Authors Note: Someone asked me to create a Pinterest board. So I threw a few images up that inspired me to go with this story. Please keep in mind that I know absolutely nothing about pinterest, so if it's amateurish, which my effort most likely is, I apologize. I'll add more as I go along. pinterest / xwingana / real-girl

Chapter 31 – Sleepless in Seattle

I wish I could be like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz and just click my heels together and then I'm magically transported home to Seattle. While I don't own ruby red slippers, I do have a pair of red-soled Louboutin shoes in my wardrobe courtesy of Mac. I wish those would work. I've moved my meetings with Harper Collins and Random House to this afternoon, followed by my long meeting with Roach and his editor to be over a private dinner at the hotel where the publishing conference is being held tomorrow and Sunday. After that Reynolds has arranged for an overnight flight back to Seattle, so I'll touch down Saturday morning rather than Monday morning. I can't wait. All I want to do is hug Dad, Bubba, Luke, and even Gail Jones, who I barely know. Heck, I might even hug Harrison and Jackson if I see them. Once I hug them all I'll know they are okay.

I know Dad, Bubba, and Luke wanted to fly to New York, but since I shortened my trip and rescheduled meetings, there really isn't a point to their making the trek, only to have to head right back a few hours later. Reynolds has half a dozen guys around me at all times and he never leaves my side. He's trying my patience though because I've known him for six months and he won't tell him his first name because he hates it, so every time I see him now I try a new awful name on for size. Today's theme, the letter G. – Godric, Grady, Garth, Gareth, Gary … Hell, I've tried them all on him, but nothing. Thankfully he's amused by it. At this point I think it's anything to relieve the stress we are feeling over entire messed up the situation.

My meetings with both Harper Collins and Random House went well, but moving to the east coast for me was a deal breaker. Well, that and losing a big chunk of my financial control, so I declined both offers but left the door open to something down the road.

The meeting with SIP was more interesting. Mr. Roach and Jack Hyde, who is a senior editor, and I met for dinner. Reynolds sat at a nearby table in the restaurant, ate dinner, and listened in. Frankly, I didn't care too much for either man. Roach was a bit condescending toward me. My guess it's because of my age and gender, so when I corrected his financial analysis he was shocked. I had taken the time to read the files Ros Bailey from GEH compiled. I knew the numbers inside and out, so when the numbers were not what I anticipated, I called him out on it. He claimed it was an error by their finance department. I was polite, outwardly accepting that explanation, but I knew better. Hell, a fifth grader would have known better. Condescending jerk.

Jack Hyde was fascinating in a gross, puke a little in your mouth type of way - arrogant, overconfident, and tended to speak in double entendres. He also sat too close, violated my personal space, and flirted with me in a manner bordering on lascivious. Like I hadn't been having enough trouble eating and keeping food in me with all the crap going on with number three, but add this creep into the mix and I just wanted to scrub a layer of skin off with Brillo. The guy thinks he's god's gift to publishing, editing and women in general. It takes every ounce of self-control I have to keep a pleasant face on with him in the room.

"So what are the creative issues you see at SIP?" Roach asks me as we enjoy coffee and desert after dinner.

"Generally when you look at a publishing company, the editorial staff are representative of their target audience – for example, romance novels are edited generally by females as they are the target reader. There are exceptions naturally, but from what I see at SIP, all but one of your Senior Editors are men. The lone female edits not books targeting women, but text books," I explain. "To me, this is one of the main reasons SIP is struggling to publish works aimed at the female audience, who are the main readers of all fiction except science fiction. You have no one actively on your editorial staff who is truly in touch with today's woman."

"I take offense at that," Hyde mutters bitterly. "I think we have a phenomenal offering in terms of women's fiction."

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. "You provided me four manuscripts heading for publication at SIP in the next sixty days. The first is a book about a woman who is raped and degraded, then falls in love with her rapist and loses her sense of self. That storyline went out with General Hospital in the 1980's. What woman wants that?" I avoid glancing at Hyde, but rather focus my attention on Roach, who has the decency to at least try to appear contrite, but to me it feels insincere. Maybe I'm jaded. Who knows?

"The second book has a weak female protagonist and a control freak leading man who doesn't have any redeemable qualities, a dark past, and talks down to her. It's the making for a relationship ripe with domestic violence. Again, how will that appeal to the average woman?"

