It is better to be unfaithful than to be faithful without wanting to be -Brigitte Bardot.
.1.
Ana
Negative.
I exhale deeply, relief coursing through my vibrating veins as I tightly hold the pregnancy test in my trembling hands.
Had it been positive, I probably would have jumped out the window of my second story apartment.
My period is only two days late, and as a woman who has a regular twenty-eight-day cycle, I became terrified that my Depo shot had failed, even though I've never missed one. I even had my assistant, Polly, sync up my appointments with Dr. Greene on her calendar. I'm not leaving it to chance, and I've never missed a shot since I began getting jabbed at nineteen.
It isn't that I don't want to have children. It's that I don't want to have his children. I can't bring a child into this world with a man who lays his hands on women. Perhaps he's abused other women in his past, but that I'll never know. If he had, I wish one of them would have warned me when I met him.
Sitting on the toilet with my panties bunched around my ankles, I toss the offending test into the small trash can beside me and cradle my aching head with my right hand. Declan hurt both last night when I canceled our dinner plans because I was working late.
Working late on purpose, Steele
I shouldn't have been surprised when I pulled into the parking lot behind my apartment building to find Declan's truck parked squarely in my spot. Resigned to know what was going to happen once we were alone in my apartment, I bit the inside of my cheek and exhaled deeply. Still, I wasn't prepared for the punch he landed to the side of my head the minute he slammed the door shut.
Losing my balance, I'd knocked over a lamp and several large pieces of the lightbulb snuggled into one of my knees causing it to bleed copiously on the quilt patched rug Mom made me for Christmas. Making me bleed isn't Declan's MO. He's perfected injuring me in places that no one can see. I knew that this time I was going to need medical attention. I couldn't very well walk around with glass stuck in my knee with blood running into my high heels.
Declan, red-faced and enraged, stared at my leg, shoved me into a wall, and then began to shake me by my shoulders so hard that my teeth rattled, all the while yelling about me ruining dinner fucking plans.
Today, and for some reason that I don't want to know, my left shoulder hurts more than the right. I can't lift my left arm without wincing and I haven't figured out how I'm going to conceal that at work today.
Thankfully I'm right-handed.
After Declan shook me senseless, he made me wipe the blood off of my leg and drive myself to the hospital for stiches. After warning me to keep my mouth shut, he followed me to the emergency department at Swedish.
After a painful debridement and ten stitches later, I hobbled to the car, and there the asshole was. Declan had waited hours for me to leave and followed me home, but didn't come upstairs to my apartment which I found odd. I'd thought he'd want to see the damage he'd inflicted and once more tell me to keep my mouth shut about what happened.
Since the medical staff didn't palpate my head, they didn't feel the goose egg that had already popped up causing my head to throb. And they couldn't see the bruising that was surely forming on my shoulders. The bruises that I had no doubt looked like Declan's finger marks.
I told them I'm a clumsy woman who was wearing high heels and tripped, causing me to break a lamp because the room was dark, and then cut myself while picking up the mess.
I didn't look like an abused woman. There was no black eye, busted lip, or broken nose. I'd also assumed that the medical staff wouldn't look at me as one. No one's first impression of a woman dressed in a Chanel dress is that she's being physically abused by her partner.
I didn't dare admit what really happened; my boyfriend beats me. I despise him, wish horrible things upon him, but don't leave because I'm terrified of him.
Because he's threatened to kill me many times over the past year and I believe him.
Would a nurse or doctor have believed me last night? I could have taken off my dress to show them the bruises that mar my body, but what would have happened? They'd have called the police and the police wouldn't be my ally.
Declan's father is the fucking District Attorney for King County. I'm positive that if I did tell someone why I was covered in bruises, his father would immediately cover it up and then his insane son would come looking for me. Hell, I'm sure that any police report would be shredded the minute they saw who the complaint was against.
Who would believe that the blonde-haired golden boy, and star architect at Grey Construction would hurt a single strand of hair on a woman's head. Or pull wads of it out like Declan's done to mine.
Filing charges against him wouldn't help. A restraining order might as well be used as toilet paper. None of that would keep me safe. Being a financial specialist at a Fortune 500 company who makes six-figures and drives a BMW, does not make me safe. None of that matters and I'm beginning to question if I matter.
