Chapter 19 – Emotional Whiplash
The day began with a six a.m. conference call, followed by a trip to Montesano. Other than the emotional parts of the day, for example, when the first rounds were shot at the gun range and at the scene of Ana's accident, the remainder of the day was unexpectedly quite satisfying. For years I'd been sitting atop one of my two mighty castles – Escala or Grey House, and never looked down to experience the normal world. Even after the remote movie night with Anastasia I never looked down though I did peek, but today in Montesano I felt oddly normal. Did I have security with me? Yes. Did it feel like security was with me? No. I just felt like I was part of a group and that alone was completely different. My recent outings with my father and brother were fun, but they were family. This was a combination of family and dare I say friends. Hell, I even enjoyed Kate's company and that's saying something. It was one of the rare times I've seen the two of them interact and there is no missing that bond. In almost every sense of the word, they are sisters, minus the genetic link; then again I don't share a genetic link with Elliot and Mia and to me, they are my siblings. Nothing can take that away.
I'm still not sure what to think about Ray Steele. Ana had described once as taciturn, yet during my first few interactions with him, he was anything but taciturn, but as the frequency of our contact increased, I began to get a measure of the man. He was taciturn most of the time, but as soon as he was concerned about his daughter he was an angry pit bull. Over the past few months I dare say we've actually become friends. After the rough start while Ana was indisposed, he not only kept me informed during both her and Sawyer's recoveries, but also provided some fatherly advice. Naturally, being as screwed up as I am, I ended up spending two hours with Flynn discussing why I'm inclined to follow Ray's advice and not that of my own father. Flynn's response: most kids don't listen to their own fathers, and on a side note, most husbands don't listen to their own wives. Case in point, he knows a couple that were remodeling their home, including moving walls around. The wife patiently sat there with a pen and paper sketching out where she wanted the walls. Her husband's response: That's awful. A week later, his best friend drew the exact same plan and what was the husband's response: Perfect! That husband is an asshole. In the back of my mind, I couldn't help but make a mental note: If by some miracle you ever get married don't become that asshole!
When Anastasia fell asleep in Ray's arms while sitting in the back of the beast, as Sawyer rightly calls his customized, off-road ready FJ Cruiser, I wanted more than anything to be the one holding her. Once we arrived at Charlie Tango and Ray had to head home in his pickup, I expected him to ask Kate or Sawyer to take his place holding her; after all, Kate's her best friend and Sawyer is like an older brother. I was shocked when he asked me to take his place – well, shocked and downright giddy. If you had told me a year ago I'd feel giddy, I'd have called you a fucking moron and kicked you out of my office. Times have changed now I'll just glare at you until you slink away, then I'll allow myself to revel in my inner giddiness.
He trusted me with his most precious thing – Anastasia. At that moment I felt accepted by Ray Steele. Over the past few months, his opinion had grown important to me and until that instant I hadn't realized how much I craved it. In my head I could almost hear Flynn asking me why I thought I craved Ray's approval. The answer was simple, because I wanted to deserve it and didn't believe I ever would. Fuck! Flynn was becoming the frequent guest host of my own inner monologue or as Mia would say, my Jiminy Cricket! Welcome to the Fifty Shades of Fucked-Up Show, tonight's guest host is Dr. John 'JC' Flynn asking all the questions the normal host wouldn't dare to ask out of fear I'd violently remove his testicles and serve them to him for lunch.
I don't know when I've enjoyed a drive more than I'm enjoying this one as we head back to Seattle. Sawyers driving, Taylors checking emails on his phone, and I'm basically lounging in the back seat holding Anastasia in my arms. It was only when I glanced down at her peaceful face that I realized she was resting her head on my chest directly over my heart. Amazingly, I didn't panic. Maybe it wasn't a fluke that she could touch me. I mean, at the hospital with Flynn, she rubbed my back and my normal panic-ridden over-reaction never occurred.