No response, though I can see Roach is getting really uncomfortable and Hyde is getting incredibly tense, bordering on angry. Still, I continue after a quick glance in Reynolds direction. "Book number three is a romance novel ripe with consistency errors. I mean even the name of the city changes and the spelling of the female protagonists last name changes from chapter to chapter. It's shoddy editing, coupled with a weak story, no drama, and the ending is basically a carbon copy of the movie Thelma and Louise right down to the make and model of the car."

Yup, Hyde is furious now, but I can't stop myself. SIP is a mess. "Novel number four is geared toward men. It's a military spy story that is well written but clearly the author knew nothing about weaponry and didn't do their research. Some of the facts were just plain wrong and a quick web search would have shown that immediately. For example, half the weapons mentioned as carbon fiber, were never manufactured in carbon fiber. My father is ex-military, so even I knew that without a web search and I'm a girl. Your target audience is men and anyone in the military, yet the facts are all wrong. The protagonist travels around Iraq with Bagdad as his home base, but when you send them to different cities they are heading in the wrong direction. Did the author or editor even look at a map? These are basic examples of why SIP is struggling at this point."

I feel like a bitch stating this with Hyde in front of me, but he's such a pompous, arrogant, deviant, I can't help but point out his shoddy work. I'm glad Reynolds is nearby because I can't help but feel Hyde wants to choke the life out of me right now. Someone needs to tell this ponytail and hoop earring-wearing man that looking like a pirate went out at Halloween when the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie came out in theatres.

"And how would you fix SIP?" Roach asks unhappily. I know I was perhaps too direct but he needed to hear it. I know Christian told his father and Roach that financially the company was doomed unless they turned it around quickly with successful works, but having read their four best prospects going to print, they are just screwed and not in the good way.

"Staffing changes, consistency editors, and more controls in place before the books go to print. It's the first steps to turning around SIP. It won't happen overnight. It will take a year or two before you start reaping the benefits of the changes."

"What would it take for the E-House and SIP merger to happen?" Roach asks.

"SIP needs to wipe out its debt and give me creative control of the company so I can shake things up and make changes unimpeded. I also want seventy-five percent ownership in SIP and sole ownership to continue on E-House."

"SIP's owners don't have the capital to wipe out the existing debt," Roach explains.

I get to my feet and reach out my hand. "Then we are done here. I won't waste more of your time."

Roach shakes my hand, followed by Hyde, who squeezes it tightly to the point where it's painful. "Are you certain you aren't open to negotiation on the terms Miss Steele?" Roach asks.

"Absolutely not. I've declined offers from Harper Collins, Random House, and GEH that would have made me quite wealthy but I wouldn't control my company," I explain. "E-House is my baby. I won't risk its stability by ceding creative or financial control over it. This was my final meeting. At this point, when I return to Seattle after the conference, I'll begin the hiring process for editors, interns and other staff and being the expansion of E-House on my own. I'll feel my way through finding a print house for hard copies of books. This was the main reason I was interested in SIP in the first place – your hard copy print and distribution capabilities."

"We'll be in touch Miss Steele," Jack states. "I'm sure we can come to some arrangement."

"Doubtful. I have little to no flexibility on my terms. While I want to help SIP, as it's the oldest independent publishing house in Seattle, it can't be done without substantial upheaval at the highest levels and they will be painful to SIP as an organization. However, if at any point in the near future you change your mind Mr. Roach and agree to my terms, feel free to contact me. Enjoy the conference."

With that I leave the restaurant and Reynolds joins me in the hotel lobby. I see six other members of the security team scattered around the lobby and give them each a nod. Honestly, I feel safe having them around. Who wouldn't? I mean, I'm surrounded by six burly, armed, ex-military guys that are well over six feet tall and Reynolds is a constant by my side.

"So," Reynolds begins as we head to the hotel exit to the cars, "Is it me or were they both major assholes in different ways?"

I laugh. "Like Catdog, but with two backsides and no heads; so yeah, major ones, especially that Hyde fellow. He made my skin crawl worse than the bug scene from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom."

