I need to see Flynn. The nightmares are worse than ever. I didn’t have nightmares when I slept with Ana beside me.
Hell.
It never occurred to me to sleep with any of my subs. Well, I never felt the inclination. Was I worried that they might touch me in the night? I don’t know. It took an inebriated innocent to show me how restful it could be.
I’d watched my subs sleep before, but it was always as a prelude to waking them for some sexual relief.
I remember gazing at Ana for hours when she slept at The Heathman. The longer I watched her the more beautiful she became: her flawless skin luminous in the soft light, her dark hair fanning out on the white pillow, and her eyelashes fluttering while she slept. Her lips were parted, and I could see her teeth, and her tongue when she licked her lips. It was a most arousing experience—just watching her. And when I finally went to sleep beside her, listening to her even breathing, watching her breasts rise and fall with each breath, I slept well…so well.
I wander into my study and pick up the glider. The sight of it elicits a fond smile and comforts me. I feel both proud to have made it and ridiculous for what I am about to do. It was her last gift to me. Her first gift being…what?
Of course. Herself.
She sacrificed herself to my need. My greed. My lust. My ego…my fucking damaged ego.
Damn, will this pain ever just stop?
Feeling a little foolish, I take the glider with me to bed.
“WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE for breakfast, sir?”
“Just coffee, Gail.”
She hesitates. “Sir, you didn’t eat your dinner.”
“And?”
“Maybe you’re coming down with something.”
“Gail, just coffee. Please.” I shut her down—this is none of her business. Her lips thin, but she nods and turns to the Gaggia. I head in to the study to collect my papers for the office and look for a padded envelope.
I CALL ROS FROM the car.
“Great work on the SIP material, but the business plan needs some revision. Let’s offer.”
“Christian, this is fast.”
“I want to move quickly. I’ve e-mailed you my thoughts on the offering price. I’ll be in the office from seven thirty. Let’s meet.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay. I’ll call Andrea to schedule. I have the stats on Detroit v. Savannah.”
“Bottom line?”
“Detroit.”
“I see.”
Shit…not Savannah.
“Let’s talk later.” I hang up.
I sit, brooding in the back of the Audi, as Taylor speeds through the traffic. I wonder how Anastasia will be getting to work this morning. Perhaps she bought a car yesterday, though somehow I doubt it. I wonder if she feels as miserable as I do…I hope not. Maybe she’s realized that I was a ridiculous infatuation.
She can’t love me.
And certainly not now—not after all I’ve done to her. No one’s ever said they loved me, except Mom and Dad, of course, but even then it was out of their sense of duty. Flynn’s nagging words about unconditional parental love—even for kids who are adopted—ring in my head. But I’ve never been convinced; I’ve been nothing but a disappointment to them.
“Mr. Grey?”
“Sorry, what is it?” Taylor has caught me unawares. He’s holding the car door open, waiting for me with a look of concern.
“We’re here, sir.”
Shit…how long have we been here? “Thanks. I’ll let you know what time this evening.”
Focus, Grey.
ANDREA AND OLIVIA BOTH look up as I come out of the elevator. Olivia flutters her eyelashes and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Christ—I’m done with this silly girl. I need HR to move her to another department.
“Coffee, please, Olivia—and get me a croissant.” She leaps up to follow my orders.
“Andrea—get me Welch, Barney, then Flynn, then Claude Bastille on the phone. I don’t want to be disturbed at all, not even by my mother…unless…unless Anastasia Steele calls. Okay?”
“Yes, sir. Do you want to go through your schedule now?”
“No. I need coffee and something to eat first.” I scowl at Olivia, who is moving at a snail’s pace toward the elevator.
“Yes, Mr. Grey,” Andrea calls after me as I open the door to my office.
From my briefcase I take the padded envelope that holds my most precious possession—the glider. I place it on my desk, and my mind drifts to Miss Steele.
She’ll be starting her new job this morning, meeting new people…new men. The thought is depressing. She’ll forget me.
No, she won’t forget me. Women always remember the first man they fucked, don’t they? I’ll always hold a place in her memory, for that alone. But I don’t want to be a memory: I want to stay in her mind. I need to stay in her mind. What can I do?
There’s a knock at the door and Andrea appears. “Coffee and croissants for you, Mr. Grey.”
“Come in.”
As she scurries over to my desk her eyes dart to the glider, but wisely she holds her tongue. She places breakfast on my desk.
Black coffee. Well done, Andrea. “Thanks.”
“I’ve left messages for Welch, Barney, and Bastille. Flynn is calling back in five.”
“Good. I want you to cancel any social engagements I have this week. No lunches, nothing in the evening. Get Barney on the phone and find me the number of a good florist.”
She scribbles furiously on her notepad.
“Sir, we use Arcadia’s Roses. Would you like me to send flowers for you?”
“No, give me the number. I’ll do it myself. That’s all.”
She nods and leaves promptly, as if she can’t get out of my office fast enough. A few moments later the phone buzzes. It’s Barney.
“Barney, I need you to make me a stand for a model glider.”
BETWEEN MEETINGS I CALL the florist and order two dozen white roses for Ana, to be delivered to her home this evening. That way she won’t be embarrassed or inconvenienced at work.
And she won’t be able to forget me.
“Would you like a message with the flowers, sir?” the florist asks.
A message for Ana?
What to say?
Come back. I’m sorry. I won’t hit you again.
The words pop unbidden into my head, making me frown.
“Um…something like, ‘Congratulations on your first day at work. I hope it went well.’ ” I spy the glider on my desk. “ ‘And thank you for the glider. That was very thoughtful. It has pride of place on my desk. Christian.’ ”
The florist reads it back to me.
Damn, it doesn’t express what I want to say to her at all.
“Will that be all, Mr. Grey?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sir, and have a nice day.”
I look daggers at the phone. Nice day my ass.
“HEY, MAN, WHAT’S EATING you?” Claude gets up from the floor, where I’ve just knocked him flat on his lean, mean rear end. “You’re on fire this afternoon, Grey.” He rises slowly, with the grace of a big cat reassessing its prey. We are sparring alone in the basement gym at Grey House.