Chapter 8: What's His Name?
June 10, 2011
Christian
I stuff my phone into my jacket pocket as I walk through the fingerprint-laden glass doors of the restaurant Mia selected for our brother/sister dinner date. Taylor is, of course, close behind and without looking I can feel his eyes assess the busy eatery with a hint of irritation. He would never say anything, but I'm sure the decision to hit a popular newly-opened restaurant on its busiest night of the week isn't one he would suggest from a security standpoint. But, alas, it was not my decision to make.
Instead of approaching the hostess station myself, I motion for Taylor to go ahead and figure out where we'll be seated. I stand close to a wall lined with pink suede upholstered chairs and glance around the restaurant, taking in its garish decorations and gaudy paint job. The vibrant multi-colored walls hint at an attempt to be trendy, but the result leaves me a bit bilious instead. Nice choice, Mia.
Upon my visual inspection of the space, I notice that there really isn't any kind of private seating - which for someone like me, a person who values their privacy, is completely unacceptable. There are tables littered throughout the center of the busy space, booths by the floor-to-ceiling windows at the front, and a bench for shared seating along the far wall. That's not happening. This just became the last place in Seattle - hell, in the fucking state - I want to be in right now.
It's fucking packed in here, and I can't figure out why. Nearly every table is full and the servers, dressed in some kind of eighties restaurant uniform throwbacks, are skittering around the floor like they're lost. The realization that I'll be dealing with sub-par service tonight is just the icing on the damn cake.
"Christian Grey?" gasps an excited feminine voice. I turn my head toward the sound and watch as the hostess's eyes flit from Taylor to me and back again, before settling entirely and hungrily on me. Not going to happen. Despite the fact that I have no desire to give her any idea of a chance of some sordid rendezvous, I smile at her in hopes of securing some kind of preferential seating. "Umm…let me see what I can do," she mutters to Taylor, walking away toward the back of the restaurant.
Taylor and I each take a few unhurried steps in each other's direction, stopping to chat in the center of the small opening of the entryway. I glance at the lime green and orange striped wall behind the bar and grimace, once again, at my surroundings.
"Sir," Taylor starts, "I'm attempting to secure the corner booth and the small table next to it, but it would appear your sister asked for a spot at the benched seating."
My hand finds its way to my hair, running through and pulling at it. That's the last place I want to sit. "Of course she did."
"The hostess says that Miss Grey is already here," he says, indicating with a slight nod of his head toward the bar area at the back of the restaurant. "She's been at the bar waiting for your arrival. I'll stay and figure out the seating."
I nod and we turn around at the same time, with Taylor going back to wait at the hostess desk and me headed toward the bar to meet Mia. Unsurprisingly, there's no distinguishable path through the throng, so I have to weave my way through the crowded tables filled with the mindless trendoids who find a place like this appealing because it appears to be 'in'. Ridiculous.
I spot my sister the moment I reach the bar. She's sitting at the far corner all by herself, martini glass in one hand and her phone in the other. When Mia sees me, she smiles widely and awkwardly transfers the phone from her hand to the space between her ear and shoulder without setting down or spilling the precariously-balanced pink beverage to wave me over. Of course it's a pink drink.
"Mia," I say, smiling when I take in her full appearance. Not only is the drink pink, but so is her dress and purse. Such a girl.
Hi, she mouths while motioning to her phone in an inaudible message that says she's busy. Mia holds up one finger - a gesture I know means that she really needs between five and ten minutes.
Rolling my eyes, I take the barstool next to Mia's and stare down the bartender until he comes my way. I order an old fashion, but switch to a gin and tonic when I find that the establishment doesn't have anything I would consider 'top shelf'.
When I look back over at Mia, she rolls her eyes and points to mouthpiece of her phone. "Mom," she whispers. With the realization that I still have more than a few minutes to myself before Mia begins talking my ear off about every detail of her week, I reach inside my jacket and pull out my phone in hopes of finding another message from Ana.