I'm spiraling once again. The seemingly bottomless pain is back on my shoulders. I don't know who Ana Steele is anymore.
I think Declan watched me go into my apartment building because it got him off watching me limp my way inside. Fucking bastard. I'd tell Dad, who would shoot him, but I don't want Dad in prison because Declan Beckett isn't worth doing time. He isn't worth the oxygen he breathes.
I was always proud of myself because I'm a rational woman and have never made decisions based upon emotion. I've always dealt with facts, personally and professionally. The fact that I can't say that about my life now is humiliating.
I can't tell anyone how weak I've become again. That fact breaks my heart and also enrages me.
Yes, my career at GEH is phenomenal and I can't see myself working anywhere else. Shit, I've never worked anywhere else. Christian, or Mr. Grey as I refer to him at work, took a gamble on a twenty-one-year-old "genius" as I've been labeled, who'd just earned her Master's degree in math and graduated Summa cum laude from UDub. While working on my MBA, I began to intern with Ros, his ball busting, but ever so wonderful right-hand woman who's my boss. I've sat in meetings with her and contemplated what she'd do if I told her about Declan.
I don't have to wonder what would happen if Elliot or Christian were to find out. They'd probably haul him to a Grey Construction site, beat him to death and bury his body underneath a house that Elliot and his crew are building.
But getting personal with Christian is a line that can't be crossed because it's fortified with barbwire and buried IEDs. That, and just mentioning Christian sets Declan off since he's insanely jealous of any man that comes near me. And when I have to accompany Christian on business trips, inside and outside of the United States, there's always a painful price I have to pay.
I met Declan when I was a crumbling mess from a relationship that I had with a much older man who was the professor of a grad class that I took at night. He told me that he was divorced and was over the top confident and took himself too seriously when he told me about his life's adventures. He was also hung like a horse. I'd had bigger, but that particular dick was one that I'd been conditioning myself to never think about again.
I had an incredibly close and intense relationship with this man from the start, and in hindsight, I clearly saw all the ways he used me and my naivete when it came to relationships because I'd never been in one that serious. With him, I finally believed that I'd gotten over someone that I wanted to be with desperately. I looked at Professor Asshole and was convinced that I'd found something soul and mind quaking, perhaps even lasting.
To his credit, the fucker encouraged my life's goals. Along with Kate, that sorry excuse of a man was my best cheerleader. After sex, we'd endlessly talk about anything and everything. He helped me plot out my future. For some stupid reason, I never wondered why every bed that we fucked on was in a random hotel. Kate kept pointing out the obvious, but I ignored her.
It turned out that the bastard wasn't divorced. He was married with two kids and a fucking dog. It was so traumatizing that it was the first time I questioned everything and everyone that I knew. I dropped his class and had to force myself to attend school. Whenever we had the occasional run in on campus, he'd turn away like I didn't exist. Like what we'd done never existed. I fell into a deep depression and was put on anti-depressants. Kate pushed for me to begin therapy. I refused. I considered telling his wife about our affair so someone else could hurt the way that I did. But I couldn't. I'm not cruel.
Declan was the opposite of the married asshole. He worked for Elliot as an architect and I knew him for a few years before he asked me out. I'd known him to be reserved and quiet. Declan had set goals for himself and had accomplished many of them, and I related to that. He was handsome, funny, laid back, and friendly.
On paper, he was perfect.
I don't remember how long we dated before I saw the cracks in Declan's seemingly perfect façade. Stress at work flared up a temper that I'd never seen. He began to shout at me and call me names, only to apologize minutes later, blaming it on his job. Later, and incrementally, his behavior became more volatile. If he didn't like the clothes that I was wearing, he'd call me a 'slut' and would push me around until I changed clothes. He would drag me around my apartment by my hair. Then came being shoved into walls and pushing me down on the floor, often kicking me. But it was my first business trip with Christian that Declan introduced me to his fists and hands around my throat. I still don't understand how they didn't leave bruising. How I wish that they did. Maybe the narrative of my life would have changed.
