A/N: It's been a while since I've update, I know *hangs head*. RL has been a bear in many different ways, plus writer's block bit me. I've decided to go with a split POV sort of thing - both Ana and Christian alternating. Hope it works. Probably won't get to update again until after the holidays because of the craziness that is Xmas. Hope you all enjoy this bit of drama I've cooked up. Thanks for reading!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

During one of her particularly philosophical flannel pajama phases, Kate once told me that a break-up was a lot like grieving for a loved one who has died. According to her, a person goes through all the classic stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally acceptance. I'm not sure of the wisdom of that yet, but I have been rather erratically going through those first four stages all week, with particular emphasis on the depression part.

This morning, I woke up on the angry side of the bed. I'm hoping my work day goes smoothly, because it wouldn't be good for me to lose my temper during my first week on the job.

I know something is up the very second I step through the door, because Claire is beaming at me from reception, almost bouncing in her seat with barely contained excitement.

"Who is it?" she demands to know. "Who is this wonderful, romantic prince charming with obviously deep pockets and expensive taste?"

I think I'm going to pass out. I don't know what, but I know who, and I am already feeling very bitter for barely 8:45 A.M. Then I am forced to face Jack Hyde. Ugh! I've tried to ignore it, but I have gotten a strange vibe from him all week and now he has stepped out of his office and is standing there trying to look amused, but I can sense an undercurrent of anger and irritation. I've gotten damn good at picking up on that vibe from men. Wonder how?

"Good morning, Ana," he greets with a forced smile. "I didn't know you had a boyfriend."

"I don't," I say truthfully. Never really have, I add to myself. "Guys, you're making me a little nervous. What's going on here?"

Jack visibly relaxes and his smile becomes more genuine. "You've had quite the special delivery this morning, Ana. Sweetie, I'm afraid you have a secret admirer on your hands. Or maybe a stalker?" he adds, making a sympathetic frown. Why do I doubt his sincerity?

I don't bother with any more pleasantries; I simply head straight for my small office as fast as my sneakers will carry me. If there's an Audi parked in there, I'm going to show one Christian Grey what it looks like to go thermonuclear.

Flowers. Christian has sent me flowers. An obscene, embarrassing, boatload of flowers. I can barely see the floor or the desk. And to my new job no less! I can't believe the nerve of the man!

There are roses of almost every color imaginable. All perfect, lab created specimens no doubt. All displayed in ornately carved lead crystal vases, each worth more than my first paycheck will be.

I'm so humiliated. How could he do this? How could he make such a spectacle during my very first week of work? I guess he doesn't know nor care that I am pretty much out of any money I had left from my job at Claytons and I haven't yet had the heart to cash the check for my car. It seems like hush money. It is far too much. I need this paycheck. I may not have been eating much lately, but eventually I'm going to have to start.

I turn around to see Jack and a still-excited Claire standing just behind me.

"I'm so sorry about all this, Jack," I mumble, my face turning bright red. Then I feel unwelcome tears springing up and it enrages me. I am not crying today! I promised myself I wouldn't when I woke up this morning. I'm angry today. There is no crying on angry day! It's a rule.

"Your stalker theory might not be far off the mark," I snap bitterly to stave off the tears.

If I am not mistaken, Jack looks happy. Wow, I think I may hate all men.

"Oh Ana," he says in what he probably thinks is a properly shocked tone. "That's terrible, honey! You just let me know if you need anything from me. I can have deliveries restricted, no unapproved visitors, whatever would make you feel comfortable. We're a family here."

I force myself to smile and laugh it off. I've just realized that this is not someone whose 'help' I want.

"It's not a big deal. I'll talk to him. He just goes overboard. Trust me, I'll take care of it. Sorry I caused so much drama in here this morning. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again. I'll get to work and make sure all of this is cleaned out, okay?"

"I'll send someone from maintenance," Jack offers helpfully. "That's an awful lot of flowers for one little girl to move out all by herself."