Elliot's nickname for Anastasia is fitting - she's sheisty. She can be incredibly shy and reserved, yet feisty. In so many ways she's so innocent that you want to protect her from all the bad things in the world, yet with me anyway, she can be direct and to the point. It's challenging, frustrating, and refreshing at the same time. In both good and bad ways it makes me feel alive. She calls me out on my bullshit when necessary, using her bluntness to bring my walls crashing down around me, forcing me to look at things from a different point of view.
Flynn won't discuss why she reacts toward me the way she does. I know he understands why or at least has a theory. It's frustrating that he won't share because he keeps his patient records confidential. I'm grateful and frustrated with him. I know he finds the situation highly amusing. For years I pushed back on his methods, keeping my walls firmly in place and now that the walls are tumbling down he always has this shit-eating grin on his face when I'm open to trying something he mentioned three years ago and at that time I told him to stick it up his ass. There is nothing more annoying than realizing that for years I was slow coming to the proverbial table, especially since in the business world I'm there setting up the entire buffet and first in line.
At this point, all I know is I need to figure out how to make whatever this is with Anastasia work. I've always been a person who operates on instinct and runs with it when it came to both my business and my personal life. Now I've realized that while my instincts have made me a wealthy man, they've also left me devoid of the ability to really relate to people. It's been difficult the past few months from stopping myself from acting on instinct in the non-business setting, but for the most part, I've managed it. For example, when Ana hugged the rescue team I wanted to stand at her side, with my arm over her shoulder like a possessive bastard claiming his prize, but I didn't. She's not mine. Three little words that I want to change more than anything else. I want to be able to say – she is mine. Okay, maybe it's more along the lines of – fuck you asshole, she is mine!
Never in my life have I wanted to take care of anyone the way I want to take care of Anastasia. While all of my submissives had long brown hair and were beautiful by today's standards, Anastasia was like a cross between Audrey Hepburn and a young Natalie Wood – just beautiful. Unlike most women, she wears the bare minimum amount of make up and honestly didn't see how truly stunning she was.
Am I wearing rose-colored glasses? Perhaps, but I have to admit, I want to crawl inside her head right before she looks into the mirror so I can understand how she sees herself. Someone so attractive, both inside and out, shouldn't have the self-esteem issues she has. After the letter she sent me, leveling the playing field, I understand why she has them, but I want to free her from them. If Flynn were here, he'd be asking me why? All I can come up with is maybe by helping Anastasia I'm helping myself in some way. Hell, I don't know. The only thing I'm sure of at this moment is sitting here with her asleep in my arms felt right.
Intellectually I understand my pathological need to keep her safe. I couldn't save my birth mother from her pimp or herself, so I have to save Ana. Ironically, with my submissives, I punished them because I couldn't punish my mother. God I'm so screwed up. And now the British Jiminy Cricket is back in my head – strive to be a little less screwed up every day. Fucking Flynn!
I've never been a patient person, so the small steps are like torture. I like the concept of instant gratification, yet being unable to achieve it when it comes to everything Anastasia has me feeling emotionally raw and almost feeling suffocated by a lingering cloud of vulnerability that follows me around like a summer rain shower – it's a refreshing change yet it still royally sucks.
Its times like this I miss my Dominant side. All I want to do is carry her to my now extinct playroom, tie her on the bed, and fulfill every erotic thought I'd ever had, and then do them all over again. Yet every time I've allowed myself to fantasize about it, the image of her battered, bruised, and broken on the stretcher from the one glimpse of her I managed before she was air lifted to Seattle pops into my head. That image will haunt me forever. She looked so tiny on the stretcher with all of the different monitors, IVs, and worst of all the respirator tube that helped her breathe. And then there were the bandages on her head, neck, and arms. She was so fragile. After seeing her like that, even if I took her into my old playroom I knew I could never raise a hand to her. I still remember standing there watching them wheel her stretcher to the helicopter and feeling myself change. It was emotional whiplash and my soul still aches every time I recall the memory.
