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I lock the filing cabinet and check the time.
It’s late, and Ana is dozing when I slip into bed and pull her into my arms. She mumbles something unintelligible while I breathe in her soothing scent and close my eyes.
My dream catcher.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Ana is curled up beside me, still out for the count. It’s 7:16 a.m. I’m normally up earlier, but the last few days have taken a toll on me, too. It could also be the workout I did yesterday. Not only did I go for a run, but I did two circuits of the gym and an hour’s hard rowing. I smile at the ceiling while I contemplate going for another run this morning. I have all this excess energy.
Perhaps I should let Ana have her wicked way with me.
The thought is appealing.
Fuck.
Too appealing.
Taking a deep breath, I bring my wayward body to heel, grab my phone, and ease myself out of bed. Maybe I’ll come back when she’s awake. Right now, I’m hungry.
“Good morning, Mr. Grey.” Gail is in the kitchen; if she’s surprised that I’m still in my pajamas, she doesn’t give anything away. She moves straight to the Gaggia to make my coffee.
“Good morning, Mrs. Jones.”
“How’s Mrs. Grey this morning?”
“Still asleep.”
She nods with a satisfied smile. “What can I get you?”
“An omelet. Please.”
“Bacon, mushroom, and cheese?”
“Sounds great.” She slides over a cup of freshly brewed coffee.
I start leafing through The Seattle Times, glad that my wife isn’t on the front page, and wonder what Ana and I will do today, when I spot the real estate section.
Of course!
“Gail.” I get her attention once more. “Depending on how Ana’s feeling, I thought we might go out to the new house later. Could you rustle up a picnic for us?”
“It would be a pleasure, sir. I’ll ask Taylor to take it down to the R8 when it’s ready.”
“Thank you.”
I call Andrea to inform her I’m not coming into the office and ask her to reschedule any of today’s meetings. She’s unfazed. “Yes, Mr. Grey. How is Mrs. Grey?” she asks tentatively.
“Much improved. Thank you.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“I’ll be on my cell today, if you need me.”
My omelet is everything that I hoped it would be. I am happily eating when I look up. Ana has appeared in the doorway. She looks well rested; the bruise on her cheek has faded but she’s fully dressed, as if she’s going out somewhere. She’s wearing a skirt that borders on indecent—she’s all legs and high fuck-me heels. I lose my train of thought.
“Good morning, Mrs. Grey. Going somewhere?” I’m hoarse.
“Work.” She throws me a smile that illuminates the room.
I scoff at her audacity. “I don’t think so. Dr. Singh said a week off.”
“Christian, I’m not spending the day lounging in bed on my own.” She flashes me a quick, heated look, which I feel in all the right places. “So, I may as well go to work. Good morning, Gail.”
“Mrs. Grey.” Mrs. Jones flattens her lips, attempting to hide her amusement. “Would you like some breakfast?”
“Please.”
“Granola?”
“I’d prefer scrambled eggs with whole-wheat toast.”
“Very good, Mrs. Grey,” Gail replies, with a broad grin.
“Ana, you are not going to work.” I’m amused that she thinks she should.
“But—”
“No. It’s simple. Don’t argue.” I’m your boss’s boss, and the answer is no.
She narrows her eyes, but her glare becomes a frown as she scrutinizes my attire. “Are you going to work?”
I shake my head and glance down at my pajama pants. “No.”
“It is Monday, right?”
I grin. “Last time I looked.”
“Are you playing hooky?” From her tone, I think she’s intrigued and slightly incredulous.
“I’m not leaving you here on your own to get into trouble. And Dr. Singh said it would be a week before you could go back to work. Remember?”
She sits down on the barstool beside me, her skirt riding up higher, exposing her upper thighs, and I lose my train of thought…again. “You look good,” I murmur, and she crosses her legs. “Very good. Especially here.” I cannot resist running my finger across the exposed skin between her stocking tops and the hem of her skirt. “This skirt is very short,” I murmur.
I can’t keep my eyes off your legs, Mrs. Grey.
I’m not sure I approve.
“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” Ana waves a nonchalant hand.
Yanking my gaze away from her legs, I look her in the eye. Her cheeks color; she’s such a hopeless liar. “Really, Mrs. Grey?” I raise a brow. “I’m not sure this look is suitable for the workplace.”
“Well, since I’m not going to work, that’s a moot point,” she says stiffly.
“Moot?”
“Moot,” she mouths, and I hide my smile.
There’s that word again. I take another bite of my omelet. “I have a better idea.”
“You do?”
My eyes meet hers, and suddenly it’s there, that look I know so well—her desire responding to mine. The air between us sparks with our own special electricity.
