Chapter 14
Bad Books, Bad Wine
"Wait, wait, Ana, you have to tell us again. How did you lose Lala in an airport?" Frederic begs for me to tell his favorite part of my work-trip-from-hell one more time.
"Stop, please don't make me relive that nightmare one more time," I laugh as Kate reaches over to refill my wine glass.
"I legitimately do not understand. Wasn't Sawyer with you? How did you and a CPO manage to lose her?" Frederic is laughing so hard he is holding his side. It feels good to finally be home and surrounded by my friends. At least they can find the humor in my New York nightmare.
"What I don't understand is how LaLa managed to make the flight that you missed because you were looking for her," Mia adds, laughing just as hard as everyone else crowded around Kate's and my living room. Kate, Elliott, Mia, Ethan, Frederic, and José are gathered to welcome me home.
"Come on, Ana Banana. You must be exaggerating. No living adult can be this crazy," Elliott quips.
I arch an eyebrow and pull out my cell phone. For the next sixty minutes, my friends sit mesmerized as they listen to LaLa get drunker and drunker while recording the Good Books, Good Wine podcast. The podcast interview starts out perfectly normal. As the show progresses, LaLa begins slurring her words. The interview continues to circle the drain when LaLa insists that the hosts pause the show to open another bottle of wine. I am sure that if the recording had gone one drink longer, LaLa would have started name dropping all of the ex-boyfriends that inspired her to write Foolish. The podcast ends with the two hosts laughing at and not with the crazy author. Epic Disastrophe.
While I recount every detail of the trip of shame, Reynolds sits in the corner texting on his Grey-issued phone. Christian's flight is due to land at any moment. I am jones-ing for a good sniff of my man.
I check my phone for the millionth time, but there is still no word on Christian's arrival. Moderately worried about what could be causing the delay, I finally surrender to my fatigue and head to bed. I put on my cutest pajamas and tastiest lip balm just in case the billionaire arrives in time to make a late-night booty call. Anastasia Fierce is ready, willing, and able.
I wake up in the morning disappointed to find the other side of my bed is still empty. I check my phone and see that I have no missed calls or texts. I try calling Christian only to go straight to voicemail. Now I am officially worried. Surely Reynolds would have woken me if something bad happened to Christian's plane?
I make my way out into the living room to find my current CPO swiping through his phone and sipping coffee.
"Good morning, Ms. Steele." Reynolds seems off this morning, more formal and detached than usual. Maybe it's just my imagination. Afterall, I have gotten used to Sawyer this past week. Reynolds is just a different CPO, that's all.
"Morning, Reynolds," I say. "Any word on Christian and Taylor's flight? I thought for sure that they would get back last night."
"Yes ma'am. They landed safely a little after 7 pm last night."
"Christian's home? I'm going to hop in the shower. I'll be ready to head over to Escala in, like, a half an hour." I bounce up and down with excitement.
Reynolds clears his throat, "Actually, ma'am. Mr. Grey asks that you be available to meet with him at two o'clock this afternoon."
"Excuse me?"
Reynolds clears his throat again while avoiding eye contact. "Some, uh..., urgent security matters require Mr. Grey's full attention this morning."
I am speechless. Christian has been home for over 12 hours. He hasn't contacted me. Now he wants to wait until this afternoon to 'meet with me'? I do not have a good feeling about this, not at all. Something is going on. Whatever it is has my stomach in knots.
I stay in my room until I hear Kate and Elliott get up to head out for brunch. Kate taps lightly on my door to see if I want to join them. I pretend to sleep. I will not be good company until I see Christian and figure out what the heck is going on.
Have I done something wrong? Does Christian want to break up with me? Please, no. He is a busy man. He rules over a vast kingdom of business. Stop being so self-centered, Steele. Something work related is pressing for Christian's attention. Not everything is about me.
Reynolds says nothing to me as we walk to the SUV. He avoids looking at me through the rearview mirror during the drive. I take the elevator to the penthouse alone.
Taylor greets me as I step off the elevator. I want to run to Christian, but instead I follow Taylor's slow lead into the study. Christian rises from his desk looking like someone just ran over his puppy. He wraps his arms around my neck and buries his nose in my hair, drawing in a long whiff. I wrap my arms around his waist. We hold each other in silence. Something is very wrong.
Releasing our embrace, Christian grabs my hand and guides me to sit with him on the couch. He grabs a file folder from his desk.
"Anastasia, do you recognize the person in this picture?" Christian asks, handing me a glossy 5x7.
"Yes, it's LaLa Roberts, the author I am working with."
"LaLa Roberts is her pen name. This is Leila Williams, one of my former submissives." Christian's voice sounds different, strangled.
Wait, What? The wind is sucked from my body. I don't understand. LaLa is Christian's former submissive? My coat and shoulder bag fall to the floor. Pieces of a puzzle begin to snap together. Could my boyfriend be one of the men that inspired Foolish? Please let this be a cruel joke.
My mind is spinning with questions. So many questions…
Christian reaches over and grabs another document for me to review. Holy crap, it is one of the Advance Read Copies for Foolish. How did he get it? Who am I kidding? Christian Grey gets whatever he wants.
I thumb through the pages of the story that I know better than Tess of the D'Urbervilles. Nearly every page contains red notes, handwritten in Christian's distinct penmanship. I read note after note. Mission Control, we have a problem.
Christian is not one of the boyfriends that inspired LaLa to write Foolish. Christian is the complete inspiration for her book. Each sexual encounter…every dark and twisted foray… a Dom getting off on inflicting pain…these are all Christian Grey.
Am I about to unknowingly publish a biography of my boyfriend's BDSM past? This is bad. Really, really bad.
