by James, E L
Oh?
“Two of the cameras were inoperative, so we don’t have complete coverage.”
“What! How did that happen?” What the fuck do I pay these people for?
“We’re endeavoring to find out,” Welch answers, his voice deep and gravelly like an old car exhaust. “It’s a major breach.”
No shit, Sherlock. “Who’s responsible?”
“There’s a rolling shift system. So, it’s down to four or five people.”
“If they’re found to be negligent, they’re fired. All of them.”
“Sir.” He glances at Taylor.
“At present, we have no leads as to who’s behind this,” Taylor says.
“There’s going to be a forensic examination of the aircraft,” Welch adds. “My hope is that they’ll turn something up.”
“I want more than fucking hope!” I raise my voice.
“Yes, sir.” Both men speak at the same time. Each of them looks contrite.
Hell. It’s not their fault. Grey. Get a grip.
I continue in a more measured tone. “Find out who fucked up at the hangar. Fire them. And as soon as we have an idea of what occurred, I want to know. In the meantime, make sure the jet’s secured and it’s safe.”
“Yes, sir,” Taylor says.
“We’re on it,” Welch growls. He’s pissed. He should be, this has happened on his watch. “The National Transportation Safety Board is all over this and I expect they’ll brief law enforcement as their inquiries continue and, if appropriate, invite them to investigate in parallel. I’ll circle back with the NTSB to confirm this.”
“The police?” I ask.
“No. It’ll be the FBI.”
“Okay. Maybe they’ll find something. Where are we with backup close protection?” I ask Taylor.
“Both Reynolds and Ryan are available and will start today.”
“I want to keep Anastasia out of this. She doesn’t need the worry. And I want to see the shortlist of who might be behind this. I have to say I’m at a loss.”
“My team is compiling a list of potential suspects,” Welch says.
“I’ll do the same.”
“Sir, now that this is on the FAA site, the press may pick it up and start asking questions,” Taylor says.
Shit. “You’re right. You can brief Sam now. I’ll get him up here.”
“Will do,” he responds.
If this is going public, I have to tell Ana, too.
How the hell did we come to this?
Sabotage!
I do not need this shit right now.
I leave the two men discussing likely suspects and poke my head out of the door. Andrea looks up from her computer. “Mr. Grey?”
“Ask Sam and Ros to join us.”
“Will do.”
There’s a knock on my office door. It’s Andrea. “Would you like more coffee?” she asks.
“Please.”
On my computer screen is a list of all the acquisitions I’ve made since I started my company. I’m going through each one to see if I can find any potential suspects. So far I’ve drawn a blank; it’s depressing. Deep down I’m worried about Ana—if someone wants to hurt me, she could end up as collateral damage. How could I live with myself if that was the case?
“Latte?”
“No. Black. Strong.”
“Yes, sir.” She closes the door and an e-mail pops up from my girl.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Quiet Before/After the Storm?
Date: June 21 2011 14:18
To: Christian Grey
My dearest Mr. Grey
You are most quiet today. This concerns me.
I hope all is well in the land of high finance and business dealings.
Thank you for last night. You are quite the mouthful. ;)
Axx
PS: I see Mr. Bastille late this afternoon.
Ana! A warm flush spreads under my collar and I loosen my tie. She is quite the wanton with her choice of words. I type my response.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Storm is here
Date: June 21 2011 14:25
To: Anastasia Steele
My darling fiancée
I must congratulate you on remembering your BlackBerry.
The storm clouds are gathering here and I will apprise you of the weather report and coming deluge when home.
In the meantime, I hope Bastille is not too hard on you. That’s my job. ;)
Thank YOU for last night. Your stamina and your mouth continue to amaze me in the best of ways. ;) ;) :)
Christian Grey
Meteorologist & CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
PS: I’d like to collect your remaining belongings from your apartment this week. You’re never there…
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Weather Predictions
Date: June 21 2011 14:29
To: Christian Grey
Your e-mail has done little to assuage my concerns. I comfort myself in knowing that should it be needed, you own a shipyard and can no doubt build an ark. You are, after all, the most competent man I know.
Your loving Ana xxx
PS: Let’s talk this evening about when I move in.
PPS: Is meteorology really your thing?
Her e-mail makes me smile and I run my index finger over the x’s.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: You Are My Thing.
Date: June 21 2011 14:32
To: Anastasia Steele
Always.
Christian Grey
Madly in Love CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
It’s 5:30 when Dr. Flynn waves me into his office. “Good afternoon, Christian.”
“John.” I amble over to the couch, sit down, and wait for him to take his chair.
“So, big weekend for you,” he says, sounding affable.
I look away. I don’t know where to start.
“What is it?” he asks.
“Someone’s trying to kill me.”
Flynn pales—a first, I think. “The crash?” he asks.
I nod.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He frowns.
“My people are all over it. But I’m at a loss as to who it might be.”
