by E. L. James
“It’s Mrs. Grey I wish to see,” Clark says pointedly to Christian and to Taylor, who is stationed beside the door. Christian glances and then nods almost imperceptibly at Taylor, who turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him.
“Anything you wish to say to my wife you can say in front of me.” Christian’s voice is cool and businesslike. Detective Clark turns to me.
“Are you sure you’d like your husband to be present?”
I frown at him. “Of course. I have nothing to hide. You are just interviewing me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’d like my husband to stay.”
Christian sits beside me, radiating tension.
“All right,” murmurs Clark, resigned. He clears his throat. “Mrs. Grey, Mr. Hyde maintains that you sexually harassed him and made several lewd advances toward him.”
Oh! I almost burst out laughing, but put my hand on Christian’s thigh to restrain him as he shifts forward in his seat.
“That’s preposterous,” Christian splutters. I squeeze Christian’s leg to silence him.
“That’s not true,” I state calmly. “In fact, it was the other way around. He propositioned me in a very aggressive manner, and he was fired.”
Detective Clark’s mouth flattens briefly into a thin line before he continues.
“Hyde alleges that you fabricated a tale about sexual harassment in order to get him fired. He says that you did this because he refused your advances and because you wanted his job.”
I frown. Holy crap. Jack is even more delusional than I thought.
“That’s not true.” I shake my head.
“Detective, please don’t tell me you have driven all this way to harass my wife with these ridiculous accusations.”
Detective Clark turns his steely blue glare on Christian. “I need to hear this from Mrs. Grey, sir,” he says with quiet restraint. I squeeze Christian’s leg once more, silently imploring him to keep his cool.
“You don’t have to listen to this shit, Ana.”
“I think I should let Detective Clark know what happened.”
Christian gazes at me impassively for a beat, then waves his hand in a gesture of resignation.
“What Hyde says is simply not true.” My voice sounds calm, although I feel anything but. I’m bewildered by these accusations and nervous that Christian might explode. What’s Jack’s game? “Mr. Hyde accosted me in the office kitchen one evening. He told me that it was thanks to him that I had been hired and that he expected sexual favors in return. He tried to blackmail me, using e-mails that I’d sent to Christian, who wasn’t my husband then. I didn’t know Hyde had been monitoring my e-mails. He’s delusional—he even accused me of being a spy sent by Christian, presumably to help him take over the company. He didn’t know that Christian had already bought SIP.” I shake my head as I recall my distressing, tense encounter with Hyde. “In the end, I-I took him down.”
Clark’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “Took him down?”
“My father is ex-army. Hyde … um, touched me, and I know how to defend myself.”
Christian glances at me with a brief look of pride.
“I see.” Clark leans back on the sofa, sighing heavily.
“Have you spoken to any of Hyde’s former personal assistants?” Christian asks almost genially.
“Yes, we have. But the truth is we can’t get any of his assistants to talk to us. They all say he was an exemplary boss, even though none of them lasted more than three months.”
“We’ve had that problem, too,” Christian murmurs.
Oh? I gape at Christian, as does Detective Clark.
“My security chief. He’s interviewed Hyde’s past five PAs.”
“And why’s that?”
Christian gives him a steely glare. “Because my wife worked for him, and I run security checks on anyone my wife works with.”
Detective Clark flushes. I shrug apologetically at him with a welcome-to-my-world smile.
“I see,” Clark murmurs. “I think there’s more to this than meets the eye, Mr. Grey. We are conducting a more thorough search of his apartment tomorrow, so maybe something will present itself then. Though by all accounts he hasn’t lived there for some time.”
“You’ve searched already?”
“Yes. We’re doing it again. A fingertip search this time.”
“You’ve still not charged him with the attempted murder of Ros Bailey and myself?” Christian says softly.
What?
“We’re hoping to find more evidence in regard to the sabotage of your aircraft, Mr. Grey. We need more than a partial print, and while he’s in custody, we can build a case.”
“Is this all you came down here for?”
