Reviews from Chapter 7:
daytonalay: Christian has eyes for his Little One and Elliot is such a dependable brother. Leila is not to be trusted. As for Ana, she only has eyes for her Sir.
Guest #1: APD has torn my heart in two and my next recommendation has done the same. Happy to see you're enjoying PBL so much, your heart will one day be prepared!
Guest #2 #3: You're both quite right that Christian's actions are screaming guilty.
MrsAnastasiaGrey: Funny you ask. This book will contain around 20 chapters in total with (drumroll please) a POV from the one and only Christian Grey in the next chapter! The next book will also contain around 20 chapters making a total of 40ish chapters for the entire series. Oh, the lies that are weaved and the stories they will tell . . .
motherbeatrice: You may be onto something . . .
Songs:
I Have Questions by Camila Cabello
and
Like I Did by Shane Harper
P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S
It's nearing three-thirty in the afternoon when I find myself waiting for my second interview of the day. I nervously shift in my seat, waiting in the lobby of Seattle Independent Publishing for a Mr. J. Hyde.
I find that I'm far more nervous for this interview than I was with the first. While my first interview went well, I knew that being one of many editorial assistants in a national company would guarantee a fall through the cracks. I didn't want to be chewed up and spat out. SIP was it.
Where the other company was a conglomerate of corporate chaos, SIP was the alternative. They championed local authors—which I one day hoped to be—instead of fighting for the big fish, and their roster of clients were far more intriguing and unique.
My ball of nerves finds me studying my sparse surroundings. The design statement stands out in the seemingly relaxed environment—giving off the signal that all is warm and welcomed. I sit on one of two forest green chesterfield couches made of a fine leather—much like the red leather of Christian's—our—playroom. I run the edge of my nail along the leather with a newfound appreciation, wondering idly when Christian will take me upon the red surface of the playroom couch. It was built and placed for an array of possibilities. The man was creative as he was the Master of his Universe. Thesupplies from Clayton's? Rope? Tape? More zip ties?No. No. I couldn't—wouldn't—go there.
My eyes stray towards the front desk where the young woman with large silver earrings and dark, straight, waist length hair. Her bohemian styled top gives her an approachable look, and I imagine if this job works out as I hope, that we could become good friends.
The idea is comforting considering the sterile look of GEH that I've grown accustomed to over the years. As if reading my mind, she glances at up me, away from her computer, and gives me a reassuring smile—stifling my nerves as I return her smile.
I cross my right ankle over my left as I begin to once again go over my mental checklist of everything I have done to get ready for my trip.
My flight to Texas is booked—my grandmother seemed pleased that I'm taking the weekend to visit after telling me that she's recently been very sick—I'm packed, and Kate has said that she'll drive me to the airport. Christian has reminded me to bring both my BlackBerry and my MacBook. The man is completely overbearing, but that's truly just the way he's programmed. He enjoys taking control in every situation, and over every person around him—including me.
Yet there are times when he's beyond mercurial. With the flip of a switch he can become disarmingly agreeable.
Agreeable, I withhold my snort.
Then, he shows just how compassionate, good-humored, and just how lovely he can be. And when he shows that hidden side of his heart, it's more than unexpected because of just how much I value it.
Like when he insisted on accompanying me to my door last night. He was acting as if I'm going away for weeks instead of mere days. He always keeps me off balance and admittedly, I quite like it that way.
"Ana Steele?" A woman standing by the reception desk with long, black, hair distracts me from my sudden rumination. Right away I notice that she's at least in her late thirties—if not her forties—and she appears to have the same bohemian style as the receptionist. However, it's her cool hazel eyes that chill me to the core as she considers me.
"Yes," I reply, standing awkwardly from my spot on the couch.