I tried to walk a fine line around Declan so he wouldn't explode. Trying soon became futile, and by that time, I'd become profoundly depressed again, just like I was when I found out about Professor Asshole. So, it was back to anti-depressants that aren't working, because of course not. I'm still depressed but I've learned to hide it. Even from the information hound that's my best friend.
I stifle a yawn and look at my watch. It's still early, not quite six-thirty, but I'm ready to get the hell out of this apartment and go to work. I usually don't leave until seven-thirty, but there won't be a chance of Declan showing up to twist my arm and take me to breakfast at some damn posh café that his parents frequent.
Gotta keep up appearances
After swallowing a Wellbutrin, I carefully pad around my hard wood floors to my walk in closet. My injured knee is causing my entire leg to protest as I go.
I check myself over in the floor length mirror to pick out something to wear. There's no wearing a skirt or dress today. People will see my bandaged knee and ask questions because they're nosy fuckers.
I'm afraid that someone is going to question why I'm slightly limping. I can't show how stiff my body is or the discomfort I'm in. If anyone asks what's wrong, I know that I have to lie. The answers would all be lies. My entire life is a lie.
I pull out a long sleeve gray silk blouse and gray slacks. Even the blazer I slide up my arms is gray. I've decided that I'm going to wear all grayscale today. I'm coordinated from that silk shirt to my bra and panties. Yeah, I already know what kind of day it's going to be.
It's the real version of me. The depressed version, but The I-Can-Still-Get-Up-And-Function-Version. It's the I'm-So-Depressed-But-Can-Still-Match-My-Clothes-Version. The face looking back at me is the woman who cries in the shower. I'm the woman sobbing on my bathroom floor and holding my hands over my mouth so no one can hear me screaming.
Yeah, this is the I-Just-Want-Someone-To-See-The-Real-Version-Of-Me.
It's the worst kind of depression because I receive complements for my put together appearance, when I wish someone would notice the real woman behind an expensive suit and Louboutin's.
I stare in the mirror at my made-up face and hair that I've left down. I'm always afraid to wear it up because I'm not sure I'll miss a bruise on my neck that everyone could see. I groan when I step into my heels. Hobbling around in pain is on today's agenda.
I make my way from my apartment in Capital Hill to Grey House in record time. Thankfully, it's not raining this morning so I don't have to fight the traffic from people who don't know how to drive in the rain, despite the fact that they've lived here their entire life.
I arrive at GEH and park in the executive lot and make my way towards the building, doing my best not to limp. It's so quiet in the early morning. I wish that my mind was as quiet.
Jerry, a retired Seattle cop who's now one of GEH's night security, meets me with a large grin on his wrinkled face. The grin slips and his eyes are on my legs. Shit. He straight away noticed that I'm doing my best not to limp and failing miserably. Now I don't believe I'm going to be able to hide it from anyone.
Don't ask, Jerry. For fucks sake, please
"Good morning, Ms. Steele. You're here early," he tells me from behind the desk he's sitting at.
"Morning, Jerry. How are you?" I only smile because it's expected of me.
I'm also glad he didn't bring up that I'm walking funny. Maybe I should have called in sick.
He laughs and winks at me. "About to end this shift, so I'm great."
We exchange pleasantries that I have to dig through my almost clenched teeth.
I hurry to the elevator; my heels are clicking on the floor and I wish again that I'd worn flats instead of sky-high heels. I wonder if my co-workers would notice if I took them off and walked around barefoot.
I know someone who will notice if he catches sight of me and I just can't deal with him today. I'm dreading this morning's breakfast meeting.
The elevator to the executive floor lifts me upward twenty flights with maximum velocity. The doors open to bright lights and white sandstone flooring. I find there are more early birds here; I smell coffee. Scurrying down the empty hall to my office, I unlock it and switch on the light. This room has recently become a refuge for me. I'm starting to arrive earlier with each passing day and leaving later in the evening.
Declan can't touch me here
Kicking the door closed with my foot, I stand and take in my surroundings. Yeah, it's definitely a refuge that comforts me and now I consider moving an air mattress in and living a life where I'm no longer a psycho's punching bag.