Clark bristles. “Yes, Mr. Grey, it is, unless you’ve had any further thoughts about the note?”
Note? What note?
“No. I told you. It means nothing to me.” Christian cannot hide his irritation. “And I don’t see why we couldn’t have done this over the phone.”
“I think I told you I prefer a hands-on approach. And I’m visiting my great-aunt, who lives in Portland—two birds … one stone.” Clark remains stony faced and unfazed by my husband’s bad temper.
“Well, if we’re all done, I have work to attend to.” Christian stands and Detective Clark follows his cue.
“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Grey,” he says politely. I nod.
“Mr. Grey.” Christian opens the door, and Clark leaves. I sag into the sofa.
“Can you believe that asshole?” Christian explodes.
“Clark?”
“No. That fucker, Hyde.”
“No, I can’t.”
“What’s his fucking game?” Christian whispers through gritted teeth.
“I don’t know. Do you think Clark believed me?”
“Of course he did. He knows Hyde is a fucked-up asshole.”
“You’re very sweary.”
“Sweary?” Christian smirks. “Is that even a word?”
“It is now.”
Unexpectedly he grins and sits down beside me, pulling me into his arms.
“Don’t think about that fucker. Let’s go see your dad and try to talk about the move tomorrow.”
“He was adamant that he wanted to stay in Portland and not be a bother.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“I want to travel with him.”
Christian gazes at me, and for a moment, I think he’s going to say no. “Okay. I’ll come, too. Sawyer and Taylor can take the cars. I’ll let Sawyer drive your R8 tonight.”
The following day Ray is examining his new surroundings—an airy, light room in the rehabilitation center of Northwest Hospital in Seattle. It’s noon, and he looks sleepy. The journey, via helicopter no less, has exhausted him.
“Tell Christian I appreciate this,” he says quietly.
“You can tell him yourself. He’ll be along this evening.”
“Aren’t you going to work?”
“Probably. I just want to make sure you’re settled in here.”
“You get along. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“I like worrying about you.”
My BlackBerry buzzes. I check the number—it’s not one I recognize.
“You going to answer that?” Ray asks.
“No. I don’t know who it is. The voice mail can take it for me. I brought you something to read.” I indicate the pile of sports magazines on his bedside table.
“Thanks, Annie.”
“You’re tired, aren’t you?”
He nods.
“I’ll let you get some sleep.” I kiss his forehead. “Laters, Daddy,” I murmur.
“I’ll see you later, honey. And thank you.” Ray catches my hand and squeezes it gently. “I like that you call me Daddy. Takes me back.”
Oh, Daddy. I return his squeeze.
AS I HEAD OUT the main doors toward the SUV where Sawyer is waiting, I hear my name being called.
“Mrs. Grey! Mrs. Grey!”
Turning, I see Dr. Greene hurrying toward me, looking her usual immaculate self, if a little flustered.
“Mrs. Grey, how are you? Did you get my message? I called earlier.”
“No.” My scalp prickles.
“Well, I was wondering why you’d canceled four appointments.”
Four appointments? I gape at her. I’ve missed four appointments! How?
“Perhaps we should talk about this in my office. I was going out for lunch—do you have time right now?”
I nod meekly. “Sure. I …” Words fail me. I’ve missed four appointments? I’m late for my shot. Shit.
In a daze, I follow her back into the hospital and up to her office. How did I miss four appointments? I vaguely remember one being moved—Hannah mentioned it—but four? How could I miss four?
Dr. Greene’s office is spacious, minimalistic, and well appointed.
“I’m so grateful you caught me before I left,” I mumble, still shell-shocked. “My father’s been in a car accident, and we’ve just moved him here from Portland.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. How’s he doing?”
“He’s doing okay, thank you. On the mend.”
“That’s good. And it explains why you canceled on Friday.”
Dr. Greene wiggles the mouse on her desk, and her computer comes to life.
“Yes … it’s been over thirteen weeks. You’re cutting it a bit close. We’d better do a test before we give you another shot.”