She gives me a polite smile as she continues to assess me in my interview outfit of the day. I'm wearing a gray knee length pencil skirt, a white blouse paired with a blush pink cardigan, and my low dark burgundy heels. An outfit that Christian Grey himself would approve of. My hair is even restrained in a tight bun, and for once my ever-escaping tendrils are on their best behavior.
With a practiced smile, she holds her hand out.
"Hello, Ana, my name's Elizabeth Morgan. I'm the head of human resources here at SIP."
"How do you do?" I shake her hand.
"Please follow me."
As we go through the double doors right behind the reception area into a large bright open-floor office, I note that she's dressed very casually to be the head of human resources. We head into a small meeting room where the walls are a pale green, lined with pictures of book covers. At the head of the maple conference table sits a man not much older than Christian, with pale red hair. He wears a light blue shirt, no tie, and stone washed chinos. For a brief moment, I'm almost attracted to him. That is, until I approach him, where he stands and gazes at me with dark blue eyes that are almost abysmal.
"Ana Steele, I'm Jack Hyde, the acquisitions editor here at SIP, and I'm very pleased to meet you."
When we shake hands, his dark eyes shift into something indecipherable, though his facial expression remains friendly. At least I think it is. There's something . . .
"Have you traveled far?" he asks pleasantly.
"No, I've just recently moved to the Pike Street Market area."
"Oh, not far at all then," he looks almost pleased. "Please, have a seat."
I sit, and note that Elizabeth takes a seat beside him.
"So why would you like to intern for us at SIP, Ana?" he asks.
I can't help but flush. He says my name ever-so-softly and cocks his head to one side, like someone I know—it's unnervingly familiar It reminds me of someone—only I can't put my finger on who Attempting to do my best to ignore the groundless lack of trust that his presence stirs, I launch into my carefully prepared speech. I do my best to look at both of them, remembering the Katherine Kavanagh Successful Interviewing Technique lecture: Maintain eye contact, Steele! As well as the Christian Grey Mantra: In the working world you need to show that you're confident but levelheaded. Keep your chin up, Ana. Lord, they can both be so bossy. Jack and Elizabeth both listen attentively as I droll on.
"You have a very impressive GPA. What extracurricular activities did you indulge in at WSU?"
Indulge? I blink at him, momentarily perplexed by his odd choice of word. I launch into the boring details of my librarianship at the campus central library—Hmm, I wonder if Dom Christian would be willing to play professor?—and my one and only experience of interviewing for the student newspaper. Thank you, Mr. Grey. I gloss over the fact that I didn't actually write the article. Thank you, Kate. I mention the not one, but two literary societies that I belonged to and conclude with my history of working at Clayton's and all the useless knowledge I now possess about hardware and DIY. They share an amused look while they laugh and I find myself relaxing, knowing that I'm receiving the exact response I'd hoped for. Plus, it doesn't hurt that the knowledge of hardware is going to be quite helpful in the Red Room of Pain.
Jack Hyde keeps at it, asking sharp, intelligent questions at every turn. I never waver—I stay on task, answering each question with precision and sharp wit. When Jack asks about my reading preferences, I declare myself a lover of the classics—Charlotte and Emily Brontë, Oscar Wilde, Virginia Woolf. When he asks about my favorite books, I declare my fondness for Shakespeare, Poe, and Jane Austen—bravely holding my own.
Jack, however, insists that he only cares for American literature written after 1950. Not one thing more. Not a classic—not even F. Scott Fitzgerald. Elizabeth stays oddly silent, nodding when appropriate and taking notes. Jack continues his argumentative ways, occasionally flashing a charming smile my way as if to ease my initial wariness. I try my best to convince myself that in the beginning it was my nerves talking. That there's not something peculiar about him. But no matter how hard I try, the feeling never dissipates.
"And where do you see yourself in five years' time?" he asks.
At Christian Grey's side. My mind seems to be playing mercy, allowing the involuntarily thought to seep in unbidden.
"Perhaps, copyediting. Or a literary agent, I'm not sure. I am open to opportunities in Seattle or otherwise."
