My treat?

Your Ana x Still SM&I Anastasia Steele a.s.sistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP From: Christian Grey Subject: Dinner Out Date: June 14, 2011 15:05 To: Anastasia Steele I approve of your plan. Except the part about you paying!

My treat.

I'll collect you at 6:00.

x PS: Why aren't you using your Blackberry!!!

Christian Grey Completely and Utterly Annoyed, CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Bossiness Date: June 14, 2011: 15:11 To: Christian Grey Oh, don't be so crusty and cross.

It's all in code.

I'll see you at 6:00.

Ana xAnastasia Steele a.s.sistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP From: Christian Grey Subject: Maddening Woman Date: June 14, 2011 15:18 To: Anastasia Steele Crusty and cross!

I'll give you crusty and cross.

And look forward to it.

Christian Grey Completely and Utterly More Annoyed, but smiling for some unknown reason, CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Promises. Promises.

Date: June 14, 2011: 15:23 To: Christian Grey Bring it on, Mr. Grey I look forward to it too. ;D Ana x Anastasia Steele a.s.sistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP He doesn't reply, but then I don't expect him to. I imagine him moaning about mixed sig- nals, and the thought makes me smile. I daydream briefy about what he might do to me but fnd myself shifting about in my chair. My subconscious gazes at me disapprovingly over her half-moon specs-get on with your work.

A little later, my phone buzzes. It's Claire at reception.

"There's a real cute guy in reception to see you. We must go out for drinks sometime, Ana. You sure know some hunky guys," she hisses conspiratorially through the phone.

Ethan! Grabbing my keys from my purse, I hurry out to the foyer.

Holy s.h.i.t-sun-bleached blond hair, a tan to die for, and glowing hazel eyes gaze up at me from the green leather couch. As soon as he sees me, his mouth drops open, and he's on his feet coming toward me.

"Wow, Ana." He frowns at me as he bends to give me hug.

"You look well." I grin up at him. "You look . . . wow-different. Worldly, more sophisticated. What's happened? You changed your hair? Clothes? I don't know, Steele, but you look hot!"

I blush furiously. "Oh, Ethan. I'm just in my work clothes," I scold as Claire looks on with an arched eyebrow and a wry smile.

"How was Barbados?"

"Fun," he says.

"When's Kate back?"

"She and Elliot are fying back Friday. They're pretty d.a.m.n serious about each other."

Ethan rolls his eyes.

"I've missed her."

"Yeah? How have you been doing with Mr. Mogul?"

"Mr. Mogul?" I snicker. "Well, it's been interesting. He's taking us out for dinner this evening."

"Cool." Ethan seems genuinely pleased. Phew!

"Here." I hand him the keys. "You have the address?"

"Yeah. Laters." He leans over and kisses my cheek.

"Elliot's expression?"

"Yeah, kind of grows on you."

"It does. Laters." I smile at him as he collects his large shoulder bag from beside the green couch and exits the building.

When I turn, Jack is watching me from the far side of the foyer, his expression unread- able. I smile brightly at him and head back to my desk, feeling his eyes on me the whole time. This is beginning to get on my nerves. What to do? I have no idea. I'll have to wait until Kate is back. She's bound to come up with a plan. The thought dispels my bleak mood, and I pick up the next ma.n.u.script.

At fve to six, my phone buzzes. It's Christian.

"Crusty and Cross here," he says and I grin. He's still playful Fifty. My inner G.o.ddess is clapping her hands with glee like a small child.

"Well, this is s.e.x Mad and Insatiable. I take it you're outside?" I ask dryly.

"I am indeed, Miss Steele. Looking forward to seeing you." His voice is warm and seductive, and my heart futters wildly.

"Ditto, Mr. Grey. I'll be right out." I hang up.

I switch off my computer and gather up my purse and cream cardigan.

"I'm off now, Jack," I call through.

"Okay, Ana. Thanks for today, honey! Have a great evening."

"You, too."

Why can't he be like that all the time? I don't understand him.

The Audi is parked at the curb, and Christian climbs out as I approach. He's taken off his jacket, and he's wearing his gray pants, my favorite ones that hang from his hips-in that way. How can this Greek G.o.d be meant for me? I fnd myself grinning like a loon in answer to his own idiotic grin.

He's spent the whole day acting like a boyfriend in love-in love with me. This ador- able, complex, fawed man is in love with me, and I with him. Joy bursts unexpectedly inside me, and I savor the moment as I feel briefy that I could conquer the world.

"Miss Steele, you look as captivating as you did this morning." Christian pulls me into his arms and kisses me soundly.

"Mr. Grey, so do you."

"Let's go get your friend." He smiles down at me and opens the car door.

As Taylor heads to the apartment, Christian flls me in on his day-a much better one than yesterday, it seems. I gaze at him adoringly as he attempts to explain some break- through the environmental science department at WSU in Vancouver has made. His words mean very little to me, but I'm captivated by his pa.s.sion and interest in this subject. Maybe this is what it will be like, good days and bad days, and if the good days are like this, I won't have much to complain about. He hands me a sheet of paper.

"These are the times that Claude is free this week," he says.

Oh! The trainer.

As we pull up to my apartment building, he fshes his Blackberry from his pocket.

"Grey," he answers. "Ros, what is it?" He listens intently, and I can tell it's an involved conversation.

"I'll go and get Ethan. I'll be two minutes," I mouth at Christian and hold up two fn- gers.

He nods, obviously distracted by the call. Taylor opens my door, smiling at me warmly.

I grin at him, even Taylor's feeling it. I press the entry phone and shout happily into it.

