BOOK II - CHAPTER VI - Christian and Anastasia FanFiction

HOSTILE TERRITORY

CHAPTER VI

Seeing Anastasia’s horror stricken face raises my anxiety level. After Elena quickly wishes me luck, I stride back to Anastasia, and look at her apprehensively. Her expression makes me frown. “Are you okay?” I ask in a strained and cautious voice. Anastasia, please! Don’t run away from me! (Ana Stesia by Prince)

“Not really. You didn’t want to introduce me?” she asks me coldly.

Oh, damn! My fears are confirmed. She knows! Shit! Shit! Shit! What shall I do?

“But I thought – “ I say as she cuts me off.

“For a bright man, Christian, sometimes...” she stops, unable to bring the rest of her sentence. Sometimes what? Sometimes I act like an idiot? An ass? She told me that before. A jerk. I wasn’t thinking, and sometimes old habits die hard. I didn’t think Elena would be here! Fuck!

“I’d like to go, please,” she says.

“Why?” I ask.

“You know why,” she says rolling her eyes. I gaze down at her, but I can’t punish her for eye rolling. I promised. My eyes burn with anger...at myself, and... I don’t even know who I’m mad at!

“I’m sorry, Ana. I didn’t know she’d be here. She’s never here. She’s opened a new branch at the Bravern Center, and that’s where she’s normally based. Someone was sick today,” I explain as best as I can.

But, Anastasia won’t hear any of it. She turns on her heel, and head for the door.

“We won’t need Franco, Greta,” I snap and head out the door on her heels. I watch her warily. She’s walking away speedily as if she’s going to sprint. She’s also holding her breath, and gritting her teeth, and looking at a distance as if to suppress her tears. Damn! She’s going to run! Why the hell do I get myself in this position? And how do I manage to do it so often? God! I'm an idiot!

I walk beside her wordlessly constantly watching her without even blinking. I know I’m fucked up. I asked her to give me some room to make mistakes. I will screw up – I think I regularly do anyway. She just wraps her arms around herself closing me off, trying to protect herself, her head down, avoiding the objects on her path, but also avoiding me. I make no moves to touch her but all I want to do is to stop her and hold her in my arms. After we get on the Second Avenue, she finally snaps.

“You used to take your subs there?” (←Scandalous by Prince)  

“Some of them, yes,” I answer in a quiet clipped tone.

“Leila?” is her second question.

“Yes,” I answer truthfully.

“The place looks very new,” she observes.

“It’s been remodeled recently,” I answer.

“I see. So, Mrs. Robinson met all your subs.”

“Yes,” I reply.

“Did they know about her?”

“No. None of them did. Only you,” I answer.

“But I’m not your sub,” she says as in a questioning statement.

“No, you most definitely are not,” I answer fervently.

Finally she stops and faces me. I’m fearful of what she would do, that she would run, and I would never see her again. My lips are pressed into a hard, straining line.

“Can you see how fucked-up this is?” she says as she glares up at me, in a low hissing voice.

“Yes. I’m sorry,” I say. I realized that when I saw Elena in the store, but there was nothing I could do about it.

“I want to get my haircut, preferably somewhere where you haven’t fucked either the staff or the clientele,” she states completely hurt. I flinch. She’s right of course. How would I feel if she had taken me someplace where people she fucked the people who worked or frequented there? I can’t even wrap my mind around the idea. Oh, I'm in deep shit! 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she says and starts walking away. I’m completely scared. Like a small child!

“You’re not running. Are you?” I ask trying to conceal my fear.

“No, I just want a damn haircut. Somewhere I can close my eyes, have someone wash my hair, and forget about all this baggage that accompanies you,” she says.

I run my hand through my hair in exasperation. “I can have Franco come to the apartment, or your place,” I say quietly.

“She’s very attractive,” Anastasia says. Whoa! Speak of changing gears! I blink at her assessment.

“Yes, she is,” I respond.

“Is she still married?” she asks.

“No. She divorced about five years ago.”

“Why aren’t you with her?” Anastasia asks. She’s jealous... Jealous of what I had with Elena.

“Because that’s over between us. I’ve told you this,” I state. I don’t want my past to come between us. My brow creases in rising anger. But, then I feel my Blackberry buzzing, and I hold a finger at Anastasia to hold her thought. I look at the caller.

“Welch,” I snap as I stop in my tracks on Second Avenue, looking nowhere in particular.

“Mr. Grey, I have important updates for you,” he starts. “I was able to get to interview Leila’s sister, and she told me that Leila ran off with a man over three months ago. The new boyfriend, the one she ran off with has been killed in a car crash. Her husband was confronted with this information, and after we paid him, he divulged that yes, in fact, the boyfriend Leila ran away with was killed in a car crash.”

That information takes me aback. “Killed in a car crash? When?” I ask.

“Her husband rather reluctantly parted with some information, but as I said to you in our previous conversation, he is unwilling to provide any information to help us to find her so she can get help. Her sister however confirmed the date to be about four weeks ago.” Anastasia’s face changes with the ongoing conversation. She’s fixed, and intent in hearing what is happening.

“That’s twice that bastard’s not been forthcoming. He must know. Does he have no feelings for her whatsoever?” I shake my head in disgust. “This is beginning to make sense...”

“Has she made any other attempt to contact you sir, since her contact with Miss Steele yesterday evening?”

“No...” I respond.

“Now we know the main reason of her psychological breakdown...” says Welch.