He grins. "Very good to hear, Ana. I don't have any further questions. Do you have any for me?"
"When would you like someone to start?" I ask.
"As soon as possible," Elizabeth says directly. "When could you start Ana?"
"I'm available starting next week."
"That's good to know," Jack says.
"If that's all everyone has to say"—Elizabeth glances at the two of us—"I believe that concludes the interview for today." She smiles.
We all stand and Jack takes my hand, squeezing it in his grip.
"It's been a pleasure to meet you, Ana," Jack says softly.
I blink up at him as I say goodbye, feeling a distinct shiver of unease down my spine until he finally releases my hand.
I'm feeling perturbed as I make my way to my shiny new car, though I'm not clear as to why. The interview seemed to go well in my favor. Then again, Elizabeth Morgan was so difficult to read that it's really hard to say just how well it actually went.
Interviews themselves are only artificial situations set up to get a read on people. Everyone is desperately hiding behind a mask of professionalism as they act on their best behavior.
Though Jack Hyde was the exception. The man peeked my interest—but not sexually. Instead, I had questions. Questions I wouldn't be able to ask Christian because if would only spark his hot temper.
Yet I couldn't help but wonder if asking Christian for information about him would set the clock in motion.
As I climb into my cherry red Audi A3, I pause at the sight of a lanky brunette standing outside and off to the side of the building for SIP. She stands staring straight ahead as the gruff looking man in front of her—with a baseball cap over his eyes—begins to wave his arms frantically. For the briefest of moments I swear our eyes meet before her gaze breaks from mine—and then, she's gone like a leaf in the wind.
With a shake of my head, I start the car and make my way home to the apartment, taking my sweet time to enjoy my car and my opportunity of peace and quiet. With a red-eye and a stopover in Salt Lake City, my flight doesn't leave until 10:25 this evening. So, I've got a tank of gas and time to kill.
P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S
Kate is in the middle of the kitchen unpacking boxes when I walk into the apartment. As she pulls a stack of plates out and sets them on the counter I can't help but admire just how gorgeous she looks in a washed-out red, oversized t-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans with her blonde hair pulled back with a dark blue bandana.
"How did your interviews go?" she asks, excitedly.
"Good, thank you. Although, my outfit might have been a little out of place for the second interview, " I muse.
"How so?"
"If I'd worn that flowy skirt I was obsessed with our freshman gear of college and a peasant blouse I might have fit the bill."
Kate raises an eyebrow at me as she crosses her arms over her chest.
"You might be able to pull that off." She grins deviously and tilts her head to the side, "Although, if Christian saw that outside of GEH he'd freak. I think the plum dress was more his style. Along with the heels."
Ignoring her comment with a roll of my eyes, I continue on.
"Either way, the first place sucked and I really ended up liking the second. I think I could thrive there—even if the guy who interviewed me was a bit . . . off."
"Off?"
"It was probably just my nerves," I mumble—remembering that I'm talking to the tenacious Katherine Kavanagh. This tidbit of information will somehow make its way back to Leila—or worse, Christian.
"Are you sure? Did he interview you alone? Was he in HR?" she asks, firing off question after question. "Maybe you should talk to Christian and have him look into the company."
"That is exactly what I don't want. You have a back for feeding both Christian and Leila personal information at some of the most inopportune moments," I rant. "Which reminds me—will you please stop winding them both up? Your comment about José at dinner yesterday was completely out of line. You know that it doesn't do any one of us any good."
"Look, if he wasn't Elliot's brother and Leila's husband, I would have said a lot worse. He's a complete control freak. Frankly, I don't know how you or your sister can stand it, " she says while holding her hands up defensively.
At my look of disbelief she sighs.
"Okay, fine! You want the honest truth?" she asks—at least having the decency to look embarrassed. "I was trying to make him jealous—to give him a little help with the evident commitment issues he's facing. But if it's that important to you, I won't interfere."
