Text From: Christian Grey (9:34PM)

I would like to speak with you if you are available to meet.

Text From: Christian Grey (9:54PM)

Anastasia, please respond to me.

Text From: Christian Grey (10:07PM)

This is important. I realize you are angry with me and most likely do not trust me at the moment, but there are things of which you need to be made aware. Please, I really would like to speak with you.

Incoming Call: Christian Grey (10:22PM)

Hi, you've reached Ana Steele. Please leave a name and number and I'll get back to you. Thanks!

"Anastasia, I was attempting to take the high road here, but you're forcing my hand. I will see you shortly."


"Taylor just drop me off out front, please," Christian said as soon as they'd slowed in front of her apartment building. "I'm not sure how long this will take."

When attempting to get ahold of Anastasia the traditional way had failed, Christian reverted to using the tools at his disposal to get what he'd wanted. Once quick call to Welch and he had her location pinpointed to her apartment building, so he'd immediately set course there. He was going to talk to her whether she wanted to or not.

Taylor nodded, pulling over and letting Christian exit the car. Approaching the main entrance, Christian frowned when he saw the door propped open by a small rock, allowing anyone to enter without the need to be buzzed in. Whoever did this obvious didn't care for the safety of themselves or the other tenants in the building. He opened the door, picking up the rock and tossing it out into the grass. He wouldn't perpetuate the stupidity of that action.

He passed by the list of names on the door, not needing it since Welch had given him Anastasia and Katherine's apartment number already. The elevator had a clear 'Out of Order' sign haphazardly handing from the doors. He huffed. Shitty security, no elevator. What the fuck were these tenants paying for if the building owner took such horrible care of the building? He had half a mind to make a formal complaint himself. He headed for the stairs, ascending the four flights necessary to reach their floor.

As soon as he reached her door, he knocked loudly.

Once.

Twice.

The third time he was practically pounding on it before he heard a faint, "Just a second. Keep your hair on!"

He heard movement, then the doorknob turning before the door popped open to reveal Anastasia dressed in flannel pajama pants and a simple, fitted v-neck t-shit. Before he could utter a syllable, she loudly said, "Nope!" and began to shut the door on him. But he was quick to react, stopping the door with his hand. It took no strength at all to keep it open, even as she struggled against him to push it closed.

"Anastasia, please. I want to talk to you," he said as she stepped out of sight to push her full weight against the door.

"No thanks. Not interested. Please leave," she said, from behind the solid wood, still attempting, and failing, to even budge the door, let alone close it.

"The answer is no," he spat quickly, and firmly. "To all three questions. No, it was not hush money all along. No, it was not insurance to keep you quiet. And no, she and I did not plan this together." He felt the pressure she was putting on the door suddenly cease, and after a few seconds that felt like minutes, she stepped back into view, her face painted with an unconvinced frown.

He stood with baited breath, waiting for her to say something, but instead she just turned on her heel and disappeared into her apartment, leaving the door ajar and him standing in front of it.

Tentatively he pressed his palm into the wood, opening it a little more so he could lean in. He heard the clinking noises of someone in the kitchen, and decided to take his chances and enter without technically gaining permission to do so. Once inside, he closed and locked the door behind him, his mind flitting back to the safety conditions of the building before immediately shifting back to the current issue. He waited just inside the apartment, not sure if he was welcome to venture any further.

When she finally came back into the room, she was carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses. She didn't even look at him, instead she just walked over to the couch, took a seat, and filled both glasses up about half way. She took a sip. Then moments later, another. Finally she looked up at him, eyebrows quirked high. "You wanted to talk, so talk," she said, clearly not amused with the situation in the slightest.

He sighed, striding over to her and taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch. He reached for the wine glass, taking a sip before grimacing. "This wine is awful," he said lowly.

She leaned forward immediately, grabbing the glass from his hand. "Don't have any then," she said, setting it down on the table in front of her.

Another minute of silence followed before she tipped back the rest of her wine in one shot before again being the one to speak. "Maybe you should just go," she said, clearly irritated, exchanging her empty wine glass for his barely touched one.

"Do you always drink like this?" he asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

She set the glass back down, then took in a deep breath, letting it out on an unamused laugh before shaking her head and moving to stand.

"No, wait," he said quickly, reaching out and stopping her with a hand on her upper arm. "Please, don't. I want to talk. I do. There are things I need to say. Things I need you to know. But this is hard for me. I'm not used to doing this," he said quickly.

