Chapter 36

"What did Elliot have to tell you earlier, if you don't mind my asking?"

We're in his two-seater convertible driving home from the marina. I feel truly good, having spent the day in the therapeutic sunshine—we get so little of it here in rainy Seattle. Pity that I have to ruin the mood… but it's interrogation time.

"Nothing important, Ana."

I try his patented technique of lifting my left brow while eyeing him quizzically, but I have to wait for him to turn his face from the road… which he does when he hears not a peep more from me.

He shoots me a quick glance and then his eyes swivel back to the road and his lips tighten. "Listen, Ana, it truly isn't important and I'm afraid if I tell you, it'll only make you worry more than you already do."

"Well, now you have to tell me, Christian."

Instead of answering, his foot gets serious with the accelerator and the horses under the hood shoot from a very fast canter to an all-out gallop. We go from about 45 mph—which is the speed limit—to 65 in the blink of an eye.

"Christian!" I shriek in terror. "What the hell?"

His eyes glued to the road, he grins. "Watch this," he warns, then floors the pedal. Like a bat out of hell we fly. He whoops in delight as I squeal in terror, and I've never seen him look so boyishly appealing. For God's sake, as long as he's happy why should I mind him killing me?

"Are you mad or do you just have a death wish and feel like taking me with you?" I ask the question while clutching the console on my left and the handle above my door on the right—both with a death grip. I'm pretty sure they'll have fingernail grooves in them when I'm done. With my foot I'm stomping on the floor, trying to get my imaginary brake to work. "Slow the fuck down!"

Easing his foot off the gas, the car begins to gradually slow and then he taps the brake. I watch as the speedometer drops from 95 to 80 and then—thank God—to a doable 60. I can finally expel the breath I've been holding.

I know my eyes are flaming with the fire in me when I turn to him. "Do you know how insane it is to do 95 in a 45 mph zone? Are you out of your ever-lovin' mind, Christian?"

Grinning like the village idiot, he merely winks at me. "Don't worry, baby, you were never in any danger. I know this stretch of the road like the back of my hand and I know what this little girl can do." He lovingly pats the dash of the car.

For Christ's sake, I think, rolling my eyes. I'm never going to win this one with him. We drive the rest of the way in comfortable silence and I let the previous discussion drop for the moment. I think his little show of speed before was to distract me from asking him questions. It's safer for me to wait till we're on terra firma to continue with my line of questioning.

"Let's go grab something to eat and then I'm going to take you somewhere fun."

Scanning the sky I notice dark clouds gathering—there goes our beautiful sunny day. "All right but when we get to the restaurant, we should put the roof down. Looks like a storm is on its way."

His eyes slide skyward as he pulls into the parking lot of a roadside cafe. "Forecast said early evening thunder showers. So, yes, we will. Come on, you must be hungry—you're so slender you can't afford to miss a meal, baby."

I smirk to myself because it's no accident that I'm thin. It requires relentless dedication, an iron will, and a hardworking metabolism—all of which I've got, thank God.

Once we're seated inside and Christian orders wine, I pick up where I left off. "So," I say, my finger swirling patterns on my water glass, "you were telling me about the conversation you had with Elliot?"

I glance up in time to see him pressing his lips together in what could only be consternation; he looks cross with me. "You are like a dog with a bone, Ana. Can you not simply accept the fact that I do not want to talk about it?"

I'm miffed for sure, but I'm uncertain as to whether or not to push it—or him. I'm exploring uncharted terrain here, never having been in an adult relationship. Plus, Christian is unused to having to answer to anyone and I don't think he appreciates my coming along to take away that privilege. For a relatively young man—he's still under thirty—Christian can be so paternalistic that it's infuriating. All right then. If he wants to act like my father, I'll take my cues from that.

And it's resorting to familiar ground to recall how I handled my father. Whenever I didn't get my way, I'd sulk. Dad couldn't stand my sulking: I'd stop talking to him, to everyone, and retreat to my room. Wouldn't come out, even for meals. At first he'd try to ignore my behavior but I'd outlast him every time. Eventually he'd cave in and give me whatever it was I'd wanted in the first place. So that's what I do with Christian. I just stop talking to him.