“Yes... it explains why, but not where.”

“I’m almost certain that she’s watching you, or Miss Steele from a distance to make her next move. Although I don’t know what that would be yet, sir.”

With that remark, I glance around searching to see if Leila is in the vicinity someplace. I gaze and see that Anastasia is also mirroring my actions. I don’t see Leila around. Just the regular hustle and bustle of the city of Seattle; shoppers, the usual traffic, and the city itself.

“Where is Miss Steele sir?”

“She’s here,” I say.

“Mr. Grey, since you know Leila better – although I have my own suspicions, do you think Leila watching you and Miss Steele? Well, scratch that, we know she’s watching Miss Steele.”

“Yes, she’s watching us...”

“If my assumptions are correct, it would be wise to increase your personal security.”

“Yes...”

“Would you like me to provide you with an additional bodyguard then sir?”

“No. Two or four, twenty-four seven...”

“Have you talked to Miss Steele about providing her security since she’s being watched?”

“I haven’t broached that yet,” I say as look at Anastasia directly.

“Well, now would be a good time sir, because I have another disturbing news for you. We’ve just discovered that Leila has obtained a concealed weapons permit.”

“What...” I whisper as I pale. I can’t even form a question. Why would she need a concealed weapon? She’s found Anastasia yesterday. She knows where I live. If she wants to harm herself, or hurt herself, she can do that without a gun. The memory of the crack whore comes to my mind unbidden.

I collect myself. But my eyes are still wide with anxiety. “I see. When?”

“Yesterday, sir.”

“That recently? But how?”

“She must have applied for it a while back.”

“No background checks?”

“The background check is usually done when a person applies for his or her permit, sir. Worst case of scenario, a weapons permit takes about 30 days. But I think she applied for that a while back, possibly at the time of her boyfriend’s death. And we didn’t think of searching that information until she made contact with Miss Steele. All our efforts were focused on finding her. But, then again, the permit wasn’t granted until yesterday.”

“I see.”

“As for the added security sir; I’ll provide you with the potential candidates’ information today.”

“E-mail me the name, address, and photos if you have them...”

“Certainly sir. When do you want them to start?”

“I want twenty-four seven, from this afternoon. Liaise with Taylor,” I say hanging up. Shit! Shit! Shit! Will problems ever stop coming my way? I take a deep breath, and I now have to deal with my beautiful steaming angry girlfriend right now.

I turn around and Anastasia is gazing at me.

“Well?” she asks, exasperated. She wants to know what’s going on.

“That was Welch,” I explain.

“Who’s Welch?”

“My security advisor.”

“Okay. So what’s happened?”

“Leila left her husband about three months ago, and ran off with a guy who was killed in a car accident four weeks ago.”

“Oh,” is all she can manage.

“The asshole shrink should have found that out,” I say angrily. “Grief, that’s what this is. Come,” I say holding my hand out, and she automatically places hers in mine, but then she snatches her hand away from mine again.

“Wait a minute. We were in the middle of a discussion, about us. About her, your Mrs. Robinson.”  God! Do we have to do this now? My face hardens. “She’s not my Mrs. Robinson. We can talk about it at my place,” I say trying to diffuse her.

“I don’t want to go to your place. I want to get my haircut!” she shouts rather stubbornly. I’ve just had it today! I can’t take this!

I take my Blackberry out, and dial Esclava. Greta answers.

“Thank you for calling Esclava. This is Greta, how may I help you?”

“Greta, Christian Grey. I want Franco at my place in an hour. Ask Mrs. Lincoln...”

“Franco is free now. I shall be able to send him over quite soon. He can be at your place at around 1 p.m.”

“Good,” I say and hang up.

I stash my phone away in my pocket. “He’s coming at one,” I state to Anastasia.

“Christian...!” she splutters completely exasperated with me.

“Anastasia, Leila is obviously suffering a psychotic breakdown. I don’t know if it’s you or me she’s after, or what lengths she’s prepared to go. We’ll go to your place, pick up your things, and you can stay with me until we’ve tracked her down,” I explain to her.

“Why would I want to do that?” she asks.

“So I can keep you safe,” I say completely running out of patience. (←Can’t Let Go by Mariah Carey)

“But-“ she says ready to oppose me, but I cut her off with my glare.

“You are coming back to my apartment if I have to drag you there by your hair.”

She gapes at me, shocked, and upset and her eyes are saying, you-wouldn’t-dare. But I would!

“I think you’re overreacting,” she states.

“I don’t. We can continue our discussion back at my place. Come.” I say.

She folds her arms, and glares at me, and not willing to budge.

“No,” she states stubbornly, making her Alamo stand.

“You can walk or I can carry you. I don’t mind either way, Anastasia,” I say also determined. You don’t want to match wits with me today baby.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she scowls at me. Me, being Christian Grey who would want to avoid scenes in the middle of a busy street, on Second Avenue, she thinks that I won’t go to the extents to protect her. Don’t you even know me a little bit darling? I half smile at her. It’s not a pleasant smile, and doesn’t reach my eyes.

“Oh, baby, we both know that if you throw down the gauntlet I’ll be only too happy to pick it up,” I say. She glares at me, and I glare right back at her. So, this is going to be it. She isn’t walking. Have it your way Miss Steele!

I abruptly sweep down, clasp Anastasia around her thighs, and lift her up, and before she can utter one single word, she’s over my shoulder.

