Sorry for the wait (seems I'm saying that a lot lately…). Thank you for all your wonderful reviews – I'll make sure to respond to them personally but I figured you'd rather have an update by now.

I hope I didn't go way too far out of character with Christian in this chapter, but once I started writing, I just couldn't help myself…


For all eyes to see - Chapter 12


Once I'm settled in at my office, I find myself staring blankly at the screen of my computer as I twirl my phone in my hand. There are about a dozen emails that demand my attention, half of them flagged as 'urgent', but I can't seem to bring myself to open any single one of them.

Just how badly did I screw up last night? The kiss at the end of the night tells me all hope isn't lost, but before that… She was pretty pissed. She even slapped me. She fucking slapped me.

Strangely enough, the more I think about it – the more turned on I get. Not in a 'I want her to dominate me and slap me on a daily basis' kind of way, but the way she stood up for herself. That's actually kind of hot.

Of course, it would have been even hotter if she'd agreed to let Mia drive the fucker home and given me the chance to give her a second tour of my playroom. With a little show and tell included.

But I screwed up and now what? Do I need to take her on another date and hope that one will end up in my playroom or should I simply call her and ask her if that was enough? I sigh. This is not my territory.

Maybe I should start by trying to repair whatever damage I did when I opened my big mouth and insinuated that she were planning to spend the night with the fucker. But how do I do that?

On a whim, I open the web browser on my computer and type the word 'dating' into the google search field. I need to repair the damage I've done. Surely there must be some tips and pointers out there. I can't be the only one in the world completely lost in the world of dating.

Within seconds link after link leading to pages that offer different kinds of dating services appear and I frown. That's not what I'm looking for. I already know who it is I want to date. I just need to know how.

Not that I really, truly want to date her – I quickly correct myself. I want her in my playroom. I feel my cock stirring at the mere thought. The dating part is nothing but a means to that end. I don't date.

I try typing 'dating' and then 'damage repair' into the search field instead, but it gives me absolutely nothing useful. I sigh, frustrated. I'm not the computer wiz – that's what I have Welch for. But I can't very well ask for his assistance on this matter.

Erasing the words 'damage repair' I try with 'screw up' instead. I skim through the links.

10 things not to screw up on a first date

How guys screw up first dates

10 ways to screw up a first date

Probably should have done this search before the date. Maybe then I could have fucked her out of my mind by now instead of sitting here worrying about damage repair.

Giving google one last attempt to prove itself, I try the phrase 'after the first date'. The top result is called 'How to act after the first date' and I click it. God, I'm pathetic.

The page contains a guideline and a number of steps, and after taking a look around my office and assuring that the door is still closed and no one's watching, I decide to indulge in my utter and complete patheticness and dive right in.

Step 1. Determine how you felt about your date.

I want to fuck her so bad I can't think about anything else. Next.

Step 2. Assess the date from a subjective standpoint.

I lost my mind and invited my sister to entertain her friend. I screwed up. She got pissed. I got slapped. We kissed. Done.

Step 3. Consider how the date ended.

I've been considering that all night. And this morning in the shower. Or, to be honest, the considering I did in the shower was more of an alternate ending…

4. Follow up in accordance to what you know about the date.

Yes. This is what I need. How to follow up; what to do next. I skim through the alternatives until I find the line:

If the date went well and you want to see the person again, then you may want to contact the other person.

I may want that, yes.

There is no official dating how-to about when to call back, although 2 to 3 days is a commonly cited timeframe.

Two to three days? Fuck that! I'm not waiting two to three days. I don't even want to wait two to three hours.

I close the browser and lean back in my chair. Is this how normal people go about trying to get laid? Dates, dinners, estimated timeframes for when to call. Thank fuck for contracts and rules to avoid this shit.

Maybe that's the way to proceed? Maybe I should rewrite the contract, change the parts she found offending and have it delivered to her. That's it. I'll stop by home after my lunch meeting and get to revising my contract. It's just for one night – or maybe I should make it a weekend instead, a night only has so many hours – I don't need to establish that she's mine or buy her things.

But I want that though… Especially the 'establish that she's mine' part. I don't want another fucker showing up out of nowhere thinking he can have her.

When my phone rings and interrupts my train of thoughts, I answer without even looking at the caller-id hoping to hear Anastasia's soft voice on the other end.

"Hey bro! What's up?"

Elliot. Not exactly the sweet voice I was hoping for. "It's Tuesday morning, what the fuck do you think is up?"

My all but nice tone does nothing to discourage my brother. He's probably well used to it by now. "Shredding another company to salable pieces?"