"Good, because my life is complicated enough without you meddling in it. Trust me," I say dryly.
Late closes the distance between us with a cautionary step.
"Ana." She pauses, staring at me with deep concern. "You're okay, right? You're not running off to Texas to escape?"
"No. I just felt like you were right. I need a break and talking to my grandmother only confirmed my plans. Getting away for a few days will be good for me."
In a move that is out-of-character, Kate takes my hands in hers, giving them a reassuring squeeze.
"I don't know how to explain it Ana, but you're . . . different. I just hope you're okay. I hope you know that you cam talk to me about whatever issues you're having with Leila—with Christian. I'm going to try my best not to wind either of them up. Although quite frankly, it's like shooting a fish in a barrel with him. He's so easy to antagonize," she pauses and shakes her head. "Ana, if something's wrong, please tell me. I'll never judge you. I'll do my best to understand."
"Where is all of this coming from?" I ask as tears threaten to spill.
"I think you're in over your head and I think you have been for some time. I just don't understand why you didn't tell me. I'm your best friend. That comes before Leila—you have to know that."
I blink back my tears. "Oh, Kate." I hug her, feeling as if the floodgates of the last three years are about to burst open. "I think I've really fallen for him. I think I did a long time ago."
"Ana, anyone can see that of they look hard enough. It's plain as day. And he's fallen for you, too. He's mad about you. Completely crazy, if I'm honest. The man won't take his eyes off you for more than two seconds."
I laugh uncertainly at her remark. "Kate, he's married to my sister."
"Hasn't he told you how he feels?"
"No, not in so many words," I murmur, feeling ashamed that he's not spoken a word of it to me.
"Have you told him how you feel?"
"Not in so many words." I shrug, apologetically.
How could I tell him what I truly wanted when it wasn't supposed to turn out this way?
"Ana!" she scolds. "Someone has to make the first move, otherwise, you're stuck. Nothing will ever change if you don't tell each other how you really feel."
"You don't understand, Kate."
"What is it that I don't understand?"
"I'm just the woman he's having an affair with. His side-piece. His mistress."
"That's all bullshit and you know it, Steele. Tell me how you really feel."
I stare at her for a few silent moments before my voice comes out as a whisper.
"I'm afraid I'll scare him away."
"And how do you know he's not feeling the same way?"
"Christian, afraid?" I snort. "I can't imagine Christian Grey being afraid of anything."
But deep down, I know my words are a lie. As a small child, he was afraid. From what I know, fear was all he knew before the Grey's adopted him. Of course, sorrow grips my soul as I imagine that at one point—before he was brainwashed—he was afraid when in the depths of Mrs. Robinson's dungeon.
When I shake away my brooding reverie I find that Kate is gazing at me through narrowed eyes.
"What is it?"
"I think he is afraid. Just not of his feelings. I know what he wants."
"Despite thinking that you know what he wants, you need to sit down and talk to each other."
"Well, we don't do much talking when we're together, " I flush. "Nonverbal communication is typically our forte."
She grins salaciously. "I cant believe you're not really a virgin. I take it the sex is good?"
"More than good, " I gush.
"Well then, that's half the battle. The next step is to confess your love for each other. Then we'll work on Step Two."
"Step Two?"
"Getting rid of your evil half-sister. Duh."
"Let's worry about the first one. I don't even know if telling him will do any good. It could ruin everything."
"Well, we can come up with a plan of seduction over dinner. I'll grab some Chinese takeout for tonight. You're all packed and ready to go, right?"
"Almost. We have time, I don't have to leave for a few hours."
"Then I'll pick it up in say, about two hours?" Quietly, I agree and she opens another box, getting back to work. With a sigh, I head off to my bedroom, mulling over her words and advice.
Does Christian even have feelings for me? If he does, is he afraid to admit it? Is he afraid of what it means?