A lot of the reasons that I love my office is because my parents made sure that I would. The antique painted walls are covered with black and white photographs of friends and family that rest in cherry wood frames that Dad made. Ray Steele, an utter master carpenter, created the most beautiful office that I've ever seen. My desk is made of the same wood that the picture frames are and Dad added a leather writing surface. He really went all out by building me a credenza behind my desk. I bought the leather tilt and swivel chair. Sometimes I sit and spin around pretending I'm a child. If only I were.
The gorgeous weaved rugs that cover the floor were handmade by Mom. How my parents, Ray and Carla Steele, two artistic and talented people, raised a child who was counting to one- hundred when she was four is crazy. Especially since they didn't teach me how to count to one-hundred. My parents have no conception of numbers or math, much less understand my career in finance. I still balance their checkbook. Their artistic genes passed me by. I can't even paint by numbers.
I sit, my sore body protesting and shove my purse into the bottom drawer of my desk and fire up Safari to check my email. The clicking of my nails as they hit the computer's keyboard is the only noise in the room.
I swear the longer I scroll down my inbox, I find many emails that I need to forward to who they should have been sent to in the first place. It irritates me so much that I fire off an inter-departmental email reminding the employees who work under me to address all issues with whomever they properly need to go to. I know that my words are harsh, and I'm also aware that I've sounded like this for a while now, although I haven't been called out on it. Sometimes I stare out in space during particularly boring meetings and imagine moving out of Seattle so Declan can't find me.
I've noticed Ros' curious expression staring at me once my mind finally settles on the matters at hand. But she hasn't called me out on it.
Yet
An email from Ros pops into my inbox just as I'm about to close it. She's reminding me that I'm required to attend a breakfast meeting that I already knew I had to attend. It irks me beyond measure. They know that I have an eidetic memory and wouldn't forget. I don't have to be reminded of the information that Christian and Ros want, information that they already read in the report that I sent them. But no, she wants me to bring in files that back up my findings. No, scratch that. Christian wants to see them. I dig out two from the top drawer of my desk that aren't really required and then grab the spreadsheets that were on the architects drafting table that Declan bought me not long after we began to date a year and a half ago. My stomach sours looking at it and I consider tossing it out of the window. It's a shame the windows don't open.
Mr. Grey wants to know where over a million of his dollars disappeared after a recent acquisition. Usually, a financial analyst takes care of this, however, not a single analyst who works under me could figure it out. Meaning that it fell on my lap. It only took me several hours to find the fuck up.
The mood that I'm in this morning has me hoping that once I begin to drone on about the numbers, Ros is going to regret insisting on my presence at this meeting. I'm only hoping that Christian got laid last night and isn't in a shitty mood.
Polly finally arrives and knocks on my door asking if I want any coffee. I decline and we go over my schedule for the day. I've got three afternoon meetings that I was vaguely aware of. Then Polly tells me of an unexpected meeting with Christian. It's about a business trip to New York next week. A meeting that I can't worm my way out of.
Great
An hour or so later, I bundle up the unnecessary files and slowly drag my aching body to Mr. Grey's much too large conference room. As usual, I'm the first to arrive and find Andrea settling a tray of muffins and coffee in the middle of an equally large table.
She jumps when I dump the files on the table and take my usual seat; the seat right beside Christian's.
"I'm sorry, Andrea. I didn't mean to scare you," I tell her.
Looking startled, she rests a hand to her chest for a moment and smiles at me.
"Oh, it's fine, Ms. Steele. I was lost in thought."
"Is everything good?"
"My weekend didn't turn out like I wanted it to."
Andrea's left her long, blonde hair down and she flips it over a shoulder. It makes my own ache. There's no way my shoulder is dislocated, isn't it?
"Nothing serious, I hope," I reply.
Maybe small talk is what I need.
"No, just a spat with my boyfriend. You know how that goes."
Nope, Andrea, I don't know
Then she leans in close to me and whispers, "Mr. Grey is in one of his moods."
Inwardly I groan. Just what I needed today. Having to deal with a grown man who often behaves like a whiny tyrant first thing in the morning can be torturous. My earlier hope that he got laid last night is now circling his private toilet.