Old me would have had access to her calendar, phone records, computer, and hell I would have known when she was menstruating. I was, and still am, a control freak. I did have Taylor run a background check on Bubba and stopped worrying about Ana on that front, but I had other concerns: What is the deal between Eric Dali and Anastasia? How the hell am I going to get Anastasia away from Elena before the old shrew taints her with her wickedness? How am I going to get her to drive a safe car? I know she won't accept a new car as a gift from me.
If Anastasia is doing freelance editing, why work at the hardware store? I mean, shouldn't she be trying to work a regular nine-to-five job at a publisher? I understand that she wants to, as Sawyer has told me, 'get all the fucked up shit out of her head, dealt with, and safely filed away as the past' but working at a hardware store where we can't keep her safe just seems foolhardy. Old me would have spanked her for that. What does the new me do? Slowly feel my blood pressure go up. How do people live like this? When I asked Taylor and Luke that over scotch the other night, they basically laughed in my face. Yes, I earned the hour-long nickname of fuckwad before they each earned the moniker for an hour.
All Anastasia has to do is say the word and she has a job at SIP. Granted, I'd have to buy it then and bail out a business that probably won't ever regain the industry credibility it lost years ago. But no, I had to fall for a woman who was proud and independent. That just made her even more appealing, yet frustrating. I could buy E-House Books that Ros mentioned and not allow Anastasia to know. I reach for my cell phone and text Ros to begin gathering data on E-House Books. All I know about the company is that it's considered the little upstart of the publishing world. It's been in business for roughly six months, yet as of last week has a few New York Times best sellers and if the rumors are true, they are negotiating two movie deals and a television series deal for some of their authors. I can't help but feel Anastasia can learn more from the leadership there than at SIP. If I have my way, there will be nothing but the best for my girl moving forward.
The car came to a stop at Fairview. I realized that rather than sit here enjoying the hour and a half I had to hold Anastasia, I allowed my mind to wind itself up like a top and spin out of control. No amount of exercising, or sparing with Claude, or burying myself in work has brought me the level of control I felt when I had a submissive, yet now I didn't feel empty. I was just riding the rollercoaster of a personal life and holding on for dear life. It's both exhilarating and terrifying. The old me would have said: I'm Christian Grey and I am never terrified. God I was such an empty shell of a man and a major asshole. I laughed wryly.
"What's so funny?" Anastasia asked as she slowly opened her blue eyes and glanced up at me.
"I just realized that I used to be a major asshole and recently I've been demoted to lieutenant."
We both broke out laughing. I couldn't resist glancing at Taylor and Sawyer. Even though their backs were turned, I could tell by the quiver in Sawyer's shoulders he was struggling to contain a laugh. I caught a glimpse of Taylor's smirk in the rearview mirror.
As we got out of the beast, Reynolds pulls up in the Audi with Elliot, Kate, and Mia in the back seat. Together we take the long walk to slip seven with Sawyer and Ana leading the way, Elliot, Kate, Mia, and I following, and coming up behind us are Taylor and Reynolds. It's nice to see the walk is well illuminated and decorative with plenty of planters along the way. There were even security cameras spanning the entire length of the deck.
Other than Sawyer, we all enter the houseboat while he checked in with Harrison who'd been on duty while we were in Montesano. I swear Elliot, Reynolds, and Taylor gasped at the woman dancing around Ana's kitchen wearing a navy blue tartan miniskirt, dark leggings, low-cut tank top, and thigh-high, five-inch heeled, studded biker boots. Hell, even Mia and Kate gasped. Clearly, she didn't see us as she checked the stove and continued dancing seductively to whatever music was flowing through her ear buds. When she took a sip from the glass of red wine on the counter, she turned and almost spit it out in shock.
