As I head out of the building, I hear my name called.

"Miss Steele?"

I turn expectantly, and an ashen young woman approaches me cautiously. She looks like a ghost-so pale and strangely blank.

"Miss Anastasia Steele?" she repeats, and her features stay static even though she's speaking.

"Yes?"

She stops, staring at me from about three feet away on the sidewalk, and I stare back, immobilized. Who is she? What does she want?

"Can I help you?" I ask. How does she know my name?"No ... I just wanted to look at you." Her voice is eerily soft. Like me, she has dark hair that starkly contrasts with her fair skin. Her eyes are brown, like bourbon, but fat.

There's no life in them at all. Her beautiful face is pale, and etched with sorrow.

"Sorry-you have me at a disadvantage," I say politely, trying to ignore the warning tingle up my spine. On closer inspection, she looks odd, disheveled and uncared for. Her clothes are two sizes too big, including her designer trench coat.

She laughs, a strange, discordant sound that only feeds my anxiety.

"What do you have that I don't?" she asks sadly.

My anxiety turns to fear. "I'm sorry-who are you?"

"Me? I'm n.o.body." She lifts her arm to drag her hand through her shoulder length hair, and as she does, the sleeve of her trench coat rides up, revealing a soiled bandage around her wrist.

Holy f.u.c.k.

"Good day, Miss Steele." Turning, she walks up the street as I stand rooted to the spot.

I watch as her slight frame disappears from view, lost amongst the workers pouring out of their various offces.

What was that about?

Confused, I cross the street to the bar, trying to a.s.similate what has just happened, while my subconscious rears her ugly head and hisses at me-She has something to do with Christian.

Fifty's is a cavernous, impersonal bar with baseball pennants and posters hanging on the wall. Jack is at the bar with Elizabeth, Courtney the other commissioning editor, two guys from fnance, and Claire from reception. She is wearing her trademark silver hooped earrings.

"Hi, Ana!" Jack hands me a bottle of Bud.

"Cheers ... thank you," I murmur, still shaken by my encounter with Ghost Girl.

"Cheers." We clink bottles, and he continues his conversation with Elizabeth. Claire smiles sweetly at me.

"So, how has your frst week been?" she asks.

"Good, thank you. Everyone seems very friendly."

"You seem much happier today."

I fush. "It's Friday," I mutter quickly. "So-have you any plans this weekend?"

My patented distraction technique works and I'm saved. Claire turns out to be one of seven kids, and she's going to a big family get-together in Tacoma. She becomes quite animated, and I realize I haven't spoken to any women my own age since Kate left for Barbados.

Absently I wonder how Kate is ... and Elliot. I must remember to ask Christian if he's heard from him. Oh, and Ethan her brother will be back next Tuesday, and he'll be stay- ing in our apartment. I can't imagine Christian is going to be happy about that. My earlier encounter with strange Ghost Girl slips further from my mind.

During my conversation with Claire, Elizabeth hands me another beer.

"Thanks," I smile at her.Claire is very easy to talk to-she likes to talk-and before I know it, I am on my third beer, courtesy of one of the guys from fnance.

When Elizabeth and Courtney leave, Jack joins Claire and me. Where is Christian?

One of the fnance guys engages Claire in conversation.

"Ana, think you made the right decision coming here?" Jack's voice is soft, and he's standing a bit too close. But I've noticed that he has a tendency to do this with everyone, even at the offce. My subconscious narrows her eyes. You're reading too much into this, she admonishes me.

"I've enjoyed myself this week, thank you, Jack. Yes, I think I made the right deci- sion."

"You're a very bright girl, Ana. You'll go far."

I blush. "Thank you," I mutter, because I don't know what else to say.

"Do you live far?"

"The Pike Market district."

"Not far from me." Smiling, he moves even closer and leans against the bar, effectively trapping me. "Do you have any plans this weekend?"

"Well ... um-"

I feel him before I see him. It's as if my whole body is highly attuned to his presence.

It relaxes and ignites at the same time-a weird, internal duality-and I sense that strange pulsing electricity.

Christian drapes his arm around my shoulder in a seemingly casual display of affec- tion-but I know differently. He is staking a claim, and on this occasion, it's very welcome.

Softly he kisses my hair.

"h.e.l.lo, baby," he murmurs.

