the words we spoke in the playroom only yester-
y Oh my.
"Does it mean that much to you?"
"Okay." I will do this for him. < m e him the reassurance he still needs.
"I Ik- gh >ul ahead ed i hi
"Yes I have, but now we've discussed it further, I'm happier with my
"Oh," he mutters, surprised. Then he sidles his beautiful, boyish yes-I-am-
rcally-kinda-young smile, and he takes my breath away. Grabbing me by my
waist, he swings me around. I squeal and start to giggle, and I don't know if he's
just happy or relieved or . . . what?
"Mrs. Grey, do you know what this means to me?"
lie leans down and kisses inc. his lingers moung into m hair. Iioldum me in
place.
"It means seven shades ol'Sundax." lie murmurs against my lips, and he runs
"i on think?" I lean hack lo gaze a; him.
"Certain promises c'c made. An oiler extended, a deal brokered," he whis-
ie . Itiseesspa i ing . ill k ked delight.
"Um ..." I am still reeling, trying to follow his mood.
"You reneging on me?" he asks uncertainly, and a speculative look crosses
his face. "1 have an idea," he adds.
Oh. whai kinky fuckeiy i.s //i/V
"A really important matter to attend to," he continues, suddenly all serious
once more. "Yes. Mrs. Grey. A mailer of the gravest importance."
Hang on — he's laughing at me.
"What?" I breathe.
"I need you to cut my hair. Apparently it's overlong, and my wife doesn't
like it."
"I can't cut your hair!"
"Yes yon can." Christian grins and shakes his head so his overlong hair cov-
ers his eyes.
"Well, if Mrs. Jones has a pudding bowl." 1 giggle.
He laughs. "Okay, good point wail made idl gel Franco to do it."