My inner goddess, whom I thought was dead, suddenly pops up in a panic. Not our flowers, she begs. Don't let them throw away our beautiful flowers! He's showing us he cares.

Really? She's that stupid? I don't even need my subconscious for this one. This in no way means that he cares. It means, he thinks he can buy me and he's only interested because it has been five days and I haven't gone running back to him. I am a challenge. A novelty. Nothing more. He would have stopped beating me if there was more.

"Thank you, Jack," I say, accepting his offer with a firm nod. Take that, you week-willed ninny.

That seems to put a spring in the boss' step as he strides away to make the arrangements, no doubt. Poor Claire, however, looks disappointed. I suppose she was hoping for a more romantic ending to this tale.

"Those are awfully pretty roses," she observes wistfully.

"Would you like a vase for your desk?" I offer, trying my best to sound casual about it.

"Bad breakup?" she asks gently. Damn her. I'd pretty much derailed the tears until she had to go and be perceptive.

"Claire, I can't…"

She lowers her brows and bites her bottom lip (apparently I'm not the only one who does that). She edges back toward the doorway, obviously ready to make her escape before the waterworks get started.

"Sorry," she says, holding her hands up in front of her. "Listen, you don't know me. I understand. I'll leave you alone, unless you need to talk. I've had plenty of bad breakups, so I've probably been there, done that."

Doubt that.

"Thanks," I manage to get out, shaking my head.

"Okay," she nods. "Just call me if you need anything." Unlike Jack, at least she does actually appear to be sorry.

Once alone, I lean my back against the closed door and hesitate a moment before locking it and sinking down to the floor in front of it.

It is probably not cool to lock the door in your office on the first week at a new job, but I really need to feel secure in my privacy right now. Damn Christian! What on earth is wrong with him? Does he need to take this from me too?

The perfumey scent of all the roses is overwhelming with the door shut. I find it difficult to breathe, especially since I'm trying my best to cry silently. Thank God I didn't wear any makeup this morning. At least I won't have to worry about smudged mascara. One small positive in a sea of negative.

Once my tears trail off, I force myself to my feet and wipe my face off with my hands. There is a box of tissues on my desk and I hope I can make it to the bathroom fairly unnoticed to splash some cold water on my face before maintenance shows up to haul away this mess.

My office is very small, but it's still seems as if I'm navigating a labyrinth to get to my desk. The little metal rings on my sneakers hit the crystal vases and ring out like dozens of tiny bells. It is maddening. By the time I make it to my chair I'm exhausted. Then I'm faced with what is undoubtedly a card and a little blue box with the words Tiffany & Co. engraved across the top.

My hands are shaking as I pick up the tiny envelope. The card is small, the kind that typically comes attached to a gift. It is plain, a pearly white, and perfectly matches the lettering on the jewelry box. Inside is a simple, typed message.

Anastasia,

You may have it all.

Christian

Well, that's fittingly and infuriatingly cryptic. Now, I suppose I have to open the jewelry box.

I am kind of blown away when I do. It is a necklace, a heart-shaped pendant to be precise. I've seen plenty that are similar in a knock-off sort of way. This is, no doubt, the original. It is very delicate, white gold, encrusted in diamonds, and appears to be handmade. I can't even begin to guess what it may have cost.

I can't breathe. Between the roses and the shock, I am afraid I may blackout. If I had received this a week ago, I'd have been over the moon. Now, I'm just numb. I don't know what to think.

Quite obviously, the message is: hearts and flowers. I can have them both. I can 'have it all'. But I don't feel it. No matter how much my goddess is currently begging to be allowed to rejoice, I can't let myself believe it just because I want to. I can't be that girl again. It is time to grow up.

Look at the hard evidence, Steele, my subconscious reminds me. This man has nearly unlimited resources, the over-the-top monetary display means nothing to him. It is far less significant than your morning bus fare is to you. He couldn't even be bothered to sign the damn card. You are only a possession. A possession that has chosen to walk away. He simply does not want to lose. That's all. You know this! You saw the proof of that last weekend.

