Ana surveyed the room with an air of barely contained amusement. Christian couldn't help but feel a mix of confusion and irritation. Of all the responses he envisioned, laughter was the last thing he expected. She strolled around the space with the confidence of someone well-acquainted with such environments, her gaze never once meeting his. The longer she took, the more he felt the urge to fidget, a sensation so foreign to him that it nearly set his teeth on edge.

Christian had revealed the playroom immediately after dinner in hopes of easing them into a more open dialogue. The decision made after Elena had found someone willing to reveal the truth about Ana as soon as the prospect of financial gain was thrown into the mix. That alone was enough to confirm what he already suspected, Ana was in the lifestyle. Christian had decided that was enough, he would learn the rest from Ana herself. Elena had felt it was the wrong decision as she felt Christian should go in with as much information as possible. Of course, in that moment he was unaware of the fact that there was no one with information regarding Ana, and that Elena was desperately in need of money. Christian unknowingly had destroyed any hope Elena had of procuring said finances from him.

The next step had been to figure out how to approach Ana. Attempts to uncover the clubs she frequented yielded nothing at all, but Elena had, with typical fortitude, suggested a meeting in a professional capacity. He retained the services of three agents to find him a suitably destroyed work of art, that had taken just over a month.

"When was the last time you tilled the soil?" That question caught Christian completely off guard. He could not if his life depended on it stop the inane retort that vomited it's way of his mouth.

"Uh." It was all he could manage. Ana's unexpected laughter was welcome, drawing a genuine, albeit reluctant, smile from him. "I've never tilled the soil. My grandfather tried to initiate me into gardening, but I didn't have the patience for it," he confessed, feeling oddly vulnerable.

"Amen," Ana murmured, her agreement sincere. "I ask because you've invested in quite a few farming initiatives." She trailed her fingers along the top of the bed frame with a delicate touch, while he tried to regain his composure.

"It doesn't mean I possess any skill in farming," he quipped, attempting to reclaim some control over the conversation.

"Yet you assume my investment in a BDSM club signifies I'm part of that lifestyle?" Her tone, stripped of all warmth, unexpectedly rattled him. It pierced through his delusions, revealing his desperation—and perhaps his unacknowledged hope. He had wished that she might resonate with his world more than she did with Elliot's. Two and half months since his brother's words pierced something in him, it was evident the wound was still raw.

"Indeed, this is certainly me making an ass of both you and myself," Christian admitted, seeking to lighten the atmosphere. The smile that spread across Ana's face was more than a mere victory; it was what he was aiming for. As they descended the stairs, his thoughts began to nag him. She appeared wholly unimpressed with his playroom, or was it something else entirely? Two hours had passed since the evening began, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he hadn't left much of an impression on her. Just like his playroom, he seemed lacking in her eyes. It was disheartening to realize that nothing about him had captured her interest so far. The connection he had hoped to capitalize on seemed elusive, leaving him wondering what he could do to change things.

"How did you know I had an investment in a BDSM club?" she inquired, an amused yet challenging glimmer in her eyes. He was acutely aware that the truth would likely sabotage any potential connection before it could begin. He couldn't shake the feeling that there were facets of her life that hadn't made it into her background check, details crucial to understanding her.

"Background check, I presume," she declared, a teasing note to her voice.

"It's standard procedure before I enter into business dealings," he responded, seizing upon her playful jab as if it were a life preserver. "And I'm realizing now that when it comes to anything personal, it's utterly meaningless." His admission was met with a bright giggle that startled him; the sound was so resplendent that he found himself compelled to elicit it again.

"What possessed you to invest in a BDSM club of all things?" His curiosity was genuine, rooted in the need to understand.

"I have investments in various clubs, restaurants, retail establishments, and even a few auction houses. A sex club just so happens to be one of them. It has absolutely nothing to do with my personal preferences. I genuinely do not see the appeal," she said, taking a slow, intentional sip of her wine. "By the way, this is delightful," she remarked, noting the bottle for future purchase.

"Maybe the lack of appeal stems from the fact that you've never truly experienced it." His opening salvo had failed to hit the mark as intended, in hindsight, it was weak. Now, he was going for the jugular, the remark was bold, a calculated risk he felt compelled to take.

"That's quite condescending." It missed the mark by a landslide. "First, how do you know I haven't tried it and decided it wasn't for me? You seem to be in a mood for making sweeping assumptions tonight. Second, if you don't find something appealing, it doesn't mean it because you've never tried it. The same could be said for you and vanilla sex. It holds no allure for you, yet I bet you've never engaged in sex without all the… add-ons."

