“Christian, this has all been so quick,” she says. “And by your own admission, you’re fifty shades of fucked up. I can’t give you what you need. It’s just not for me. But that makes me feel inadequate, especially seeing you with Leila. Who’s to say that one day you won’t meet someone who likes doing what you do? And who’s to say you won’t, you know, fall for her? Someone much better suited to your needs.” She looks away.
“I knew several women who like doing what I like to do. None of them appealed to me the way you do. I’ve never had an emotional connection with any of them. It’s only ever been you, Ana.”
“Because you never gave them a chance. You’ve spent too long locked up in your fortress. Look, let’s discuss this later. I have to go to work. Maybe Dr. Flynn can offer us his insight.”
She’s right. We shouldn’t be discussing this in a parking lot. “Come.” I hold out my hand, and together we walk to her office.
TAYLOR PICKS ME UP in the Audi, and on our way to Grey House, I contemplate my conversation with Ana.
Am I locked in a fortress?
Maybe.
I stare out of the window. Commuters hurry to work, wrapped up in minutiae of their daily lives. Here, in the back of my car, I’m removed from it all. I’ve always been that way. Removed: isolated as a child or isolating myself as I grew up, walled off in a fortress.
I’ve been scared of feeling.
Feeling anything except my anger.
My constant companion.
Is that what she means? If it is, it’s Ana who’s given me the key to escape. And all that’s holding her back is Flynn’s opinion.
Maybe once she’s heard what he has to say, she’ll say yes.
A guy can hope.
I allow myself a brief moment to see what real optimism feels like…
It’s terrifying.
It could end badly. Again.
My phone buzzes. It’s Ana. “Anastasia. You okay?”
“They’ve just given me Jack’s job—well, temporarily,” she says, with no preamble at all.
“You’re kidding.”
“Did you have anything to do with this?” Her tone is accusatory.
“No. No, not at all. I mean, with all due respect, Anastasia, you’ve only been there for a week or so—and I don’t mean that unkindly.”
“I know,” she says, and she sounds demoralized. “Apparently, Jack really rated me.”
“Did he, now?” I’m so glad that asshole is out of her life. “Well, baby, if they think you can do it, I’m sure you can. Congratulations. Perhaps we should celebrate after we’ve seen Flynn.”
“Hmm. Are you sure you had nothing to do with this?”
Does she really think I’d lie to her? Maybe because of my confession last night?
Or maybe they’ve given her the job because I won’t let them recruit outside the company.
Hell.
“Do you doubt me? It angers me that you do.”
“I’m sorry,” she says quickly.
“If you need anything, let me know. I’ll be here. And Anastasia?”
“What?”
“Use your BlackBerry.”
“Yes, Christian.”
I ignore her sarcastic tone and, shaking my head, I take a deep breath. “I mean it. If you need me, I’m here.”
“Okay,” she says. “I’d better go. I have to move offices.”
“If you need me. I mean it.”
“I know. Thank you, Christian. I love you.”
Those three little words.
They used to terrify me and now I can’t wait to hear her say them.
“I love you, too, baby.”
“I’ll talk to you later.”
“Laters, baby.”
Taylor pulls up outside Grey House.
“José Rodriquez will be delivering some portraits to Escala tomorrow,” I inform him.
“I’ll let Gail know.”
“He’s staying the night.”
Taylor checks me in the rearview mirror, surprised, I think. “Tell Gail that, too,” I add.
“Yes, sir.”
AS THE ELEVATOR SHOOTS up to my floor, I allow myself a brief fantasy about married life. It’s weird, this hope. Something I’m not used to. I imagine taking Ana to Europe, to Asia; I could show her the world. We could go anywhere and everywhere. I could take her to England; she’d love that.
And we’d return home to Escala.
Escala? Maybe my apartment has too many memories of other women. Perhaps I should buy a house that would be ours alone, where we can create our own memories.
But keep Escala. It’s handy for downtown.
The elevator doors open.
“Good morning, Mr. Grey,” the new girl says.
“Good morning—” I can’t remember her name.
“Coffee?”
“Please. Black. Where’s Andrea?”
“She’s around.” New Girl smiles and scurries off to make my coffee.
AT MY DESK, I start perusing houses on the Web. Andrea knocks and enters a few minutes later with my coffee. “Good morning, Mr. Grey.”
“Andrea, good morning. I’d like you to send some flowers to Anastasia Steele.”
“What would you like to send?”
“She’s had a promotion. Maybe some roses. Pink and white.”
“Okay.”
“And can you get me Welch on the line?”
“Yes, sir. Do you remember that you’re seeing Mr. Bastille today at Escala, not here?”
“Oh, yes. Thanks. Who has the gym booked here?”
“The yoga club, sir.”
I make a face.
She stifles her smile. “Ros would like a word, too.”
“Thanks.”
AFTER MY CALLS, I go back to looking at houses online. I remember when I bought my apartment at Escala, a broker did it all for me—and it was bought off-plan. It seemed like a great investment, so I didn’t look further.
Now I’m getting sucked into real-estate websites, looking at property after property. It’s addictive.
I’ve coveted the big houses on the shores of the Sound for all the years that I’ve sailed. I think I’d like a home that looks out across the water. I grew up in a house like that; my parents live on the shores of Lake Washington.
A family house.
Family.
Kids.
I shake my head. Not for a long time. Ana’s young. She’s only twenty-one. We have years before we have to think about kids.
What kind of father would I be?
Grey, don’t dwell.
I’d like to find a plot of land and build a house. Make it ecologically sustainable. Elliot could build it for me. A couple of the listings meet my criteria; one of the homes looks out across the Sound. The house is old, built in 1924, and has only come on the market in the last few days. The photographs are spectacular. Especially at twilight. For me, it will be all about the view. We can knock this house down and start again.
I check what time the sun will set this evening: 9:09 p.m.
Maybe I could get an appointment to see the house at dusk one night this week.
Andrea knocks and enters.
“Mr. Grey, I have a choice of flowers here.” She places some printouts on my desk.