Before I can reply, several of GEH's minions enter the room, grabbing muffins that Andrea left out and holding Styrofoam cups of what I guess is coffee. I refuse both. All I want is an Ibuprofen or a shot of Demerol, and a warm bath to ease my aches and pains.
I pray this meeting doesn't last long.
A few are looking at me suspiciously. GEH's financial specialist doesn't usually attend an acquisition meeting. I've got analysts that deal with problems like this. I'm sure they're wondering why in the hell I'm in here.
I do my best to find a comfortable position and keep my leg extended. My knee hurts too bad to bend it and I'm afraid the bandage over it is going to slide down if I do bend it. Even though my left shoulder is throbbing, I'm having to suck it up. I usually talk animatedly and with my hands and everyone who knows me is aware of that. An incredibly sore arm and shoulder will be a tell that something's not quite right.
Please don't notice, Christian
Staying quiet as those around me chatter about bullshit, I catch sight of Christian and Ros from the corner of my eye. Ros looks beautiful in a green dress that goes great with her red hair. She sweeps into the room and silence follows. Christian is hot on her six and doesn't bother shutting the door to the conference room. I watch everyone around the table sit up straighter. Ros has to shut the door since her boss dropped into his seat of power with the Grey glower on this face.
It's times like these that make me wish I could make a living weaving rugs like Mom does.
Christian, or Mr. Grey, doesn't greet his staff. He gets straight to what this meeting is about and then steeples his hands under his chin and surveys those around the table.
I'm not on the receiving end of the glower because he doesn't bother looking at me, however, that's nothing unusual. Today, it's a small mercy.
"Ros, I hope your team's ready to present this to me. I want a concise explanation," he says gruffly.
Ros smirks, and looks at me from across the table. Christian always amuses her when he's in one of these moods. If she wants me to join her party of laughing at our boss today, she's shit out of luck. I feel like hell, am in no mood, don't care, and really, really wish that someone would tell this arrogant asshole to go to hell. I have the pleasure of doing so outside of work, but once inside Grey House, it's formalities all day. Well, that's when others are around. When we're alone we're Ana and Christian.
My co-workers lay down the foundation of the Sides acquisition, which brought this meeting to life. Christian is dressed in a black suit that's over a perfectly starched white shirt. His gray tie matches his eyes perfectly.
No, Ana. Don't think about his eyes
Christian quizzes everyone around the table and seems to be satisfied with the answers. A new member of the GEH acquisition team, a pretty red-haired lawyer, presents a logical plan of the various ways to break down the company we're discussing, all the while batting her eyelashes and giving fuck me eyes to her boss. She'll need to learn quickly that kind of behavior doesn't fly with him. If she keeps it up, Christian will have her filing shit down in the mailroom or on her ass out on the street. I didn't pay attention to what her name is because I don't give a fuck. She should know to behave professionally. I swear that I hear Christian grinding his teeth.
After everyone else has thrown out their ideas about what they're doing to dismantle the company to meet Christian's expectations, it's my turn on the hot seat. He's looking blandly at me. It's my turn to explain the fuck up I found. Christian wants numbers and a hint of where his money went. And he counts on me to tell him.
He raises his eyebrows at me while tapping his Montblanc pen on a file in front of him. The tapping of it on the table is making my head ache.
I hate that fucking pen
I pull several spreadsheets out of one of the folders I've brought and slide them to both Christian and Ros. I use my own copy and begin to slowly go through the company's third quarter numbers. The numbers that indicate how much the acquisition made, along when the money went missing.
"Ms. Steele, do you plan on wasting my time going over my company's third quarter earnings?" Christian asks, the same bland expression on his face.
His words feel like a slap to my face. I raise my head and meet his eyes. I'm sure they're shooting bullets at him.
There are times that I wish someone would remind me why I came to work for this man.
"Mr. Grey, I was under the impression that you wanted me to provide you with a hard copy of sufficient proof to back up what I uncovered. Please refer to the second sheet I've provided. I think that shows I haven't, nor am I, wasting your time."
My artic tone is almost hostile and I know that I sound like a smart ass but I continue, feeling every eye in the room on me.
"As you know, I turned in my findings about the missing money last week in a detailed report that I sent to you as well as Ros. Then I was informed that my presence at this meeting was mandatory so that I could go over what I found, despite sending that report."