"Hi, Ethan, it's me. Let me in."

The door buzzes, and I head upstairs to the apartment. It occurs to me that I have not been here since Sat.u.r.day morning. That seems so long ago. Ethan has kindly left the front door open. I step into the apartment, and I don't know why, but I freeze instinctively as soon as I step inside. I take a moment to realize it's because the pale, wan fgure standing by the kitchen island, holding a small revolver is Leila, and she's gazing impa.s.sively at me.

CHAPTER 13.

Holy f.u.c.k.

She's here, gazing at me with an unnerving blank expression, holding a gun. My sub- conscious swoons into a dead faint, and I don't think even smelling salts will bring her back.

I blink repeatedly at Leila as my mind goes into overdrive. How did she get in? Where's Ethan? Holy s.h.i.t! Where is Ethan?

A creeping cold fear grips my heart, and my scalp p.r.i.c.kles as each and every follicle on my head tightens with terror. What if she's harmed him? I start breathing rapidly as adrena- line and bone-numbing dread course through my body. Keep calm, keep calm-I repeat the mantra over and over in my head.

She tilts her head to one side, regarding me as if I'm an exhibit in a freak show. Jeez, I'm not the freak here.

It feels like an eon has pa.s.sed while I process all this, though in reality it is only a split second. Leila's expression remains blank, and her appearance is as scruffy and ill-kempt as ever. She's still wearing that grubby trench coat, and she looks desperately in need of a wash. Her hair is greasy and lank, plastered against her head, and her eyes are a dull brown, cloudy, and vaguely confused.Despite the fact that my mouth has no moisture in it whatsoever, I attempt to speak.

"Hi. Leila, isn't it?" I rasp. She smiles, but it's a disturbing curl of her lip rather than a true smile.

"She speaks," she whispers, and her voice is soft and hoa.r.s.e at the same time, an eerie sound.

"Yes, I speak," I say gently as if to a child. "Are you here alone?" Where is Ethan? My heart pounds at the thought that he might have come to some harm.

Her face falls, so much so that I think she's about to burst into tears-she looks so forlorn.

"Alone," she whispers. "Alone." And the depth of sadness in that one word is heart wrenching. What does she mean? I am alone? She's alone? She's alone because she's harmed Ethan? Oh ... no ... I have to fght the choking fear clawing at my throat as tears threaten.

"What are you doing here? Can I help you?" My words are a calm, gentle interrogation despite the suffocating fear in my throat. Her brow furrows as if she's completely befud- dled by my questions. But she makes no violent move against me. Her hand is still relaxed around her gun. I take a different tack, trying to ignore my tightening scalp.

"Would you like some tea?" Why am I asking her if she wants tea? It's Ray's answer to any emotional situation, resurfacing inappropriately. Jeez, he'd have a ft if he saw me right this minute. His army training would have kicked in, and he'd have disarmed her by now. She's not actually pointing that gun at me. Perhaps I can move. She shakes her head and tilts it from side to side as if stretching her neck.

I take a deep precious lungful of air, trying to calm my panicked breathing, and move toward the kitchen island. She frowns as if she can't quite understand what I am doing and shifts a little so she is still facing me. I reach the kettle and with a shaking hand fll it from the faucet. As I move, my breathing eases. Yes, if she wanted me dead, surely she would have shot me by now. She watches me with an absent, bemused curiosity. As I switch on the kettle, I'm plagued by the thought of Ethan. Is he hurt? Tied up?

"Is there anyone else in the apartment?" I ask tentatively.

She inclines her head the other way, and with her right hand-the hand not holding the revolver-she grabs a strand of her long greasy hair and starts twirling and fddling with it, pulling and twisting. It's obviously a nervous habit, and while I am distracted by this, I am struck once again by how much she resembles me. I hold my breath, waiting for her answer, the anxiety building to an almost unbearable pitch.

"Alone. All alone," she murmurs. I fnd this comforting. Maybe Ethan isn't here. The relief is empowering.

"Are you sure you don't want tea or coffee?"

"Not thirsty," she answers softly, and she takes a cautious step toward me. My feeling of empowerment evaporates. f.u.c.k! I start panting with fear again, feeling it surge thick and rough through my veins. In spite of this and feeling beyond brave, I turn and fetch a couple of cups from the cupboard.

"What do you have that I don't?" she asks, her voice a.s.suming the singsong intonation of a child.

"What do you mean, Leila?" I ask as gently as I can."Master-Mr. Grey-he lets you call him by his given name."

"I'm not his submissive, Leila. Er ... Master understands that I am unable, inadequate to fulfll that role."

She tilts her head to the other side. It's wholly unnerving and unnatural as a gesture.

"In-ad-e-quate." She tests the word, sounding it out, seeing how it feels on her tongue.

"But Master is happy. I have seen him. He laughs and smiles. These reactions are rare ...

very rare for him."

Oh.

"You look like me." Leila changes tack, surprising me, her eyes seeming to focus on me properly for the frst time. "Master likes obedient ones who look like you and me. The others, all the same ... all the same ... and yet you sleep in his bed. I saw you."

s.h.i.t! She was in the room. I didn't imagine it.

"You saw me in his bed?" I whisper.

"I never slept in Master's bed," she murmurs. She's like a fallen ethereal wraith. Half a person. She looks so slight, and in spite of the fact that she's holding a gun, I suddenly feel overwhelmed with sympathy for her. Her hands fex around the weapon, and my eyes widen, threatening to pop from my head.

"Why does Master like us like this? It makes me think something ... something ...