“You have no inkling?”
I shake my head.
“Well,” he says, “I hope the police are involved and that you find the culprit.”
“It will be the FBI. But my main concern is Ana.”
John nods. “Her safety?”
“Yes. I’ve put additional security in place, but I don’t know if it’ll be enough.” I swallow my rising anxiety.
“We’ve talked about this,” he replies. “I know you loathe feeling out of control. I know you’re panicked about Ana, and I understand why you feel that way. But you have the resources and you’ve put measures in place to keep her safe. That’s all anyone can do.” His gaze is level and sincere, and his words are reassuring. He smiles and adds, “You can’t lock her up.”
My laugh is cathartic. “I know.”
“I also know you’d like to but put yourself in her shoes.”
“Yeah. I know. I get it. I don’t want to drive her away.”
“Exactly. Good.”
“That’s not all I want to talk about.”
“There’s more?”
I let out a long sigh and recount in the briefest of terms the argument with Elena at my birthday party, and the subsequent rows with each of my parents.
“I have to say, Christian, it’s never a dull moment with you.” Flynn rubs his chin in response to my resigned smile. “We only have an hour—what do you want to talk about?”
“I
had a nightmare last night. About Elena.”
“I see.”
“I’ve cut ties with her, as per my parents’ requests. Gifted her the business.”
“That’s generous.”
I shrug. “It is. But I’m okay with that, I think. Of course, she’s still calling, but it was only twice today.”
“She’s been a huge influence in your life.”
“She has. But it’s time for me to move on.”
He looks thoughtful. “Which did you find more upsetting, the argument with Elena or your parents?”
“Elena’s was awkward, because Ana was in the room. We were spiteful to each other.” My regret is clear in my tone, and deep down I wish we’d parted on better terms. “And Grace was so mad at me. I’ve never heard her curse before. But the argument with my dad was the worst. He was an asshole.”
“He was angry?”
“Very.” I ignore the stab of guilt in my guts at my disloyalty to Carrick.
“I wonder if he’s projecting his anger at himself onto you. You can understand why he felt that way, can’t you?”
No. Yes. Maybe.
Flynn continues, “Whether you agree or not, your father probably thinks Elena took advantage of a vulnerable adolescent. It was his job to protect you. He failed. That’s probably how he sees it.”
“She didn’t take advantage. I was more than willing.” My frustration echoes in my words.
I am so done with that argument.
John sighs. “We’ve discussed this many, many times, and I don’t want to get into a debate with you about it again, but you might want to try and look at the situation from your father’s point of view.”
“He said I might not be husband material.”
Flynn seems taken aback. “Oh. How did you feel about that?”
“Angry. Worried that he might be right.” Ashamed.
“In what context did he say it?”
I wave my hand dismissively. “He was lecturing me about the sanctity of marriage. He said if I had no respect for that, I had no business being married.”
John’s brows draw together.
“Since Elena was married.” I clarify for him.
“I see.” Flynn purses his lips. “Christian,” he says gently. “Your father may have a point.”
What?
“Either you were a willing participant in a relationship with a married woman, a relationship that cost her her marriage—and much more, considering what happened to her—or you were a vulnerable adolescent who was taken advantage of. Which is it? You cannot have it both ways.”
I glare at him. What. The. Hell?
“Marriage is a serious business,” he says.
“Fuck it, John, I know that. You sound just like him!”
“Do I? That’s not my intention. I’m just here to give you some perspective.”
Perspective? Fuck.
I glare at him, then down at my hands, as the silence grows between us.
Perspective, my ass. “I think Carrick’s wrong,” I mumble eventually, and I realize that I sound like the surly teen my father still thinks I am.
“Of course he is. No matter what my views are on your relationship with Mrs. Lincoln, over the years you’ve demonstrated a constant commitment to her. I think it’s your regret at terminating all contact with her that is wearing on your conscience.”
“There’s no regret!” I snap. “I’ve done this willingly.”
“Guilt, then?”
I sigh. “Guilt? I don’t feel guilty.” Do I?
John remains impassive.
“Hence the nightmares?” I ask.
“Maybe.” He taps his lip with his index finger. “You’re giving up a long-standing pivotal relationship to please your parents.”
“It’s not for my parents. It’s for Ana.”
He nods. “You are rejecting everything you know for Anastasia, the woman you love. It’s a huge step.” He smiles once more. “In the right direction, if you ask me.”
I gaze at him, not knowing what to say.
“Think about all I’ve said. Time’s up,” he says. “We can continue talking about this when I see you next.”
I get up, feeling somewhat bemused. Flynn, as ever, has given me a great deal to chew on. But until we speak again, I have one outstanding question. “How’s Leila?”
“Making good progress.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
“It is. I’ll see you next week.”
Taylor is waiting outside in the Q7.
“I’m going to walk home,” I inform him. I need some time to think. “I’ll see you back at Escala.”