“Put me down!” she screams. I don’t think so! I start walking along the Second Avenue, my arms firmly clasping her thighs, and the second she starts screaming, I swat her delectable behind with my free hand hard. Keep doing it baby! You scream and I will spank you in the middle of city of Seattle!

“Christian!” she shouts. People are staring at us, and she’s humiliated by being dragged away like the wife of a Neanderthal. “I’ll walk! I’ll walk...” she says.

I finally put her down, and even before I stand straight, she starts walking in the direction of her apartment, fuming, and completely ignoring me. I speed up my gait and am next to her in a heartbeat, but she manages to keep ignoring me. She’s incredibly angry with me. I gaze at her face, and I can see the wheels of her mind turning in her beautiful head. Her breathing is harsh, her arms are crossed; she’s looking ahead, and walking briskly. All of a sudden she stops abruptly on the street, and turns to me. I halt along with her.

“What’s happened?” she asks as a result of her ongoing thought process. Oh shit! She figured out something is up.

My brow knits in confusion.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“With Leila,” she says trying for patience.

“I’ve told you,” I say trying not to divulge any more information.

“No, you haven’t. There’s something else. You didn’t insist that I go to your place yesterday. So what’s happened?” she asks. Damn! She always confounds me! She’s so much smarter than I give her credit for. I shift uncomfortably.

“Christian! Tell me!” she snaps. Damn! Can’t I hide anything from her?

“She managed to obtain a concealed weapons permit yesterday.” Anastasia suddenly gazes at me, blinking, and her face ashen. Her breath is knocked out of her.

“That means she can just buy a gun,” she whispers.

“Ana,” I say, as my voice is reflecting the rising concern in me. I pull my hands on her shoulder and pull her closer to me into the security of my arms. “I don’t think she’ll do anything stupid, but-I just don’t want to take that risk with you,” I tell her.

“Not me... what about you?” she whispers. Anastasia is concerned for me? I look down at her trying to read her emotions, and she wraps her arms around me and hugs me tight and hard putting her face against my chest. And for once, I don’t flinch or mind.

And just like that, our quarrel is forgotten. “Let’s get back,” I murmur, and reach down and kiss her hair.

We go to Anastasia’s apartment. She packs a small carry-on suitcase with her personal items. She then packs her Mac, her Blackberry and her iPad, and as well as Charlie Tango, I notice, in her backpack.

“Charlie Tango’s coming, too?” I ask.

She nods, and I smile completely pleased. She loves me not matter how much she gets mad at me, and that knowledge makes me forget all of today’s shit.

“Ethan is back Tuesday,” Anastasia mutters.

“Ethan?”I question. Who the hell is Ethan? Another admirer? (←Next Contestant by Nickelback)

“He’s Kate’s brother. He’s staying here until he finds a place in Seattle.”

Oh, that one. I met him during the graduation who was like white on rice on Anastasia. I gaze at her blankly trying to conceal my feelings, but unable to keep the frostiness away from eyes, and she notices.

“Well, it’s good that you’ll be staying with me. Give him more room,” I say quietly. I would be exploding with jealousy if Anastasia was staying here with him.

“I don’t know that he’s got keys. I’ll need to be back then,” she says.

Not now, Anastasia! I can’t take it! I try to keep my gaze impassive, and not giving anything away.

“That’s everything,” she says, and I grab her case and we head out the door. As we walk to her Audi, Anastasia keeps watching her back over her shoulder. She’s timid. I go to the passenger door and open it, expecting her to get in.

“Are you getting in?” I ask when she hesitates.

“I thought I was driving,” she says. I can’t take a chance with all the danger, and not knowing what Leila might do.

“No. I’ll drive,” I say. 

“Something’s the matter with my driving? Don’t tell me you know what I scored on my driving test... I wouldn’t be surprised with your stalking tendencies,” she says. God! Please help me with my woman!

“Get in the car, Anastasia,” I snap angrily.

“Okay,” she responds, and quickly climbs in, giving me a ‘chill off’ look.

I’m uptight and angry. I don’t know where Leila is or what she’s capable of doing. I can’t take Anastasia’s life lightly. I can’t indulge her in her antics where her safety is concerned and she tries her best to undermine all my efforts! After closing Anastasia’s door, I make my way to the driver’s side of the car while still scanning the parking lot to spot anyone who doesn’t belong there – especially Leila. I get in, turn the car on, and ease off into the traffic on the street.

“Were all your submissives brunettes?” Anastasia asks getting me out of my thoughts.

I frown as I glance at her. Where is she going with this question?

“Yes,” I mutter uneasily.

“I just wondered,” she responds to my unanswered question.

“I told you. I prefer brunettes.”

“Mrs. Robinson isn’t a brunette,” she observes.

“That’s probably why,” I mutter. “She put me off blondes forever,” I say in a mock tone.

“You’re kidding,” she gasps.

“Yes. I’m kidding,” I reply exasperated. I can’t even joke about it without her getting mad.

Anastasia stares outside impassively lost in her thoughts. I eye her from my peripheral vision. What are you churning in your beautiful head Anastasia? After a while she turns and says, “Tell me about her.”

“What do you want to know?” I say in a warning tone as my brows furrow with the knowledge of what’s coming.

“Tell me about your business arrangement,” she says. I relax a little. I can talk about business. It’s not about sex, and she couldn’t be jealous of that aspect.

“I’m a silent partner. I’m not particularly interested in the beauty business, but she’s built it into a successful venture. I just invested and helped her get started,” I say.

“Why?” she probes.

