New York is a shit-show. During early negotiations, terms were discussed and agreed upon to everyone's satisfaction. In person, however, the client has decided the terms GEH has set were too steep and they weren't getting what they wanted out of the deal. It's taken all weekend and a lot of persuasion on my and Ros's parts, but we've reached a new agreement. I'm paying more than I was willing to in the beginning, but I'm also getting more out of the deal than I anticipated. In return, GEH has agreed to retain most of the staff pending a review of their personnel files.
I've been frustrated every moment since leaving Seattle. If I'm not dealing with the bullshit in New York, I'm thinking about Ana and how I'm going to tell her the truth about myself in a way that she won't run away as quickly as she possibly can. The only relief I've had have been my conversations with her in the evenings. We speak candidly but lightly, neither of us wanting to dwell on our weekends. Her father isn't doing well. He's stopped responding to most treatments, his brain activity is slowing down, and they don't seem to know why. I suggested she get a second opinion, even offered to speak to my mother for a recommendation, but she told me she's already gotten a second opinion and his medical insurance won't allow for another doctor to weigh in. And even if they did, his prognosis is not positive. I wanted to tell her that I've taken care of her father's medical bills and I am more than willing to find somebody who can help. I even spoke with my mother and told her everything I know about Ray Steele's case, but even she didn't believe there is much to be done.
Feeling helpless is not something I deal with well—it pisses me off and frustrates me. Ana seems to feel the same way, though she hasn't quite given up hope.
On the lighter side of things, Ana has invited me to have dinner with her at her apartment Monday evening. I accepted immediately and have already ensured I have that time open. I should talk to her then, that way if what I tell her scares the hell out of her, she can kick me out after telling me to fuck off.
I arrived home Sunday evening and went straight to bed, hoping to get a good night's sleep before having to face reality. Unfortunately I don't get my way. I toss and turn for a while, and when I do briefly fall asleep, I wake up suddenly after a round of nightmares. Around three in the morning, I give up and wander into the great room to my piano. But even that doesn't help me relax the way it normally does, I retreat to my study to do some work. When that fails, I get into my running gear and hit the pavement. I don't take my usual route, and run longer and farther than normal. Only when I find myself outside Ana's building do I realize this is where I've wanted to be all along. I know better than to go knock on her door this early in the morning and risk waking both her and Cody.
Knowing I'll see them tonight is comforting enough for now and I continue on my run and the day ahead. My schedule is tedious to say the least, mostly consisting of conference calls or reading whatever I find in my inbox. Even lunch is uninteresting when it arrives. I know what my problem is: I'm worried about what Ana will say or do tonight. It's only been a short time that I've known her, but the thought of losing her is devastating. I really believe it's also inevitable.
Because of this, I've scheduled an appointment with Dr. John Flynn this afternoon. I'm hoping he can, if nothing else, alleviate my concerns or tell me once and for all whether I'm making a mistake.
For the first time in the years I've sat on this green couch, Dr. Flynn is shocked into silence once I've finished telling him what's been going on. I'm not sure how to interpret his expression at first nor when he begins making notes on his notepad. When he looks back up at me, he's amused.
"I see you've packed quite a lot in since I've been away, Christian," he comments, sitting back in his chair and resting one ankle on his knee. "And it seems to me as though you're not so much out of your comfort zone as on another planet with this."
I roll my eyes. "Yeah, I get it, it's not me," I mutter.
"But it could be," John says. "What's stopping you?"
Taking a deep breath, I begin listing all the reasons I shouldn't be involved with Anastasia Steele. "She doesn't know me," is the biggest one, the one that bothers me the most. "She doesn't know what I've done or what I've been through, and if she does, she'll run and I'll never see her again."
"So tell her about yourself," John promptly replies. "Christian, that's how these things work. Everyone has something in their past they want to keep quiet, something they want to forget. And everyone thinks whatever they have in the closet is the worst thing in the world."
"But in my case, my closet is a room full of implements used in BDSM sex," I remind him. "Most people see those things and immediately think torture chamber, and that anybody who practices it is a freak. You did, when we first met."