"Hey Mac," Anastasia stated with a grin before introducing us all to MacKenzie Donoghue. The picture on the background check I had Taylor run months ago didn't do the woman justice. This was Sawyer's business partner and they'd made it clear that neither of them was interested in taking on a partner. Other than her career, her background check was unremarkable.
MacKenzie Donoghue (aka: Kenzie Scott)
- DOB: 2/28/1982, Inverness Scotland
- Migrated to the U.S. 4/1994 - Texas
- Relationship Status: Single, unattached, never married
- Children: None
- Career: Fashion Designer
- Owner: Kenzie Scott Designs
- Net worth: ~$30M U.S.
- Sexual orientation: unknown
- Current Residence(s):
- 99 Union Street, Seattle, Washington – Penthouse (Secondary residence)
- 1 Central Park West, #1711, NYC, NY
- Island Bank Road, Inverness Scotland (Primary residence)
Criminal Background Check: Nothing found
Civil Law Suits: None
Family:
- Michael "Mick" Donoghue, father; Laurel Donoghue (nee Montgomery), mother – no criminal activities or civil law suits; Father: Oil Company Executive – Retired; Mother: Housewife
- Siblings - none
"It's a pleasure to meet everyone," Mac greeted us.
There was no missing Reynolds instant attraction to the classic Scottish beauty – shoulder-length, dark wavy red hair, and pale skin with just a few freckles, green eyes, and a brogue that had all of our attention. I couldn't help but glance at Taylor, who merely smirked. At the time we received her background check we couldn't help but wonder if she was something more to Sawyer, yet as much as Welch dug, the only connections we found between them – she lived next door to Sawyer in Texas when her family immigrated when she was twelve, and his youngest sister used to tutor her in history. The six-year age difference put her outside Sawyer's known five on either side of his age dating limit. Either that or Sawyer were secretly batting for the other team because the entire security team knew he had a thing for natural redheads. Now I can't help but wonder if they meant women or men.
"So Mr. Grey," Mac began as Sawyer entered the houseboat and greeted her with a nod. He almost appeared indifferent toward her. "I took the liberty of bringing the Grey House order with me today as I'm flying to Scotland in the morning. I thought since the weather is cooling down your security team would appreciate their protective outerwear. I know you specified black cashmere but since your team is our first full-fledged security division I took the liberty of crafting a additional pieces for each member of your team in charcoal grey and in a few styles depending on the event need." She turned to Luke, smirked and added, "Come on Sawyer, you can be my little bitch for the evening" and led him into another room as he merely sighed at her.
When they returned, Sawyer was wearing a perfectly tailored long black coat and Mac was carrying hangers with three more in varying colors and styles. She spent a few minutes showing us the special features – bulletproof lining; hidden internal pockets for weapons; phones, and wallets; and lining in the sleeves for communication wires. Each coat included matching scarves and gloves. It was impressive, but what shocked me most were the six distinct cashmere coats for me in different styles and colors – black, grey, brown, tan. There was even a long custom-made pea coat in case I got the sailing bug in the cold weather; and they were all bulletproof.
"You do excellent work. Just send the bill to Taylor and it will be taken care of," I inform her appreciatively.
"Will do. As I said, the first coat is on GEH, the others are on us. All we ask is if anyone in your social circle or business associates seeks out protective fashion please point them in our direction. This is a new endeavor for us. We're working on developing a casual jacket line as well for spring. Normally I only design women's clothing, but at the next fashion week in London and New York, I'll be unveiling my first ever men's collection," she replied almost nervously.
"Fashion week?" Mia piped up excitedly. "I thought you looked familiar. You're Kenzie Scott."
"Guilty as charged."
"I love your Scottish school girl meets biker chic collection," Mia grins. "I think I own one of every dress and skirt in the collection along with the boots. What are you working on next?"
"I've got a few things on the burner – a petite collection, a plus-size collection, and I'm branching out into lingerie," she replies before turning to Ana and adding, "I've left you a few outfits from the new petite collection in the guest room closet upstairs. I was hoping you'd consider shooting some print photographs once the full collection is done as it's difficult to find petite models, especially ones who can manage to look sweet and innocent rather than all vampy. I want a new face for the petite line and I want it to be you."