The waiter returns with our wine and asks to take our order. Christian looks at me and I briefly stare in his eyes and then look away, purposely making the moment awkward.

I can feel the weight of his eyes still on me and then from my peripheral vision, I see him turn back toward the waiter. "How is the halibut tonight?"

"Excellent, sir. It's fresh and the chef has prepared it with a Nicoise dressing. It is served with cold boiled potatoes marinated in a balsamic reduction glaze and baby field greens."

"Good. We'll both have the halibut. We'll start with the olive tapenade and bruschetta. Thank you," he said, handing the menus back to the waiter. I quickly avert my eyes again, finding the tablecloth of great interest.

"Very good, sir."

I sip my wine, still saying nothing. I'm glad he ordered something I find palatable since lately I'm off red meat, and wheat, and I'm cutting down on chicken too. I guess he remembered, which is sweet, but I'm still not talking to him. The shit of it is—neither is he. Talking. He seems perfectly content to sit in silence and I have a compelling urge to slip off my shoe and chuck it at his forehead. I'm halfway down my glass of wine and not a word's been spoken.

And then I hear an unfamiliar voice call out my name. "Ana?"

My eyes migrate up and directly into the eyes of the handsome Marine who took me home that long ago night—whose name I could never recall, especially now when the pressure of Christian's reaction scrapes everything from my mind except maybe my own name. "Oh hello. How are you? On leave, I guess?"

"Yep, I am. I was hoping to get together with you and Minx before I ship out again." He glances at Christian who right now looks like he eats rocks for breakfast and then his eyes swing back to me. "Is that any kind of possibility?"

My palms are hot and sweaty as I work to maintain my façade of cool. "Um… why don't you give me your number and I'll pass it on to Minx?"'

He purses his lips, his pretty blue eyes lighting up. "Sounds like a plan." He pats his impressively built chest, looking for his phone, no doubt."

I open my bag to retrieve my iPhone and notice my hands are shaking. Shit. I quickly scroll down to open a new contact. "Ready," I say with a small smile—all I can manage—and he calls out his number. When he finishes I ask for his last name.

"Reardon," he says. "Rudy Reardon."

Rudy! That's his name. I look back up at him with a grin.

"I know," he says. "It's like a tongue twister."

"It's a nice name. Okay, Rudy, I'll let Minx know—I'll send her a text tonight." To try to pacify the man with the mean eyes sitting across from me, I add, "Oh by the way, this is my boyfriend, Christian."

Rudy blushes but holds out his hand to shake. Christian very reluctantly takes it, glowering the whole time and mumbles, "Nice to meet you. I'm Christian Grey."

"Christian Grey? Well. I've definitely heard of you."

He nods, offering the most anemic of smiles, no doubt making Rudy feel massively uncomfortable. Not that Rudy cares much, I don't think. He may not be a hotshot CEO, but he kills people for a living—at least some of the time.

"Well, Ana, I should go now. Thanks for letting Minx know I'm in town… and if you could tag along, it would be even better."

If I thought the silence was loud before, now it's freaking deafening. The tension is wafting over to me in waves, one after the other. I sneak a peek up at him when our waiter arrives with the food and he's staring hard at me, his stormy eyes boring holes through me. God, but he is pissed… but why? It's not as if I started making out with Rudy. We just shared a few drinks is all. And a long time ago at that.

The one thing I do know about men is that they're all happier after they've eaten so I pick up my fork and knife, hoping he'll do the same. We can talk after dinner when he'll be more amenable. One bite and I nearly swoon: the halibut is to die for. I dig in more enthusiastically and see him do the same and the thought crosses my mind that maybe this night is salvageable after all.

About ten minutes into the meal, he rests his fork down and takes a sip of his wine. Then out of the blue, he starts talking.

"An old girlfriend called me. That's it, Ana."

"What old girlfriend?"

"Cassidy Davidson. I told you about her."

"Wasn't she the one you said was your first sub?"

"Yes, she was. I haven't seen her in—"

"If memory serves, I think you also characterized her as your first girlfriend?"

Eyes narrowing, he warily nods once more. "Yes, that's right."

"And that you cheated on her to get her off your back… and you lost her for good. And then looked her up years later and helped her out somehow. How'm I doing?"