John frowns. "That is not true, Christian," he scolds. "Yes, I was surprised, but I accepted your life choices as just that. You're not a freak, as I've told you so many times over the years. Look, my advice to you in regards to this young woman is to be as honest with her as you can. Maybe start small rather than diving right into the details. From what you've said, she seems to be as interested in this relationship as you are. If that is the case, give her a chance to have an open mind. You may be surprised."
Shaking my head, I try to take his advice, however unlikely it seems that he's right. "Even if by some miracle she accepts me for me, I don't see how we can do this long term. I need that control and I need that outlet. At some point, that side of me is going to rear its ugly head and then who the fuck knows what happens. I mean, if it was only Ana and myself, I might be able to work through it, but there is a young child involved here."
Tilting his head to the side, he observes me, something clicking in his mind. "And you're afraid you may harm this child?" he speculates. I don't reply, which answers the question for me. He sighs. "Christian, I have known you for years. While your proclivity for BDSM may lead you to believe you could harm another individual, I don't believe that to be true. The relationships you have had with your submissives have all been consensual. Outside of your playroom, when is the last time you struck another person? Or physically or mentally abused another person?"
I frown, thinking about his question. "When I was a teenager, I suppose," I say slowly. "Before Mrs. Lincoln and I began our affair."
John ignores the second half of my statement for now. "You weren't the first teenager who hit puberty and developed some form of anger towards the world. The testosterone we develop tends to be distributed evenly, but on occasion can all come at once, which understandably exhibits itself in violence or fighting."
"Testosterone?" I repeat flatly. "You're blaming testosterone?"
John chuckles. "In your case, your anger presented at a young age and you carried that with you in your teenage years and in some capacity, into your adulthood. I've never been concerned that you present a danger to society and I don't believe you are capable of hurting, really hurting, anybody. If anything, your sense of protection overrides whatever else you're afraid of. Take your sister Mia for example: you have told me that even as a six-year-old you felt that she needed protection as an infant, because she couldn't defend herself and that you needed to protect her and keep her from harm. Most children that age don't even consider that concept. You still have that instinct."
"So what are you telling me?" I ask impatiently, unwilling to believe his words right now. "That it's not a mistake to continue this relationship? That I won't somehow damage them if it escalates?"
Smiling, John sets aside his notebook. "In my expert opinion as well as being your friend, no, I do not believe it would be a mistake. And I don't see how you could damage them. Even if for some reason you find yourself losing your control, you would be more apt to send them away than risk anything that would harm them."
At the end of our session, I have to admit that I feel slightly better. But it all hinges on how Ana reacts to the truth about me.
"I assume I'll be seeing you this weekend?" John says, walking me out of the office.
I frown, not recalling making a weekend appointment.
He chuckles. "The gala your parents are throwing?" he informs me.
"That's this weekend?" I say, surprised. Normally I keep track of my parents' parties, but I suppose I've been distracted lately. "Yes, I suppose you will," I reply. A thought pops into my mind, one I've never considered before. It would certainly be a first for me. Rather than share this idea with John, I keep it to myself until I can determine whether it could happen at all.
After a stop at home to shower and change, I start to make my way to Ana's apartment, first picking up a couple bottles of wine that should complement whatever Ana plans for dinner. Then its a stop at a local florist. As I return to my car, I notice a small toy store I don't recall ever seeing before and duck inside curiously. I don't know what it is I'm looking for until I actually see it. I smile, asking the cashier to pack it in a gift bag with the same theme as the toy I've selected.
When was the last time I bought a toy? Probably when I was about nine and my parents took my siblings and me to a store to spend the allowance we'd earned at our grandparents' orchard.
Another first.
Thankfully, my mood has improved slightly since leaving John's office, mostly, I think, because I'm going to spend an evening with Anastasia. John has always encouraged me to live in the moment and not worry about things out of my control that have yet to come. For once, I'm going to take that advice.
I pull into a spot outside Ana's building, retrieving the things I've brought with me, and make my way across the sidewalk to the door. A car catches my attention. Most of the vehicles that belong to the building's tenants are older and cost about a quarter of what my least expensive car does so the brand new silver BMW M3 sports car stands out like a sore thumb. I don't linger on it, eager to get up to Ana's door.
