The moment Reese stepped into the sleek penthouse suite at 9882 South Santa Monica Boulevard, she knew she had made a mistake.
The air inside was thick, almost suffocating, infused with the unmistakable scent of cedarwood and leather—a scent that clung to Christian Grey. The space was immaculate yet intimate, the floor-to-ceiling windows revealing a skyline bathed in the golden haze of the setting sun, the city stretching endlessly beyond.
It was dangerous, this place. Like him.
And she was an idiot for coming here.
Christian stood by the marble bar, whiskey in hand, his silhouette dark against the amber light filtering through the glass. His black dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the strong lines of his forearms. Effortless. Composed. Lethal.
At the sound of her heels clicking against the polished floors, he turned, his eyes finding hers with the sharp precision of a man who never missed a single detail.
A slow smirk curved his lips. Predatory. Certain.
"Ms. Sutherlin," he murmured, the deep timbre of his voice curling around her name. "It was getting late, I wasn't sure you'd come."
Reese exhaled sharply, placing her bag on a nearby chair, needing something—anything—to anchor herself. She forced herself to breathe, to stand tall, even as her body betrayed her, recognizing the weight of his presence before her mind could deny it.
"I wasn't sure either. I'm here because this needs to stop," she said, keeping her voice steady, even as the words felt hollow in her mouth. "You and I both know that what happened yesterday was a mistake."
The smirk didn't fade. If anything, it deepened.
Christian took a slow sip of his whiskey, watching her over the rim of the glass, before he set it down with deliberate precision. He stepped closer.
Controlled. Calculated.
"So, you came here," he said, his voice smooth, dangerously unreadable, "to tell me that we made a mistake?"
Her chest tightened, but she refused to let him pull her under. Not again.
"Yes."
His lips twitched. "And you thought by coming here and saying it to my face, it would make it true?"
She inhaled sharply, forcing herself to ignore the way his voice coiled around her like silk and steel, wrapping tightly, refusing to let go.
"I came to tell you that I'm handing off the commercial buildings Naomi asked me to cover to another agent." She straightened her shoulders, pushing forward before she could second-guess herself. "Since you're working with Collin now, it makes sense to keep things strictly professional. And that means unblurring the lines between you and the Redwood Group so you can make a sound business decision."
Christian stilled.
The smirk vanished. The teasing edge in his expression sharpened into something else—something dangerous.
"Absolutely not."
Her breath caught at the sheer finality in his voice.
"Christian, it's business," she pressed, frustration creeping into her tone. "You don't need me to handle this. I'm not even at Redwood anymore. They have plenty of agents who can take care of you."
His gaze darkened.
"I'm not their client. I'm your client. I need you to handle this," he corrected, his voice a quiet demand, laced with undeniable certainty. "If I wanted someone else, I would've asked for them."
A fresh wave of frustration surged through her, her hands curling into fists at her sides.
"You're intentionally making this—"
"Making this what?" His voice was calm, but there was a sharp edge beneath it, like a blade pressed just beneath the surface.
She hesitated, the air between them thick, electric.
"Difficult," she said finally, her voice lower now, weaker. "And I can't let this affect my relationship anymore than it already has."
A flicker of something passed through his eyes. Something raw. Something dangerous.
"I mean, have you even thought about the position you've put me in?"
Christian exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair before pinning her with a stare that stripped her bare.
"I should have never let so much time pass after Melrose."
His voice was softer now, but the weight behind it slammed into her like a wrecking ball.
Reese faltered, her breath hitching. "What?"
He took a step closer, his voice low, deliberate, each word cutting through her resolve like a scalpel.
"I should have never let you leave that night. I should have told Ana to leave. I should have never given you space to convince yourself that you didn't want me as much as I wanted you."
His eyes darkened, intensity rolling off him like a storm. "But I did. And now you've convinced yourself that what happened between us was just a mistake." A pause. A beat. Then, softer—
"I told you I am a ruin to beautiful things."
The words struck something inside her, a reminder of something fragile and unguarded within him and she hated him for it.
Her throat tightened. "I—"
Christian's jaw ticked. His next words unraveled her completely.
"You're the first woman who has truly challenged me since Ana."
The room tilted.
She felt her stomach drop, her pulse stutter.
"You think I go around chasing women, Reese?" His voice was low, dangerous in its honesty. "You think I fight this hard for just anyone?"
Another step.
The air grew thinner.
"You are something I need," he murmured, his fingers ghosting along her wrist, barely touching her, yet somehow setting her skin on fire. "And I don't need much."
Reese squeezed her eyes shut, her breath unsteady, her world unraveling.
"Christian…" She whispered his name like a warning, but he heard the surrender beneath it.
His lips parted, waiting. Expecting.
"Tell me this is just business, and I'll walk away."
His voice was velvet and steel, every syllable a noose tightening around her throat.
This was her moment.
Her escape.
Her chance to end this for good.
But she said nothing.
The silence stretched between them, thick, suffocating.
Then—Christian moved.
His lips crashed against hers, his hands claiming her with an urgency that shattered every defense she had left.
She gasped into his mouth, not to push him away, but to pull him closer. His hands found her waist, lifting her effortlessly onto the marble bar. Reese moaned as his lips devoured her, trailing down the column of her neck, nipping at the skin just enough to make her tremble.
"This," he growled against her throat, his hands bunching the fabric of her dress, "is what you're running from?" He bit her skin lightly, making her arch into him. "This?"
Reese's head spun, her fingers tangling in his hair, giving in—giving up.
His mouth was on hers again, kissing her like a man who had been starving for too long. She barely registered his hands sliding up her thighs, pushing her dress higher, until the cool air kissed her bare skin. Everything was fire and friction, heat and need.
"Christian," she gasped as his fingers teased against her already-soaked lace panties.
And when he lifted her—carried her effortlessly across the suite, laid her onto the bed like a ruin he intended to rebuild and destroy all at once—
She let him.
And then again.
And again.
And she hated herself for it.