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“I think so, too. Christian…I—”
My gut tightens.
“What is it, Ana?”
“Here.” From her purse she hands me a small dark box wrapped in a ribbon. “This is for you for your birthday. I wanted to give it to you now—but only if you promise not to open it until Saturday, okay?”
I swallow to contain my relief. “Okay.”
She takes a deep, nervous breath. Why is she anxious about this? I shake it. It sounds small and plastic. What the hell has she given me?
I look up at her.
Whatever it is, I’m sure I’m going to love it. I give her a broad smile.
My birthday is on Saturday. She will be here on that day—or so this gift implies. Doesn’t it?
“You can’t open it until Saturday,” she says, waving a finger at me.
“I get it. Why are you giving this to me now?” I place it in my inside pocket.
“Because I can, Mr. Grey.”
“Why, Miss Steele, you stole my line.”
“I did. Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
FLYNN STANDS AS WE enter his office. “Christian.”
“John.” We shake hands. “You remember Anastasia?”
“How could I forget? Anastasia, welcome.”
“Ana, please,” she says, as they shake hands. He directs us toward his sofas.
I wait for Ana to sit down, admiring the fit of the navy dress she’s changed into, and I take the other sofa but sit close to her. Flynn takes his usual chair. I place my hand on Ana’s and give her hand a squeeze.
“Christian has requested that you accompany him to one of our sessions,” Flynn says. “Just so you know, we treat these sessions with absolute confidentiality—”
He stops when Ana interrupts. “Oh—um, I’ve signed an NDA,” she says quickly.
Shit.
I release her hand.
“A nondisclosure agreement?” Flynn gives me a puzzled look.
I shrug but say nothing.
“You start all your relationships with women with an NDA?” he asks me.
“The contractual ones, I do.”
Flynn stifles a smile. “You’ve had other types of relationships with women?”
Shit.
“No,” I respond, amused by his reaction. He knows this.
“As I thought.” Flynn turns his attention back to Ana. “Well, I guess we don’t have to worry about confidentiality, but may I suggest that the two of you discuss this at some point? As I understand, you’re no longer entering into that kind of contractual relationship.”
“Different kind of contract, hopefully,” I say, with a look at Ana.
She blushes.
“Ana. You’ll have to forgive me, but I probably know a lot more about you than you think. Christian has been very forthcoming.”
She glances at me.
“An NDA? That must have shocked you,” Flynn continues.
“Oh, I think the shock of that has paled into insignificance, given Christian’s most recent revelations,” she says, and her voice is low and husky.
I shift in my seat.
“I’m sure. So, Christian, what would you like to discuss?”
I shrug. “Anastasia wanted to see you. Perhaps you should ask her.”
But Ana is staring at a box of tissues on the coffee table in front of her.
“Would you be more comfortable if Christian left us for a while?” Flynn asks her.
What?
Ana’s eyes dart to me. “Yes,” she says.
Fuck.
But?
Shit.
I stand up. “I’ll be in the waiting room.”
“Thank you, Christian,” Flynn says. I give Ana a long look, trying to tell her I’m ready for this commitment that I want to make to her. Then I stalk out of the room, closing the door behind me.
Flynn’s receptionist Janet looks up, but I ignore her and wander into the waiting room, where I flop into one of the leather armchairs.
What will they discuss?
You, Grey. You.
Closing my eyes, I lean back and try to relax.
Blood thrums through my ears, a thump, thump, thump that’s impossible to ignore.
Find your happy place, Grey.
I’m in the orchard with Elliot. We’re kids. We’re running through the trees. Laughing. Picking apples. Eating apples. Grandpa is watching us. Laughing too.
We’re in a kayak with Mom. Dad and Mia are ahead of us. We’re racing Dad.
Elliot and I are paddling with all our twelve-year-old fury. Mom is laughing. Mia splashes us with her paddle.
“Fuck! Elliot!” We’re on a Hobie Cat. He has the tiller and we’re flying the hull, tearing downwind across Lake Washington. Elliot whoops with joy as we trapeze over the side of the hull. We’re wet. Exhilarated. And fighting the wind.
I’m making love to Ana. Breathing in her scent. Kissing her throat, her breast.
My body responds.
Fuck. No. I open my eyes and stare at the utilitarian brass chandelier on the white ceiling, and shift in my seat.
What are they talking about?
I get up and start pacing. But I sit down again and leaf through one of the National Geographic magazines, the only publication that Flynn offers in his waiting room.
I can’t concentrate on any of the articles.
Nice photographs, though.
I can’t bear this. I pace once more. Then sit down and check the address of the house that we’re going to visit. And if Ana doesn’t like what she hears from Flynn and doesn’t want to see me again? I’ll just have to get Andrea to cancel.