As I reach the door, a man bursts through it nearly hard enough to break the glass and bumps into my shoulder, nearly causing me to drop the things in my hands. He turns around and glares, telling me to watch where the fuck I'm going. I'd like to take a minute to teach him a few manners, but I'd much rather spend the evening with Ana than in jail for assault. I glance once more over my shoulder to the asshole to find him on his cell phone bitching about someone, his eyes darting up towards the third floor, reaching the BMW, and speeds off. I frown momentarily at the Oregon license plates on the back, following the gaze he had on the third floor and immediately spot Ana's balcony.
Shaking myself, I put the asshole out of my mind as I reach Ana's door. I'm nervous again as I knock. This isn't a conversation I've ever had with anybody but my therapist and it's not exactly dinner conversation or one to be had in the presence of a child, which means I'll have to wait until Cody is tucked into bed. But it has to be done if we're to move forward.
The door opens suddenly and I see a blur of wood coming at my head. I manage to duck and back away. Ana stands in the open doorway, breathing hard, the baseball bat in her hands at the ready. I begin to wonder if she's already been made aware of what I need to speak to her about until the look on her face says just the opposite. Her eyes widen in recognition and she drops the bat behind her in the apartment.
"Oh, my God, Christian!" she gasps. "Shit, I am so sorry! Are you okay?"
I straighten up tentatively, half-expecting some other form of attack. "I'm fine," I say carefully. "What the hell was that?"
She looks embarrassed and apologetic, and I'm reassured that I won't need a trip to the emergency room so early in the evening. "I am so sorry," she says again, stepping back so I can enter the apartment and she closes the door softly behind me. I set down the things I brought with me as she picks up the bat and places it back into a closet. "I thought you were—" She shakes her head and ducks into the kitchen, avoiding my gaze.
I'm not so willing to let the subject drop when someone nearly takes my head off with a baseball bat. "Ana, what's going on?" I ask, leaning against the opening to the kitchen. She slumps, clearly hoping I wouldn't push.
Turning away from where she's buttering garlic bread, she leans on the counter and takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "My ex—Cody's father—was just here," she says quietly.
Somehow I'd nearly forgotten the asshole out on the sidewalk. "I think he may have run into me on his way out," I reply. "What happened? Are you okay?"
She nods. "I don't even know how he knew where we live," she explains.
"What did he want?"
She laughs humorlessly. "He wanted to see Cody," she says. "And he wasn't very happy when I told him that wouldn't happen even if Cody were here."
For the first time, I notice the absence of her son.
"We argued, he yelled and threatened, I told him I was going to call the cops, and that if he came back, I'd take his head off," she says simply.
"That explains the baseball bat," I say in an attempt at levity that misses completely. "Did you call the police?"
She nods. "Right before you got here. They should be here soon," she says wearily. "Speaking of which, I need to get something before they arrive." She glances at the food laying out on the counter. "I'm sorry, dinner is going to be delayed."
"Don't worry about it," I murmur as she passes me, grazing my arm. She disappears down the hall and I pull my phone from my pocket, sending a text message to Taylor to inform him of this situation and to look into Ana's ex. Since I've given him and Gail the evening off, I don't expect a response until later.
While I wait, I glance into the oven at the smell of something delicious and see that Ana has prepared lasagna, then open the bottle of red wine to get it breathing, pleased that I chose the best wine to complement lasagna.
Ana returns just as there is a knock on the door. I join her as she opens it and invites in the police officers, quickly informing them I'm not the reason she called. For the next fifteen or so minutes, Ana gives them details on her ex while I listen closely. To my surprise, she provides them with a restraining order that she has had in effect for nearly four years. Once I've given them a detailed description of the asshole's car, including the tag number that I subconsciously memorized, the police assure Ana they will do whatever they can to apprehend him and to call again if he returns. Ana doesn't seem reassured.
