fifty shades darker (54 page)

“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 have 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 wave at them as they leave 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 have 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 heavenly. 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 favorite 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 have something to say about that.

You want to go on a picnic?

We could have 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 have 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 have 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 Blackberry buzzes and I have 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 have to get back to Escala and prepare to meet Dr. Flynn. I haven’t even had time to think of questions.

Perhaps today we can have an initial meeting, and maybe Christian will let me see him again. I shrug off the thought as I dash out of the office, waving 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 have 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 have 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 leave 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.

“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 open-necked 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 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 have 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.

“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 have 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 have 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 have 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 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.