I've started every day this week by texting her first thing in the morning. It's usually something simple, a 'good morning' or a 'I hope you have a great day', but I refrained from doing that this morning in hopes that she would reach out to me instead. And she did. And I've been on cloud-fucking-nine since. Ana actually wants to talk with me.
The first message came in around noon, her lunch hour, and simply said I hope you're having a good day, Christian. I waited a few minutes to type back, attempting to appear less eager than I actually was. It didn't work. Within a minute my fingers tapped out the sappiest conceivable response: It got a lot better as soon as I heard from you.
Her next message made me feel even more fantastic than the first: Mine too. I was worried when I didn't get my morning message. Ana…worried? About me? Something about that just really gets me, though I'm sure it's just a social nicety - just something to say. Other than my family, I don't think anyone has ever worried about me. Thousands of people might worry about my ability to give them a paycheck, but only my family - and maybe Elena - has ever worried about me.
It's exactly like her making me lunch. I love the feeling of her caring for me, caring about me. And I guess worry creeps right into that sentiment. I should know since I've thought about every possible thing that could happen to her since the family dinner last weekend, and that worry, that uneasiness that comes with not knowing what might happen to her or what might happen between us has left me more than a little agitated. I was miserable until she messaged me this morning.
I've had a number of important meetings this week, but nothing from my normal schedule seems to hold my attention like the beguiling Anastasia Steele. My week has been a nonstop cycle of meetings, business, and Ana; mergers, before-tax profit margins, Ana; acquisitions, non-reproducible assets, Ana; rate anticipation swaps, multiperiod immunization, Ana. Ana. Ana. Ana. She's completely taken over my mind. It's fucked up in the best way.
My mouth curls into a smile when I see that I do in fact have a new text message from her.
A: Well, I hope you have fun with your sister and with your uber filling foam dinner.
C: Foam?
A: Yes, foam. It's one of those establishments. Every meal is super modern and filled with gallons of savory foam.
I chuckle at the term gallons of savory foam. I begin typing, "I'll give you gallons of savory foam," but delete it when I realize that it's probably too soon to send a comment like that. She hasn't even seen my cock yet and I don't want to scare her away before it's absolutely necessary. Eventually she'll see that I'm a total fuck-up and run for the hills, but I'm hoping I can forestall that inevitability for as long as possible. Besides, Flynn told me I should be 'wooing' her not trying to give her wood just yet.
C: And you know this how?
A: I looked up the menu when you told me where you two were going.
C: What would you recommend?
A: It's not my kind of establishment. You'll have to fend for yourself. Let Mia order for you; you know she wants to.
Mia does want to order for me. Despite my telling her no on Sunday, she's brought up this condition more than once every time we've spoken this week, telling me time and time again that I need the 'culinary master' to make important food-related decisions for me. I know what I like and I know what I want, and I know that I don't want Mia ordering for me in a restaurant that serves up foam as an entree. Clearly her judgement is suspect.
I sneak a quick glance at my sister; she's already tucked her phone in her purse and is now staring me down with a little smirk on her face. Having no idea how long she's been done with her conversation and staring at me while I smile at the screen of my Blackberry, I force myself to scowl and end the conversation with Ana.
C: Not happening, and I'm not eating foam. We're about to head to a table. Can I call you later?
She texts me back immediately.
A: Of course you can call me. :) Be warned, though: There's foam in or on or surrounding every dish, so good luck getting what you want! Also, your sister is staying at my apartment for the night.
C: I'll get her drunk enough to pass out when she gets there. And, as far as the foam goes...I always get I want.
At that, I stick my phone back into the pocket of my jacket and turn to my very curious baby sister, carefully controlling the jubilation that threatens to take over my expression. I get to call Ana tonight.
"What has you so happy…er, buoyant this evening?"
"Oooh, nice catch Minnie," I laugh. "Mom would have your tongue for using such a terribly unoriginal word as happy."
"Uh…shut it," she replies, rolling her eyes at our mother's never-ending knack for correcting our language. It works even when she isn't around at this point in our lives. "But seriously, what were you just doin' over there, Smiley?"
"Business."
"No, seriously, who were you texting?" She wags her eyebrows suggestively. "Or were you sexting?"