When were alone again, Ana slides past me back into the kitchen to continue preparing dinner like nothing has happened. I glance at the restraining order briefly before following her.
"Ana," I say quietly. Her shoulders tense. "What the hell is going on? Why do you have a restraining order against a man you haven't seen in years?"
She pauses in what she's doing as though she's trying to decide what to share with me or even if she should. As much as I want to push her to answer my question, I wait patiently. This is where I find out whether she trusts me or not, and it will give me an idea on how it will go when I tell her what I need to tell her.
Swallowing hard, she turns back to face me. "I told you I hadn't seen Preston since I was three months pregnant—that was true. But that last time wasn't exactly an amicable parting."
I approach her, leaving some room between us in case she needs it. "What happened?" I ask softly.
She gives me a beseeching look, silently asking me to drop it, but when I continue to wait expectantly, she continues. "He showed up at my off-campus apartment at around two in the morning one night. My roommate was out and I assumed it was her and she forgot how her keys work—it wouldn't have been the first time." She cracks a small smile. The corners of my lips lift. "Anyway, when I opened the door, he was there completely shit-faced drunk and probably high on God knows what. He'd already made it clear before then he wanted nothing to do with the baby and I accepted that. I let him in because I didn't want him making a scene in the hallway and risk waking up the entire floor. First, he accused me of getting pregnant intentionally to trap him into marriage. When that didn't get the reaction he wanted, he switched tack and claimed it wasn't his baby anyway, that I'd fucked somebody else—which I hadn't. I never knew him to have a violent temper, so I told him to crash on the couch to sober up. When I turned around to get some bedding from the hall closet, he grabbed me, pinned me against the wall, and tried to kiss me. I bit his lip and shoved him away. That was when he lost it. He broke my nose, blackened both of my eyes, and when I fell backwards trying to get away from him, I hit my head against the corner of a table and cracked my skull."
I stand staring at her in shock, trying to recall if any of this came up in the background check I had done on her. I'm fairly sure it didn't. My blood begins to boil as my temper rises, and I wish I'd taken the time to beat the shit out of the son of a bitch when he'd bumped into me outside. I keep my fury in check; Ana isn't done speaking.
"When I woke up in the hospital, I found out that when Preston stumbled out of the apartment, he left the door open and a neighbor happened to be passing by. She poked her head in to see if everything was okay and when she saw me on the floor, she called 911 and waited with me until the EMTs arrived. A day or so later, Preston's father paid me a visit. He's a big shot lawyer in Portland and the family is very well off. He had a restraining order drawn up for me that said his son couldn't come within a thousand yards of me or the baby once he was born. And he offered me a couple million dollars to sweep the whole thing under the rug and not press charges. I took the restraining order, but not the money and asked him to leave. My father was already pressing charges on my behalf. Preston was arrested, but he barely spent two hours in jail and when his time in court came, he took some bullshit plea deal and his sentence was a thousand hours of community service." She rolls her eyes in disgust. "I didn't see him again. But apparently he showed up after I'd given birth to Cody. My dad stopped him from getting to me and my son, and very nearly got himself arrested for hitting Preston. Hospital security was on his side and told police Preston was the problem, that he was being unruly and disruptive. As far as I know, no one has heard from Preston since, until tonight."
"And you don't know how he found out where you are? Did he know you moved to Seattle, maybe a mutual friend told him?"
She shakes her head. "After I dropped out of school, most of my friends stopped calling and hanging out with me, which was fine. Only a couple of people knew I was moving to Seattle in the first place and they never would have told him."
I look her over carefully. "Did he hurt you tonight?" I ask, my voice dangerously low.
"No," she answers.
"Do you think he'll come back?"
She only looks at me which tells me she suspects he might.
I swallow hard. What I want to do right now is insist that Ana and Cody come to stay with me at Escala, but I have a sinking suspicion that wouldn't go over too well. My other option, the one that might not lead her to chasing me out with a baseball bat, is where I assign a member of my security team to keep an eye on them. But at this moment, the way Ana looks as though she wants to do anything else than continue this discussion, I put those thoughts on hold. At least for tonight she'll be protected with me here. That's enough for now.