"There's no way," Ana replies clearly uncomfortable and embarrassed.
"I'll make you a deal, we do the shoot when the time comes and if you still feel uneasy after seeing the pictures then we won't use them. Think of it as a free trip to Scotland for the shoot."
I had mixed feelings about Ana's face being plastered all over an advertising campaign, but all I could do is sit back and listen. In reality I wanted to scream out NO, pull Anastasia to my side and mutter MINE! I swear my pathological need for control will be my undoing, especially when it comes to her.
"We'll see," Ana replies. I can tell by the look on her face that she's conflicted.
"Don't worry, she'll do it," Kate counters with a smirk. As expected, Anastasia rolls her eyes at her. "So you design mostly in Scotland?" Kate continued as her reporter instincts began kicking in.
"Normally no, but lately I have found it difficult to focus here, so I'm heading back to the quiet of Inverness. Seattle has been too distracting and has too many memories, so I'm going to lock myself away and design. It's not a pretty sight to behold. Imagine me spending the next six months wearing pretty much nothing but sleep pants and t-shirts, living on coffee, wine, and cookies as I draw, sew, and freak out over spring and fall deadlines. I'm sure Sawyer will tell you what a royal pain in the bum I can be during those times."
"So true," Sawyer comments wryly. "I've seen her during these times. She works into the night, falls asleep at her sewing machine or desk, bitches about bed head, and gets to the point where she's drinking the wine straight from the bottle while she yells at her assistant Chloe. A complete psychopath."
"Careful Sawyer. Don't forget I know all of your teenage secrets. While I sat on my window seat watching you misbehave before you went into the military. That plus the stories Lacey would tell me about you are perfect blackmail material. And aren't they your bosses?" she asks him as she points at Taylor and I. I can't help but nod and give her a smile. Much to my surprise, Sawyer actually blushes.
"You know, Kavanagh Media would be interested in doing an article on you and your upcoming fashion lines," Kate commented as she handed Mac her business card.
"I'll pass it on to my publicist and we'll take it from there," Mac assured her.
Ana offers us beer or wine as we take our seats at the tablet set for ten. I can't help but glance at the three bottles of wine to accompany the seafood paella dinner. Mac had expensive taste in Spanish wine - Martinez Lacuesta Reserva Especial, Rioja; Clos Erasmus Clos i Terraces, Priorat; and, Dominio de Pingus, Ribera del Duero. All three are featured in my wine cellar and I know they are over two hundred dollars per bottle. This almost feels like we're sitting down to a permanent farewell meal. I know Ana knows little about wine, so she wouldn't pick up on it, but still. I can't help but feel that something more is going on here.
As we sat down to dinner, the door opened and Bubba joined us. I had to admit, I managed to push my overly active suspicious thoughts aside, and enjoyed myself tonight. Good company, comfortable atmosphere, excellent food, decadent French deserts, and impeccable wine. I almost felt bad for Reynolds, as he was the only one not drinking. Someone had to be the designated driver and since technically this was Sawyer's day off, he drew the short straw. The women were at one corner of the table talking fashion, while the rest of us discussed sports, current events, and Elliot's latest construction project – a small, self-sustaining community in terms of utilities, or as Sawyer taunted him – a modern day hippie commune.
We all helped with the after dinner clean up, which while odd, felt normal. It took all of eight minutes with the subtle music playing. As Mac prepared to leave, she smirks, shows Sawyer a picture of her father from her phone, then clicks the video message for him. The older gentleman laughs and states: Yer Dallas Cowboys still are dead awful Luke. Last week's game was abysmal. Ya need to spend more time watching real futbol as opposed to that American crap, but then again, yer still the same fuckin' rocket you were back when I met ya It's a wonder yer tackle is still attached after yer university years. Don't forget, ya promised to come to Inverness for the pub-crawl on boxing day and I won't take no for an answer.