I sigh. "That's not all I do you know, but something along the lines of that, yes."

"Mhm." There's a female voice saying something incoherent to my ears in the background and I roll my eyes when I recognize it as my sister's. "So…" Elliot starts after having shushed the voice quiet. "…I heard you went on a date last night."

Of course Mia told him. She probably told everyone by now. "Who is she?" He continues when I don't say anything. "Or more important: how did it go?"

"I don't think that's any of your business." My voice is harsh, but I really don't feel like discussing my dating experiences with my brother. He's probably been on more dates than I've been on business meetings.

He'd probably know how repair the damage. I push the thought away the second it enters my mind. I'm not sinking to that level. I'm not that desperate. Yet.

"Oh, come on bro." I hear a door closing and judging by the silence around him I assume he's gone into another room. "You invite Mia along to the date, but you won't give me any details?"

I can't deal with this right now. "If I'd known you'd be willing to flirt with Mr. Kavanagh and keep him occupied, I would have called you instead. My apologies."

He snorts. "Who is that guy by the way? She's been talking about him non-stop since I got here."

"He's a friend of Anastasia's."

"So that's her name." I can practically hear the grin on his face. Like he didn't already know that.

"Yes." I keep my answer short. "He's a friend of Anastasia's."

Elliot chuckles. "Yeah, I can take a hint." Oh really now, can you? That would be a first. "I have all respect in the world for the 'don't kiss and tell' attitude." I bet you do.

"You know…" He continues in his world almighty voice. "…if you ever need any tips or pointers about dating – I'm your man. I don't mean to brag…" I roll my eyes. Yes you do. "…but I've been pretty prosperous in that department over the years."

Unwillingly, I have to admit he's right. Whatever the secret of dating is; he's nailed it down to perfection. I can't even count the numbers of pining girls I've seen him with over the years; each and everyone equally smitten with him.

Maybe…

Just how far am I prepared to go to increase my chances of finally getting to fuck the living shit out of Miss Anastasia Rose Steele? I know the answer to that. I wouldn't stop at nothing. And thanks to my thoughtlessness, my family is already involved in all this.

I take a deep breath. "Hey, Elliot." Fuck I'm pathetic. Pathetic, horny and ready to be committed.

"Yeah?"

"Hypothetically, if you go on a date and you screw up – what do you do to fix it?" I'm actually asking my brother for dating advice. Someone please shoot me now.

There's another chuckle on the other end of the line and I wince. "Hypothetically?" He sounds skeptical, but at this point I don't give a fuck.

"Yes." I snap back. "Hypothetically."

He's still chuckling, but at least he has enough self preservation not to pry any further into the matter. "Depends on how badly you screwed up, but flowers usually do the deed." He pauses for a second before he adds: "And groveling. Lots and lots of groveling."

I sigh. I suspected that…


I bite the tip of the pen the sales assistant handed me and look down at the card in front of me. Grovel. How the fuck do you grovel? I've never done that before. I've never needed to.

Taking a quick look at my watch, I deduce that I still have half an hour before I need to get going to make it to my lunch meeting. That also means I've been standing here for ten fucking minutes staring at the fucking card in front of me not knowing what to write on it.

I let out a frustrated grunt as I set pen to paper and start writing the first thing that comes to mind. The word 'grovel' echoing in my mind as a steady reminder.

I'm sorry about last night. I was out of line and I apologize.

Is that enough groveling? I sure hope so, because that's all she's getting. A thought flitters through my mind and I add:

But I sure hope the fucker stayed on the couch.

Content with myself, I go to hand the card to the sales assistant so she can add it to the enormous flower arrangement I'm sending to Anastasia's apartment. On my way to the counter, I snatch a new card out of the stand.

I'm not sorry and I don't believe I was out of line asking about the fucker's over-night presence in her apartment. She was on a date with me and told me the fucker was sleeping in her apartment. What the fuck was I supposed to think?

I can grovel – but I won't fucking lie to get in her panties. I am sorry, but only that she got mad and that apparently she feels I screwed up. I discard the card I wrote and instead write

Dinner at my place at 7?

on the new one before I hand it to the sales assistant along with Anastasia's address. I pondered adding "Don't bring the fucker" but decided against it at the last minute.

As I exit the store, I stop on the sidewalk, shaking my head in a not-too-comfortable amazement. Not only am I asking my brother for advice on dating – I'm actually following through on his advice as well.

I'm sending fucking flowers to a girl I went on a date with.

I need to call Flynn.