Chapter 4
Once we park on the street outside me and Kate's apartment, I consider this man. I firmly control the irrational traumatized part of me that wants to say he's going to rape me, beat me like Christian had, and try to ask a question. "What are you doing here? And who are you?" Ok, those two sentences should have been reversed.
He had been waiting to see what I was going to do. Now, keeping his body facing forward, only his eyes moved as he looked in the rearview mirror at me. It was an extended rearview mirror, I found myself noticing – and avoiding his eye contact. "Miss Steele, Mr. Grey wants me to be sure you're safe. And my name is Sawyer. Luke Sawyer."
Well that opened a kettle of pork rinds. My conscience snickers at that phrase. Which question should I ask first? Second, third, one hundred? "Why would I not be safe?"
"You'd have to ask Mr. Grey that, ma'am."
Hey, he's an employee, right? Just like I was supposed to be. "You do know he beat me, right?" Fuck the NDA. I'll claim I thought we employees could talk about Christian amongst ourselves. Taylor and Mrs. Jones had, right?
But Sawyer looks absolutely horrified. I can hear his breath hiss in and he turns aggressively in his seat to stare at me. I flinch back involuntarily, scrambling for the door handle and run for my apartment door. He's right out after me, but when I look back he's simply standing by the SUV, head down like he's looking at the road. Thank God! I get inside, lock the door and run to my room and the closet. I'd found time to take the lock off Kate's bedroom door yesterday and put it on my closet door. Refusing to feel like an idiot I dive inside among my six pair of shoes, slam the door and lock it. The screaming and tears take time to slow down, then I just focus on breathing without feeling like my head is going to blow off. I think I feel asleep in there, curled in a small ball, shaking like a leaf in a monsoon. But my body has calmed down with my emotions when I awake.
Crawling out of the closet on hands and knees, I find Luke Sawyer sitting on my bed. Darkness has arrived and he's got my bedside lamp on. We stare at each other and I have to admit I almost scuttled back into the closet. But I get a good hold on my bravery and just sit on my knees and return his stare. I feel guilty for saying anything before, not because I signed a NDA – fuck that – but because I've shared something about Christian that will give this employee a bad opinion of him. So I dive right in. "I asked him to hurt me." I did not ask him to beat me with a belt. "He thought I was agreeing to how bad," I guess he did tell me ahead of time, "but I over-estimated what I could take." Who would ever think six times with a belt could be so bad? Really! "Please don't tell anyone I told you." I beg that part. If Christian finds out he'd probably beat me to death. Am I joking … or a little serious.
Sawyer may be thinking the same thing because he agrees to keep his mouth shut. He offers me a hand up, but I'm still too skittish to stand contact when it can be avoided. We dance around, I never ask how he got in when I locked the door, but eventually he lets me convince him to stay inside and he camps out on the couch. He refuses to eat supper with me, but the plate I put on the coffee table in front of him eventually gets cleaned off, and he accepts the glass of orange juice then a cup of coffee.
At ten until eight there's a knock at the door and Sawyer explains that is his replacement and goes to let the woman in. Sawyer introduces Ms. Prescott, explains she will be with me until eight o'clock in the morning. Ms. Prescott looks like she can whip both Taylor and Sawyer with her hands tied behind her back, a real hard as nails black woman maybe about fifty or so in age. Immediately I feel safe. In fact, it's the first time I've felt safe since Friday in the Red Room of Pain. Sawyer takes her off for a private report and I get ready for bed. The pain pills are making me sleepy and I'm ready for an early night.
After Sawyer leaves, I listen patiently as Ms. Prescott, Cottie, reviews some ground rules with me and gives me instructions on what to do for certain circumstances. It is amazing to me that these people are even here, especially since I ran as hard and fast as I could from Christian's apartment. All right, my conscience and my Inner Goddess force me to be honest; I bawled and held back and prayed that Christian would say he loved me or at least fucking APOLOGIZE for beating me with a belt and then let him escort me to the elevator when he did neither. So why did I have security people? Cottie wouldn't answer me, same as Sawyer. Maybe this was a Sub feature? It came with the whole end of contract package: phone, computer, car, money, clothes, jewelry … security.
As I lay with Kate's laptop beside me on my bed, I try to guess how long these people will be here with me. Then I read that my reaction of shock, hatred and fear are normal for a submissive that has been pushed in her "limits". Were they kidding me? But I keep reading, do a couple of cross references. No, apparently this BDSM crap comes with all kinds of emotional upheavals. After a "discipline", "punishment", "role", the names for it go on and on … but after getting beaten or "pushing" beyond my "normal" limits, it can be quite common for the submissive to wish to withdraw from her Dom, feel a wide range of negative and fearful emotions, cry, scream, threaten and even attack the Dom … and then everything is supposed to go back to the usual. The Sub is grateful for the experience and her Dom's willingness to take her into this realm, and the Dom expresses his pleasure at having been the MOTHER FUCKING GOD-COMPLEX BASTARD WHO DELIVERED HER TO THIS NIRVANA!