I'm irritated and speaking quickly. I'm not sure if what I've said makes sense.
I swallow and finish, "If going over a quarterly spreadsheet is a waste of your time, please tell me what you want to know and I'll be more than happy to answer very question that you have for me."
The room is as quiet as a feather in the wind. I never break eye contact with Christian. Right now, I don't give a fuck if he signs my paycheck or the fact that his brother is married to my best friend.
I move in my chair trying to find a comfortable position. I sigh when I can't and find myself wincing.
Christian's watching me like a hawk and narrows his eyes at me. I don't know if it's because he's noticed the way I'm moving or because he's incensed that I basically disrespected him in a room full of his employees. It could be both.
"Just tell us what you found, Ms. Steele," he tells me. He doesn't sound angry, but that doesn't mean he isn't going to rip me a new one in private.
I nod, but stay in a position so my knee doesn't sting or the bandage moves. I'm so pathetic.
It must be obvious because Ros tilts her head to the side as she stares at me, an expression of kind concern on her face. I hope it's because she knows that Christian is going to hand me my ass and not because I look as bad as I feel.
"Mr. Grey, as you know the Sides acquisition occurred as the third quarter was coming to a close. If you'll look at the third line from the bottom, you'll see how much GEH made on it."
"I know exactly how much money the acquisition made," Christian fires back.
Ignoring him, I continue, "Please look at the second sheet. It's my report on the amount of money from the purchase that's currently unaccounted for. Before you ask, I did the numbers three times and came up with the same amount each time. Right down to a penny." I inhale deeply after explaining this to the man who now looks very angry.
Christian isn't mad at me. He's mad because it's obvious someone ripped him off. And it had to be an employee of GEH. He's using the pen that I hate to scratch off every line of the third quarter spreadsheet and then moves to my report. I wonder if he even read the email that I sent to both him and Ros. He stares at it for what seems like forever before raising his eyes to mine. Ros is staring at me as well.
"Over a million dollars?" Christian asks incredulously. His voice is a boom around the room.
Now he looks Christian Trevelyan-Grey furious.
"Yes, sir." I go for conciliatory this time.
"Any opinion on how this happened, Ana?" Ros asks me.
"Well, it's my opinion that the money was embezzled by a low-level acquisition specialist," I explain.
Christian slams both his fisted hands on the table, causing everyone but me and Ros to jump. I swear, if these people are going to work for Christian Grey, they're going to have to get used to his bad behavior.
This man is a billionaire who makes a million dollars a day-or more-and he's losing his shit over losing a mil. Yes, the money that someone siphoned off is not only his, it's also a considerable amount. But it isn't going to do shit to his bank account or bankrupt him.
I'm sitting here uncomfortable with a sore body and a nightmare life that I equate with hell. Christian's reaction shows that he didn't bother to read my report. He gives Ros a hard look.
"Any idea who pulled this off?" he asks her.
She shakes her head no. "Not yet. Legal's already on it, though."
Christian doesn't reply. He just stands and leaves the room and I swear everyone around the table exhales.
Back in my office, I put the files away and pull two Ibuprofen from my top drawer and swallow them dry. Polly offered me coffee or to go down to the cafeteria to grab me something to eat. I waved her off as politely as I could and shut myself into my office to kick off my heels. Maybe that will help my knee from hurting. I really should have worn flats.
I stand at my window and watch the rain that's now coming down in sheets. Being in this room and twenty-stories up in the sky makes me feel far removed from my reality below. Declan can't touch me here. He can't scream obscenities inches from my face and dictate what I can and can't do. I can't tell him no like I told Polly about wanting coffee. I'm a puppet that he controls and I'm expected to smile like everything is fine. But my life is far from fine and I don't know what to do about it.
Somewhere below my office Declan is playing like he's a decent person and everyone he knows is buying it. I'm just grateful that he hasn't tried to contact me today. I don't have the strength to hear his split-tongue voice.
Maybe he'll give me a reprieve for a few days like he's done in the past, waiting for the wreckage he's left to dissipate.