He seems dedicated. He had an entire penthouse designed for us. He claims I belong to him—but that is more than likely just part of his role as a Dominant.
My Dominant.
I realize that even if Kate comes up with some extravagant plan, it won't work. Christian wouldn't react well to mind games. Even if they were in the form of seduction.
While I'm away, I resolve to run through our recent conversations to see if there are any signs.
You were mine, right at that moment.
You completely beguile me, Ana.
Nymph.
Little One.
I shake my head, not wanting to think about it all now. I find the BlackBerry on the charger where I left it all afternoon and approach it with caution.
After this morning, I'm a little more than disappointed that there isn't one single message waiting for me.
Opening the laptop, I also find zero emails. It's not like I've gotten a different email address—but this morning was so . . . weird.
Yet the man expected to know how my interviews went. With a roll of my eyes—that leaves me realizing why Christian wants to spank me for said action—I begin to write him an email.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Interviews
Date: May 30 2011 16:49
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir,
I thought you might be interested in knowing that my interviews went very well today.
How was your day?
Ana
I sit and glare at the screen as I await a response. A response that was normally instantaneous. I wait . . . and wait, and finally, I hear the welcoming ping.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: My Day
Date: May 30 2011 17:03
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
Everything you do interests me. You are simply the most, fascinating woman I know.
I'm glad your interviews went well.
My morning was beyond all expectations.
My afternoon was very dull in comparison and I'd very much like for you to make time to stop by Escala before your flight leaves.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Fine Morning
Date: May 30 2011 17:05
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir,
The morning was quite impeccable for me, too, in spite of you weirding out on me after the flawless Skype sex we so promiscuously engaged in. Don't think I didn't notice.
Thank you for the interview tips in previous weeks, btw. They proved to be most helpful.
I'd like to ask you questions about such an impromptu invite to Escala—without you weirding out on me yet again.
Ana
My finger hovers over the "send" button, and I am reassured that I'll be on the other side of the continent this time tomorrow.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Publishing and You?
Date: May 30 2011 17:10
To: Anastasia Steele
Anastasia,
"Weirding" is not a verb and should not be used by anyone who wants to go into publishing. Consider that another useful tip. Flawless? Compared to what, pray tell? And what do you need to ask me about telling you to come here? It was an order, Miss Steele.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: You and Your Orders
Date: May 30 2011 17:17
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir,
Language evolves and moves on. It is an organic thing. Something you should be well aware of considering that you're both a health nut and the Master of your so-called Universe.
Flawless—compared to the other times we have . . . what's your favorite word . . . oh yes . . . fucked. Actually, in my humble opinion, the fucking has always been pretty flawless—but then, as you know, I have very limited experience.
You were my first as you are my only.
Is Leila there?
Ana
My finger once again, hovers over the "send" button, and I press it.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Language. Watch Your Mouth!
Date: May 30 2011 17:22
To: Anastasia Steele
Anastasia,
Leila is busy at the moment. If it really interests you, I believe she is out shopping.
However, Elliot is due for a visit soon. Although, that has nothing to do with my—as you put it—impromptu request.
I am glad you have limited experience. Under my watchful eye, your experience will continue to be limited—just to me. I shall take flawless as a compliment—though I worry your sense of irony is shining through. As per usual, you have completely beguiled me, Miss Steele.
Get your ass over here. Now.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc., from His Ivory Tower
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Not for All the Tea in China
Date: May 30 2011 17:27
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grey,
If I'm to meet you, I suppose I must leave now, but I don't have long as Kate is supposed to pick up our feast of Chinese takeout. We plan on having some girl gall before my flight leaves. My glorious sense of irony and I bid you adieu.
I will be there shortly.
Sir.
Ana
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Even Twinings English Breakfast Tea?
Date: May 30 2011 17:29
To: Anastasia Steele
I won't keep you long, Anastasia.