"Doing what exactly?" she asked, resting back against the armrest, her body turned halfway toward him, her arms crossed in front of her chest as she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Talking to people. About personal things. I don't share my personal life with anyone. I don't answer to anyone. The things you and I have in common, the things we need to discuss, they are things I've taken great lengths to make sure no one ever finds out. I have spent countless hours making sure these topics are something I never have to discuss with anyone. So forgive me if I have no idea how to do this," he said, running his fingers through his hair in obvious distress.

He saw her frown again, but this time with more of a hint of understanding rather than frustration. Her head cocked to the side as she stared at him intently, then after a beat, she waved a hand in front of her as if bidding him to continue.

"I don't know where to start, Ana," he said quietly, already deep in thought. "Elena and I—our history is complicated. He hesitated again, but she seemed to be waiting patiently now. He liked that she wasn't verbally pushing him to talk. When people pushed him, even gently, it made him immediately want to close off more. Flynn had perfected the silent waiting game, and it was one of the reasons Christian had stuck with him for all these years. "As you know, she and I started our… relationship when I was fifteen."

He glanced up at her, and she wasn't looking at him, instead staring down at her hands in her lap. But he saw her jaw tighten, so he knew she was listening. Again, the lack of eye contact, made it easier for him. He hated the inquisitive, probing look in people's eyes when he discussed anything personal- like they were trying to pull more out of him than he was willing to give.

"She introduced me to BDSM as a way to teach me control. I had a hard start in life, and it affected me through all of my adolescent years. By the time I was a teenager, I was out of control. Elena gave me a way to take that control back. I trusted her. I appreciated her. She was the only person in my life offering me something that made sense for me. And it worked. For six, almost seven years I was her submissive." Even though her face was turned down, he could see her eyebrows quirk up high on her forehead. He pushed forward. "As such, she taught me control. It was the one thing I needed to put my life on track, and she afforded me the opportunity to acquire it. It made me everything I am today. All that I have accomplished has been because of the control she taught me. But when I was 21, I knew I was ready for more. I wanted complete control. I wanted to be a Dominant. She subbed for me, to start. But she wasn't what I wanted. I had always had a very specific taste in woman. I was drawn to a very certain type. Elena did not match that. And if I was going to be a Dom, I wanted to do it with the type of sub I wanted, of course. She promised to find me someone who fit my specific criteria. I was so new to the Dom thing, I appreciated her help." He paused again, his voice dropping a little lower when he continued. "It was my twenty-second birthday present from her— my first real sub, one who wasn't her. A sub who fit my physical preference."

He waited quietly, watching her think, then saw her face wash with realization. "Me," she stated softly.

"You," he confirmed. "A petite, long haired brunette with pale skin. You fit my fantasy to a T."

She was chewing on her bottom lip in thought. Finally she looked up, meeting his eyes briefly, before looking back down again, giving nothing away. So he continued.

"I was elated, to be honest. I hadn't expected you. She'd taken me out to dinner, then back to her home. I never for a second entertained the idea that she had a sub waiting for me in her dungeon. So when I walked in, and there you were, on your knees in your panties looking every inch the fantasy I'd held in my head since the moment I hit puberty, I lost any sense other than to conquer you. I was new to the Dom scene. And I have since learned that Elena didn't really follow traditional protocol with her submissives. She played fast and loose with the rules. So, what I understood to be the way of things, was not entirely accurate. As a result, you were treated in a way I have never since treated one of my submissives. I ignored your body's clues that what I was doing was too much. I didn't do anything to earn your trust. I used you as a vessel for my selfish desires without truly considering you. I hadn't known I was supposed to, truthfully. I trusted Elena blindly. I wouldn't have believed for a second that she would knowingly pair be with a sixteen year old virgin. Your blindfold and ball gag kept me from truly studying your face, which in turn kept be from realizing your age. I jumped the gun and went straight for the kill. You deserved better than every single moment I gave you that night."

She nodded, realizing that this moment wasn't about the guilt he felt for her that night. They'd discussed his regret already. This wasn't about them. This was about him and Elena, so he pressed on.

"That night, she completely shattered my trust in her. Prior to that night, I had trusted her implicitly. I would have taken her advice, her opinion, over anyone else in my life. I truly believed that she was the only person in the world who understood me. She was the only person in the world who knew the real me. But after that night, things changed. When I left that night, I told her I never wanted to see her again. I was ready to write her off completely after that stunt she pulled."