Reynolds admits to not being a fan of overly large insects either as we get into the back of the waiting SUV. Frankly, I'm glad he's sitting in the back with me and two guys are up front. I'm getting anxious at the thought of heading back to Seattle. It's bad enough I don't know if number three is physically in the city or just friends of his, but either way the thought of potentially running into him is terrifying. It's been roughly thirty-six hours since I found out and my nerves are making it difficult to eat or sleep. Thank God for concealer because I'm starting to look like a raccoon from the rapidly darkening circles under my eyes.. If Reynolds tries to push food on my one more time, I might scream.

We head straight to Teterboro Airport for a private chartered flight home. It will just be Reynolds and I on the flight as passengers, for which I'm grateful. There have been so many new CPO's around I am having a difficult time keeping up with names. That, plus I am more comfortable with the fantastic four as I call them - Taylor, Luke, Reynolds and Ryan.

As the plane takes off, I can see Ana grasping the armrest of her chair as she did on the flight to New York. She doesn't particularly enjoy take offs and landings. Can't say I blame her either. They are the worst part of the flight other than hitting a turbulence pocket. There have been noticeable changes to her behavior though in the last thirty-six hours. She's taking her anti-anxiety medications every eight hours, she's peeling off her nail polish regularly, only to replace it and repeat the process. She's not eating or sleeping at all since she found out, and she tends to tap her foot all the time in a seemingly nervous twitch. The longer we are on the plane the worse the twitch becomes and the faster she's peeling off her nail polish. Heck, she even took an extra anti-anxiety pill.

Thankfully this plane has Wi-Fi access and I'm able to send Taylor an email about her deteriorating state. About forty-five minutes before we are scheduled to land, her hands are literally shaking, her breathing is rapid and shallow, and I know we are heading toward a major panic attack on her part. I've seen two while we were in New York, one with Grey and one not long after I told her about number three being paroled. They are alarming to see them. The last thing I want is for her to have one at twenty-five thousand feet. I know I shouldn't given the anti-anxiety meds, but I go to the flight attendant and secure a small glass of white wine and bring it to Ana. If I can get her to take a few sips, I'm hoping she'll relax like she did at the restaurant.

Three sips later and she's even worse. I have to pull out the big guns. "Okay Ana. If you calm down I'll give you clues to my first name."

"It's Bradley – Brad Reynolds," she stammers barely able to get the words out. "I emailed Luke at the beginning of the flight."

Fuck I hate my first name. "Cheater! You've got to try to calm down Ana. This isn't healthy for you."

She nods. Do I rub her back to try to get her to calm down and deal with Grey's wrath later that I touched what he believes is his? Or do I just let her work through it? Fuck if I know. I like my face how it is thank you very much. Luckily Ana downs the rest of the wine, followed by another glass, which leaves her suddenly really mellow and to say the least, stoned off her petite, round ass, but quiet. Hell, I'll take quiet over a hysterical female any day of the week. It's a complete one-eighty from the month I had to watch over Mia Grey. I prayed for deafness every morning during that time. Wrong, I know, but heck, I did.

Thankfully the rest of the flight is uneventful and it's two a.m. when touch down at SeaTac. I have to hold Ana's arm as we make our way down the steps of the jet. She's wobbly, which wasn't entirely unexpected given her lack of food and sleep, followed by anti-anxiety medication and wine. Not far from the plane are three Audi SUV's – Ryan is standing near one with one of the new CPOs, Taylor the middle one with Grey and Ray Steele standing near him. The final SUV is driven by Jackson, who is accompanied by another of the new CPOs – a regular fucking caravan. Turns out Harrison quit after being drugged, stating he's getting too old for this shit, which is ironic as he's in his mid-twenties. He claimed it was safer in Iraq. The security caravan continues. All that's missing are flags on the cars and the secret service.

Ray comes up to Ana with a smile on his face. "Oh Annie. How out of it are you baby girl? Rough flight?"

She hugs her father tightly but doesn't reply. I explain to Ray about the flight, the medication and the wine. He and Grey aren't happy about it but they understand.

"Hey baby," Grey says to her as she moves into his arms for a hug. It's hard not to laugh when she pulls on his tie, bringing him down to her level, leans her forehead against his, and loudly states that she'd had extremely naughty thoughts about him before giggling and kissing him passionately. Her words, not mine. Grey is shocked and if I'm not mistaken - blushing. Ray is appalled and uncomfortable. I mean what father wouldn't be hearing their daughter make that type of an unfiltered comment. Taylor and Ryan are struggling to stifle grins. Yes, the security team loves it when Anastasia Steele is high on medication or in the case right now, stoned off her ass. A filterless Ana can be a fun Ana, and with all the bullshit surrounding her and Grey, well, sometimes we need some amusement.