“I owed it to her,” I respond. I owed her big, because she gave me my first start in my business venture. That was the least I could do for her.

“Oh?” she asks.

“When I dropped out of Harvard, she lent me a hundred grand to start my business,” I respond truthfully. That was my seed money to start what I have today.

“You dropped out?”

“It wasn’t my thing. I did two years. Unfortunately, my parents were not so understanding,” I say remembering. My parents are both well educated, and education is very important for them; that their children graduated from prestigious colleges. I probably worried them a lot by having to get in trouble all through my teen years...well, until I started my affair with Elena. It probably scared them and reminded them the kinds of trouble I got into when I was younger.

“You don’t seem to have done too badly dropping out. What was your major?” she asks.

“Politics and Economics,” I reply.

“So she’s rich?” asks Anastasia.

“She was a bored trophy wife, Anastasia. Her husband was wealthy – big in timber.” I smirk and add, “He wouldn’t let her work. You know, he was controlling. Some men are like that.” I give Anastasia a sideways grin to gauge her reaction to my statement.

“Really? A controlling man, surely a mythical creature?” she says, her words dripping with sarcasm. Her response makes me grin wider.

“She lent you her husband’s money?” asks Anastasia. I nod and give her a mischievous smile.

“That’s terrible,” she replies to my reaction.

“He got his own back,” I say darkly as I pull into Escala’s garage. Not only did he get more than his money’s worth, but he beat the shit out of Elena, breaking her arm and her nose.

“How?” asks Anastasia. But, that’s one bit of information I want to spare her from. I shake my head as if to disperse the bitter memory, and park next to my Audi Quattro SUV. I don’t answer, and divert her attention with another subject. “Come. Franco will be here shortly,” I say and hold my hand out to her.

After we make our way to the elevator, I peer down at her face. She’s trying to hold an impassive face, but I know what’s behind it all. “Still mad at me?” I ask her.

“Very,” she responds. Monosyllabic. She’s mad. I nod, and say, “Okay,” accepting her feelings. At least she’s here with me. I just stare ahead. We might have to sort this out later. Finally the elevator arrives to my penthouse, and the doors ding open to my foyer. Taylor is waiting for our arrival. He takes Anastasia’s small luggage from my hands.

“Has Welch been in touch?” I ask.

“Yes, sir.”

“And?” I probe.

“Everything’s arranged.”

“Excellent. How’s your daughter?” I ask remembering. He had to make an emergency excursion thinking she had appendicitis.

“She’s fine, thank you, sir,” he responds.

“Good. We have a hairdresser arriving at one – Franco De Luca,” I say.

“Miss Steele,” says Taylor acknowledging Anastasia’s presence.

“Hi, Taylor. You have a daughter?” she asks.

“Yes ma’am.”

“How old is she?”

“She’s seven,” he responds. I’m growing impatient with their small talk.

“She lives with her mother,” Taylor explains.

“Oh, I see,” says Anastasia. And that is the end of their conversation. As we enter the living room, “Are you hungry?” I ask Anastasia.

She shakes her head in response. I gaze at her, and in light of all the arguments we’ve had, I think better of it, and not to argue about food today. I’ll save this for the next time she won’t eat.

“I have to make a few calls. Make yourself at home,” I say.

“Okay,” responds Anastasia. Then I walk to my study, leaving Anastasia in the living room. When I go to my study, Taylor is waiting for me.

“We’ve received the additional security information, and I reviewed them before you got home, sir,” he says.

“Your assessments?”

“All three of them come highly recommended sir, and I’ve known Sawyer for some time personally. He was under my command, and I would trust him with my life," he states.

“But the question is, can I trust him with Anastasia’s life?” I ask.

“I’d trust my child’s life with him, sir,” he says knowing my meaning. His daughter is the most important person in his life. As the steel in my gaze locks in with Taylor’s, I see immense determination matching my own; if he can trust his daughter’s life with him, that is good enough vouch for me. I nod without wavering.

“Great! Then, she’ll be in charge of Anastasia’s security for the time being. But I want you to find a female security detail to go along with Anastasia to work. She will follow her to the bathroom if necessary.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Great. When are the three coming?”

“In a few hours, sir. They have to be briefed by Welch first, weapons inspected, then I’ll brief them here, and I’ll introduce them to you, and you can give your specific instructions to them, sir.”

I flinch at the sound of the word ‘weapons,’ but under the circumstances, I have to allow them to be carried. I nod finally, and dismiss Taylor.

I then check in with my assistant Andrea and my right hand Ros with today’s work. A company as large as mine never takes a break. As the owner, I don’t take a break from work. After my phone calls are completed, and I tell Andrea of my schedule for the evening, I hang up and saunter back to the living room to find Anastasia. But she’s nowhere to be found. She’s not in the kitchen, and not in my bedroom. I start getting nervous. I go to my room to see if she's there, but she isn't. I run into Taylor as I come out of my room, and by the looks of it he’s looking for me. “Have you seen Miss Steele?” I ask with barely contained fear in it.

“No, sir. I was coming to inform you that Franco the hair dresser just got here. Shall I look for her?” he asks also getting concerned with my reaction.

“No, she must be in her room. I’ll go check,” I say and walk to her bedroom. Her backpack is there. Maybe she hasn’t run. I walk into her closet and she’s sitting in the very corner of the closet on the floor, and talking on her Blackberry. I hear her say, “Mom, it’s complicated. I think he’s nuts. That’s the problem.” Is she talking about me? How many other nuts does she know?

