Chapter 3
"Mr. Hyde's assistant Anastasia Steele speaking. How can I help you?" I ask politely with my phone squeezed between my shoulder and ear as I miraculously manage not to drop the boxes I'm carrying. After leaving Christian at the deli, I quickly resorted to my workplace of the week. The look in his gray eyes still haunts me.
"Miss Steele, Rogers here." Jack's lawyer #5 greets me. "I'm calling to remind Mr. Hyde about his upcoming…"
"Meeting with Senator Weber. I know." The meeting is set for next Wednesday at the Senator's favorite restaurant, some fancy schmancy place on the Upper East Side. "What about it?"
The phone call ends after lawyer #5 made sure that I include his comments about a tax bill or two, knowing well that Jack probably has this written down somewhere, but I keep my comments to myself. I am far too busy to argue with his lawyers right now.
After I check on the crew, finding them busy with taking measurements for a high-tech weight station, that costed as much as what I assume Rumpelstiltskin would have given for Jack's first-born in exchange, I find my wanna-be office at the dining area where a dark wooden table with ten chairs is placed underneath a big chandelier. Carefully placing my maybe not physically, but metaphorically heavy luggage on the table, I am disrupted by yet another phone call. It's Kate calling me from work.
"Don't forget about tonight." She reminds me after we exchange pleasant news – her wedding dress is finally ready to rock'n'roll. We had planned to go have some drinks at this bar called Fifty's. I assure her that I will be there and not leave her hanging. After last week's meet'n'greet with what she calls the gang, although I'm not really sure if I am or ever was a part of said gang, we made sure to plan time for us two to hangout without said gang and its other members. A girl's night out so to speak.
We hang up and I'm left alone with my thoughts. I quickly occupy myself with unpacking what I brought along – not my emotional baggage, thank God. It's Jack's own emotional baggage. One of the boxes I carried hides a picture frame with a picture from his childhood. Jack's orders were for me to make sure I find a worthy spot for it. He has them placed in all his private places as a reminder of where he came from. Just when I brush over the cold frame on an old picture of a way younger Jack, the sad look on his innocent face tugging at my heart, my phone rings again. Speak of the devil… Jack barely greets me before he rattles off instructions, needing documents and details for his upcoming meeting. It's just 6am where he is calling from. How he has the will to wake up early to work or workout, I will never know.
"I will send you the details in a minute. Anything else?" I ask him, booting my laptop in the meantime.
"How is the new place?" He asks, faint noises of news coming from his side of the call. I'm sure that he barely listens to me while I tell him about the ongoing constructions. He doesn't add anything to what I tell him, which is a good sign. If he were unhappy, he would have made sure to tell me. Most of the time, I only serve as the voice to reason with his urges to doubt any progress while dealing with my duties. He trusts me enough to know that I won't intentionally fuck up.
"Any plans before you get back home?" Home… I don't really know where that is sometimes.
"I'm meeting a friend tonight and maybe have dinner with my parents before I get back to New York. Nothing to fancy." I tell him, biting my lip, caught in conflicting thoughts. "I might attend a local charity event, though. I don't know."
That piques his interest. He has a soft spot for charity. "Oh. Which organization?"
"Coping Together. They care for families in need. My parents and their friends have been donating to them for years. For as long as I can remember."
"If you do attend it, make sure to write out a check in the company's name. Carte blanche."
I know better than to address his generosity. Our phone call leaves me with a frown. My chest aches with something that could be called pre-guilt. Guilt you feel before you even do something wrong. Crap. I shouldn't have said anything. Now that he has given me carte blanche, being the over-the-top bastard that he is, I would feel new levels of horrible if I didn't attend that damned charity dinner Dr. Grey insists on throwing. If I don't go, I will be sabotaging the purpose of this very event – the donations needed desperately to help the less fortunate. And Jack's donation will easily be the most generous one of the night. All this guilt because I have lost backbone because of Christian Grey once again. The past has a way to mess with the present. Break-ups, bonds, and bruises… fuck all of them. I miss the loss of memory I inflicted on myself for the past years, living in bliss as I let the past be the past. You are a fool if you think that the past has passed, I think with an angry frown, opting to busy myself to numb my mind. Jack has taught me how to do that.
Later that day, I'm sitting across from my friend. Kate is excited and tipsy after a few drinks. Something inside me warms up as I watch her bloom with the excitement she feels talking about her upcoming wedding with the man she loves. She really looks good in her wedding dress but of course I didn't expect anything else. I bet the picture doesn't do her justice and that the real deal is even better. Soon, I will be the judge of it myself – well, me and a few hundred of their nearest and dearest together.
"You have to come, Ana." Kate gives me her best puppy eyes as she brings up the dinner at the Greys. "Our parents will be drunk and messy. That will be fun."
"I have to check my schedule." I lie, earning an eye roll from her. She sees right through me. Crap.
"Please. The crew won't be working until midnight and Jack won't have you sit around at night."
Yeah, but I would rather sit around and sulk all night then force myself into a room with Christian and the elephant we both see yet we both ignore. At least, ignore enough not to voice the obvious. I wonder if he thinks of the past as much as I do. Does he feel shame? Guilt? Anything? Or maybe he has forgotten or chooses not to care. What if he doesn't care? I tense, suddenly feeling very cold.
I know better than to tell Kate about the check Jack has told me to write out. I learn from my mistakes. Sometimes.
"I just don't want to hang out with the gang." I tell her, which is partly true, but not big enough of a reason for me to avoid an event. She doesn't need to know that it's one specific member that has me dreading social interaction. I can't stop to wonder if Kate or the others noticed the weird vibes between me and Christian. Now or in the past. It somehow always has been a bit weird, but I remember times I sought out that weirdness.
"It's about Olivia, isn't it? I know she acted like a bitch. She is a bit tense when Christian is there."
You don't see me being a bitch to anyone, do you?
My face must have revealed my thoughts partly. Kate is quick to add that it doesn't mean that it is an excuse for Oli's behavior, but as an explanation. The curiosity gets the best of me. My drink wets my dry mouth before I innocently ask what's bugging me.
"Are they an item of some sort?" I ask awkwardly. Is that why Christian is so cool? Cool as beans, that's what he is. Crap.
"Not a real deal since high school. They had a quick recap last year or so. She wanted a relationship. He didn't. And then there was a heartbreak." Drunk Kate isn't as forthcoming as the sober one. Come on, woman, you are a reporter. You can't just leave out important details.
"Recap as in sex?" I breathe out, the room suddenly hotter than before. When I blush, Kate giggles, thinking that I am still the shy wallflower afraid of such dirty words.
"Recap as in fucking." She says to taunt me, laughing at her own joke. My lips part as I am left speechless. It's of course only because of her dirty mouth.
"Christian doesn't do long-term relationships since his last one with Oli. Being the tortured artist that he is, he enjoys the idea of love more than the actual thing, I think."
Tortured artist. How apt. My stomach clenches as I am once again reminded of purple, dark bruises on skin. The cold is back just when I remember something else.
His last relationship was with me.