In case I forget: I hope you and your glorious sense of irony have a safe flight this evening.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S
After making an excuse to Kate about picking up a few last minute items on my packing list, I pull up into Escala'sparking garage just a mere fifteen minutes later.
I rather quickly grab my purse and lock my car behind me as I make my way to the elevator.
A few moments later I walk into the foyer of Escala and wait for just a moment, listening for Leila until Taylor appears before me.
"Miss Steele, Mr. Grey is waiting in his office for your arrival."
Frowning, I briefly thank Taylor before making my way to Christian's office. it wasn't all that unusual for him to be in there, but usually, when it comes to impromptu visits, he always makes a point to meet me at the elevator.
Once at his door, I find it open and he doesn't even bother to look up as I knock.
"Anastasia. Close the door behind you."
I do as he says and nervously make my way into his office, bearing caution.
"Hi."
"Tell me, Anastasia. Do I look like a fool to you?"
His tone catches me off guard as he continues to work, typing away on his computer at a furious pace.
"Excuse me?"
"I won't repeat myself, Anastasia. It's a simple question."
My heart races in bewilderment as I take a timid step towards his desk.
"I'm sorry, did I do something wrong?"
"I had my yearly physical today."
"So you mentioned this morning," I pause, looking at him curiously. "What does that have to do with me?"
His fast-paced fingers come to a halt and he steeples his fingers together underneath his chin.
"Well, I was mighty intrigued when the doctor informed me I had a sexually transmitted disease."
My heart nearly ceases at his words.
"What?" I breathe before I begin to stutter my disbelief. "H-How . . . Y-You . . ."
Christian stands swiftly, bracing his hands on his desk as he glares at me with his gray eyes—gray eyes that swirl with the ash and smoke of a fire burning deep within his soul.
"Don't play me for a fool, Miss. Steele. When did you do it? Was it before the bar scene when that photographer fucker shoved his tongue down your throat? Or was it after when you were moving and I couldn't be there?"
"C-Christian," I stutter, "I wouldn't—I didn't. Why would I do something like that to you? What would I have to gain?"
"What would you have to lose? Unless of course, I found out—which I have. Leila was right, you're just money hungry and jealous."
Tears spring into my eyes as I stare at him in pure disbelief.
If he had any kind of sexually transmitted disease or infection, it certainly wasn't from me. Which meant it came from Leila or worse—some other woman.
"You're the one who's lying. How can you stand here and accuse me of cheating on you when you're evidently sleeping with your wife?" I snap, feeling as if my legs are going to give out from beneath me. "I've never slept with anyone but you, Christian."
"Anastasia—"
"No!" I tremble. "You slept with her, didn't you?"
He doesn't answer me—hell, he doesn't even have the decency to look at me—as he opens a drawer on his desk and pulls out a slip of paper.
"As angry as I am, I made you an appointment with Dr. Greene. It's in thirty minutes, so I suggest you get going. But before you do, here's a check for your car."
He slides the piece of paper across his desk and then sits down, returning to his work without sparing me even a small glance.
I stare down at the check, feeling numb from head to toe as I swallow the vomit threatening to inch it's way up my throat.
$124,000.00
"Somehow I don't think you got quite that much for it," I grit out.
"I thought that amount would appease you after almost three years of work."
The words are like a slap across my face and my entire body begins to quiver as if I've been cast out in the bitter cold.
"I'm not your paid whore, Christian," I say thickly.
"In case you were confused, this is over," he says in a clipped tone. "You can show yourself out."
His words sting and with all the emotional strength I can muster, I take the check in both hands—effectively tearing it into two pieces, before slamming it down on the wooden surface of his desk.
"Fuck you," I snarl.
Turning around, I match towards the door and slam it open—startling myself when I discover Elliot standing on the other side, his arm limply hanging mid-air as if he was getting ready to knock.