Clearing my throat, I look around. "So what's for dinner?" I ask, forcing a genial smile.
Her eyes widen in surprise. "You're staying?" she whispers in shock.
I frown. "Why wouldn't I?"
She exhales sharply. "Because I'm sure you have much more important things to think about than drama going on with a woman you barely know," she mutters uneasily.
It sounds like something I would say to her after telling her the things I intended to this evening. I think, though, at least for tonight, it's better to put that conversation on the backburner. In the back of my mind, I know it's a weak excuse and I'm just procrastinating the inevitable, but I don't think Ana is up for that right now.
"Well," I say sliding up to her, "you barely know me either, but it will take a hell of a lot more than an asshole, abusive ex to scare me off." And in an attempt to get the evening back on track, I lean down and press my lips to her, kissing her slowly until I feel her relax. When we part, she's smiling. "There, that's better."
I plant one last brief kiss on her lips and back up. "So, dinner?" I ask.
She chuckles. "Right... Um, lasagna, garlic bread, and salad. I hope that's okay. I wasn't sure what you might like."
"That's perfect." I look around the apartment again. "Where's Cody?"
Her cheeks pink. "Since our last dinner together wasn't what either of us planned, Cody is having a sleepover at a neighbor's tonight," she says, not quite meeting my gaze.
I smile slowly. "Is that so?" I murmur, considering all the possibilities this presents. Perhaps she sees my gaze darkening because she swallows. Feeling smug, I change the subject. "I brought wine, would you like some?"
"Sure," she says, her voice an octave or two higher than normal.
Smirking, I return to the dining table and Ana brings over two glasses for us. She spots the flowers and the gift bag. "And what's all this?" she asks, smiling.
"Well," I begin picking up the flowers, "these are for you. And the bag is for Cody. It's nothing much, just something I thought he'd like."
"I'm sure he will," she says, looking at the bag as though she's trying to see through it. "Thank you."
I pour each of us a glass while Ana takes the flowers into the kitchen to place them in a vase, then brings them back to the table, placing them right into the center. She admires them for a moment, then throws me another smile when I hand her a glass and returns to the kitchen. I follow along because I want to be near her.
"How can I help?" I ask, looking around at the food on the counter.
"Oh, it's fine, I can handle it," she says, probably assuming I don't have much talent in the cooking world. She's not wrong.
"I'd like to help," I tell her insistently.
Studying me, Ana bites her lip for a moment and nods. "Okay, if you want to get the salad put together, that would be a help."
She points at the counter beside her and the whole vegetables waiting to be made into salad. I begin to second guess my decision to help out when she hands me a knife. I stare at the ingredients. This should be simple. I've seen my mother do this a hundred times. When I continue to stand stock still, I hear a muffled giggle behind me. I turn and narrow my eyes at Ana.
"You have no idea what you're supposed to do, do you?" she asks.
"Not a fucking clue," I admit.
Rolling her eyes, she opens the oven to place the garlic bread beside the lasagna and joins me at the counter. "It's easy," she tells me. And she expertly takes a head of lettuce and transforms it into something much more familiar to my eyes, leaving about half on the cutting board, and hands the knife back to me. "See?"
The challenge in her gaze won't allow me to simply give up, so I take the knife and repeat exactly what she did, though it takes me much longer than it did her. We move on to the onions, peppers, and tomatoes, and by the time we've finished, I've half prepared what looks to be an eatable salad. Ana carefully removes the food from the oven while I carry the salad to the table, then place the hot pads she gestures to so she can put the lasagna down before retrieving the garlic bread.
I pull out her chair for her and sit beside her. Looking at the table spread, it looks as good as any Italian restaurant I've ever eaten at. "This looks wonderful, Anastasia," I tell her softly as she puts salad and bread onto her plate.
As we eat, I begin to rethink the conversation I intended to have with Ana tonight. Given what she's told me and what she had to deal with this evening, it just doesn't feel like the best plan. Actually, I'm slightly relieved not to tell her; ignoring the events upon my arrival, I'm enjoying myself very much and what I have to say will only ruin my good time as well as hers.