My mouth hangs open, too stunned to speak. I search the grey eyes staring back at me. Where is the man that promised to keep me safe, to be my protector? Who is this man sitting in front of me? My trembling hands toss the manuscript on his desk.
Taylor does the whole CPO clearing his throat to garner attention thing. "Ms. Steele, Mr. Grey and his legal team spent the better parts of last night and this morning reviewing his legal options."
"Legal options?" I ask, not understanding.
"The legal options for halting the release of Ms. Williams' book, ma'am."
"Halting the book's release?" I turn to Christian.
"Anastasia, this book cannot be released. It will destroy my company. Tens of thousands of people will lose their jobs."
"I don't understand, Christian. No one will know that Foolish is based on you. People will think that Karson Blakemore is just a fictitious character."
"Leila made sure to include enough information. People that know me well are going to know this book is about me, Anastasia." Enough with the Anastasias, already.
"I know you well, and I didn't make the connection," I argue.
"People in the lifestyle will know."
"Your other submissives, you mean? They will know?" I question.
Christian nods. He looks so broken.
"How many? How many submissives know you well enough, Christian?" I ask, not wanting to know the answer. What I am really asking him is how many women know you better than I do?
"There have been fifteen contractual relationships," Christian answers, his voice devoid of emotion.
"So what?" I ask. "Do you think that these women are going to tell the world?"
"Leila wants to."
"Are they all as crazy like her?" I bite back.
"There are more. Women in the clubs, they will know, too."
"What women in the clubs?"
"Women that I scene'd with, trainers, potential subs…"
"How many women total, Christian?" I can't disguise the disgust in my voice. I will myself not to vomit.
Christian shakes his head while staring at a spot on the wall behind me. "Too many women to count."
What. The. Fuck?
"Are you kidding me? Did you even bother to learn their names before you fucked them, Christian?"
Christian ignores my question. "What you need to know, Anastasia, is that my legal team has already filed an emergency injunction against SIP and Leila Williams to halt the release of Foolish. Ms. Williams made a very big mistake when she decided to violate her NDA."
I really want this all to be a cruel joke. How can countless numbers of women know Christian better than me? The noise of my world crashing around me is deafening. Everything that I thought that I knew about this man, our relationship, everything disappears.
I am reminded of LaLa's question on the plane, What do you have that I don't? If only LaLa knew the truth. I am just the stupid girl hoodwinked by a wolf in sheep's clothing.
What is happening right now? I shake my head attempting to clear my brain. Rendered speechless for what feels like the hundredth time since arriving, all I can do is look to Christian with questions that I have yet to form.
I stand and walk into the living room. I need some space. I need time to process everything. Christian follows me, calling my name. I don't answer, walking over to stare out the windows. Thoughts are pulsing through my head, overwhelming my ability to make sense of anything. Vignettes from Foolish flash in front of me. I am bombarded with images of Christian whipping and caning LaLa. I cannot shake the visuals of my boyfriend, hard with arousal while hurting this woman.
"I am really struggling right now with who you are. The man in the book, that is a man that I do not know." I say, looking out over the hazy Seattle skyline.
From a few feet behind me, Christian asks, "What is it that you are saying, Anastasia?"
I want Christian to explain how the man that is in front of me can be the same cold-hearted Dominant as Karson Blakemore. I need him to bridge the tenderness of our relationship with the coldness of his relationship with LaLa and all those countless women that came before me. Instead, Christian is pissing me off, using his bossy CEO voice to invoke my full name.
"I'm sorry, Christian. Am I upsetting you?" My sarcasm is sharp. I turn and stare directly into his eyes. All I find is emptiness. His jaw is clenched tight. I feel like he is drawing battle lines that separate us.
"Why are you upset, Christian? Because a woman let you beat and fuck her and then she wrote a book about it? You know what? Fuck you!" I want my words to pierce him.
I continue, "I couldn't sleep last night, because I was worried that you were in a plane crash. Why else would I not hear from you all night after his plane was supposed to land? Silly me. It was because you were too busy getting your panties in a bunch over a storybook that may or may not be based on your sexual predilections. This is your problem, Christian. You need to fix it."
"Oh, this problem will be fixed, Ms. Steele. Make no mistake. Your book will never see the light of day. I assure you."
"Pump the brakes, Mr. Grey," I spit. "Foolish is not my book. I am not the enemy here. Do you honestly think that I would let even one soul on this planet hurt you?"
I continue, "I am sorry that you had the bad judgement to get into a 'contractual relationship' with someone as unhinged as LaLa Roberts or Leila Williams or whatever her name is. That is on you, Grey. I only spent three days with her and I can tell you, that bitch is certifiably, undeniably BAT. SHIT. CRAZY!"
I stand tall. The icy grey eyes staring back are unrecognizable.
"You should go home, Anastasia. I have a lot to sort out before tomorrow morning. I will call you later." Oh, hell no! He does not get to shut me down like this.
"Don't call me. You need to sort your shit out," I take a deep breath. "This isn't working for me." I wave my hand back and forth between us. Crap, am I breaking up with him?
With no further words, I gather my things from Christian's study. Waiting for the elevator, I feel his hand reach for my shoulder. I shrug my shoulder to evade his touch. Walking onto the elevator, I remain facing the back wall until the doors close behind me. When they open again, I dash through the marble-floored lobby and past the doormen. I am grateful that the weather is too harsh even for the paparazzi.
Sweet Ana would be running while wailing big sobs. Sweet Ana is dead. Anastasia Fierce is here. I pull my hood forward. I shove my hands deep into my warm pockets. With my head held high, I walk with purpose through the streets of downtown Seattle. I will figure this out. I just need some time and some space.