“A test?” I whisper, all the blood rushing from my head.
“A pregnancy test.”
Oh no.
She reaches into the drawer of her desk. “You know what to do with this.” She hands me a small container. “The restroom is just outside my office.”
I get up as if in a trance, my whole body operating as if on automatic pilot, and stumble to the restroom.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. How could I have let this happen … again? I suddenly feel sick and offer a silent prayer. Please no. Please no. It’s too soon. It’s too soon. It’s too soon.
When I reenter Dr. Greene’s office, she gives me a tight smile and waves me to the seat in front of her desk. I sit down and wordlessly hand her my sample. She dips a small white stick into it and watches. She raises her eyebrows as it turns pale blue.
“What does blue mean?” The tension is almost choking me.
She looks up at me, her eyes serious. “Well, Mrs. Grey, it means you’re pregnant.”
What? No. No. No. Fuck.
CHAPTER TWENTY
* * *
I gape at Dr. Greene, my world collapsing around me. A baby. A baby. I don’t want a baby … not yet. Fuck. And I know deep down that Christian is going to freak.
“Mrs. Grey, you’re very pale. Would you like a glass of water?”
“Please.” My voice is barely audible. My mind is racing. Pregnant? When?
“I take it you’re surprised.”
I nod mutely at the good doctor as she hands me a glass of water from her conveniently placed water cooler. I take a welcome sip. “Shocked,” I whisper.
“We could do an ultrasound to see how advanced the pregnancy is. Judging by your reaction, I suspect you’re just a couple of weeks or so from conception—four or five weeks pregnant. I take it you haven’t been suffering any symptoms?”
I shake my head mutely. Symptoms? I don’t think so. “I thought … I thought this was a reliable form of contraceptive.”
Dr. Greene arches a brow. “It normally is, when you remember to have the shot,” she says coolly.
“I must have lost track of time.” Christian is going to freak. I know it.
“Have you been bleeding at all?”
I frown. “No.”
“That’s normal for the Depo. Let’s do an ultrasound shall we? I have time.”
I nod, bewildered, and Dr. Greene directs me toward a black leather exam table behind a screen.
“If you’ll just slip off your skirt, underwear, and cover yourself with the blanket on the table, we’ll go from there,” she says briskly.
Underwear? I was expecting an ultrasound scan over my belly. Why do I need to remove my panties? I shrug in consternation, then quickly do as she says and lie down beneath the soft white blanket.
“That’s good.” Dr. Greene appears at the end of the table, pulling the ultrasound machine closer. It’s a hi-tech stack of computers. Sitting down, she positions the screen so that we can both see it and jogs the trackball on the keyboard. The screen pings into life.
“If you could lift and bend your knees, then part them wide,” she says matter-of-factly.
I frown warily.
“This is a transvaginal ultrasound. If you’re only just pregnant, we should be able to find the baby with this.” She holds up a long white probe.
Oh, you have got to be kidding!
“Okay,” I mutter, mortified, and do as she says. Greene pulls a condom over the wand and lubricates it with clear gel.
“Mrs. Grey, if you could relax.”
Relax? I’m pregnant, damn it! How do you expect me to relax? I blush and endeavor to find my happy place … which has relocated somewhere near the lost island of Atlantis.
Slowly and gently she inserts the probe.
Holy fuck!
All I can see on the screen is the visual equivalent of white noise—although it’s more sepia in color. Slowly, Dr. Greene moves the probe about, and it’s very disconcerting.
“There,” she murmurs. She presses a button, freezing the picture on the screen, and points to a tiny blip in the sepia storm.
It’s a little blip. There’s a tiny little blip in my belly. Tiny. Wow. I forget my discomfort as I stare dumbfounded at the blip.
“It’s too early to see the heartbeat, but yes, you’re definitely pregnant. Four or five weeks, I would say.” She frowns. “Looks like the shot ran out early. Oh well, that happens sometimes.”
