A/N:

Carol: Your Elena as choir girl comment made me laugh :)

Chapter Seven: The Last Worthless Evening.

By Don Henley.

The news of their breakup hit the tabloids faster than he'd anticipated. Much to his chagrin, Leila had taken on the role of a scorned lover, granting damaging interviews to the media.

His public relations team advised him to lay low for a while as they attempted to clean up the mess. Christian wasn't worried; his investors only saw dollar signs and couldn't care less about lover's quarrels.

He did, however, thank his lucky stars. As Grace mentioned in a text, calling off the wedding had been the best decision he'd ever made. Note to self: sometimes mothers DO know best.

They say breakups ( just like excess alcohol) bring out the worst in people. Frankly, the conflict with Leila had been the ultimate test in his struggle with self-control; every inch of him wanted to strike back when she crossed the line, and her punitive behavior in the bedroom spilled over every aspect of their relationship.

He first knew he was in trouble when he realized his inattentiveness- daydreaming about Anastasia- had earned him an ear-ringing slap on the back of the head.

And yes, he could have played it differently. His behavior at the bar had been the match that lit up the fire. In hindsight, the thrill of watching the flames wasn't worth the heartache.

However, nothing rivaled the excitement of seeing Anastasia again.

Ever since Taylor informed him Anastasia was having dinner at the Pink Door restaurant, he'd been counting the hours. His plan was to go incognito, which required much planning. The easy part was reserving a table in the quietest part of the restaurant.

Back at the office, he had a closet brimming with costumes. Columbo was one of his favorites as it allowed him the fullest experience of hiding in plain sight. Most people under forty had never seen the show, which was a great advantage.

He'd found the long trench coat quite versatile; it was humble enough to allow him to play the part of nearly homeless. Wear scruffy attire, and everyone from bartender to janitor will underestimate you.

It reminded him of how he'd played Harry Potter in fourth grade. Once the spotlight fell on his face and the warmth from the audience blanketed the stage, he'd magically slipped into character.

He smiled inwardly as he meticulously covered his messy curls with temporary dark brown, adding a few gray strands to the sides of his temples.

Tonight was the game-changer. The way to win her heart was to grab the bull by the horns. He'd been around this block a time or two, long enough to know. Hopefully, this would be the last worthless evening he'd have to spend.

...

Later that evening.

Anastasia was already there when he arrived without his security detail.

He had to wait a while to get seated, even though he had a reservation. The servers had taken one look at him and decided to let other patrons ahead of him; again, he'd been doing this long enough to know how appearances can make or break a person.

Anastasia was having dinner accompanied by Jose Rodriguez and his parents.

Half an hour later, he sat at a tiny bistro table, head buried in his laptop. His team had prepared detailed background files on the Rodriguez clan. Jose's father had emigrated as a young boy from Mexico fifty-something years ago. His family had been undocumented farm workers. Despite his humble beginnings, Jose Senior went on to get a college education at UCLA and enrolled in the Navy as an enlisted officer. He was currently a community activist passionate about labor laws favoring immigrants.

There was nothing remarkable about Gladys Rodriguez. She was a traditional mother and housewife from a long generation of Mexican-Americans. The only thing about her that stood out was her breast cancer diagnosis and the astronomical medical bills from numerous consultations with oncologists and a long line of homeopathic doctors.

Gladys' face bore a permanently pained expression that brightened up slightly whenever her son or Anastasia spoke.

At one point, the group raised their glasses for a toast.

Christian's gaze settled on Ana.

Even from a distance, Christian could clearly see how unhappy she was.

The Anastasia he knew was pleasantly assertive. Yet here she was, acting quiet and excessively polite around Jose's parents, as though she was fishing for their approval.

Surely, HIS Ana didn't care that much for their loser son!

Sure, he could see how women could find the fellow attractive, but judging by how he behaved with Ana, he didn't know how to woo a woman.

It was like God and the Devil were fighting a war in his head. Sometimes, God would prevail, encouraging him to believe he had a chance. The devil, however, loved throwing punches when he least expected it.

What the hell are you thinking?