"No one. Business email," I clip, avoiding her truth-finding eyes.
"Bullshit. You didn't have your usual sharky business face on." Sharky business face? "You were smiling and chuckling," she points her pink-manicured index finger right in my face, "and you kept checking to see if I was watching you."
"I was smiling because I love what I do." I take a sip of my drink and force my face into as stoic an expression as possible when I meet Mia's eyes over my glass.
"Bullshit. I'll figure you out yet, Chin." I smile genuinely at the nickname she gave me when she was just learning to talk. Christian was a little too difficult for her to spit out. "Anyway, I think I know what's going on with you. I think whatever it is begins with an 'A' and ends with a 'sta'-"
Taylor pops over to our spot as stealthily as possible, interrupting my little sister's big mouth. Neglecting to answer a direct question is difficult with her. "Miss Grey," he nods, "Mr. Grey, I've managed to get you the booth we discussed." He gestures toward the corner table. "Kelly from the staff here will escort you over."
Mia looks from Taylor to the corner table to me, pouting. "Table? I wanted to sit at the bench with everyone else."
"Everyone else, Mia?"
"Well, you know, all of the other customers," she whines. "I wanted to sit with the crowd, not in the corner like a couple of creeps."
"Mia, I wouldn't feel comfortable sitting at the bench," I admit, looking at her with the best pleading face I can muster. It works.
"Fine," she concedes, "but you owe me one."
"Another one?"
"Yes," Mia nods. "On top of the other one that you already owe me."
"Fine," I smile, standing and helping Mia hop off of the barstool onto her ridiculously steep heels. This is how our relationship works - I always owe her something.
We make our way over to the table, following the blushing hostess. She's doing her best to swivel her hips and garner my attention on her ass, but the only thing she has managed to gather is my sister's disgust. Mia makes a face I can only describe as horrified and 'pukey' when she looks between the hostess and me. It makes me laugh a little.
Mia and I plant ourselves into the booth across from one another and the hostess stumbles through some awkwardly contrived introduction as she hands us our menus, focusing entirely on me throughout the mini monologue and ignoring my sister. Mia puts on her bitch face and dismisses the girl without a hint of remorse, but with a healthy amount of satisfaction. She hates when women act like that, and I couldn't be prouder that she isn't a desperate wannabe like so many of the women I encounter in a day. When it comes to men, Mia doesn't let anyone push her around, least of all Elliot and me. To her, I'm just her weird big brother.
We settle into a comfortable silence while we peruse the menus. Even with my first glance at the too-large menu's awful comic sans script, I see that Ana was right in her assertion that everything here is covered in some type of flavored foam. In fact, some dishes are just foam. I groan and Mia strains her neck to peek over her menu at me.
"Something wrong, Christian?"
"Why did you pick this place? It's terrible," I grumble. Mia frowns and cocks her head to the side, dropping her eyes back to the menu.
"It's new," she explains. "I haven't been here yet, and you're into food."
I scowl at her over my menu then look down at the black and white chevron painted table. It makes my eyes hurt. The food at my restaurants is nothing like the trendy non-food here. And my interest in food comes from a much different place than Mia's hardly discerning palate.
"I'm into food, not foam. And why are we eating so early?" I complain, looking for anything to make Mia as irritated with me as I am with her choice of venue. "I'm usually still at the office right now."
"You're such a freakin' grump," Mia says, closing her menu and lightly smacking my shoulder with the closed book. She sighs and smiles at the end of the light sound. "It's a Friday night, you shouldn't be working this late on a Friday. Ever. But, in answer to your question: I'm staying at Ana's tonight. I told her I'd be there before eight."
"Yeah, I know that, but we could have gotten-"
"You know what?" she asks, smirking again and looking at the back of the menu.
"Umm…" I start, not quite knowing how to cover up the fact that I slipped and started to mention that I know something that only Ana or Mia could have told me, and since Mia didn't… I know she suspects, but I'm not about to admit to her that I speak with her new best friend on a daily basis and think of her even more frequently than that.