I am too stunned to say anything. The little blip is a baby. A real honest to goodness baby. Christian’s baby. My baby. Holy cow. A baby!
“Would you like me to print out a picture for you?”
I nod, still unable to speak, and Dr. Greene presses a button. Then she gently removes the wand and hands me a paper towel to clean myself.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Grey,” she says as I sit up. “We’ll need to make another appointment. I suggest in four weeks’ time. Then we can ascertain the exact age of your baby and set a likely due date. You can get dressed now.”
“Okay.” I’m reeling and I dress hurriedly. I have a blip, a little blip. When I emerge from behind the screen, Dr. Greene is back at her desk.
“In the meantime, I’d like you to start this course of folic acid and prenatal vitamins. Here’s a leaflet of dos and don’ts.”
As she hands me a package of pills and a leaflet, she continues to talk at me, but I’m not listening. I’m in shock. Overwhelmed. Surely I should be happy. Surely I should be thirty … at least. This is too soon—far too soon. I try to quell my rising sense of panic.
I wish Dr. Greene a polite good-bye and head back down to the exit and out into the cool fall afternoon. I’m gripped suddenly by a creeping cold and deep sense of foreboding. Christian is going to freak, I know, but how much and how far, I have no idea. His words haunt me. “I’m not ready to share you yet.” I pull my jacket tighter around me, trying to shake off the cold.
Sawyer leaps out of the SUV and holds open the door. He frowns when he sees my face, but I ignore his concerned expression.
“Where to, Mrs. Grey?” he asks gently.
“SIP.” I nestle into the backseat of the car, closing my eyes and leaning my head on the headrest. I should be happy. I know I should be happy. But I’m not. This is too early. Far too early. What about my job? What about SIP? What about Christian and me? No. No. No. We’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. He loved baby Mia—I remember Carrick telling me—he dotes on her now. Perhaps I should warn F
lynn … Perhaps I shouldn’t tell Christian. Perhaps I … perhaps I should end this. I halt my thoughts on that dark path, alarmed at the direction they’re taking. Instinctively my hand sweeps down to rest protectively over my belly. No. My little Blip. Tears spring to my eyes. What am I going to do?
A vision of a little boy with copper-colored hair and bright gray eyes running through the meadow at the new house invades my thoughts, teasing and tantalizing me with possibilities. He’s giggling and squealing with delight as Christian and I chase him. Christian swings him high in his arms and carries him on his hip as we walk hand in hand back to the house.
My vision morphs into Christian turning away from me in disgust. I’m fat and awkward, heavy with child. He paces the long hall of mirrors, away from me, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the silvered glass, walls, and floor. Christian …
I jerk awake. No. He’s going to freak out.
When Sawyer pulls up outside SIP, I leap out and head into the building.
“Ana, great to see you. How’s your dad?” Hannah asks as soon as I reach my office. I regard her coolly.
“He’s better, thank you. Can I see you in my office?”
“Sure.” She looks surprised as she follows me in. “Is everything okay?”
“I need to know if you’ve moved or canceled any appointments with Dr. Greene.”
“Dr. Greene? Yes, I have. About two or three of them. Mostly because you were in other meetings or running late. Why?”
Because now I’m fucking pregnant! I scream at her in my head. I take a deep, steadying breath. “If you move any appointments, will you make sure I know? I don’t always check my calendar.”
“Sure,” Hannah says quietly. “I’m sorry. Have I done something wrong?”
I shake my head and sigh loudly. “Can you make me some tea? Then let’s discuss what’s been happening while I’ve been away.”
“Sure. I’ll jump to it.” Brightening, she heads out of the office.
I gaze after her departing figure. “You see that woman?” I talk quietly to the blip. “She might be the reason you’re here.” I pat my belly, then feel like a complete idiot, because I am talking to the blip. My tiny little Blip. I shake my head, exasperated at myself and at Hannah … though deep down I know I can’t really blame Hannah. Despondently I switch on my computer. There’s an e-mail from Christian.