"Tell the old man I will do ma best to be there, though it will depend on work," Sawyer responds with a makeshift Scottish brogue and a smirk. "Oh and that he should blow his own pipes and leave yer poor mother alone for once."
We all laugh as Mac does her best John Wayne accent when she replies, "Perhaps some big cow poke needs to blow his own pipes. It's probably been too long since your last conquest."
"Fortunately for me, though I am from Texas, I don't sound like I am," he counters. It's true, even though he was born and raised in Texas, he sounds more like he's from the Midwest.
"Unless you're tired, then the accent shines through and you sound like the idiot you are Sawyer," Mac taunted.
I couldn't help but feel some underlying dig in her response. When you grow up next door to a family why would she call him Sawyer rather than Luke? Gazing over at Anastasia, our eyes meet and she merely shrugs before coming over to my side and whispered, "He's Sawyer when he's pissed her off and Luke when he's behaved himself. She won't tell him what he's done to piss her off. It's up to him to figure it out. One thing I've learned over the past few months is she calls him Sawyer more than Luke."
It was just after midnight when the gathering ended. Watching Ana's nervous reaction to everyone leaving made me want to spend the night. I knew it would be inappropriate given we haven't even discussed what this is between us, but she was clearly anxious about being alone in the houseboat after the news that this situation might not be over. I read Jackson's security report from last night and Ana didn't sleep a wink, rather worked all night on her laptop and glanced his way frequently.
"You okay? I can stay if you want me to or you can come crash in my guest room," I heard Sawyer ask her.
"I'm okay," she replied sounding as if she didn't believe her own words. A moment later she ushered him out the door, followed by the rest of us.
"Are we still on for breakfast at Bubba's at seven tomorrow?" I asked her as we stood in the doorway.
"Wouldn't miss it," she replied with a shy smile before she kissed me on the cheek. Is it wrong that I wanted to throw her over my shoulder and drag her to Escala?
"Oh Anastasia, we can do better than that," I whispered before my lips met hers. This time there was no hesitation on her part. She kissed me as hard as I was kissing her. Her fingers were running through my hair and I felt exhilarated as I pulled her body against mine. When we finally pulled apart, she chuckled before stating, "definitely much better Mr. Grey." A split second later she blushed. I swear I could watch this women blush for an eternity.
Journal of Anastasia Steele
October 16, 2011
I'm just going to say it – I'm afraid to be in the houseboat alone knowing someone might be out there who wants to harm me. I was fine the first night, but once they told me Jameson might have had assistance, I can't turn my brain off. When Luke asked me if I wanted him to stay or if I wanted to go to his place, it took every ounce of self-control I had to not jump up and down, pack a bag, and run. I know if I do, then even though Jameson's dead, she wins. I can't allow that to happen.
I secured the gun dad gave me in the lockbox in my closet. I hope I never have to use that thing because even though I can shoot, I never want to harm a person or an animal. That's fairly contradictory for someone who just ate a meal that included different types of seafood, chicken, and pork. I'm such a hypocrite. Maybe I should explore becoming a vegan. Who am I kidding? I can't pass up chili cheese fries.
Day one of my swear jar went well. I only contributed five dollars for the one swear I uttered. Christian, Elliot, Kate, and the security team on the other hand added nearly a hundred and fifty dollars. At five bucks per swear, I should have them over more often as the local food bank could use the additional donation. Who knows, maybe by the end of the week I'll have two hundred dollars to donate. Well, at least something good will come out of not only being a potty mouth but also entertaining potty mouths.
Tylenol PM take me away, as I have a breakfast date with Christian Grey! Hey, that rhymed! I must be tired if I found that amusing. Five days until my trip to New York. Hopefully being away from Seattle will help me sleep before I slowly go insane. I wish Christian was coming to the Big Apple.