"A mind like a steel trap. Yes, Ana. Though, I had her investigated; I didn't look her up. As in, I never actually saw her again… just paid off a few bills for her. She's a single mother who had fallen on hard times."

"A single mother, huh? Not your child?"

The look of horror that descends over his face is so pronounced it's comical. "God, no." He shakes his head. "No, it's just that it appears that she was abandoned… as was the child.

"So what did Elliot have to do with it all?"

"Elliot told me that an old girlfriend of mine was trying to reach me. Apparently she'd called my parents' house several times and tried to leave messages. He was visiting my mom the other day and happened to take one of her calls—she told him that it was urgent that she speak to me. That is what he told me at the restaurant earlier today, Ana."

He paused to take another sip of his wine. "Now, do you feel better?"

I swallow the bite of food that got trapped in my mouth when he unexpectedly started talking, paralyzing me with shock. "Not really," I say when I can. "Do you have any idea why she might need to speak with you?"

"None whatsoever. I haven't spoken to the girl in… oh probably eight or nine years." He shakes his head. "No, that can't be right. It's about seven years now. Anyway, I can't imagine what she wants."

"And this is the girlfriend you never had?"

Sighing, he leans closer to me. "Ana, I wasn't lying when I told you I never had girlfriends. Cassidy was my first sub and as I hadn't yet perfected the technique of not getting emotionally involved, I did have a sort of girlfriend/boyfriend-type thing with her. I told you about it. She became too clingy and I was desperate to escape. Eventually I took up with another sub and Cassidy ran. I never saw her again."

"But you said you helped her recently, paid a few bills?"

He nods. "Yes, last year I got to wondering about what became of her and had her investigated. What I found was depressing. She'd gotten involved with a total POS, probably mistaking an abusive man for a dominant, and he left her with a baby and no support, financial or otherwise. She was struggling. I helped out financially—anonymously, of course. Still, I presume she might have figured out who her anonymous benefactor was. Maybe that's why she wants to speak with me."

Through squinting eyes I assess him. I'm not liking this story, not at all. Methinks Miss Cassidy wants a way back in with my dark-haired beauty… and that's not happening, not if I have anything to say about it. I clear my throat to give my next question emphasis. "Are you going to? Speak to her?"

He avoids looking at me when he answers, which might mean he's planning to lie. "I'd prefer not to."

"Why?"

He sighs heavily. "Cassidy is… look, she's in my past, my distant past at that. What good would it do to see her? I value my privacy greatly, which is why she hasn't been able to get near me. I have layers of security between myself and the outside world. The only reason she even got my mother's number is probably because I was foolish enough to give it to her years ago and it hasn't been changed since."

He smiles seductively at me, a kind of I've-got-a-secret smile. "In case you haven't noticed, I don't give out my private numbers to anyone. All of my cell calls are either from my family or my colleagues… and one other VIP."

Me. It's true, too, that he only gets calls from his staff and his family. And me. So I suppose he's telling the truth in that regard.

By the time we finish dinner and leave the restaurant we still haven't gotten anything resolved, not really, yet I feel better. At least he shared with me, which is more than I thought I'd get. His reaction to Cassidy's unexpected contact brought home to me the fact that Christian doesn't have a clue about how to appropriately respond to social—or I suppose interpersonal—situations. He either amplifies them as he is sure to do with Rudy, or he wants to entirely ignore them.

Aaaaand… cue the Rudy conversation. As soon as we begin to taper off the Cassidy topic, he's on me.

"Are you going to tell me who Rudy Reardon is or just let me wonder all night?"

Peering into his eyes with a small smile on my lips, I consider. Should I let him stew, as he did me, or just blurt it out? I suppose it's the anxious expression on his ridiculously handsome face that cements my decision. I shrug casually. "Rudy? He's just a Marine that Minx and I went out with for a few drinks."

"And when was this, pray tell?"

"A few months ago. I think, actually, that it was sometime within that 7-month period when you and I didn't see or speak with each other. Next question."

"Were you dating him?"