Did Christian really think he was just dealing with a submissive who needed a little more than a couple of hours – up to twenty-four per the reading material – and I'd be back all happy and thanking him, ready for more? These people were so goofy. I finally fall asleep as the cream and medicine takes the pain to an ache.
It isn't until I wake up around seven – God I hate mornings – that I realize I had flowers yesterday from Christian. Apparently they came while I was having my hysterics in the closet and Sawyer signed for them. Then he hid them in Kate's room and decided it would be better to give them to me this morning. Cottie gave them to me, looking none the worse for having spent the night doing whatever she did.
It's a box of white roses and black lilies. I stick them in a vase, cutting the stems to varying lengths, then get up the courage to read the card.
Ana, please call me. Christian.
Yeah, right. I get ready for work, borrowing from Kate a strapless dress of yellow and purple organza that flirts around my knees. I have a deeper purple summer-weight sweater that brings the whole thing to a nice level of professional chick that I took note of yesterday. Kate and I have different figures, but I can use her clothes if I pick out the right things. Something like this dress, it ties in the back so it won't fall off and just fluffs the extra material. Kate's five inches taller than me, so the dress would be shorter on her. No problem for me. I have a couple packages of thigh high hose and open sheer nude ones. The other package I stuff in the matching purse Kate has for the dress. I strap on a pair of high heels – it is sooo great to have a roommate who I can borrow all her clothing except for panties, bras and hose – then do my makeup – mascara and lip gloss. My hair is carefully put into a bun and I add simple small hoop earrings.
That's it. I can see myself with this style for a long time. I liked that I didn't have to wear a suit, although I judge about half the women at SIP did. It wasn't my style. What can I say? If it's not jeans or shorts, I'd rather be in a dress than the separates that kept scooching around in all the wrong places.
I'm eating my peanut butter toast and sipping hot tea – Cottie refused anything but I made her coffee and she's grudgingly drinking it on the couch – when it occurs to me that I'm moving and sitting without severe pain and I haven't cried or been screaming for the past hour since I got up. Wow. I had noticed that my ass looked a little greener and less black in the bathroom mirror, and the cuts were healing up. So it looked like I was going to survive.
And maybe telling Sawyer had helped. I guess I'd thought I'd take that story to my death. I hadn't even really told Sawyer what happened, but I'd gotten a chance to say something had happened. And if I'd chosen to go into detail, I sensed my security guard would have listened. My conscience was in her psychiatrist mode: oval wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, sitting in a wing-back chair. She raised an eyebrow and indicated I should go on with my thoughts. And maybe reading about how my feelings were normal and acceptable had helped. OK, the whole getting beaten had been a disaster, but obviously it wasn't a sin against nature and God. Not if there was information on the internet!
I get to work via Sawyer, that's what he wants me to call him. Before I get out of the black SUV he hands me a box of chocolates from Seattle Chocolates and informs me they are from Mr. Grey. I roll my eyes, get out and head in to work. First thing I do is hand the box to Morgan Zimmerman. He is thrilled and I'm pretty sure I just made a new friend. He explains that I can have drinks at my desk, but they have to be in the special spill-proof bottles with the SIP logo. One is already on my desk, he hurries to tell me, then answers a call. So I search the kitchen and find some Lipton's tea bags, make myself a nice spill proof container full, and settle at my desk.
The man next to me, JT Ally, shows me how to order up a manuscript in the queues, either hardcopy or internet, and I get started. At this stage, all I have to do is read the book and give it a yea or nay with an explanation. Until Mr. Laumber says otherwise, every manuscript I read and judge will be checked on by a senior assistant. Frankly, it scares me that I'll be making judgments on someone's writing and if they get a chance to be published, but this is what I put in four years of college to do … so I get busy.
It is almost the mandatory break time when Alison calls me and, giggling, tells me that "whoever he is, this ex-boyfriend must really be a sweetie" and there are more flowers downstairs. She delivers them herself and this time they are white Lilies and black roses. Still extra-large and taking up the entire front of my desk. I take yesterday's offering and put it in the kitchen area, then head to the ladies room with the card. Just in case I have hysterics I won't be putting on a show for everyone.
With shaking hands I open the envelope.
Ana, I would like to see you. Christian
Yep. He's a Dom. Expects me to get over it and come to heel.
Well, it's not happening. I may be getting over the shock and God knows I never hated him – hadn't I been begging for his love in my submissive room and bed just a few hours afterwards? – but this woman wasn't about to ever face his idea of bedroom games again.
It's raining, it is Seattle's favorite pastime, so I decided to lunch at my desk, noticing quite a few others also eat there. Morgan stops by and we chat. He thanks me for the chocolates again and I thank him for being so nice to me yesterday, then he pulls up a chair from someone else's desk and proceeds to tell me about himself. He's explaining how a boy from Fort Worth, Texas ended up in Seattle when I hear some feminine murmurs of appreciation. Someone whistles low and I can't help but look away from Morgan toward the elevators.