She's right. Nothing has changed. There's not a shred of warmth in this, it is just yet another display of wealth and power. It is a good thing I am cried out for the day, because I need to get to work. Some people actually depend on their paychecks.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I have waited on pins and needles for what feels like days, although I know it has been barely two hours. I am not a patient man. Why hasn't she called? Or at least sent an email by now?

The delivery arrived. I confirmed it personally. I phoned SIP myself and spoke with the receptionist, a pleasant-sounding lady named Claire (her background check has already come back clean). I posed as someone from the delivery service, who was simply interested in insuring that the items arrived safely, seeing as the jewelry was insured for such a large amount (it wasn't). The pendant was very expensive, but I don't give a fuck about the money.

Still nothing.

Sawyer's team assures me she rode the bus per usual and arrived a bit early. There is only one explanation. Anastasia is ignoring me. How dare she do that? I have never made such a spectacle of myself over anyone. The least she can do is acknowledge my existence. I am in agony here.

The phone buzzes. Shit. It's Andrea. The team is assembled for the daily 11A.M. status meeting, no doubt (which I am never late for) and I'm sure she is calling to see if I have died unexpectedly.

"I am on my way, Andrea," I snap into the phone as I stand. The poor woman has had to bear far too much of my sharp tongue lately, but I do pay her far more than her position normally calls for. Perhaps I'll find an excuse to give her some sort of bonus anyway. A spa package or some nonsense.

On my way to the conference room, I compose and reject several emails to Miss Steele in my head. I must hold my temper. Angry is not the way to go (must hide the real you, a nasty voice whispers).

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jose just called to remind me of his gallery opening tomorrow. I had completely forgotten about it. He was very disappointed when I explained that I had no car and no way of getting to Portland. He asked about the Audi, of course, and I ended up being a bit snappy with him when he wouldn't take 'evasive' for an answer. Honestly, I wish one male, aside from my father, would show some genuine concern for me. I have really become jaded over the past five days.

It is lunchtime and I decide to take a walk. There's a deli nearby and I have been living off of their lattes. Perhaps today I should try to add solid food to that repertoire? Why not? I feel like I've made a few steps in the right direction today.

I did away with the obscene display of roses (with the help of maintenance) and got a little work done. I did, however, hold on to the overpriced jewelry. I am not insensitive enough to the cost of things to just throw something like that away. The roses would have died soon, but I can't just throw the jewelry out in good conscience. Christian can give that to a charity or whatever else he wishes to do with it. If he throws it away, that decision is on him.

He can give it to his next sub, my subconscious snarks.

Yeah, that still hurts. I haven't made that much progress, thank you very much.

The question of how to get it to him remains. The mail seems the safest (for me), although I doubt I could afford to have the thing insured for what it's actually worth. Not my problem though. I didn't ask him for it. I'll have it sent back to Escala with one of those little receipts where it has to be signed for, that way there will be no question and it will be out of my hands. I'll do that tomorrow. There may be a post office within walking distance of the office, but I'll have to Google it first.

XXXXXXXXXX

My breath catches in my throat as I spot her coming around the corner. She is paying no attention to her surroundings. None whatsoever. My mentally disturbed ex-sub or any other psycho could easily snatch her off the street. The number one rule of self-defense is to always be aware of one's surroundings. It terrifies me to see how distracted she is. How nonchalant she is about the world. This isn't the relatively small city of Vancouver, Washington and it certainly is not that backwoods hovel, Montesano. She needs to have security following her every move!

Then I see her eyes. They are huge in her face and her jeans are hanging off of her hips where they usually hug her soft curves. She is gorgeous, as always, but looks more like one of those starving, waiflike, heroin chic, supermodels than my lovely, healthy girl. This is my doing. No one has to tell me otherwise. Why did Sawyer fail to inform of this? Why did she allow me, of all people, to affect her like this? She is better than that.

