Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed (106 page)

RELUCTANTLY, I OPEN MY
heavy eyelids and bright light fills the room. I groan. I feel cloudy, disconnected from my leaden limbs, and Christian is wrapped around me like ivy. As usual, I’m too warm. It can’t be later than five in the morning; the alarm has not gone off yet. I stretch out to free myself from his heat, turning in his arms, and he mumbles something unintelligible in his sleep. I glance at the clock. Eight forty-five.

Shit, I’m going to be late.
Fuck
. I scramble out of bed and dash to the bathroom. I am showered and out within four minutes.

Christian sits up in bed watching me with ill-concealed amusement coupled with wariness as I continue to dry myself while gathering my clothes. Perhaps he’s waiting for me to react to yesterday’s revelations. Right now, I just don’t have time.

I check my clothes—black slacks, black shirt—all a bit Mrs. R, but I don’t have a second to change my mind. I hastily don black bra and panties, conscious that he’s watching my every move. It’s … unnerving. The panties and bra will do.

“You look good,” Christian purrs from the bed. “You can call in sick, you know.” He gives me his devastating, lopsided, 150 percent panty-busting smile. Oh, he’s so tempting. My inner goddess pouts provocatively at me.

“No, Christian, I can’t. I am not a megalomaniac CEO with a beautiful smile who can come and go as he pleases.”

“I like to come as I please.” He smirks and cranks his glorious smile up another notch so it’s in full HD IMAX.

“Christian!” I scold. I throw my towel at him and he laughs.

“Beautiful smile, huh?”

“Yes. You know the effect you have on me.” I put on my watch.

“Do I?” he blinks innocently.

“Yes, you do. The same effect you have on all women. Gets really tiresome, watching them all swoon.”

“Does it?” He cocks his eyebrow at me, more amused.

“Don’t play the innocent, Mr. Grey, it really doesn’t suit you,” I mutter distractedly as I scoop my hair into a ponytail and pull on my black high-heeled shoes. There, that will do.

When I bend to kiss him good-bye, he grabs me and pulls me down onto the bed, leaning over me and smiling from ear to ear.
Oh my
. He’s so beautiful—eyes bright with mischief, floppy just-fucked-again hair, that dazzling smile. Now he’s playful.

I’m tired, still reeling from all the disclosures of yesterday, while he’s bright as a button and sexy as fuck. Oh, exasperating

Fifty.

“What can I do to tempt you to stay?” he says softly, and my heart skips a beat and begins to pound. He is temptation personified.

“You can’t,” I grumble, struggling to sit back up. “Let me go.”

He pouts and I give up. Grinning, I trace my fingers over his sculptured lips—my Fifty Shades. I love him so in all his monumental, fuckedupness. I haven’t even begun to process yesterday’s events and how I feel about them.

I lean up to kiss him, thankful that I have brushed my teeth. He kisses me long and hard and then swiftly sets me on my feet, leaving me dazed, breathless, and slightly wobbly.

“Taylor will take you. Quicker than finding somewhere to park. He’s waiting outside the building,” Christian says kindly, and he seems relieved. Is he worried about my reaction this morning? Surely last night—er, this morning—proved that I am not going to run.

“Okay. Thank you,” I mutter, disappointed that I am upright on my feet, confused by his hesitancy, and vaguely irritated that once again I won’t be driving my Saab. But he’s right, of course—it will be quicker with Taylor.

“Enjoy your lazy morning, Mr. Grey. I wish I could stay, but the man who owns the company I work for would not approve of his staff ditching just for hot sex.” I grab my purse.

“Personally, Miss Steele, I have no doubt that he would approve. In fact he might insist on it.”

“Why are you staying in bed? It’s not like you.”

He crosses his hands behind his head and grins at me.

“Because I can, Miss Steele.”

I shake my head at him. “Laters, baby.” I blow him a kiss, and I am out the door.

TAYLOR IS WAITING FOR
me, and he seems to understand that I am late because he drives like a bat out of hell to get me to work by nine fifteen. I am grateful when he pulls up at the curb—grateful to be alive–his driving was scary. And grateful that I am not hideously late—only fifteen minutes.

“Thank you, Taylor,” I mutter, ashen-faced. I remember Christian telling me he drove tanks; maybe he drives for NASCAR, too.

“Ana.” He nods a farewell, and I dash into my office, realizing as I open the door to Reception that Taylor seems to have overcome the Miss Steele formality. It makes me smile.

Claire grins at me as I rush through Reception and make my way to my desk.

“Ana!” Jack calls me. “Get in here.”

Oh, shit
.

“What time do you call this?” he snaps.

“I’m sorry. I overslept.” I flush crimson.

“Don’t let it happen again. Fix me some coffee, and then I need you to do some letters. Jump to it,” he shouts, making me flinch.

Why is he so mad? What’s his problem? What have I done? I hurry to the kitchen to fix his coffee. Maybe I should have ditched. I could be … well, doing something hot with Christian, or having breakfast with him, or just talking—that would be novel.

Jack barely acknowledges my presence when I venture back into his office to deliver his coffee. He thrusts a sheet of paper at me—it’s handwritten in a barely legible scrawl.

“Type this up, have me sign, then copy and mail it to all our authors.”

“Yes, Jack.”