"But you didn't, obviously," she spat bitterly, grabbing for the wine glass once again and taking a generous sip.

"No," he said curtly, opting not to grab the glass from her despite his intense desire to do so. "Our relationship was always complicated. We could not risk anyone finding out about us. It would have ruined us both. She was seventeen years my senior, and a very close friend of my mother's. I had my business reputation to protect and she was married. With the help of my therapist, following that night, I was just starting to have an inkling of the eventual full-blown realization that the last seven years of my life were manipulated by the only person in the world I thought I could trust. But before I could even start sorting through the mess which was suddenly my reality, I got a phone call. Elena was in the hospital. She had been beaten quite brutally. To everyone else, she claimed she'd been mugged, but when we were alone, she told me that it was actually a beating at the hands of her husband. He'd found out about us. He filed for divorce and left her nothing. I felt compelled at the time to help her, because it was equally my fault that her marriage had ended, and she'd agreed to a divorce where she received nothing in order to protect me. She had agreed to walk away with nothing as long as he didn't spread the word about us. She saved my name and therefore my business. So in return, I funded her salon venture so she could have income to care for herself. I don't have contact with her. My subordinates handle all issues with her company. I am simply the financial backing. I am not on speaking terms with her. We do not have any contact other than a distant financial one."

When he was done talking, he waited. He assumed she would be relieved to learn that he hadn't stayed on good terms with her after that night. There was still so much more he needed to broach with her, especially regarding the whole police business from years ago, but first he needed to know that she believed that he wasn't even talking to, let alone in some sort of alliance with, Elena Lincoln.

She sat silent for a minute, taking two more slow sips of wine, then finally she set her glass down and cleared her throat. "And you believed her?"

"What?" he asked, confused.

Her eyes met his. "You believed her? That her husband was so angry about her affair that he badly beat her, then divorced her leaving her nothing, but agreed not to expose it? You believe that after you shunned her, that she walked away from her husband willingly for nothing just to protect your name?"

"Yes," he said with much less conviction than he'd intended. He'd never considered the fact that Elena's story wasn't true. Like he never considered she'd have set him up with a sixteen year old virgin sub, or that she would get him to make a police investigation into her lifestyle go away by lying about an unhappy client.

Anastasia shrugged. "It just seems farfetched to me. Beating your cheating wife is such an emotionally charged action. It doesn't seem like something money could pay off, especially for a wealthy man. He could have given her a couple of million and he wouldn't have missed it with the size of his fortune. If he wanted revenge, I'm sure it would have been much sweeter for him to expose you guys than hold back money he wouldn't miss in the first place."

The now too familiar sinking sick feeling was roiling through his gut again. Why hadn't he considered the possibility of Elena's story being fake? Not once in the last six years had he questioned it. Why was it seemingly impossible for him to see through Elena's deceptive bullshit? He was an astute businessman who prided himself on the ability to see through people and read them like books. Why was Elena the exception to this? Why could she so easily pull the wool over his eyes?

Anastasia seemed the opposite. She seemed to see through Elena from every angle. She had an obvious inherent distrust for her and had gone so far as to even try and take her down when she was still merely a teenager by sending the police after her. She saw a plausible hole in Elena's divorce story immediately. It may or may not be true, but the fact that she even thought of the possibility had his mind reeling. Fuck, this was all so much. Since locking eyes with Anastasia as he handed her that diploma, he was being forced to question and face things he never thought he'd have to think about again.

He was already feeling an overwhelming amount of weight from this conversation. Did he have it in him to tell her the truth about why the police suddenly stopped looking into Elena? That was what he came here to do, and instead a whole new can of worms had been opened. At work, he could pile shit on top of shit and handle it all with confidence. But too much of this, too much talk of Elena and his past, it wore on him, grated at his very core until he felt raw and weary. Maybe it would help if he pushed to know more of her story. He needed to face this. He needed to see what brought Anastasia to Elena's doorstep, to her dungeon. Maybe if he pushed to understand her story, he could push past his own discomfort and find a way to offer her the truth and peace she deserved.

"Can I ask you a question?" Christian asked, closing his eyes as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"You can ask. I don't know if I'll answer, until I know what it is, but you can ask me anything," she said calmly.