"Anastasia!" I snap, stepping out of the back of the car and up onto the curb quite quickly, blocking her path down the sidewalk. Her pale skin goes ghostly and I wish to kick myself. Think, Grey!

"Christian," she gasps. She looks horrified, completely shocked. Of course, I did beat her with a cat of nine the last time we met.

What the hell am I supposed to say? My well-thought-out speech is scattered now. So much for controlling the moment. Not a single second of this day has gone to plan.

"What are you doing here?" she asks in a shaky voice. Shaky, but incredibly cold. How can she sound so cold? It is not her. Not my Ana.

I glance down at the neckline of the plain, rather broken-in, mauve blouse she is wearing. There is no pendant. I find I'm not as surprised as I thought I would be.

"Did you get my flowers?" I ask quietly. Stupid question.

"Yes, but just barely. I nearly overlooked them. It was such a small, understated display."

God, how I've missed that smart mouth. I can't help but crack a smile.

"Touché, Miss Steele. That may have been a bit over-the-top, but I never do anything half-measure. I had to get your attention somehow. I've missed you a great deal. More than you know," I admit. "Let me take you to lunch. We need to talk. You look like you haven't eaten in days."

I know the anger is seeping into my voice when I broach the subject of her eating habits, and I have to fight to keep my hand at my side and not drag her into the back of the car, force feed, and then fuck her until neither of us can breathe. Once again, this young woman tests the very limits of my carefully cultivated self-control.

She meets my gaze and there is the familiar, exhilarating defiance, but there's something else too.

Tears.

She is holding back tears and, if I'm not mistaken, it would not be the first time she has cried today. There is a slight puffiness around her otherwise sunken-in eyes. I don't understand. I gave her what I thought she wanted. The hearts and the flowers.

"Mr. Grey," she says, raising her chin and letting the tears fall freely. "You may not appreciate it, but allow me to give you a lesson in humanity. I am an idiot," she says, pointing to herself. "You are gorgeous, fascinating, charming when you want to be, you know everything there is to know about sex, and for some reason you were interested in me. I fell in love with you."

I gasp audibly. A part of me suspected, but I didn't actually believe it. Not deep down. But hearing it, that is another thing entirely. It staggers me. But, she ignores me and plows ahead.

"I signed your stupid contract just to be with you, because you said there was no other way and I thought it might never happen for me again. I repeat, I am an idiot."

"Anastasia," I say. I just want to take her in my arms. I know I am incapable of giving love, but I selfishly want hers anyway, and I'll do everything in my power to give her the world's best imitation of it in return.

"Let me finish for once, Christian," she growls.

Tears are flowing freely down her face and I'm sure we're making quite the spectacle. For her sake, I hope no one from the papers is watching. For my own, I really could care less.

"You want me because you can't have me, because I left and you always get what you want. I am like a company that is not for sale, but I am a person, Mr. Grey. Try to remember that if you can. Your ego may be bruised, but I have actual feelings that are shattered. Now, I am asking that you please leave me alone. Please do not send any more obscene displays to my brand new job. I can't afford to lose this position, Christian! I don't have a zillion dollars in the bank!"

"Ana, I assure you, you will not lose your job," I promise her soothingly (I own the place for God's sake). "It was never my intention to upset you." My God, women are strange creatures.

"Goodbye, Christian," she says, turning on her heels.

It is a reflex. I cannot stand to watch her walk away from me again, especially not when she is in this condition. She must let me take care of her. I can't let her go now that I am so close after not seeing her for the five longest, loneliest days of my life. I reach out and grab her just above the elbow and attempt to draw her forward into my arms.

She slaps me with her free hand, right across the cheek and hard.

"Don't touch me," she spits. She jerks her arm free and then she's gone, dodging through foot traffic like her life depends on getting away from the monster behind her.

What am I supposed to do now?