Again I mull over my potential response. I'd like to say yes—keep him on his toes. But lying is not the best way to pour a foundation for a solid relationship. Plus, it would upset him. So I opt for the truth. "No, I didn't date him. He took me home one night… that is, he escorted me home and left me at the front door. That's about as much contact as I had with him."

At this point the valet brings his car around and after tipping him, Christian sees me into the car and hops into the driver's seat. The roof is now up and he's driving at a moderate speed so it's relaxing. When we stop at a red light, I ask him the question that I need answered above all else.

"So," I say, "what are you gong to do about Cassidy? Do you know?"

Saying nothing he just shakes his head, his eyes miles and maybe years away. When the light turns green, we're off and running once again. He doesn't go home though. Instead I find myself at this Pagoda-style building on the waterfront. He escorts me out of the car and we walk over to the unusual structure. I tilt my head, giving him a perplexed look, totally confused.

"We're at the Center for Wooden Boats, Ana. I've been meaning to come here and I figured, what better time than now with you?"

Checking my watch, I frown. "It's well after six, almost seven. Are they still open?"

"Open till 8. I checked beforehand."

I shiver and Christian puts his arm around me.

"Cold?"

I nod, wrapping my arms around my midsection. "We went swimming in January and now it's April and it's cold and wet and I'm freezing. Seattle weather is so schizophrenic."

He chuckles. "Yes, well, that's why my parents have the pool heated to a toasty 78 degrees year round. It's not terribly conservation minded of them, is it? But they both love to swim."

"Yes, but that day it was, like, what? Nearly 80 degrees, wasn't it?"

He nods his assent. "Unseasonably warm for January. In fact, freakishly warm. Still, the pool's open year round. If it gets too cold, they'll erect the bubble around it. Like I said, they're dedicated swimmers.

"You wouldn't catch me in a swimsuit today." I give him a look, realizing how slickly he maneuvered the conversation. "You didn't answer my question," I grumble.

"So I didn't." He grins but his charm is wasted on me right now for I am resolute in my insecurity and jealousy. I want to know what he's going to do. He sees my resolve and finally caves. "Ana, the truth is that I don't know what to do. I'm not sure the woman is stable, my security has been keeping an eye on her whereabouts because Taylor was told not to let her get near me or you. She's been behaving erratically. If she continues I'll have one of my security detail intercept her and bring her to a doctor for evaluation. I'm trying to avoid that outcome, however. I'm hoping that she'll just give up and go away."

"So you really don't want to see her? You have no residual feelings for her?"

His surprise registers by the whites of his eyes, prominent as his eyes widen. "God, no, Ana. Of course not. Did you think I was pining away for her all of these years, for God's sake?"

Closing my eyes, I rub my neck—it feels as if it's becoming stiff.

"Well?" I hear him say.

"I don't know, Christian. You're kind of a mystery to me. Every time I try to predict your response to something, you do something else. I just don't know exactly how you feel."

"How many times do I have to tell you how I feel about you? For Christ's sake, Ana, you're worse than me when it comes to insecurity. I've told you over and over how much I care about you, how things are different between us… what is it you want from me?"

I can see him stop short mentally as he realizes just what I want… and it's something he's not ready to give me, if he does love me. At this point I don't know up from down when it comes to Mr. Grey.

"C'mon, let's go in. They have some beautiful boats on display."

For the next hour we look at boats and admire their craftsmanship and then finally we head back to Christian's. I'm looking forward to taking a hot bath and going to bed, maybe with a book or something.

Unfortunately, it's not to be.

As soon as we step off the elevator, Taylor is there to greet us. "Mr. Grey, I need a word."

Christian nods curtly. "In my office in five minutes."

"Yes, sir." Taylor turns and walks down the hall.

I just look at him, a query in my face.

"I don't know, Ana, but if Taylor is interrupting my evening it must be important. Please show yourself to the kitchen to get some wine and settle back in the great room. I'll join you as soon as possible. All right?"

Tired, I nod my assent. Actually I wouldn't mind going to bed right now. I shuffle off to the kitchen to try to scare up a cup of tea. Christian's housekeeper slash chef is not around so I scrounge around to find the kettle and teabags. Everything is in a predictable place so I get it all ready and am waiting for the water to boil when I go to look at my messages and realize I left my bag in the entry hall. As I'm walking past Christian's office to get to the hall I hear raised voices. Dare I eavesdrop?