"How would you know that I'm spending the night at Ana's?"
"That's not what I was saying," I explain slowly, trying to bide my time to come up with something to say. I clear my throat. "I just meant that I know I shouldn't be working so late on a Friday." Good save, Grey.
Mia narrows her eyes and opens her mouth to say something else, but is interrupted by the too-joyful voice of our server. We place our orders, with Mia opting for some kind of new-age pea soup foam scallop thing and with me special ordering normal food that I'll supplement with something of Mrs. Jones's when I get home.
We jump from topic to topic while we wait for dinner, but since I'm curious as to what Ana will be doing with my mother and sister before the Coping Together Ball tomorrow I ask, "So what are your plans for tomorrow?"
Mia shrugs her shoulders. "The same old thang as last year and the year before that and the year before that."
"You act like I have any idea what that entails. I'll just be taking a shower, shaving, and putting on a tux." I lean back in my seat and cross my arms across my chest. "No pampering necessary."
"Of course not, pretty boy," Mia drawls, sighing at my lack of female knowledge. "Well, us ladies have a day of pampering ahead of us. Mom and Elena-who I'm fucking pissed at bytheway-arranged for a team of Esclava's finest to come get us ready at the house. Manis, pedis, hair, makeup, everything."
I chuckle at Mia's little outburst about Elena. "What did Elena do?"
"She's just a bitch," Mia huffs, crossing her arms in front of her petulantly.
"I know that." I smile at Mia's little display, which is most likely an overreaction knowing her. "But it doesn't answer my question. What. Did. She. Do?"
"She and mom had lunch the other day-Tuesday, I think-and she told mom all these crazy theories about Ana." One of my eyebrows lifts of its own volition and my hands fist under the table. Fucking Elena. "Apparently she stopped by when Ana was at Escala on Sunday?" I've been rather tight-lipped about the entire lunch/make-out session with Ana, so Mia's curiosity is probably killing her. I can't help but wonder, again, about what Ana's told her.
"Didn't Ana tell you?" I ask to ease my curiosity. I look down at my watch for a kind of distraction and realize that the food is taking forever. Damn.
"No." Mia furrows her brows and shoots an irritated little scowl my way. "Just like you, she won't tell me anything. The only bit of information I got out of her was that you two had a nice lunch. And it took me until yesterday to get that much."
"Why is it so hard to believe that Ana and I had a nice lunch?" I ask, laughing when Mia throws her hands in the air and stares at me open-mouthed.
"Because you, my dear brother, are not nice. Especially not to my friends, but that's beside the point, since Ana appears to be an exception to all of your rules against acting like a normal human being." I completely agree with her on this point - something about Ana does bring out the normal in me.
"Back to Elena."
"Yes...Elena. I don't know how you put up with that woman. Mom basically came right out and asked me how much I know about Ana. I didn't really understand what she was saying because mom seemed to love her at dinner the other night, so I just told her the basics: super smart, quietly ambitious, motivated. I asked why and that's when she mentioned that Elena insinuated that our meeting was terribly suspicious and mom should be concerned about someone who is probably just sniffing around for a handout. Elena tried to convince mom that Ana's digging for gold."
Elena's tried contacting me multiple times over the past week, but I just haven't felt like dealing with her. For the first time since I was fifteen years old, I have absolutely no desire to have any contact with her. Knowing that she's begun poisoning my mother against Ana pisses me off to no end, especially since Elena knows nothing about what happened between us beyond our sharing a lunch at my penthouse.
"I don't get that impression of Ana at all," I say to ease Mia's mind.
"Because she isn't like that." I know. "Like…she wouldn't even let me give her gas money last night or pay for her dinner when I wanted to come here the other night."
"What did you two do last night?"
Mia opens her mouth to answer, but is once again stopped by our very aggressive server. The girl plops Mia's dish on the placemat in front of her without a hint of gentleness, but softly places my special order of Salmon and risotto sans foam on the empty spot in front of my seat. She stands in front of our table, staring at me and ignoring my sister for a touch longer than necessary to tell your customers to enjoy their meals.