Excuses, Grey. You're only delaying the inevitable.
The truth is, I want to see how far I can take this relationship. I want to know if I am capable of this kind of relationship. And I'm not interested in trying with somebody else. If this is to happen, it will be with Anastasia Steele. That is assuming I don't fuck it up.
"I wouldn't blame you, you know," Ana says softly.
I look over at her, frowning, wondering if I missed whatever she'd said.
She gives me a wistful smile. "If you were having second thoughts, I mean," she explains. "I wouldn't blame you."
Letting my fork drop to my plate, I reach over to grab her hand. "I'm not having second thoughts," I assure her. "I told you, I'm not going anywhere." I think back to my discussion with Flynn. "And anyway, you're not the only one with skeletons in their closet."
I can see the curiosity written plainly on her face and if she asks what I mean, I'll tell her everything. Her mind is forming the questions, and I brace myself for what will come, but the words never come out. Perhaps like me she decided we've had enough heavy conversation for one evening.
"Yeah, I guess," she finally says, squeezing my fingers before releasing my hand completely so we can return to our meal.
As we chat and finish off the bottle of wine, I hear faint music in the background and wonder if it's been playing all this time. "This is the best meal I've had in a long time, Anastasia. Thank you," I say honestly.
Her smile is shy. "You're welcome. I'm glad you enjoyed it."
I know what I'll enjoy... I push away from the table and stand, holding my hand out for hers. Curious, she takes it, and I back us into the living room where I find the stereo playing the music. After turning it up slightly, I pull her into my arms. "Dance with me?" I ask.
"If you insist," she says, smiling.
For a few minutes we move together in perfect sync. She may not be the most coordinated person at first, but she lets me lead and we find our rhythm together. All I can think right now as I look into blue eyes that have the power to both captivate and haunt me is that this feels... right. Having her in my arms, feeling how well we fit together. Finally, I have to admit the one thing I've been trying to avoid thinking, even to myself: I want her. Not just her body, but her mind, her soul, anything she's willing to give me. And that is what simultaneously frightens and entices me—the depth of feeling I've come to develop for a woman I've known just over a month.
As much as I desire to take her right now, I know I can't, despite the fact that she sent her son to a sleepover and my suspicion that sex was on her mind when she planned this evening. Telling her about me isn't enough, either. Words can be misconstrued and make what I have to tell her even worse. No, she has to see for her own eyes and with context. That way she can make a fully informed decision about whether she should walk away from me or not.
God, I hope it's not...
I realize I've stopped dancing. Ana and I are simply standing, holding each other, and the way she looks at me makes me believe she can see everything I'm hiding from her, every dark secret I've kept buried. It's unnerving.
"What's wrong?" she asks quietly, concerned.
I swallow hard, reminding myself that tonight isn't the time to pile onto her stress. So when is a good time? The idea I had in Flynn's office begins to solidify. It's one that I've never considered before, and suddenly, it's what I want more than almost anything.
"Sorry," I say with an apologetic smile. "Lost in my thoughts."
She looks hesitant. "Anything you want to talk about?" she asks tentatively as though she isn't sure she should ask.
"As a matter of fact, yes," I say, my mood improving slightly. Pulling out of her hold, I take her hand and lead her to the couch. We sit, and I can see nervousness in her expression. "I'm not sure how you may feel about this, but my parents are hosting a charity gala this weekend at their house. I typically go alone and leave the first chance I get. I was just wondering if you would like to join me."
And now I'm nervous. This is a big step, a first that I never saw coming and will raise many eyebrows. As far as I know, Ana hasn't yet told anybody that we're dating, or whatever it is we're doing. She may want to continue to keep things quiet.
"Oh," she says, raising her own surprised eyebrows. "Um..."
Her hesitation nearly has me backtracking on my question. "If you don't want to, it's fine," I say quickly. "I should warn you that there would be quite a lot of attention directed towards you for the simple fact that I've never brought a date to a function. There will be staring and probably whispers, and people wanting to know all about you."