Then she answers exclaims about something her mother must have said to her, “What?”

I walk to the door of the closet, and stop, with relief flooding me upon seeing her here.

“There you are. I thought you’d run off,” I say with reprieve. (←Without You by Motley Crüe)  She holds her hand up to indicate one minute as she’s on the phone. “Sorry, Mom, I have to go. I’ll call again,” she says into the Blackberry.

She responds to her mother’s declaration of love by the sound of it saying, “Love you, too, Mom.”

She holds her head up and gazes at me. I frown, feeling awkward. Why is she hiding here? What’s wrong? Did I screw up that much?

“Why are you hiding in here?” I ask.

“I’m not hiding. I’m despairing,” she replies.

“Despairing?” Whatever for?

“Of all this, Christian,” she says waving her hand around indicating the closet full of clothes.

“Can I come in?” I ask.

“It’s your closet,” she says. How can I make her accept that this is her room, her closet, her clothes that I got for her? I frown and sit cross legged on the floor facing her.

“They’re just clothes. If you don’t like them I’ll send them back,” I say.

“You’re a lot to take on, you know?” she asks.

Her reply takes me aback. I scratch stubble on my chin.

“I know. I’m trying,” I murmur.

“You are very trying,” she says, feeding me back my own words, twisting them.

“As are you, Miss Steele,” I point at her.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks.

My eyes widen, and I’m wary once again. What does she mean why I’m doing this? Every other woman would be happy to be loved, and taken care of. But, not Anastasia.

“Why are you doing this, Christian?” she asks again.

My eyes widen with wariness. “You know why,” I respond.

“No, I don’t,” she replies.

I run my hand through my hair in exasperation again. “You are one frustrating female,” I say.

“You could have a nice brunette submissive. One who’d say, ‘how high?’ every time you said jump, provided of course she had permission to speak. So why me, Christian? I just don’t get it,” she says finally lowering her piercing gaze away from me.

I look at my woman for a moment.

“You make me look at the world differently, Anastasia. You don’t want me for my money. You give me. . hope,” I say softly.  She cares for me, not as Christian Grey the billionaire, but Christian Grey the man. The fucked up man, but, she cares for me, essentially.

“Hope of what?” she asks further.

I shrug nonchalantly. “More,” I say in a low voice. “And you’re right. I’m used to women doing exactly what I say, when I say, doing exactly what I want. It gets old quickly. There’s something about you, Anastasia that calls to me on some deep level I don’t understand. It’s a siren’s call. I can’t resist you, and I don’t want to lose you,” I say as I reach forward taking her hand. “Don’t run, please,” I beg. “Have a little faith in me and a little patience. Please,” I ask of her. All my fears come back, and I’m sure it’s showing on my face for her to see. We’re eye to eye, on the closet floor in the corner. She finally leans up on her knees; bends forward and kiss me on the lips.

“Okay. Faith and patience, I can live with that,” she says.

“Good. Because Franco’s here.”

*****

I introduce Franco to Anastasia.

“Franco, this is my girlfriend Anastasia. She would like to get her haircut today,” I say, and then turn to Anastasia, “Anastasia, this is Franco. He’s one of the best hair dressers Esclava has to offer. You are in good hands,” I say and Franco grins big in his small and dark frame.

“Grazie Mr. Grey! You honor me! And Anastasia, nobody told me how bellissima you are!” he gushes waving his hands animatedly.

“I think it would be best if you cut her hair in my bathroom. There is more room to do this with the right tools,” I say.

I lead Anastasia and Franco to my bathroom while Franco gushes, “such beautiful hair!” to Anastasia with his distinctly Italian accent. I go back to my bedroom, and grab a chair for Anastasia to sit it.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” I mutter. I don’t want to be crowding the bathroom and give Anastasia privacy.

“Grazie, Mr. Grey,” Franco says then turns to Anastasia, “Bene, Anastasia, what shall we do with you?”

I go downstairs, go to my study and print out the reports Ros had sent me about the company I’m thinking of liquidating – the one that is currently going to cost me sixty-seven million Dollars! I turn my stereo on start listening to my Classical Music playlist.  

I settle back on my couch and start going over the numbers I’ve been sent on my spreadsheets. I don’t know how much time had passed, but Anastasia and Franco enters the room just when “O Mio Babbino Caro by Puccini” starts playing. (←O Mio Babbino Caro sung by Angela Gheorghiu)

I look up, and smile at Anastasia.

“See! I tell you he like it,” says Franco excitedly.

“You look lovely, Ana,” I say really liking her hair.

“My work ‘ere is done,” exclaims Franco. I get up and stroll towards the two of them.

“Thank you Franco,” says Anastasia, and Franco in return turns to her and hugs her in a tight bear hug, and kisses her on both the cheeks in the European fashion. If he wasn’t gay, I would have punched him, but since he’s, Anastasia is safe.

“Never let anyone else be cutting your hair, bellissima Anastasia!” he gushes. Anastasia laughs and slightly blushes to his declaration. I walk Franco to the door, and give him a nice tip for doing a good job on Anastasia’s hair. When I come back Anastasia is still standing where I left her.

“I’m glad you kept your hair long,” I say as I walk towards her with bright eyes that are full of desire for her. “Are you still mad at me?” I ask.

She nods making me smile.

“What exactly are you mad at me about?” I ask.