Throughout dinner our conversation alternates between comfortable silence and the easy banter borne of being siblings. Mia tells me more about her time in Europe and pesters me about the day-to-day at GEH, frequently chastising me for having no real social life beyond business related affairs, mandatory family functions, and criticizing the competency of my employees.
After my sister relayed every facet of her Tuesday visit to our grandparents' house, including the trivial detail regarding the "hideous" shade of our grandmother's blouse, I lean back in my seat and ask a question I never thought I'd ask. Normally, Mia just talks about everything under the sun, unfettered by any questions from me. I know Mia and Ana spent time together this week, and I want to know what they did and who they saw…and more than anything what else, if anything, Ana said about our Sunday lunch.
"Anything else interesting happen this week?" I ask. "You said you did something last night?"
She takes a bite of a scallop and looks up at the ceiling, thinking of what else she could tell me about. "Oh!" Mia says, excitedly. "Ana and I went to her friend Jose's art show in Portland last night."
The way she emphasized the word friend didn't escape me. Friend? What the hell does that mean. Before saying anything, I clear my throat in an attempt to make sure my voice is steady. "Is Jose Ana's boyfriend? Or something?"
"Hah! He wishes," she bites out, setting her fork down to grab for her glass of water. "Jose did try to kiss her like a month or so ago, but she wasn't having it. And last night he had these gigantic pictures of Ana as part of his exhibit - like eight of them - and he didn't even give her a heads up. She was totally freaked out! Hell…I was totally freaked out!"
He tried to kiss her. Instantly I see red. "What was his name?"
"Umm…Jose."
"Jose?"
"I don't know. R-something? Rodriguez maybe?" She pauses and I start tapping out a message to Taylor; I need to check this artist out. "It's definitely Rodriguez."
"At which gallery is this exhibit?"
"I don't know," she replies. "Some place downtown. Trendy." When has my sister ever been this fucking tight-lipped?
"You don't know where you went?"
Mia's head pops up at my short tone and she squints her eyes at me. "I didn't drive, Christian. Ana knew how to get there because - you know - she went to school in Portland. Why does it matter anyway?"
"Ana drove?" I ask, extremely bothered by the idea that they were out and about on a night as miserable as last night. If Ana drove, then she would have driven her… "Did she at least drive your car?"
"No," Mia says, shaking her head and placing her napkin on the top of her now empty plate. "Why would Ana have driven my car?"
"I don't know, Mia. Because her car is a pile of shit. I was nervous for Taylor when he drove it from Bellevue to her apartment, and now I hear that she drove the two of you all the way to Portland? It takes almost three hours to get to Portland. What if-"
"Whoa, Chris! Chill. Out," Mia interrupts my ill-timed rant, looking at me like I'm crazy. "We made it back just fine…there was only one minor snafu."
"Minor?"
"Her car wouldn't start this morning."
I frown, realizing that without a car and without her roommate Ana probably had to rely on public transportation to get to and from work today. "How is she getting around?"
Mia shrugs her shoulders and presses a button on her phone, lighting the screen up. "I don't know. She probably took a bus? Or a taxi? Or something this morning, but she's gone out for a drink with her new coworkers tonight. I think she's still at the bar across from SIP."
"Well, if she wanted, we could pick her up," I offer, once again attempting to look and sound nonchalant. "Public transportation probably isn't very reliable at night. Might not be very safe. And you're going to her place anyway, right?"
"I'll ask her," Mia says smiling over at me, and picking up her phone. She begins tapping out a text and I do the same, finishing up the message to Taylor about this artist and adding the information about Ana's defunct vehicle. He can probably arrange some covert maintenance on the thing while Ana's with my family tomorrow.
The busboy comes by our booth to pick up our plates, putting a pause on our conversation, which is delayed further when the waitress comes over to offer us dessert. I decline, but Mia insists that we at least take a look at the tray, citing a recent review of the restaurant on some website by some blogger that said the dessert was amazing. It takes forever for someone to come by with the dessert tray and even longer for Mia's selection to be delivered.