She had him cornered, and with an air of reluctant capitulation, he offered, "Fair point well made." Suddenly, he found himself at a loss for how to navigate this unexpected territory. Conversations with his submissives had rarely required anything more than an exchange of commands and responses. It struck him, in shocking clarity, how little he engaged in the kind of casual banter that characterized most human interactions.

"You don't do this often, do you?" she asked, her smile transforming into something warmer, more inviting.

"No," he confessed, feeling exposed. "Conversations were never part of the contract. In fact, the less said, the better." He shifted uncomfortably, unease creeping in again. "Tell me about yourself," he pivoted, desperately wanting to keep the focus off him.

"I'm an only child of wealthy parents—well, my father married into money. I had two passions growing up; art and reading. I envisioned myself either as an editor or an artist," she said, her tone reflecting both nostalgia and sincerity.

"What guided you towards art conservation?" He reclined back on the sofa, determined to facilitate her storytelling.

"There is no profound answer. In college I realized I enjoyed the process of restoring damage paintings, more than editing someone's grammar." Christian chuckled. "I know it's more than that…" Ana said in an attempt not to trivialize an entire industry.

"Yes, but it's obvious from your glib tone, the more was no more appealing. You may love reading, but it doesn't mean you want to spend your day correcting someone's grammar." Christian interjected.

"By the time I had to decide, I figured I'd rather be scraping rabbit skin glue off a century-old canvas than reading a manuscript. Reading is an enjoyable pastime for me, but not a vocation," she clarified with conviction. "I like to think it's a mistake I ultimately sidestepped," she concluded with a satisfied smile.

"Surely you could have returned to art if you found your path did not suit you?" Christian pressed on.

"It wasn't a risk I was willing to entertain," she said, leaning back on the sofa, holding her glass firmly. Christian noted she hadn't taken more than a couple of sips. "In the end, I know I made the right choice," she added, satisfaction radiating from her.

"Enough about me. Here's a simple one; GEH. How did that come about?" Ana's smile turned almost predatory.

Christian grinned; this was an easy one.

"Your definition of believing in you and mine differ greatly," she mentioned, her eyes closing momentarily in contemplation.

"What's your definition then?" Christian asked, amusement dancing in his voice as he prepared for yet another unexpected revelation he'd already dismissed.

"Well, we had a well-known art collector for a client who often loaned his collection to museums around the globe. The day I told him I was ready to branch out on my own, despite knowing my family background, he offered me the startup capital for fifteen percent equity in my business. That, to me, is an authentic show of belief in someone," she replied, a hint of triumph shimmering in her expression.

Christian's teasing grin faltered, his mouth pressing into a thin line as he processed her narrative. "Your friend offered you a loan, but once you started making money, she chose to take back her money with interest instead of helping foster your success. Doesn't that illustrate a lack of trust in your long-term potential?" she probed, the discussion growing more serious.

Ana's phone chirped, cutting through the tension. "Well, wow, it's already midnight. Time to head home." She stood, arching her back in a way that made her spine pop loudly. "Oh, that felt good," she murmured, almost to herself. "This evening was wonderful; I genuinely enjoyed it."

"You sound surprised," Christian remarked, his smile now tight with an underlying tension.

"In truth, you have a reputation for being rather surly, so yes, my expectations weren't that high," Ana noted with a shrug.

"Well, I'm glad to have exceeded your expectations," he replied, his tone shifting slightly towards elation.

"You certainly have," she replied, her voice now tinged with a sultry insinuation that set his heart racing.

"Good. Then I will see you again?" He dared to ask, allowing a genuine smile to break through.

"Indeed," she replied, and he helped her into her coat, the casual intimacy radiating between them.

"I'm headed to Taiwan on business, but I'll call you as soon as I return. We'll take The Grace out for the day." He felt certain that a day on the water would help accelerate his plans.

"The Grace?" Ana inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"My catamaran."

"How delightful! I look forward to it." With a gentle kiss on his cheek, she stepped into the elevator, leaving Christian standing there, momentarily stunned.

"Really, a kiss on the cheek?" he grumbled to himself, his thoughts still swirling. The sting of her comments about Elena lingered; the sharp reminder that her faith in him had never been as resolute as he had once believed gnawed at him. Why this unsettled him so acutely was a mystery he wasn't keen to dissect. Technically, the money Elena had loaned him was Lincoln's; had he lost it, she would have been none the worse for wear. In the grander scheme, she could have invested in GEH and secured a more sustainable future for herself. Instead, she had been quick to establish Esclava while he was still basking in financial success. Fear he would soon fail? Get the money while the going was good? He knew those questions would plague him, contributing to his already difficult sleep.

He drained the bottle into his glass and knocked back the wine, the bitterness of Ana's words still fresh on his tongue. "At least Carrick was honest in his skepticism," he muttered as he resumed his contemplation.