She rolls her eyes. “You want the list?” Oh, Dear God! She’s keeping a list of my wrongs?

“There’s a list?” I ask.

“A long one,” she responds.

“Can we discuss it in bed?” I ask lasciviously.

“No,” she replies pouting.

“Over lunch, then. I’m hungry, and not just for food,” I say giving her a salacious smile.

“I’m not going to let you dazzle me with your sexpertise,” she says. She knows me well. I try to stifle a smile. “What is bothering you specifically, Miss Steele? Spit it out,” I say. It’s best to hold the bull by the horns; though there is always the chance of getting gored when you let go.

“What’s bothering me? Well, there’s your gross invasion of my privacy, the fact that you took me to some place where your ex-mistress works and you used to take all your lovers to have their bits waxed, you manhandled me in the street like I was six year old, and to top it all, you let Mrs. Robinson touch you!” she says as her voice rises in anxiety and possibly anger.

I raise my eyebrows. That’s a long working order. Yes, I did screw up quite a bit.

“That’s quite a list. Buy just to clarify once more; she’s not my Mrs. Robinson,” I say.

“She can touch you,” she reiterates. And I think that hurt her feelings. I purse my lips. The problem with Anastasia touching me is that we have no boundaries, and it truly scares me to have her touch where I feel most vulnerable. “She knows where,” I say in a low voice.

“What does that mean?” asks Anastasia.

God! Help me please! I love this woman, and I don’t want to screw things up again with her! I run both my hands through my hair in exasperation and close my eyes for a second. I finally swallow and say my peace:

“You and I don’t have any rules. I have never had a relationship without rules, and I never know where you’re going to touch me. It makes me nervous. Your touch completely –“ I say stopping looking for the right word to express my lost feeling. “It just means more to me...so much more,” I say finally.

She looks up at me completely surprised. I still can’t bring myself to tell her that I love her. It is so difficult for me. Because, I’ve never said it to anyone. Anyone at all! I can’t lose her... Not over this! I search her face for some clue that she understands me, that she actually cares for me, that she’ll be patient with me apprehensively.

She finally slowly reaches out, but my apprehension turns into alarm. She’s trying to touch me! Fear grips me, and I’m back to being four years old. I step back, and she drops her hands to her side.

“Hard limit,” I whisper pressingly. I want to scream, “Red! Red! Red!” My face is now pained and panicked and I hate myself doing this, setting up this limit.

She looks crushed, undesired, and unwanted. “How would you feel if you couldn’t touch me?” she asks.

I look up and answer her immediately. I just couldn’t handle it. “Devastated and deprived,” I respond.

She finally shakes her head slowly and gives me a small, but reassuring smile. I just want to know all is well between us. Her smile relaxes me.

“You’ll have to tell me exactly why this is a hard limit one day, please,” she says.

“One day,” I murmur, and immediately relax because the topic is just too hard for me to handle; and I immediately get back to normal.

“So, the rest of your list. Invading your privacy,” I say as I try to ponder this topic. “Because I know your back account number?” I ask.

“Yes, that’s outrageous,” she says.

“I do background checks on all my submissives. I’ll show you,” I say and turn to go back to my study. Anastasia follows me as if in a dream. I go to one of my locked filing cabinets, turn the key, and pull a folder out. On the side tab it reads: ANASTASIA ROSE STEELE.

She looks at the folder, and then looks at me. Glaring. Possibly pissed. I shrug apologetically.

“You can keep it,” I say quietly.

“Well, gee, thanks,” she snaps at me. She looks at the contents. There is of course a copy of her birth certificate, her NDA, the contract, her social security number, her resume and all her employment records.”

After she sees the last item, she looks up to me and asks: “So you knew I worked at Clayton’s?”

“Yes,” I answer truthfully.

“It wasn’t a coincidence. You didn’t just drop by?”

Damn! Caught! “No,” I respond. But I’m not sorry for it. I’m glad I’ve pursued her. She’s the one major thing I did right. She smiles, and then as if to reprimand herself, she switches to an angry face.

“This is fucked-up. You know that?” she asks.

“I don’t see it that way. What I do, I have to be careful.”

“But this is private,” she says.

“I don’t misuse the information. Anyone can get hold of it if they have half a mind to, Anastasia. To have control, I need information. It’s how I’ve always operated,” I say gazing at her with a guarded expression. This is who I am. I have a life I like to keep private, and I’m well known in the business world to have other people use whatever means to get to me. I have to have this sort of control, but this is something Anastasia can’t understand because she hasn’t been in my shoes.

“You do misuse the information. You deposited twenty-four thousand dollars that I didn’t want into my account,” she says.

Really? Do we still have to talk about this? My mouth presses into a hard line. What do I have to do to make her believe that this is her money? “I told you. That’s what Taylor managed to get for your car. Unbelievable, I know, but there you go,” I say.

“But the Audi...” she says and I cut her off. Why the hell can’t you take a gift from me?

“Anastasia, do you have any idea how much money I make?” I ask.

She flushes as if she’s intruding into my privacy. “Why should I? I don’t need to know the bottom line of your bank account, Christian,” she retorts. And I love her for it.

My eyes soften lovingly towards her. “I know. That’s one of the things I love about you,” I say. There is a long list of things I love about her, but this is one of them. She gazes at me, shocked with my revelation.

“Anastasia, I earn roughly one hundred thousand Dollars an hour,” I say. Her mouth drops open trying to grasp her mind around that information.