I can't help but feel relieved, safe, and excited with his arm around me. He draws me to his side, and I glance up at him while he stares at Jack, his expression impa.s.sive. Turning his attention to me, he gives me a brief crooked smile followed by a swift kiss. He's wear- ing his navy pinstriped jacket over jeans and an open white shirt. He looks edible.

Jack shuffes back uncomfortably.

"Jack, this is Christian," I mumble apologetically. Why am I apologizing? "Christian, Jack."

"I'm the boyfriend," Christian says with a small, cool smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he shakes Jack's hand. I glance up at Jack who is mentally a.s.sessing the fne specimen of manhood in front of him.

"I'm the boss," Jack replies arrogantly. "Ana did mention an ex-boyfriend."

Oh, s.h.i.t. You don't want to play this game with Fifty.

"Well, no longer ex," Christian replies calmly. "Come on, baby, time to go."

"Please, stay and join us for a drink," Jack says smoothly.

I don't think that's a good idea. Why is this so uncomfortable? I glance at Claire, who is, of course staring, open-mouthed and with frankly carnal appreciation at Christian.

When will I stop caring about the effect he has on other women?

"We have plans," Christian replies with his enigmatic smile.

We do? And a frisson of antic.i.p.ation runs through my body.

"Another time, perhaps," he adds. "Come," he says to me as he takes my hand."See you Monday." I smile at Jack, Claire, and the guys from fnance, trying hard to ignore Jack's less-than-pleased expression, and follow Christian out of the door.

Taylor is at the wheel of the Audi waiting at the curb.

"Why did that feel like a p.i.s.sing contest?" I ask Christian as he opens the car door for me.

"Because it was," he murmurs and gives me his enigmatic smile then shuts my door.

"h.e.l.lo, Taylor," I say and our eyes meet in the review mirror.

"Miss Steele," Taylor acknowledges with a genial smile.

Christian slides in beside me, clasps my hand, and gently kisses my knuckles. "Hi," he says softly.

My cheeks turn pink, knowing that Taylor can hear us, grateful that he can't see the scorching, panty-combusting look that Christian is giving me. It takes all my self-restraint not to leap on him right here, in the back seat of the car.

Oh, the back seat of the car ... hmm. My inner G.o.ddess strokes her chin gently in quiet contemplation.

"Hi," I breathe, my mouth dry.

"What would you like to do this evening?"

"I thought you said we had plans."

"Oh, I know what I'd like to do, Anastasia. I'm asking you what you want to do."

I beam at him.

"I see," he says with a wickedly salacious grin. "So . . . begging it is, then. Do you want to beg at my place or yours?" He tilts his head to one side and smiles his oh-so-s.e.xy smile at me.

"I think you're being very presumptuous, Mr. Grey. But by way of a change, we could go to my apartment." I bite my lip deliberately, and his expression darkens.

"Taylor, Miss Steele's, please."

"Sir," Taylor acknowledges and he heads off into the traffc.

"So how has your day been?" he asks.

"Good. Yours?"

"Good, thank you."

His ridiculously broad grin refects mine, and he kisses my hand again.

"You look lovely," he says.

"As do you."

"Your boss, Jack Hyde, is he good at his job?"

Whoa! That's a sudden change in direction? I frown. "Why? This isn't about your p.i.s.s- ing contest?"

Christian smirks. "That man wants into your panties, Anastasia," he says dryly.

I go crimson as my mouth drops open, and I glance nervously at Taylor. My subcon- scious inhales sharply, shocked.

"Well, he can want all he likes . . . why are we even having this conversation? You know I have no interest in him whatsoever. He's just my boss."

"That's the point. He wants what's mine. I need to know if he's good at his job."

I shrug. "I think so." Where is he going with this?

"Well, he'd better leave you alone, or he'll fnd himself on his a.s.s on the sidewalk.""Oh, Christian, what are you talking about? He hasn't done anything wrong." ...Yet.

He just stands too close.

"He makes one move, you tell me. It's called gross moral turpitude-or s.e.xual hara.s.s- ment."

"It was just a drink after work."

"I mean it. One move and he's out."

"You don't have that kind of power." Honestly! And before I roll my eyes at him, the realization hits me with the force of a speeding freight truck. "Do you, Christian?"

Christian gives me his enigmatic smile.

"You're buying the company," I whisper in horror.

His smile slips in response to the panic in my voice. "Not exactly," he says.

"You've bought it. SIP. Already."

He blinks at me, warily. "Possibly."

"You have or you haven't?"