"I've spent years in therapy working though a lot of things from my life. It took me a long time, but I was eventually able to understand why I was an easy target for Elena. I was able to comprehend why what she was offering appealed to me at the age of fifteen, and then into my following adult years." He paused, thinking about his question. She may see through Elena now, but obviously she'd fallen victim to her back then. He wanted to know how she'd ended up letting Elena influence her. What made her a target to Elena back then? "Why did you let Elena talk you into… what we did?"

She shrugged as if it was no big deal. "Like I said before, it was a means to an end. I wanted out of my home situation and she gave me an opportunity to do it."

He bowed his head, resting it in his steepled fingers, a frustrated look crossing his face. He didn't understand that and he hated not understanding things. He didn't pretend to understand the inner workings of the brains of teenage girls, or the brains of any women for that matter, but he had the general understanding that sex was a big deal to them at a young age. That every little girl started out with the 'prince charming' fantasy for their love life. He didn't understand why Anastasia was, and still is, so blasé about the whole experience. "But you were a virgin. Did you have some teenage fantasy about losing your virginity in some super romantic way? Being taken slowly on a plush bed, surrounded by flowers and music and candles, in the arms of a man who loved you and cherished you. Didn't you want that for yourself?"

She let out a light laugh. "You paint quite the picture of a first sexual encounter." Her smile died down from big to gentle as she shook her head. "But no. I wasn't raised to see sex as this intimate, romantic experience to be shared with someone you love. My mom, she never sat down and told me to save it for someone special, never told me it was something precious to share with someone I cared about. I grew up thinking sex was just—," she waved her hand around in the air, looking for the right word, "sex. A tool, even. My mom used to say it was 'a woman's most powerful weapon'. You could use it to get what you wanted, whether that was free drinks are the bar or vacations to Europe. Sex was the key to get anything. It wasn't a big deal. I knew what sex was by the time I turned ten. My mom slept with a lot of men. They were in and out of the house my whole life. I had no idea that that wasn't normal until I got a little older. I didn't know it was a big deal to some people. I had no idea sex was equated with love. Sex equaled money, and money was the most important thing in my mother's world."

Christian felt his vision slightly tunnel and the underwater effect hit his ears. Sex equaled money. "Was your mother a prostitute?" he asked, his voice sounding surprisingly pained to his own ears. He stood up trying to gain back his foundering control.

Anastasia just rolled her eyes and let out a scoffing grunt at the idea. "No. I mean, I know she did it expecting to be taken care of somehow in return. My mom didn't really buy into the whole 'love' thing. Love, to her, was linked with spending. The more they spent the more she invested herself in them. If you wanted her affection, it came with a hefty price tag. So I know men gave her jewelry, clothes, vacations, that sort of thing. She expected that stuff. But no, I wouldn't officially label her a prostitute. She was just a run of the mill slut. She was a shitty person."

Christian winced slightly at her dismissal of all of this. She dealt with a parade of men in and out of her house her whole life? She was taught by her mother that money was love? These were things that he too had experienced. Lessons that he was taught in his own life. By his birth mother. By Elena. Sex was for money. Men were not permanent fixtures, just passing monetary donations. Sex was best as a loveless endeavor. Love was for fools.

"So she just openly told you all these philosophies of life? She was open with you about it, because she truly believed it?" He asked, unexpectedly finding himself in the seat next to her. As badly as he had wanted to know nothing about her before, all of a sudden he was desperate to understand her. It was like he suddenly couldn't get enough information.

"I mean, for the most part, yes. She never minced words. She was very blunt with her views on money and men and love and sex. But there was definitely manipulation of me on her part too. My mom was honest to a fault about her views of life, but if she could benefit from a lie, she had no problem lying to help her own cause. Like when she left the only real father I ever knew, Ray. It was really hard on me. I loved him. I felt safe with him. But she told me that we needed a new man around- a real man who could take care of us. I was confused because I thought that Ray did take care of us. I felt taken care of with him. But she said that Ray obviously didn't love us. He didn't buy everything she asked for, so that meant he didn't love her. Even looking back, I believe that she believed that. It seemed wrong to me, and I refused to believe it. Ray loved me, I knew it. But, before we left, Ray promised me he's see me soon. He said that he'd come visit, or send for me to come back to Montesano to see him. But he never did. It broke my heart, and when I cried to my mom about it, she said it just proved her point. Then she started to say it was my fault for getting too attached anyway. She said smart woman never got that attached to any man. So I figured she must be right. What did I know? I was a kid, and she was my mom. I thought she knew best. Ray wasn't coming for me like he said he would. So I started to believe that he really didn't love us. I didn't know until years later that Ray had fought tooth and nail to get to see me, and that it was actually my mom who kept him from me. But that's a whole other story."