“Twenty-four thousand dollars is nothing for me. The car, the Tess books, the clothes, they’re nothing,” I say in a soft voice. She’s never been in my position; in large amounts of money coming and going, so what looks small to me, appears a big amount to her. She gazes at me and finally finds her voice to speak:

“If you were me, how would you feel about all this... largesse coming your way?” she asks me.  I look at her blankly. I’m not in that position to make that assessment. We just stare at each other in silence. Finally I shrug. “I don’t know,” I say bewildered.

“It doesn’t feel great. I mean, you’re very generous, but it makes me uncomfortable. I have told you this enough times,” she laments.

I sigh. Does she have any idea that I want to put everything at her feet? That I want to give her heart’s desire. I mean everything! “I want to give you the world, Anastasia,” I say.

“I just want you, Christian. Not all the add-ons,” she says. It makes me happy that she wants me, but part of me is what I have.

“They’re part of the deal. Part of what I am,” I explain to her. She needs to learn that. I can’t have everything, and let the woman of my affection, the only woman I ever fall in love live in comparative poverty. What would that say about what kind of man I am? Isn’t that what men have done for millennia for their women? Well, we’re not getting anywhere. We’re at an impasse, and I will provide for her whether she likes it or not.

“Shall we eat?” she asks.

“Sure,” I say frowning.

“I’ll cook,” she says.

“Good. Otherwise there’s food in the fridge,” I say.

“Mrs. Joes is off on the weekends? So you eat cold cuts most weekends?” she asks.

“No,” I reply. I don’t want to go into the other mine field.

“Oh?” she asks.

I finally sigh. “My submissives cook, Anastasia,” I say.

“Oh, of course,” she replies flushing. She turns and smiles at me. “What would Sir like to eat?” I give a sigh of relief and smirk at her. “Whatever Madam can find,” I say darkly.

She decides on fixing Spanish omelet, and takes out the cold potatoes. She then walks over to my iPod and scroll through the listings. I watch her intently. She puts Beyoncé on. “Crazy in Love” she chooses and put it on repeat and turns the music up loud. Then she saunters back to the kitchen and to the fridge and she’s shaking her very delectable behind on the way. She opens the fridge, gets the carton of eggs out and starts cracking them open and then begins whisking them. I’m mesmerized watching her. My woman, in my kitchen. Something homey about it, and something incredibly sweet. In the middle of her whisking, she stops abruptly looking up as if she just had an epiphany. And then she has this incredible face splitting, beautiful smile on her.

I can’t wait anymore and I saunter to her and wrap my arms around her from her back making her jump.

“Interesting choice of music,” I purr as I kiss her below her ear. “Your hair smells good,” I say as I nuzzle her hair, and inhale her scent deeply.

“I’m still mad at you,” she says making me frown.

“How long are you going to keep this up?” I ask running my hand through my hair.

She shrugs nonchalantly, “at least until I’ve eaten,” she responds, then I know all is well, and smile. I finally turn and grab the remote control from the kitchen counter and turn off the stereo.

“Did you put that on your iPod? She asks. Oh, shoot! Inquisition.

I shake my head, my face is solemn. She knows it was Leila. I don’t have to tell her that.

“Don’t you think she was trying to tell you something back then?” she asks.

“Well, with hindsight, probably,” I say quietly. I never put two and two together until this problem with Leila came up.

“Why is it still on there?” she asks. But her question has double meaning. Do I have some feelings for Leila is what she’s really asking me. As if I’m keeping a piece of her.

“I quite like the song. But if it offends you, I’ll remove it,” I say.

“No, it’s fine. I like to cook to music,” she replies.

“What would you like to hear?” I ask.

“Surprise me,” she says. That, I can baby!

I smirk and head over to the iPod doc, and she goes back to prepping our lunch. I go through the list and find Nina Simone’s “I Put a Spell on You.” This song is extremely appropriate for the two of us, because she took me like a magic woman and I her. (←I Put a Spell on You by Nina Simone)

I want to declare my love to her, but this is the best I can do for now. I have always expressed myself better with music. I expressed myself in songs and piano for two years before I started speaking again. Do you hear me Anastasia? Can you feel how much I love you? I look at her intently. She flushes with my gaze and turns to look at me gaping. Questioning look on her face. My eyes are dark, and intense, willing her to understand the love I’m trying to convey her. I’m not good at this! This is brand new to me! She watches me, enthralled. I stalk her like a predator in time with the music. She gazes at me bare feet, my white untucked shirt and jeans and finally her gaze stops at my smoldering look. The look only reserved for her.

When Nina croons “you’re mine,” I reach for her. I have to kiss her, I have to have her. Now! This is the only way I know how to express what I feel for her. I suck at any other way.

“Christian, please,” she whispers while holding the whisk she’s been using the beat the eggs.

“Please what?” I ask.

“Don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“This,” she motions between us. I stand before her, gazing down at her.

“Are you sure?” I breathe and reach over and take the whisk from her hand place it back into the bowl with the half beaten eggs. She’s confused. In one hand she wants me, and in the other hand she’s fighting her feelings. She forces her gaze away from me trying to subdue her feelings her desire for me. Please, don’t do this baby!

“I want you, Anastasia,” I murmur.

“I love and I hate, and I love arguing with you. Even quarreling, or fighting with you. You stand up to me. It’s very new. I need to know that we’re okay. It’s the only way I know how,” I say pouring my heart out to her.

“My feelings for you haven’t changed,” she says whispering.