Escala is still considered a crime scene, so we head back to West Union. While Luke's place has five bedrooms, we need more space. Mac was gracious enough to allow us to settle in there during this mess. She's the perfect woman, attractive, funny, athletic, successful, and that accent just kills me every time. I'm not stupid though, she's got it bad for Luke and vice versa. Dumb asses haven't acted on it though. Who knows? Maybe I have a shot with her; probably not as she's clearly enamored with Sawyer who is too stupid to act on it. Moron! I wonder if she has a sister?

The ride to West Union is uneventful. Ana sits between Ray and I, but I have to admit that little pink dress is just killing me. Between that, the black tights, and the high heeled biker booties she's killing me. I'm just glad she's just sitting there dazed while leaning against Ray, though I could spank her butt for resting her legs across my lap. The last thing I want to do is get aroused by her with her father less than two feet away. I just hope she doesn't shift positions. Her lack of sleep and food is already showing on her too small frame. I can't help but make a few mental notes: (1) to have my mother come see her; (2) for Gail to make comfort foods so try to get some weight on her.

I dread the morning. First the detective wants to meet with Ana, so we agreed to an eleven a.m. meeting at Grey House, so as not to disclose where we are staying while Escala remains a crime scene. Hopefully by Monday or Tuesday we'll be allowed to get the repair work started from the gunshots that hit some of the walls and kitchen cabinets. Thankfully, MacKenzie Donaghue is allowing us to use her apartment, which is large enough to accommodate more than a dozen people, including security. It's more secure here than it would have been renting the top two floors of a luxury hotel and not too far from Grey House.

Our second meeting tomorrow will take place at West Union. Welch and John Flynn are coming to meet with Ana, Ray, and the security team. We are hopeful that with Ana and Ray's help we can build some type of psychological profile for Stephen Morton. Ray only met him twice, but despised him. Ana, who has been closed off about him, needs to step up to the plate so we can attempt to figure out what he might attempt. Taylor believes in knowing your enemy and generally I agree, but from an emotional standpoint, what will it cost Anastasia? We're going to rely on her as she lived with the man for over six months while he was married to her mother. Even my father is going to be here for that because he's worked so many criminal cases that he's quite good at predicting people's actions, hence Elliot and I regularly getting caught when we were up to no good growing up.

The Savannah security team is having a difficult time getting Ana's mother to cooperate. She keeps telling them that she's in no danger from Morton. Taylor has had numerous conversations with Bob Adams, her current husband, and he agrees to the security we've put in place and finally put his foot down with Carla. She didn't appreciate it, but tough shit. I won't have Morton use her to get to Ana.

Hell, even Mia, who hates having a CPO isn't arguing with having three around at any given time. You know the situation is dangerous when even Mia understands and respects the need. We have security at Grey Construction and Grey House around the clock. Elliot and Kate are also each being shuttled around by their own CPO teams along with my parents, grandparents, and Ros's family.

When Taylor, Welch, Sawyer, Ryan, and I sat down the morning I returned from New York, we all agreed with Sawyer's concerns over the situation:

How did Leila Williams get in contact with associates of Stephen Morton?

How did Stephen Morton make parole? This made no sense whatsoever. Was there a pay off in the prison system?

Who was pulling the strings on this situation? Was it Morton, Elena, or someone else? It sure as heck wasn't Leila. I mean, she's manipulative yes, but she couldn't pull this off on her own in a million years.

Is there a connection to the original attack on Ana when she was driven off the road?

The one thing we are certain of is the man, Edmund Geary, who was taken away from Escala in handcuffs, was one of the men Mia had seen outside the Coping Together offices, and he happen to be part of the attack on Ana, Luke, and Harrison behind Flynn's office. Geary had served time and a cell with Morton in Texas until he was released two months ago, also coincidentally, on parole.

This entire situation is just one big fucking mess. My past and Ana's have formed a tag team to take us down, deciding that Ana is the weakest link to it all. Just the thought of them getting their hands on Ana sickens me, but what sickens me even more is in under twelve hours, we're going to push Ana to help us understand the twisted mind behind the demented man that is Stephen Morton.