I make my way back to my desk and lay my head down and close my eyes. I'm rubbing my sore shoulder and trying to decipher up from down. A year and a half ago, before I entered this hellish relationship with Declan, I fired on all cylinders and never second guessed myself or the decisions I made. Where did that woman go? What did I do that attracted a violent man that I seemingly can't escape? One that I'm so afraid of that I've never told Kate about the abuse. She's seen a bruise or two but knows how clumsy that I can be and buys it when I say that I hit an end table or tripped over something. If she ever finds out the truth, she'll scorch the universe to burn Declan Beckett alive.
Suddenly, my office door opens and I look up. It's Christian. I watch him stroll into my office and shut the door behind him. The man has never once knocked on my office door. He thinks since this is his company that he can do as he pleases, and I guess that's true. It doesn't mean I like it.
I sit up and we just stare at each other. There's no indication if this is the CEO or Christian. Unbuttoning his suit jacket, he takes the seat in front of my desk and I wait to find out who I'm about to deal with.
"I think we have something to discuss, Ana," he says, sounding reminiscent of my father.
It's the CEO, and since I know that I behaved badly earlier, I do my best to look contrite.
Nodding, I agree.
"You stepped far over the line in that meeting. I won't tolerate being disrespected by an employee, while in a room full of other employees. You're damn lucky I didn't take you down a notch or two for talking to me the way that you did."
I cock my head slightly and study his face.
"So why didn't you?" I counter.
He leans in closer to my desk and gives me a level gaze. I'm in no shape to verbally spar with Mr. Grey.
"Why didn't I do what? Did what I just said fly over your head?"
I sigh and run my right hand through my hair. Christian's eyes move along with my hand then dart to the arm I have resting on my desk.
"Of course it didn't fly over my head. I'm merely asking why you didn't verbally throttle me during the meeting?"
He crosses one leg over his other knee. His eyes haven't left my face and I'm unsure if this is really about that fucking meeting. He doesn't have to say why he didn't rip me apart this morning. We both know why he treated me differently than any other employee, and why he won't admit it.
His eyes narrow and he runs a hand through his hair. I don't know where this conversation is headed so I don't utter a single word.
"What's going on with you, Ana? Don't say nothing because I'm not the only person who has noticed. You've been behaving differently for some time. Is there something going on that I should know about?"
My heartbeat picks up. Fuck. Who is he referring to? Has someone in house noticed or is it a person in our life outside these walls?
His familiar cologne is in my nostrils and I inhale it deeply. I shake my head no.
"There's nothing wrong with me, Christian. I'm fine." I reply, lying straight through my teeth.
"No way, Ana, something is and has been for a while. I'm asking as your friend because I'm genuinely concerned."
God, I wish that I could tell him. But I can't. I look away, feeling like a bitch because I lied to him.
"Ana?"
Christian drags me back to the present. He does genuinely look concerned. Maybe if I give him a breadcrumb and then lie, he'll buy it and move along.
Sighing, I give in. Not completely though. It can't be the truth.
"There is something going on but it's personal and I don't feel it's appropriate to share it with you," I reply quietly. "You're correct, it has been going on for a while and I apologize if it's impacting my job…I, I don't want to discuss it because it's personal."
Christian frowns. "Is it Declan?"
I nearly stop breathing. Does he know?
"Why would you ask that?"
"Because you said it's personal and sensitive. It makes sense if you're having a rough patch with him."
If it were only that simple
"I really, really don't want to have this conversation. Can't you respect that?"
He looks completely perplexed and I can't say that I blame him. As long as I've known this man, he's as persistent as Kate Grey. They're cut out of the same piece of fabric.
"I respect it. Respecting it doesn't mean that I'm not concerned." He leans closer to my desk and places his forearms on it. "Tell me. You know that you can trust me."
God, he sounds so sincere that I nearly burst into tears. If I tell him, my weakness will shine like a spotlight and I can't stand such bright lighting.
"I trust you. I just don't want to talk about it right now. Simple."
We stare at one another and I almost get lost in his gray eyes. I can't, though.
You can't, Ana. You fucking can't
Christian scans me like an X-ray machine.
"Does it have anything to do with the fact you're limping through the halls and you didn't lift your left arm once during that meeting?" His tone is hard as granite and I feel nauseous.
