“Yes, I suppose.” I’ve never thought of it that way. I smile at her. Perceptive, Mrs. Grey. “Though it’s easier with you.”
She hugs me. “It can’t all be a game. You’re very philanthropic.”
I shrug. “About some things, maybe.” Ana, don’t lionize me. I can afford to be generous.
“I love philanthropic Christian,” she whispers.
“Just him?”
“Oh, I love megalomaniac Christian, too, and control-freak Christian, sexpertise Christian, kinky Christian, romantic Christian, shy Christian—the list is endless.”
“That’s a whole lot of Christians.”
“I’d say at least fifty.”
I laugh. “Fifty Shades,” I whisper into her hair.
“My Fifty Shades.”
I sit back, tip her head up, and kiss her. “Well, Mrs. Shades, let’s see how your dad is doing.”
“Okay.”
Dr. Sluder has good news. The swelling in Ray’s brain has subsided, so she’s decided to wake him from his coma tomorrow morning.
“I’m pleased with his progress. He’s come a long way in a short period of time. His recovery is proceeding well. It’s all good, Mrs. Grey.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Ana gushes, her eyes shining with gratitude.
I take Ana’s hand. “Let’s go get some lunch.”
“Can we go for a drive?” she asks as she starts the ignition.
“Sure. It’s your birthday—we can do anything you want.” For a moment I’m transported to a parking lot in Seattle, where an insatiable Ana took matters into her own hands.
She stares at me, her eyes darkening. “Anything?” Her voice is husky.
“Anything,” I offer.
“Well.” Her tone is seductive. “I want to drive.”
“Then drive, baby.” We grin at each other like the fools we are, and I resist the urge to pounce on her.
Behave, Grey.
Ana steers us out of the lot, and at a sedate speed that keeps my blood pressure normal she takes us to I-5. Once there, she puts her foot down, throwing us back into our seats. Damn! She was lulling me into a false sense of security. “Ana! Steady, baby,” I warn, and she slows down. We cruise over the bridge; luckily, the traffic is light. I stare down at the Willamette River and remember all the times I went running along its banks when I stayed in Portland during my pursuit of Miss Anastasia Steele.
And now here we are and she’s Mrs. Anastasia Grey.
“Have you planned lunch?” she asks.
“No. You’re hungry?” I hear the hope in my voice.
“Yes.”
“Where do you want to go? It’s your day, Ana.”
“I know just the place.”
She diverts off I-5, back across the river, and into downtown Portland. Eventually she pulls up outside the restaurant where we ate after José Rodriguez’s photography exhibition. The day I won her back.
“For one minute I thought you were going to take me to that dreadful bar you drunk-dialed me from,” I tease her.
“Why would I do that?”
“To check the azaleas are still alive.” I give her a sideways look, and she blushes.
Oh, yes, baby. You vomited at my feet.
“Don’t remind me! Besides, you still took me to your hotel room.” Smirking, she lifts her chin in that stubborn, triumphant way that she has.
“Best decision I ever made.”
“Yes. It was.” She leans over and kisses me.
“Do you think that supercilious fucker is still waiting tables?” I ask.
“Supercilious? I thought he was fine.”
“He was trying to impress you.”
“Well, he succeeded.”
Ana, you’re too easily impressed.
“Shall we go see?” she says, amused.
“Lead on, Mrs. Grey.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. For the last couple of hours I’ve been working in the confines of the ICU waiting room. Ana has been at Ray’s bedside since we returned from lunch; last time I checked, she was reading to him. She’s a kind and considerate daughter—he must have been a wonderful father to inspire such devotion.
I’ve read through the Shipyard Heads of Agreement, and I have a list of questions, which I’ve e-mailed to Ros. I’m not signing anything until we’ve spoken, but all that can wait until Monday at the earliest.
My phone buzzes. It’s Taylor, calling to say he’s delivered Ana’s mother and her husband to The Heathman. I check the time, noting it’s just after 5 p.m. Carla needs to know about Ray—I can’t put that off any longer. Reluctantly, I call the hotel and ask to be put through to the Adamses’ room.
I’m not looking forward to this.
“Hello,” Carla answers.
I take a deep breath. “Carla, it’s Christian.”
“Christian,” she gushes. “We had such a wonderful flight over here. Thank you so much.”
“I’m glad you had a pleasant journey. I have some bad news, though.”
“Oh no! Is Ana okay?”
“Ana’s fine. It’s Ray. He was involved in a car accident and he’s in the ICU here in Portland. That’s why we’re in Portland and not Seattle. His condition is improving. Though he’s in an induced coma at the moment, but he’ll be coming out of it tomorrow.”
“Oh no,” she breathes. “How’s Ana?”
“She’s holding up. And because all the news from the ICU is good, I thought we’d go ahead and celebrate her birthday.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
“I thought you should know before this evening. But I’d still like to keep your arrival a surprise.”
“Yes. Yes,” she says. “I’ve deliberately not called or texted Ana to keep the surprise.”
“I appreciate that, and I’m sorry to be the bearer of this news. It must be upsetting.”
“No. Christian. Thank you for telling me. I’m very fond of Ray.”
“I’ll see you later this evening.”
“Yes. You will. Bye for now.” She hangs up.
That was not as bad as I anticipated.