Duh.

Taylor is speaking, his voice heated.

"…it's a good idea. She's been lurking around for weeks and for all we know she may be dangerous."

A much lower voice that I can barely hear responds. "… she… right now?"

"Sir, we have her in custody in the building security office downstairs."

Now Christian's voice becomes raised too. "I don't want this to become public knowledge, Taylor. You know how something like this has the potential to blow up in my face. Especially considering my history with her."

"Yes, sir. So do you want me to bring her up to the apartment?"

Silence.

"I suppose we'll have to, at this point. I don't want to risk being seen with her downstairs. Bring her up and I'll talk to her. Apparently that's the only way we're going to get rid of her." Christian's voice sounds angry and I start to feel sorry for this stranger named Cassidy.

"Yes, sir. And Ms. Steele?"

"I'll handle Ms. Steele. Just bring Ms. Davidson up and into my office. Do whatever you have to do to make sure she doesn't present any danger, especially to Ana."

"We'll check her for weapons, sir. I'd like to leave Tanner in the room with you, if that's at all possible."

"If I have to have anyone overhear the conversation, Taylor, I'd much prefer it to be you."

"In that case I'll have Tanner keep an eye on Ms. Steele."

"Good. It's settled. I'm going to go speak to Ana now while you handle the task at hand."

Shit.

I run as fast as I can back to the kitchen and sit at the table. I just manage to stop moving when he walks in, looking slightly suspicious. Or is that my guilty conscience? He strolls in, watching me carefully.

"Ana?"

"Yes, Christian?"

He doesn't stop walking until he's immediately in front of me. Then he inhales deeply and says, "It appears that the woman we'd been discussing earlier is here for an impromptu visit. I've decided the only way I'm going to make her go away is to meet with her. I'd like you to stay out of sight, for I don't know her state of mind and I don't want her near you. Will you do that for me?"

"If I must," I say. I know I must have a pinched expression on my face but it's hard to hide my supreme annoyance at this woman's intrusion into our lives.

"Thank you, baby. I'll make it up to you. Promise."

I nod and spin around, deciding to go into the master bedroom and lie down. When I get there, though, I can't stay still. It's eating me up that in a room downstairs Christian is meeting with one of his ex-girlfriends. It doesn't matter to me how he chooses to term it—sub, girlfriend, lover, even one-night-stand—to me it's all the same. And Cassidy is especially upsetting because he even admits to having a… what did he call it? A boyfriend/girlfriend-type thing going with her.

Trying to stay still on the bed, no matter how luxurious a bed it is, is impossible. I bounce up and begin to pace in front of the huge window. What should I do?

My instinct tells me to go to the office where he's meeting with her, and put my ear to the keyhole. On the other hand, Tanner is hovering somewhere about out there, charged with keeping an eye on me. Christian is acting as if Cassidy is going to attack me or something, which seems ridiculous. I need to slip past Tanner and get to that fucking office. Just as I'm despairing of a workable plan, I remember that his closet leads to a dressing room, and that loops around to the other end of the hallway. If I go through to the hall that way, there's a chance I might bypass Tanner without him ever knowing. But I have to be quiet. Reaching down, I begin to slip off my shoes, tossing each one in a corner before heading over to the closet.

Success! I creep past poor Tanner without him ever noticing and patting myself on the back for my genius, I tiptoe down the stairs in my bare feet. My triumph lasts only as long as the staircase, however. Christian's study doors are closed and there's a security staff member posted outside—as if the freaking president is in there, for God's sake. Christian is just creepy about having security around him constantly.

Think, Ana, think. I pound my head, as if something will jar loose. I will not be defeated in my mission. And… where there's a will there's a way, right? The solution dawns on me: the cameras!

Christian's entire apartment is wired with security cameras except for the bedroom, dressing rooms, and bathrooms. All the common rooms are under continuous audio and video surveillance. In the rear of the apartment is where Taylor and his staff keep an office. Next to it is the room where the security monitors are kept. If I could gain access to that room and no one else is in there, I can hear what's going on and watch it.