By the time my sister begins eating her dessert, Ana has let her know that a ride would be much appreciated. Now that I know I'll get to see her tonight, I'm even more impatient to get out of this poor excuse for a restaurant than I was before. When Mia finishes, I've already taken care of the bill and sent Taylor out to bring the car around. The second the last bite is off the plate and in her mouth, I rise from the table, holding out my hand to help pull Mia from her seat and through the crowded restaurant to the street beyond.
Taylor holds the back door of the SUV open for us and we climb in, settling in on opposite sides of the vehicle. After a quick moment, Taylor opens the driver door and finds my eyes in the rearview mirror, looking for direction as to where we'll be going.
"Mia, where are we going?" I ask, lightly tapping her bicep with the back of my hand to get her attention.
"Oh…umm…Fifty's," she says, meeting Taylor's eye. "It's across the street from SIP, where Ana works." Taylor nods and once again meets my gaze in the mirror, no doubt as curious as my sister about my interest in Ana.
After a couple minutes of silently looking out our windows at the city, Mia turns to me, smiling about whatever it is she's about to say. "You know, when I was at Ana's apartment this week, I couldn't help but notice this extremely large and extremely beautiful bouquet of white roses she had on her kitchen table."
"Oh?" I look up just in time to catch Taylor's smirk in the mirror. Traitor.
"Yeah," Mia nods, holding my stare with one of her own. "It was funny because she refused to tell me who they were from."
"Hmmm."
"So I waited until she went to grab something in her bedroom and read the card attached to the little plastic trident-thing, and it said," she clears her throat and continues in a deep voice meant to impersonate mine, "Thinking of you - Christian. Isn't that crazy?" I squint my eyes in her direction, willing her to shut her trap, but it has the opposite effect. "Taylor, don't you think that's-"
I cut her off by jabbing her in the ribs with a finger. "Dear God, Mia, we had lunch."
"See...all Ana will tell me is that it was a nice lunch. How nice of a lunch was it?" I shake my head and she continues to stare at my profile. "Because a guy doesn't just send flowers with a note like that because he had a friendly lunch with a girl. I don't even care if there's something going on. If what I suspect is happening, is happening, then I will be thrilled; I just want one of you to let me in the loop!"
Mia wants in the loop, but I don't even know if there's a loop to be in. I'm not the open your heart up kind of guy, but even I wouldn't mind a woman's perspective on whatever is going on between Ana and I. Flynn has been great, but I can't help feeling that Mia would have some useful insight. But before I go about discussing this with my sister, I need to wrap my head around what's really going on. All I know right now is that I'm beyond excited to see her tonight and I act like a giddy little bitch every time she texts me.
"God you're dramatic," I mumble.
"I'm not dramatic."
"How can you justify that statement?" Not dramatic?
"Because it's true. I'm not dramatic, I'm just…" she looks around the vehicle for inspiration to strike, "excitable. Now, tell me everything. This silence is just killing me. Actually, literally killing me."
"Mia," I start, muffling a groan, "I don't know what you want me to say."
"Well, confirmation that you're in love with my friend would be fantastic." Love? We just met. Mia reads the panicked expression on my face and continues. "But I get that you don't want to talk about it, so whatever. Fine. But just know - I'm so on to you. And you have to tell me something sometime."
I turn my head and look out the window. I'm glad that Ana didn't say anything about it; Mia would have a field day with the information about me attacking the poor girl in the elevator. She'd chalk it up to me being sexually repressed or something since she knows nothing of my usual proclivities. Even though I've been discussing all of this with Flynn in the two appointments we've had this week, I am nowhere near touching on any of it with my romantic sister.
The remaining minutes of our drive are spent in near silence, the only noise being that of the erratic tempo set by Mia's tapping of her phone's keyboard and the din of the world outside our windows. Taylor pulls to the curb in front of Fifty's and Mia begins to unbuckle her seatbelt.
"Just tell her we're out front," I say, confused as to why she's getting ready to go inside.
"I told her we would be coming in for a drink."
"No." I shake my head and lean back in my seat.
"You owe me one, Christian. Actually, you owe me at least two." Damn her owing system. "It's one drink and it counts."