Jason Taylor is standing there, gazing solemnly at me. He's tall and built and pretty good looking in that black suit, so I understand why the women and some of the men in the area who are at their desks are staring. I excuse myself to Morgan and hurry over, only managing to lose one of Kate's shoes once and banging my hip on a desk before I get to him. He looks at me like he's trying hard not to laugh and I have to roll my eyes and flash him a smile in understanding. I'm clumsy, it's a fact of life.
"Taylor?" I hope Christian isn't somewhere in the building or something. I might be getting my head screwed back on, but I could lose it again if I have to see him.
"Mr. Grey would like you to accept this, Miss Steele." Once more he offers a jewelry case. This one is white with the word Cartier boldly scrawled on top.
I take it, open the lid. It's a red stone necklace. This one actually looks like a collar. I snap the lid closed and hand it back to Taylor. At least he takes it this time, sliding the case into his pocket himself. "What, no leash," I ask sweetly. Collars and leashes. They go together, right? I'm impressed that I got a half-way decent response off today. A great improvement on yesterday.
Then he has to go and ruin it all by reaching one of those large hands out toward me, and without any reason I can determine other than the fact that I know he knows what Christian did to me in the Red Room of Pain, I jump back with a shriek I can't completely cover with the hand that goes over my mouth. Everyone freezes. It feels like ten minutes but probably was only one where this tableau is pictured … then I hear Morgan stating to my left, "Call security."
That breaks it and I turn to him. "No. I'm fine. Goodbye, Taylor." And I head off to the ladies room at a restrained gallop.
To my shock, Morgan follows me in. Then he glares at everyone else wanting to see what is going on and they back out quickly. He's really quite respected, I guess. After I get done crying, I keep my explanation to the fact that no, Taylor isn't my boyfriend or ex-boyfriend, but he does work for my ex-boyfriend and is trying to get me to take a gift I don't want from said ex. Morgan must have good eyes because he identified that I was offered a ruby choker from Cartier. That or he's got a direct line to the surveillance cameras over the elevators. So he's impressed and indignant for me at the same time.
Unfortunately my little lack of self-control earns me a trip to Personnel where the head HR woman and the Chief of Security for SIP question me. I give them the same explanation as Morgan and apologize for causing a disturbance. I am really worried that they'll fire me and I'll be unemployed, then destitute if I can't find another job. Then Mr. Laumber comes in and the three of them have a confab. Then Morgan comes in and he goes into the glass office with them. I put my eyes on my bare knees and pray for an earthquake and the ground to open and swallow me. But just when I'm on the verge of an anxiety attack, Mr. Laumber comes out with Morgan and they ask if I'd feel better about continuing my training with his division alongside of Mr. Zimmerman.
I'm not sure what happened, but I make all the right noises I think, and we all troop upstairs. Morgan's black table is shifted and a swath of desks are all shifted around until it looks like a straight line of manuscript readers from the left of Morgan's table back to the windows. I'm placed at the first desk, a mere ten feet away from Morgan. And that is that.
The rest of the week goes along smoothly, if strangely. Sawyer takes me to and from work. Every morning he hands me a box of chocolates and I turn them over to Morgan as soon as I'm off the elevator at the eighth floor. At noon Taylor shows up, with SIP Security at his back – which he superiorly ignores – and he offers me increasingly more expensive jewelry. Morgan tells me the estimate on price, I think he looks it up on the Cartier website. I refuse and Taylor, without any further attempts to touch me, leaves. I get flowers every day, both at work and at home. Christian is requesting that I see him, speak to him, call him, let him call me, respond to his emails and texts – he's gotten my old cell phone number, or read one of the letters he is having Cottie hand deliver every evening. I ignore the flower cards with these messages, don't answer my phone if I don't know the number or when it is his personal Blackberry number, delete all his emails and texts without opening them, and tell Cottie where he can stuff his letters and refuse to even touch the envelopes.
Oh, between all the dramas, I learn how to submit reports on the manuscripts I am reading and Mr. Laumber is thrilled with my work.
Did I somehow agree to all this when I signed that NDA I never fully looked at? Was it in the verbal contract when I told Christian I wanted to try and be his Sub? Does he think this is some role play game? I desperately check the BDSM websites, even submit questions in carefully worded style to some of these sites, but don't get any firm answers.
By Friday I am exhausted and ready to lick my wounds, so to speak. Sawyer has a quiet word with me about the possibility of a certain gentleman coming over to ask me out on a date. I tell him that if Mr. Grey comes over, he can freaking knock all night long, but he's not stepping a foot inside my home and I'm not seeing him. AND HE AIN'T NO GENTLEMAN! I guess he does try, there's certainly knocking and some Sawyer / Christian yelling outside interaction, but I honestly am so fatigued mentally and emotionally that it doesn't impact me all that much. I sleep, shower, get the apartment settled from the move, eat and feed Sawyer, Cottie and a new guy named Ryan, and veg out in my home. I think it was what I needed because by Monday I am refreshed and feel like it's going to be a good day.
Could I have be any more wrong …