I fucking knew he'd notice.
"No, it doesn't, Christian. I fell last night and cut my knee. I had to get a few stitches. It's no big deal. If it were, I'd have stayed home today."
He leans back into the chair and scrubs his face with his hands and perfectly manicured finger nails.
"What the hell did you fall on that fucked up your knee and arm?" he asks.
"It was dark when I got home and fell trying to turn on a lamp. I knocked it over and cut my knee on the light bulb."
That's partially true, but the look on Christian's face says he isn't buying what I'm selling.
"You've been falling down a lot lately."
He says it so quietly that I almost can't make out the words. My head pounds and I'm afraid that I'm going to lose my shit and tell him everything. I know what's running through his mind. I also know that I can't be an open book about my life because I don't know how the story may end.
Before I have time to swallow the spit that's gathered in the back of my throat, my iPhone begins to ring. It's on my desk sandwiched between us.
"Declan" has the screen lit up. I stare at it and fear crawls up my spine. I make no move to pick it up and feel Christian's eyes on me. It rings and rings before going to voicemail. Declan doesn't leave one.
"Why didn't you answer him?" he asks pointedly.
"Because we're in the middle of a discussion," I answer.
"I wouldn't have been offended if you'd answered your boyfriend's phone call, Ana."
"He can wait."
He can also drop dead
"I asked why you're falling a lot lately."
I laugh bitterly. "You didn't ask a question. It was a statement. And you know that I'm not the most graceful human being."
Christian crosses his arms over his chest and it takes all of my might not to run my eyes up and down the muscles in his arms. The look on his face is telling me what I fear – he knows that I haven't been falling down for a year.
Before Christian can reply, my office phone buzzes and I press the speaker phone button. Whatever Polly wants isn't anything that Christian shouldn't hear.
"Yes, Polly."
"Ms. Steele, I have Mr. Beckett on line one for you," she says.
I'd faint if I weren't sitting down. What the fuck am I going to do? I can't talk to him in front of Christian. I don't want to talk to him at all.
I can tell him I'm in a meeting because I am. Sort of.
"Please tell Mr. Beckett that I'm in a meeting," I say, with as much authority as I can summon.
Polly falters but quickly gathers herself.
"Yes, ma'am."
I press the button to end the call and look across my desk. Christian's eyes are boring into my face as hard as a jackhammer on concrete. Then I watch his eyes travel to my arm and back to my face.
"Ana, this isn't a meeting. Why did you blow Declan off? Twice, I may add."
"Yes, yes, this is a meeting. We're talking, aren't we?"
He abruptly stands and the chair he was in nearly tips over.
"Stand up," he orders. He looks angry as fuck.
My God, what's he going to do? Trying to fucking play God with my life?
I sigh, trying to play it off. And ignore his ordering me around.
"No, my knee's sore."
"Stand up, Anastasia."
Don't do this, don't do this, don't do this
Again, I refuse and watch him circle around my desk. He squats down beside me.
"What in the hell has that mother fucker been doing to you?"
This, I didn't see coming
I squeeze my eyes shut and do my best not to cry. How I want to rest my head on Christian's shoulders and weep. I can't answer him. The words are stuck in all the lies and secrets that have swirled around me for so long.
He reaches out to me and pushes a lock of my hair behind my ear. His touch is like a firework. It's like a blinding, and beautiful firework show over Lake Washington that I could get lost in and never attempt to leave.
"You can tell me, Ana," he pleads, his fingers still on my skin. "Does Declan hurt you?"
Christian's voice is as gentle as I remembered it can be and it makes a lone tear break free. I have no words to hide my shame. I don't want to hide my shame anymore. It's so, so heavy.
"Ana, did Declan hurt you?" he presses.
I nod, and Christian swears under his breath.
"Has he hurt you before?" He's trying to sound calm but I feel the fury behind his words.
I nod once more and Christian wipes away the tear running down my cheek with a thumb. He doesn't mutter another word, instead he pulls me into his arms and I finally crack open, weeping like a baby.
He's murmuring things in my hair that I can't make out because I'm crying so hard.
Crying because I've unloaded my hell and because I'm in Christian's arms.
A place I never thought I'd be in again.