Christian felt himself lean closer to her. Her scent washed over him, making his whole body flush with heat. What the fuck was that? He lurched back, trying to get away from it. He couldn't sit that close to her. But he was completely drawn into her story now. He had to know what else happened in her life. He'd had a shitty start to life. By all accounts, far shittier than anything Anastasia had just described. However, since the age of four he'd had a good family. He'd fought against their affection his whole life, but they'd tried their hardest to be supportive. But all Anastasia had her entire life was one shitty mother imposing her terrible influence on her every decision. When he'd first asked the question, he hadn't known what to expect, but somehow it wasn't anything close to this type of answer. And he hadn't expected it to end up spawning her to completely open up about the intimate details of her teenage years, with him hanging on her every word like Mia watching a soap opera. The details of her life were horrible. Yet, he saw parallels to his own life glaring back at him. A mother who traipsed men constantly through her home, just as his birth mother had. Being told that love was nothing, that sex was just sex and love was for fools. Money was given in absence of emotion, as he demonstrated every time he gave his submissives money or cars or clothes. But while he obsessed about his issues in therapy, she seemed so jaded about the whole thing. Like she was recounting a trip to the dentist. It wasn't something particularly pleasant, but it wasn't a big deal. But to him, the whole thing was beyond intriguing. Everything about Anastasia Steele was beginning to intrigue him.

"But she remarried," he said, hoping to lead her to continue on with the story of her life. He didn't want to push her too far, but didn't seem to mind sharing this information with him.

"Right," she said, taking a breath. She ran her fingers through her hair before waving them around absently. "So, like I said, my mom's relationships were never about love. I remember one night she told me how she married Ray because she'd just had me, and my birth father died, and she needed someone to support us. She didn't love him. She just needed someone to take care of her and used him. But inevitably she got bored with him, because he wasn't giving her the opulence she felt she deserved from life, so she left him. We moved to Seattle on his dime- part of his military pension, and stayed in a shitty apartment for a while. Men were coming in and out all the time. I knew what sex was by the time I was ten. My mom literally sat down and explained it to me in blunt terms, telling me she needed me to disappear when men were over because women with kids didn't, and I quote, "get the best dick," end quote. I felt like a leper in my own home. She made me feel like I was making her life infinitely harder. It was clear I was cramping her style and that she didn't want me around. Then, just in time for our money to run out, she met Steve and married him right away. He was older and pretty unpleasant, but my mom was beautiful and he was looking for a trophy. They both knew what their relationship was. He was rich and spent a lot of money on my mom even though I came with the deal, so she could give a shit about his personality. She got everything she wanted, everything she asked for. And it was tolerable. Things were kind of stable for a few years.

"But he made no effort to hide that he didn't like me. He'd tell me how I was too quiet, too bookish, too introverted. I needed to dress sexier, I needed to wear makeup and obsess about my hair like all the other girls. He constantly told me I would never catch the eye of a prominent man acting all mousy, saying I needed to take pointers from my mom. She always agreed with him. They both constantly scrutinized me. It was like everything I did and said was on display to be picked apart. It made me so self-conscious, like I had no self-worth, because nothing I did was good enough. I wasn't good enough. It wasn't always easy on me living there, but I took solace in the fact that things were at least consistent.

"But then Steve got sick. Occasionally men started showing up at the house once he was admitted to the hospital. Forget about once he died; it was a free for all. She was sleeping with a new guy every week, hoping to get the next big catch to support her financially at the level she'd become accustomed with Steve. She needed to find the next man to take his place. His money wasn't going to last forever. And my mother refused to work. So things got worse again. Men were in and out of the house constantly again. Then, one night I woke up to one of them standing over me while I was in my bed sleeping, pulling my sheets down off of me. It scared me. Really scared me. I felt so unsafe all the time. So I started trying to figure out what I could do to get out of the house. I grew up thinking that sex was a tool to use to get what you needed. And love was for fools. I was miserable at home. Then Elena came along with her proposal. It was perfect. An answered prayer. A way out. And it fell in the lines of everything my mom had beat into my head for all those years. Using sex to get what I wanted, and leaving love out of the equation. It was a no brainer at the time for me to say yes to what she was offering."