"Ana Banana!" he says excitedly and then he stops as he studies my face. "What's going on?" His eyes dart to Christian, who still sits at his desk, ignoring our presence as if we don't even exist.
"I was just leaving," I choke out.
Looking completely taken aback, he studies me, "Banana, what's wrong?" Then he looks back at Christian, "What did you do?"
Adjusting my purse as it hangs from my shoulder, I remember something. I wipe at my eyes and take a deep breath as I manage to gather my strength.
"Elliot, do you think you could give me a ride?"
"Yes, of course," he says worriedly. "But not until—"
"You have your car," Christian snarls.
Not bothering to turn around, I pull the keys from my purse and I take the key fob off the chain before tossing them to the dark wooden floor behind me.
"Not anymore, I don't."
Looking slightly alarmed, Elliot follows me as I make my way out of Christian's office, and to the elevator in the foyer.
"Banana, what just happened? Did I really just witness you and Christian breaking up?"
"Please don't," I murmur, "I need you to drop me off somewhere. I'll catch a cab back to the apartment."
Without a word, Elliot nods as we walk onto the awaiting elevator. For just a mere second, my eyes catch the sad glimpse of my favorite gray-eyed man before the moment that the doors close. As the elevator starts it's decent a cry—raw like an open wound—breaks through my chest. My body trembles and shakes as the ocean of misery washes upon me. Then, like the saint he is, Elliot pulls me into his arms and lets me sob my heart and soul out onto the fabric of his t-shirt.
P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S
When we pull up in front of Dr. Greene's office twenty minutes later, Elliot looks at me with concern.
"Ana, you're not—"
"I'm not pregnant," I sigh, "Christian . . . I'll be okay."
"I'm coming inside with you."
"Elliot, no."
"Yes, Ana Banana. Kate would have my balls for not supporting you. Let me come with. You're clearly upset and you shouldn't be alone."
Finding that he's certain of his decision I nod my head resiliently.
"Fine, let's go."
Making my way inside Dr. Greene's office with Elliot on my tail, I stop dead in my tracks when a familiar head of brunette hair makes its way to the reception desk.
I stop Elliot from going any further, by holding my arm out in front of him.
"What the fuck-!"
When my hand covers his mouth he raises his eyebrows at me incredulously.
"Listen!" I hiss, nodding my head toward the front desk.
"The doctor gave me a prescription, I was just wondering about getting a prescription for my boyfriend."
"He'll need to make an appointment, ma'am."
"But he doesn't know and I don't know how to tell him."
"It's against our policy, but I suppose you could try talking to Dr. Greene about it."
Leila sighs and picks the slip of paper up off the counter.
"Thanks," she sneers.
As she makes her way toward the doors, I pull Elliot around the corner and out of sight.
"What was Leila doing here?" Elliot asks once she's on the elevator, "And what is the prescription for if she wants one for Christian?"
"It wasn't for Christian," I say quietly. "She said she wanted the prescription for her boyfriend."
Elliot opens his mouth as if to say something and then quickly closes it, frowning.
Letting out a deep breath, I walk through the doors into the office and up to the reception desk.
"I have an appointment."
"Name?"
"Anastasia Steele."
"Oh! Miss Steele, I'm supposed to show you right back, please follow me."
Casting a pleading look toward Elliot, he follows behind like the faithful friend he is.
Once in the room the receptionist says, "Go ahead and have a seat on the table. Dr. Greene will be with you in a moment," and then she closes the door over.
Several moments of silence lapse before Elliot asks the question I've been dreading.
"She picked up an STD and gave it to my brother who gave it to you, am I right?"
"He's claiming I gave it to him, but yes. You're right, " I reply quietly.
"He just told you—lied to you—about not having sex with Leila in over a year."
"I know," I murmur—realizing Elliot did, in fact, hear the whole thing. "Don't remind me."
"So she's cheating on him."
"Yes."
"And he lied to you."
"Yes."
"And blamed you."