He doesn’t look up as I leave. Boy, is he mad.

It is with some relief that I finally sit down at my desk. I take a sip of tea as I wait for my computer to boot up. I check my e-mails.

Oh shit. Now he’s mad at me, too. Well, he can stew for all I care. I take my BlackBerry out of my purse and eye it with skepticism. As I do, it starts ringing. Can’t he leave me alone?

“Yes,” I snap.

“Ana, hi—”

“José! How are you?” Oh, it’s good to hear his voice.

“I’m fine, Ana. Look, are you still seeing that Grey guy?”

“Er—yes … Why?” Where is he going with this?

“Well, he’s bought all your photos, and I thought I could deliver them up to Seattle. The exhibition closes Thursday, so I could bring them up Friday evening and drop them off, you know. And maybe we could catch a drink or something. Actually, I was hoping for a place to crash, too.”

“José, that’s cool. Yeah, I’m sure we could work something out. Let me talk to Christian and call you back, okay?”

“Cool, I’ll wait to hear from you. Bye, Ana.”

“Bye.” And he’s gone.

Holy cow. I haven’t seen or heard from José since his show. I didn’t even ask him how it went or if he sold any more pictures. Some friend I am.

So, I could spend the evening with José on Friday. How will Christian like that? I become aware that I am biting my lip till it hurts. Oh, that man has double standards. He can—I shudder at the thought—bathe his batshit ex-lover, but I will probably get a truckload of grief for wanting to have a drink with José. How am I going to handle this?

“Ana!” Jack pulls me abruptly out of my reverie. Is he still mad? “Where’s that letter?”

“Er—coming.” Shit. What is eating him?

I type up his letter in double-quick time, print it out, and nervously make my way into his office.

“Here you go.” I place it on his desk and turn to leave. Jack quickly casts his critical, piercing eyes over it.

“I don’t know what you’re doing out there, but I pay you to work,” he barks.

“I’m aware of that, Jack,” I mutter apologetically. I feel a slow flush creep up my skin.

“This is full of mistakes,” he snaps. “Do it again.”

Fuck. He’s beginning to sound like someone I know, but rudeness from Christian I can tolerate. Jack is beginning to piss me off.

“And get me another coffee while you’re at it.”

“Sorry,” I whisper and scurry out of his office as quickly as I can.

Holy fuck. He’s being unbearable. I sit back down at my desk, hastily redo his letter, which had two mistakes in it, and check it thoroughly before printing. Now it’s perfect. I fetch him another coffee, letting Claire know with a roll of my eyes that I am in deep doo-doo. Taking a deep breath, I approach his office again.

“Better,” he mumbles reluctantly as he signs the letter. “Photocopy it, file the original, and mail out to all authors. Understand?”

“Yes.” I am not an idiot. “Jack, is there something wrong?”

He glances up, his blue eyes darkening as his gaze runs up and down my body. My blood chills.

“No.” His answer is concise, rude, and dismissive. I stand there like the idiot I professed not to be and then shuffle back out of his office. Perhaps he, too, suffers from a personality disorder. Sheesh, I’m surrounded by them. I make my way to the copy machine—which, of course, is suffering from a paper jam—and when I’ve fixed it, I find it’s out of paper. This is not my day.

When I am finally back at my desk, stuffing envelopes, my BlackBerry buzzes. I can see through the glass wall that Jack is on the phone. I answer—it’s Ethan.

“Hi, Ana. How’d it go last night?”

Last night. A quick montage of images flashes through my mind—Christian kneeling, his revelation, his proposal, macaroni
and cheese, my weeping, his nightmare,
the sex
, touching him …

“Eh … fine,” I mutter unconvincingly.

Ethan pauses and decides to collude in my denial. “Cool. Can I pick up the keys?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll be over in about half an hour. Will you have time to grab a coffee?”

“Not today. I was late getting in, and my boss is like an angry bear with a sore head and poison ivy up his ass.”

“Sounds nasty.”

“Nasty and ugly.” I giggle.

Ethan laughs and my mood lifts a little. “Okay. See you in thirty.” He hangs up.

I glance up at Jack and he’s staring at me. Oh, shit. I studiously ignore him and continue to stuff envelopes.

Half an hour later my phone buzzes. It’s Claire. “He’s here again, in Reception. The blond god.”

Ethan is a joy to see after all the angst of yesterday and the bad temper my boss is inflicting on me today, but all too soon, he’s saying good-bye.

“Will I see you this evening?”

“I’ll probably stay with Christian.” I flush.

“You have got it bad,” Ethan observes good-naturedly.

I shrug. That’s not the half of it, and in that moment I realize, I have it more than bad. I have it for life. And amazingly, Christian seems to feel the same. Ethan gives me a swift hug.

“Laters, Ana.”

I return to my desk, wrestling with my realization. Oh, what I would do for a day on my own, to just think all this through.

“Where have you been?” Jack is suddenly looming over me.

“I had some business to attend to in Reception.” He is really getting on my nerves.

“I want my lunch. The usual,” he says abruptly and stomps back into his office.

Why didn’t I stay home with Christian?
My inner goddess crosses her arms and purses her lips; she wants to know the answer to that one, too. Picking up my purse and my BlackBerry, I head for the door. I check my messages.

And there’s another from him, from later this morning.