He gives me a pained look.
“What?”
“Sir, I’d be much more comfortable if you rode in the car.”
Oh, yes. Someone’s trying to kill me.
I scowl as Taylor opens the rear door, but resigned, I climb inside.
Am I no longer master of my own universe?
My dark mood worsens.
“Where’s Ana?” I ask Mrs. Jones when I enter the living room.
“Good evening, Mr. Grey. I believe she’s in the shower.”
“Thanks.”
“Dinner in twenty minutes?” she asks as she stirs a pot on the stove. The aroma is tantalizing.
“Make it thirty.” Ana in the shower has possibilities. Mrs. Jones tries to hide her smile, but I see it and ignore it. I go in search of my girl. She’s not in the bathroom but the bedroom, standing at the window, wrapped in a towel and dewy from her shower.
“Hi,” she says with a huge smile that vanishes as I approach. “What’s wrong?”
Before I can reply, I wrap her in my arms and hold her tight, inhaling her sweet, just-showered fragrance. It soothes my soul.
“Christian. What is it?” She runs her hands up my back, pressing me close.
“I just want to hold you.” I bury my face in her hair that’s twisted into a chaotic topknot.
“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” Her voice is tinged with tension. I hate it when she’s anxious. I bring my hand up to cradle her head, tip it back, then press my lips to hers and kiss her, pouring my anxiety into our kiss. She responds immediately, caressing my face, opening up to me, her tongue sparring with mine.
Oh, Ana.
When she pulls away we’re both winded, and I’m hard.
Fucking hard. For her.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, gently cajoling me and scrutinizing my face for clues.
“Later,” I murmur against her lips, and start walking her backward to the bed. She grabs at my lapels and tries to divest me of my jacket while her towel falls to the floor, leaving her naked in my arms.
Reaching up, I tug on the elastic holding her precarious bun and release her hair so that it tumbles down around her shoulders and breasts. My hands skim down her back and I cup her backside, pulling her against me. “I want you.”
“I can tell.” She wriggles against my erection.
Fuck. I grin and gently push her onto the bed so that she sprawls across it in all her naked glory, while I stand over her, my legs between her knees.
“That’s better,” I whisper, my earlier pique forgotten.
“Mr. Grey, as much as I like you in a suit, you seem to be overdressed.” Gone is her anxiety—her eyes shine up at me, full of teasing desire. It’s arousing.
“Well, I’ll have to see what I can do about that, Miss Steele.”
She bites down on her lower lip and runs her fingers down between her breasts. Her nipples are rosy, erect and ready. For my mouth.
It takes all my willpower not to rip off my clothes and bury myself in her. Instead, I grab the knot of my tie and gently tug it so it slowly unravels. Once it’s loose, I toss it on the floor and undo the top
button on my shirt.
Ana’s mouth opens in a sexy, appreciative gasp.
Next, I shrug off my jacket and let it fall to floor, where it lands with a soft thud. I think that’s my phone. But I ignore the sound and yank the hem of my shirt from my pants.
“Off or on?” I ask.
“Off. Now. Please.” Ana doesn’t hesitate.
I grin and ease my left cuff link from its place, then repeat the process with the right cuff.
Ana squirms on the bed.
“Keep still, baby,” I whisper while I undo the lowest button on my shirt, then move my fingers up to the next, and the next, my eyes not leaving hers. When my shirt is undone, it follows the way of my jacket, and I grasp my belt. Ana’s eyes widen and we drink each other in. I drag the end through the belt loop and undo the buckle, and as slow as I can I tug my belt free.
Ana angles her head slightly, watching me, and I notice the rise and fall of her breasts increases as her breathing accelerates.
I fold the belt in half and let it slide between my fingers.
Oh, Ana…what I’d like to do with this.
Her hips rise and fall, too.
I tug both ends of my belt so it snaps against itself, with a sharp crack. She doesn’t flinch, but I know she hasn’t signed up for this, so I drop it on the floor. She forces out a shallow breath, looking both relieved and maybe a little disappointed—I don’t know. But now’s not the time to think about that. I step out of my shoes and dispense with my socks, then undo the button on my pants and slide down the fly.
“Ready?” I ask.
“And waiting.” Her voice is husky with lust. “But I’m enjoying the floor show.”
I grin and drop my pants and boxer briefs, freeing my straining cock. Kneeling on the floor, I trail kisses up the inside of her calf, to her thigh, along the line of her pubic hair, up to her navel, to each of her breasts, until I’m hovering over her, poised and ready.
“I love you,” I whisper, and ease into her, kissing her at the same time.
She groans. “Christian.”
And I start to move. Slowly. Savoring her. My sweet, sweet Ana. My love.
She wraps her legs around me, her fingers diving into my hair and tugging hard.
“I love you, too,” she purrs in my ear and moves with me, so we’re in sync.