And there it was. Anastasia Steele's story. Something he'd wondered about randomly over the years, but especially directly following their time together when she was so young. And now he knew. The way she explained it, the way she viewed it as such a rational idea. It bothered him. It was like she didn't see the wrong in all of it. Maybe she was in denial. She could probably benefit from some sessions with a therapist herself. "What ever happened to your mom?"

"I'm not a hundred percent sure. She was still trying to find her next meal ticket when I finally graduated high school and left the house. She didn't know I was planning on going to school. I didn't tell her about it because I didn't want to risk her finding out about the money I had. If she knew it existed, there was nothing that would stop her from trying to get her hands on it. She had nothing left from Steve and was desperate near the end. But she found my paid tuition bill for my first semester at WSU in the mail. She went crazy, wanting to know how I paid for it. She tore my room apart while I wasn't home and ended up finding the bankbook for the account I kept the money in. It was an account Ray opened for me when I was a kid to teach me about saving. It had like, $43 in it at the time and I knew my mom forgot all about it so she would never think to look into it. She went nuclear. She tried to drain the account, yelling at the bank that she was my guardian. But Ray had opened it, not her, so they wouldn't let her. It drove her nuts. She practically attacked me as I walked in the door that night. She backed me up against the wall and was screaming in my face. She called me an ungrateful bitch, saying she'd done everything she could to give me the best life possible, and I repaid her by hiding money from her. She wanted to know where I got it but I refused to tell her. So she accused me of sleeping with the men she'd brought home in exchange for the money. She tried to say she deserved the money as repayment for having to take care of me all those years. That I had held her back from being able to do what she really wanted to do and get the men she truly deserved to get. She said she had to settle on everything in her life because she had me and no one wanted me. I just let her scream and scream and scream at me until finally she stormed out of the house. I packed my stuff that night and I was on a bus to Portland by the morning. Ended up finding a listing for a girl, a WSU student, looking for a roommate, on a billboard at school. I called the number and that's how I met Kate. The rest is history. Last I heard, my mom moved out to Georgia and married someone with money out there. I don't know if they're still together. I haven't spoken with her since that day."

"You're very strong," he said, his eyes staring intensely at her face.

She blushed, attempting to brush off the comment as well as the look he was giving her. "I don't know about all that."

"You are. How did you get through all of that and end up where you are?"

"What do you mean? Where am I?" she asked, confused.

"Happy," he stressed.

Her mouth popped open and she hesitated for a second before saying, "I'm not sure. The years with my mom- my whole adolescence, they were spent just counting the days until I could get out. It's not to say I haven't been affected by everything that happened while I was living with her. But I didn't want my mother and her actions to define me. I am not her. I refused to be dragged down by her. I wanted my own life, and I was willing to obtain that by any means necessary. I just took it a day at a time until I got out. And I made a promise to myself that once I got out I would never look back. So I haven't. I don't let her life affect me anymore. I haven't thought about any of this stuff for years, until you made your grand reentrance into my life."

"I wish I could do that," he said quietly, more to himself than to her.

"Do what?" she asked anyway.

"I wish I was able to compartmentalize my past from my present and my future."

"I wouldn't say I necessarily compartmentalize. I am fully aware that my past is part of what I am. I just don't let it completely define me. I was a child. I didn't know any better than the life I had with my mom, and I didn't know any better than to follow Elena down the only path that was given to me to get out of it. It's part of me, but not who I am."

He sat in silence, thinking about her words, her story, her life. Finally she let out a little sigh before standing up. "It's late and I'm tired. I think I'm going to head to bed," she said quietly, stretching her arms above her head with a yawn. His eyes unwittingly lingered on her body as it stretched out, long, lean and tight, before flicking back to her face in time to catch her eyes opening.

"But I have more to talk to you about. The reason I came here- I haven't even discussed it yet."

"Yes, well, we will have to save that for another day. I'm beat. This discussion was exhausting. Truthfully, it's exhausting knowing you," she said with a small smile and a shrug. He stood slowly, hesitant to go. If he didn't come clean now, he didn't know if he would ever gain the courage to do so again. But she wasn't giving him any option as she motioned toward the door, urging him toward it and opening it for him. He stepped into the threshold and she gave another small smile. "Bye Christian," she said softly. He watched dumbly as she closed the door gently in his face, then listened to her retreating footsteps before turning on his heel and leaving her building.