I unbuckle my seatbelt with one hand and move my free hand to run through my already mussed up hair. At one point in my life I was unsure of how Mia became such an indomitable force. When she wants something, she always gets her way. Over the years, I've reflected on the various reasons why this is the way it is, and much of it has to do with the fact that our parents, our brother, and I give her whatever she asks for. I could start saying no to her, but I know how that will end up: I'll just owe her something else. She's lucky Ana's in that building.
"Fine," I concede, swallowing back a plethora of self-disapproval. "One drink. That's it."
"Yay!" she squeals, clapping her hands in front of her mouth. "I've been dying to meet Ana's creepster boss."
"Creepster?" Ana has a creepy boss? I think I want to meet him too.
"Close talker with earrings and a ponytail. Does that sound creepster enough to you?"
I nudge the back of Taylor's seat, ensuring that he's paying attention to what is being said about Ana's boss. "What's his name?"
"Jack Hyde."
I look up and meet Taylor's eyes in the mirror. He gives me a slight nod, indicating that he'll not only be running a background check on the artist, but on the boss as well. I've yet to ask for a check on Ana, following my gut and Flynn's advice to try going about this like an ordinary man.
"Umm…can we go in now?" Mia asks impatiently. I nod my head and begin sliding across the seat to her side of the vehicle. She opens the door and looks up at Taylor. "You sit tight Jason. I'll keep Christian safe tonight." She starts giggling and I give her a bit of a shove out the door, mentally calculating how many cosmos I ordered for her when she trips slightly. Four cosmos.
When I get out of the vehicle, Mia links her arm through mine to steady herself and we approach the entrance of Fifty's joined at our elbows. I open the door and motion for Mia to go in first, steeling myself for the onslaught of the sensation of having Ana near. The moment I enter the bar, it's almost as if my body is a compass with Ana being magnetic north. Before I've taken my second step through the door, my eyes swing around the space and immediately fall on her.
Ana's standing in front of an empty bar stool fiddling with the label on her bottle of Bud Light while the crowd around her socializes in a familiar, jovial way. She looks a little bored. Her long hair is pulled back in a hastily-made ponytail and she looks sexy as fuck in her work clothing. The little gray skirt she's wearing clings to her hips and her legs…her fucking legs. The skirt and nude heel combination makes them look longer than can be naturally possible. My mind wanders to what it would feel like to have them wrapped around my hips. Or, better yet, my neck. She's just…so pretty. So perfect. If her lips are as sweet as I remember, her pussy has to be even sweeter.
As if sensing my gaping, Ana's head perks up and I notice the slight shiver of her body when her eyes meet mine only a second later. We hold one another's gaze and a bright smile takes over her entire face, the bored expression from before completely gone now. If I thought she was beautiful before, I'm in complete awe of her attractiveness now. Before I have a chance to remember that my sister is probably watching me, my face breaks into the same expression - it's just so nice to see her.
We continue to stare at one another and I hear the not so distant whine of my sister asking, "Do you see her?" The words don't quite register until Ana suddenly breaks our connection when a ponytailed man with earrings comes up behind her and grips her shoulders, stalking around her and settling in far too closely to her flawless body. The boss. My smile fades along with Ana's and I notice that she now looks incredibly uncomfortable with the addition of Hyde in her personal space.
Ana takes a step backward, inadvertently wedging herself between the stool and the typecast vision of the creepy boss without leaving any wiggle room. Hyde closes the space Ana created with her backward step with a forward step of his own, handing her a fresh bottle of beer and leaning in to whisper something in her ear. Ana's worried eyes flit from the new beer in her hand to her near-full bottle grasped in her other hand to her boss then back to me, as if beseeching me to come save her.
Well, here I come.
The next chapter should be out some time tomorrow. It's Ana's POV of the same day, but it was getting super long and that part needs some more editing before I put it out. There will be some C and A time in that chapter. Hope you liked it!
Also, thank you for all the reviews/favorites/follows. I do appreciate it. You're all the best!
The Pinterest page is updated too- /naiadv