The pull we have, the electricity between us is strong, palpable. It’s vibrant and pulling us together. She stares at my chest in the opening of my shirt, and bites her lip. She looks over at me with desire. But I won’t touch her; although God knows it’s so hard with this proximity.

“I’m not going to touch you until you say yes,” I say softly to her. “But right now, after a really shitty morning, I want to bury myself in you and just forget everything but us,” I say. Can I say it any plainer Anastasia? Please, hear me and understand how much I need you! She raises her head and stares at me.

“I’m going to touch your face,” she breathes, and though her statement surprises me, I acquiesce and lean in for her touch. She automatically lifts her lips for a kiss. But I won’t kiss her. My lips hover over her mere millimeters away, asking her permission.

“Yes or no, Anastasia?” I whisper. (←Sex Therapy by Robin Thicke and Ludacris)

“Yes,” she replies, and my mouth closes on her, as my lips coax and coerce her lips apart as my tongue enters into her mouth, my arms fold around her, pulling her to me so that not even air can pass between us. I move my hand up her back, as my fingers find her hair tangling in them, gently tugging, and holding her in place as I lift her head up to me, forcing her against me. She moans softly wanting more with passion and desire.

“Mr. Grey,” I hear Taylor speak as he coughs effectively breaking the spell between us. I release Anastasia immediately. When we turn around, an uncomfortable Taylor is standing by the entry of the living room. I stare at him, and know that the new security detail is here.

“My study,” I snap at Taylor, and he walks briskly to go to my study.

“Rain check,” I whisper to Anastasia, and walk to my study after Taylor.

I walk into my study, and Taylor stands with the documentation he has on the three new security details.

“Let’s have a look at it,” I say. The documents have detailed information on the new personnel. They all come with high recommendations and experts in providing security for high clients. One is ex-FBI, all have combat experience, and highly trained.

“Looks great. You can get acquitted with them, go over what I expect in terms of security and commitment.”

“Yes, sir.”

As I walk back out of my office Taylor walks behind me.

“I’ll brief them in ten,” I say.

“We’ll be ready,” Taylor answers and leaves the room.

I saunter back to the kitchen, and Anastasia is done cooking.

“Lunch?” she asks.

“Please,” I say as I sit on one of the bar stools. I watch her carefully. I need to protect her, but how to go about telling her knowing how resistant she is to everything I want to do for her.

“Problem?” she asks.

“No,” I answer. She scowls, and she knows something is up. She dishes out our lunch into the plates, and finally sighs and sits next to me.

“This is good,” I murmur appreciatively as she’s done a great job making the lunch. “Would you like a glass of wine?” I ask her.

“No, thank you,” she says. When the silence between us grows, I get up and turn the classical music on. The track is soothing.

“What is this?” asks Anastasia.

“Canteloube, Songs of the Auvergne. This is called ‘Bailero,’” I say. (←Bailero sung by Netania Davrath)

“It’s lovely. What language is it?” she asks curiously.

“It’s in old French-Occitan, in fact,” I respond.

“You speak French, do you understand it?” she asks.

“Some words, yes,” say smiling. “My mother had a mantra: musical instrument, foreign language, martial art. Elliot speaks Spanish; Mia and I speak French. Elliot plays guitar, I play piano, and Mia the cello,” I say.

“Wow! And the martial arts?” she asks.

“Elliot does Judo. Mia put her foot down at age twelve and refused,” I smirk remembering the fit she put up, and exasperated my mother so much that she had to give up on her martial arts endeavors.

“I wish my mother had been that organized,” sighs Anastasia.

“Dr. Grace is formidable when it comes to the accomplishment of her children,” I state as a matter of factly.

“She must be very proud of you. I would be,” says Anastasia sighing.

I remember trying to fit into a perfect family as an always imperfect individual, with imperfect past, and imperfect present. It wasn’t an easy task for me. I look at Anastasia warily. I decide to change the topic.

“Have you decided what you’ll wear this evening? Or do I need to come and pick something for you?” I ask tersely unable to help myself out of the discomfort thinking of a difficult childhood trying to fit in and never managing.

“Um...not yet. Did you choose all those clothes?” she asks.

“No, Anastasia, I didn’t. I gave a list and your size to a personal shopper at Neiman Marcus. They should fit. Just so that you know, I have ordered additional security for this evening and the next few days. With Leila unpredictable and unaccounted for somewhere on the streets of Seattle, I think it’s a wise precaution. I don’t want you going out unaccompanied. Okay?” I ask finally laying out everything before her without giving her the specifics.

She blinks at me, and mutters, “okay.”

“Good. I’m going to brief them. I shouldn’t be long.” I say.

“They’re here?” she asks.

“Yes.”

I pick up my plate, clear it, and place it in the sink. Then I saunter out of the room without another word. I hate doing this to her, and it’s not her fault that she asks those questions without knowing the depth of pain, and hurt rooted in the depths of my soul. But, when they all come to surface, so does the sinister Christian who is the least affectionate, calloused, brusque, and protected against the world with layer upon layer of hard surface as Anastasia just experienced. I hate myself for doing that, but I can’t help it!

I put I’m-the-boss-and-don’t-fuck-with-me face on, and saunter into Taylor’s office where all four men abruptly stand up with my brusque entrance.

I’m in charge once again.

Hello 50 Shades fan(atics)! Next chapter will be on Sunday. It might be about CG and a sub - I'm not sure yet. You'll find out Sunday :) Hope you're all well...