"It's not that," she says. "I'm just a little surprised that you would invite me. That, and I don't really have anything to wear that would be appropriate for that sort of thing."
I smile slowly. "Is that all you're worried about? Well, don't worry about the details—they'll work themselves out. And why wouldn't I invite you? Of all the people that attend these parties, I'd rather spend that time with you." It's the truth, and it surprises both of us—I didn't intend to speak aloud.
"Oh," she says again, her voice more breathy than before. "Okay, I'd love to go with you."
Her words don't register in my mind immediately. It's actually the smile on her face that confirms that she accepted my invitation and rather than responding verbally, I lean in, sliding my hand into her hair and kissing her with a sort of desperate gratefulness and appreciation. Before I know it's happening, I have her pressed between myself and the couch. Her fingers are in my hair, twisting and tugging as she wraps one leg around mine and I settle against her, loving the way her hips move against mine. Groaning, I tear my lips from hers and trail hot, soft kisses down her chin, her neck, her exposed shoulder. The sounds coming from her egg me on.
Only when I feel one of her hands reach down and begin to tug at the hem of my shirt do I come to my senses. To the surprise of both of us, my phone begins to vibrate against my hip. Annoyed as I am at the interruption, at least I won't have to come up with some reason why I stopped that has nothing to do with what we need to talk about before the clothes between us come off.
Sighing, I push myself into a sitting position, shooting her an apologetic glance. "If you'll excuse me a moment, I need to fire somebody," I say, my irritation not completely feigned as I reach into my pocket for my phone.
"It's fine," she assures me. "I'll get dinner put away."
I slip out onto her balcony, answering Taylor's call. "Taylor," I greet. "Have something for me?"
"Yes, Mr. Grey, I have a preliminary background check on Miss Steele's ex," he informs me.
I glance over my shoulder into the apartment to ensure Ana is busy. "Give me the summary."
"Preston Wilcox. Born 1987. His father is a successful defense attorney out of Portland—he's been involved in a few high profile cases over the years. Attended University of Washington. Average student. He began dating Miss Steele around 2007. She became pregnant and he started seeing a variety of other young women and that was a catalyst for their breakup. Wilcox was arrested in the winter of '07 for attacking Miss Steele and putting her in the hospital. There is a restraining order in place that seems to have kept him away from her until very recently."
Piece of shit... "Okay, email me the rest of the background check and see if you can find a way to keep an eye on this son of a bitch. In the meantime, look into hiring a CPO for Miss Steele and her son. For now, keep it as surveillance only unless there is a danger of them being harmed. I'll speak to Miss Steele and let her know of the arrangement. I may not be home until late tonight, so we can touch base in the morning and figure out where to go from here."
"Yes, sir," Taylor agrees. "Also, Miss Bailey has been in contact. It seems your presence is being requested in London. The gentlemen you were in negotiations with are refusing to recognize Miss Bailey's authority in this manner."
I roll my eyes and shake my head. "I'll talk to Ros in the morning as well," I say. "Thanks for the update, Taylor. Have a good evening."
Perfect, more fucking headaches. But I have no intention of letting anybody ruin my evening which has been pretty fucking incredible despite the rough start. I return into the apartment just as Ana is coming out of the kitchen.
"Everything okay?" she asks.
I nod, I can talk to her about security once Taylor has a name for me. "I may have to go to London this week, but apart from that, everything is fine," I promise her. "So what would you like to do now?"
The smoldering look she gives me tells me exactly what she wants to do. "Watch a movie?" she suggests, shrugging.
"Sounds good," I affirm. Anything that will allow me to sit beside her, perhaps to hold her for a few hours sounds perfect to me.
As we settle on the couch again, with her curled into my side and resting her head against my shoulder, I wonder if I've ever been this content to do absolutely nothing. I've managed to buy a few more days before I have to tell Ana the truth. Taking her as my date to my parents' party will be a nice memory that I can look back on later. After the party, I can bring Ana back to Escala with me and do my version of show-and-tell and hope she doesn't run. Looking down at her now as she watches the movie she chose, the thought of her running already hurts. I only hope I can find a way to pick up the pieces once she goes.