Even though I sort of feel ridiculous, I creep against the wall, trying to make myself as small and inconspicuous as possible. I reach the control room—or whatever it's called—and I gently open the door. Nobody's in there. I know I may yet get caught but the temptation is too great when I spot Christian on one of the monitors. Taylor is standing just to his left and there's a young woman in front of him. All of a sudden she drops to her knees and puts her head down. I clap my hand over my mouth. Oh my God, she's adopting the slave position—the one he taught me in the dungeon. I move closer to hear what they're saying.

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have, I know. I felt so… desperate."

Christian's eyes are hard as he stares down at her. "So you crossed boundaries…"

"Yes, sir. I knew you were the only person who could possibly have helped me to such an extent… it made me think perhaps… we might…"

"We might? What, Cassidy? Pick up where we left off?"

"Yes-s, sir."

Standing very erect, his arms crossed in front of him, he just looks at her for a long time and she seems to crumple more with every passing second. When he begins to speak again, his voice is soft yet menacing. I've heard that voice before—it's his Dom voice.

"Do you realize that kind of behavior was exactly why we had to part company in the first place? You overstepped. You were my submissive; you tried to be much more than what I was willing to allow you. That is why I was forced to find another sub."

Tears begin to spill rapidly from her eyes so she puts her head down even lower and nods. "Yes, sir," she says, sobbing, her voice thick with her misery. "It was all my fault."

He takes a couple of steps closer to her and, shockingly, she drops her head to kiss his shoes before putting herself back into the slave position. Ugh, I hate that term so much. When Christian told me that was what the kneeling position is called, I nearly spit at him.

He places his hand on her head, whether to comfort or assert his dominance over her I couldn't say for sure. This display is fascinating theater and if I weren't so directly involved it would be riveting. Instead, my insecurities begin to rage within me to the point where I'm trembling and holding back my own tears is taking every muscle that's mine to command. I have no room for jealousy right now, there's too much other shit whirling around in my head so I try to shove it away with pity for the poor girl. Pity feels better than scalding jealousy.

"I kept seeing photos of you with women, different women every time. Then, more recently, you were photographed with the same woman often… she looked sort of like me so I thought maybe you'd changed… maybe you were ready to have something more than just a Dom/sub thing. Since she looked like me… I guess I deluded myself into thinking you might still have feelings for me. That and the fact that you paid my bills…"

His hand remains on her head and it's truly pissing me off. But that annoyance falls to the wayside when I hear his next words.

"Cassidy, you were mistaken. I haven't changed… not at all. Appearances can be very deceiving, you know."

My heart starts pounding like a hammer wielded by an incensed carpenter when I hear him say that. This is what I get for eavesdropping but… how can he say that to her? Is it true? He hasn't changed? Am I just like another sub to him? And the way she automatically dropped to her knees for him, the spatial relationship between the two of them, the way he handles her as if she is mere property to him… I can never be like that with him. Never. Ever. Ever.

As soon as I realize the truth of that, I decide I have to get out of here. Like now. As much as I love Christian—and I do, so, so much—he'll never be mine, not in the way I want. The longer I hang on to my impossible dream, the more excruciating it will be when it dies. What I have to do is somehow scrabble together the courage to walk away—and stay away.

I retrace my steps, this time uncaring if I'm seen. I have but one imperative and that's to get the hell out. My heart is beating so hard at his betrayal. How dare he say that to her?

Scouring the room for my things, I grab them posthaste but I leave my shoes off. If I exit via the back staircase I can get out of here without Christian even realizing… unless he hears the elevator. Right now I'm operating on autopilot to avoid having a meltdown. It's hovering right there: I can see it, I can feel it, and I know as soon as the cool air outside hits my face, all bets are off. For now holding it together is paramount to making a quiet getaway. Falling apart is a luxury I can ill afford.

Since I have to again pass the control room on my way out, I take one last peek at the room before I leave and instantly wish I didn't. She's still kneeling, but now her head rests against his knee and he's stroking her hair. Like a fucking dog. In this moment I hate his fucking guts. Hate, hate, hate him. The surging emotion propels me forward, fueling me with motivation to get the hell out of this diseased place. I am so done.

Until I get outside unnoticed.

Then I break down.