"Yes, Elliot," I hiss.
He scoffs. "What a fucking hypocrite."
"Miss Steele?"
"Yes?"
A tall, blonde, elegant looking woman walks into the room and stretches her hand out in greeting.
"I'm Dr. Greene. I understand you're here because your boyfriend was diagnosed with an STD earlier today." She casts a suspicious look at Elliot.
"Yes, but my friend is just here for support," I pause. "Um, my ex-boyfriend told me about his diagnosis this afternoon, but I'm unsure of what kind of STD he has—only that he caught it from someone else. He's been my only sexual partner for three years, but he has another. I believe his wife was in just a while ago—seeking treatment."
Dr. Greene's eyes widen ever-so-slightly in recognition as she looks at Elliot—who happens to be wearing a Grey Construction T-shirt.
"I see. Well, let's give you a quick exam and see if we can figure this out."
P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S
Twenty minutes later, I'm once again dressed as Elliot and Dr. Greene return to the room.
"The good news is that you're showing no serious signs or symptoms, " she smiles. "I've rushed the urine sample and will email you the results as soon as I receive them on whether or not you have Chlamydia. However, as a precaution, I've written you a prescription and I want you to start taking it tonight.
It's best you refrain from any sexual intercourse for the time being and once you've finished your prescription I would like to see you again to discuss your new birth control options. Do you have any questions?"
"No, thank you. You've been very helpful, Dr. Greene."
"It's my job, Miss Steele. However, I will just say that it's very good to see no oral infection."
With those words, she smiles, nods, and leaves the room.
Her words hang in the air as Elliot and I look at one another and he cocks his head to the side in wonder.
"Did she just give you a hint about Leila?" he asks.
"I think she did," I frown—and with that, I let out a sigh. "Let's get out of here."
P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S
Kate and I pull up outside the drop-off area at the Sea-Tac Airport departure terminal an hour before my flight leaves.
Leaning across the console, she gives me a long hug.
"I want you to enjoy Barbados, Kate. Have a wonderful vacation."
"I want you to have a good time, too. I'm just worried about you. Are you sure you don't want to tell me what's going on?"
"Nothing's going on. I'm fine, I promise. Please don't waste your vacation worrying about me. I want you to have the time of your life falling in love with Elliot. Got it?"
"I've got it," she laughs. "I'll see you when I get back. Don't let moneybags get you down."
"I won't."
"Call me if you need me."
After getting my luggage out—a carry-on as I couldn't be bothered with an actual suitcase—we hug once more before she climbs into her car, leaving me on my own.
I head over to check-in, holding onto my carry-on luggage as I stand in line.
The young man behind the desk looks dreadfully bored as he holds up his hand without even looking at me.
"Ticket, please?"
Mirroring his attitude, I hand over my ticket and my driver's license as ID. As I wait, I glance out at the dreary sky—one that resembles my inner feelings—and hope that I'm lucky enough to get a window seat.
"Okay, Miss Steele. It looks like you've been upgraded to first class."
"What?"
He beams at me like I'm Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy all rolled into one as he shakes . "If you'd like to go through to the first class lounge and wait for your flight there . . ."
"There has to be some kind of mistake."
"No, no." He checks his computer screen again. "There's been no mistake. Anastasia Steele—upgrade." He grins.
I let out a huff in frustration and narrow my eyes as he hands me my boarding pass, before heading towards the first class lounge—muttering under my breath along the way.
That damned Christian Grey. Without a doubt he is the most frustrating man—an interfering control freak—he just can't leave it alone.
I only wonder when this occurred—before or after he broke up with me?
A Note from the Author:
Hello Lovelies,
I've been beyond busy so please excuse the late post!
Remember to friend me on Facebook under Sara Reed or to join the Facebook Group Sara Jo Updates for updates, teasers, and more.
Recommended FanFiction: Fantasy With a Felon by QueenBee03
xoxo,
Sara Jo