You're the loser, Grey.

She's with him, not with you.

Gladys Rodriguez turned to admire Ana's diamond ring, her face filled with oohs and ahhs. Unfortunately, the older woman's joy turned to gloom faster than the speed of light as she launched into what Christian assumed to be the glorious details of her chemo treatments.

Poor Ana. The look on Ana's face said it all; like a deer caught in the headlights, she offered a sympathetic ear. As the conversation became increasingly punctuated by a series of heartwrenching nods, Ana's body sank deeper into her chair, screaming for the earth to swallow her in one greedy gulp.

Ana spotted him at last, his heart skipping a beat. In his head, he prepared a list of the things he wished he could say.

You're lookin' like if you had your wish

You'd be somewhere else

And it just breaks my heart

To see you here this way.

Christian sent a message to Taylor to instruct security to pave the way for Christian to visit Ana in the ladies' room. While he waited for the staff to discreetly escort all other females ( except for Anastasia) out of the restroom, he thought about what he was about to do.

He knew she'd be afraid to rush into anything. But there were just so many summers and just so many springs. Time was not his friend, especially, if she was already engaged.

Once he'd been given clearance, he ditched the Columbo oversized wool coat and headed down the hallway. Clad in a short-sleeved shirt and jeans, he strolled into the foyer adjacent to the main bathroom and noted a lone purse on one of the armchairs.

Ana was lost in thought, standing facing a supersized mirror, applying a dark shade of lipstick.

He cleared his throat before fully entering, mindful not to scare the living daylights out of her.

Her face went slack with surprise even though someone should have informed her of his intention to see her.

"What are you doing here?"

"I had to see you."

"Christian...you're in the women's restroom!?"

He waited for her to scream at him to get out.

She didn't.

"Last time..." she breathed as if grasping at straws. "You told me to stay clear of you..."

"It's over between me and Leila," he said, bridging the distance between them in one long stride.

There was no surprise in her eyes; she knew.

He bridged the distance between them, holding her gaze until she looked away, cheeks flushed.

She didn't protest at how he arrogantly invaded her personal space and stood behind her, mere inches from her skin. Instead, she dropped her gaze to the sink as if in urgent need to wash her hands.

Christian cursed under his breath... she was wearing HIS ring.

"Take it off," He said as if it was the most reasonable request in the world.

"Wh-what?"

"The ring, take it off, please."

"What gives you the right to ask me that?!"

"We both know it doesn't belong on your finger."

It was a long shot; for all he knew, she might send him packing for his audacity. But he figured it didn't hurt to assume he had every right to demand whatever he wanted from her. Something told him she was as obsessed with him as he was with her, if not more.

Amazingly, he felt her body sway in sweet surrender. Her gaze dropped to her right hand as if considering his request.

"Christian," she gasped the second his fingertips grazed her bare right shoulder and traced her skin all the way down to her ring hand.

Wow. He'd barely even started, and this girl was already more than ready for his next move.

His other hand moved to slide the ring off her hand. She resisted a little, but then her body went limp when she felt his breath graze the back of her neck.

You can't go back to him, baby

You CAN be with someone new.

Please realize

That it's sink or swim.

"Did you sleep with him?" He whispered in her ear, planting a trail of feather-light kisses along the nape of her neck, making her shiver.

"NO!" She answered, trying to sound indignant but failing miserably.

"Good."

He twisted the ring around, but it was stuck. Maybe a little soap might do the trick.

"Oh, Christian," she gasped, holding onto the countertop for support.

"If you say my name like that again, I won't be able to help myself...and then we'd have to marry, and you'll be stuck with me for the rest of your life..."

His eyes softened, filled with unspoken promises.

This is the last worthless evening

That you'll have to spend

Just gimme a chance

to show you what you mean to me.

Ana giggled nervously as her body adopted a life of its own, pressing herself fully against the length of his body as though she was drowning and he was her life preserver.

Oh, yes, he groaned.

This is the last worthless evening

That you'll have to spend 'cause

It's either him or me.

"The ring," he reminded, gently biting her earlobe.