Hmm…, Christian is nuzzling my neck as I slowly wake.

I stretch out beside him, relishing his touch, and feel his erection against my behind. Oh my. A Christian Grey wake-up call.

"I'm very pleased to see you," he says as he skates his hand over my stomach and down to cup my sex and explore with his fingers. "There are definite advantages to waking up beside you, Miss Steele," he teases and gently pulls me around so that I'm lying on my back.

"Morning, baby," he whispers and nips at my earlobe. My eyes flutter open and close again quickly. Bright early morning light floods the room, and his hand is softly caressing my breast, gently teasing me. Moving down he grasps my hip as he lies behind me, holding me close.

"You're pleased to see me," I mumble sleepily, squirming suggestively against him. I feel his grin against my jaw.

"Sleep well?" he asks as his fingers continue their sensual torture. He's smiling down at me -- his dazzling, all-American-drop-dead-male-model-perfect-teeth smile. He takes my breath away.

My hips begin to sway to the rhythm of the dance his fingers have begun. He kisses me chastely on the lips and then moves down my neck, nipping slowly, kissing, and sucking as he goes. I moan. He's gentle and his touch is light and heavenly. His intrepid fingers move down, and slowly he eases one inside me, hissing quietly in awe.

"Oh, Ana," he murmurs reverentially against my throat. "You're always ready." He moves his finger in time with his kisses as his lips journey leisurely across my clavicle and then down to my breast. He torments first one, then the other nipple with teeth and lips, but oh so gently, and they tighten and lengthen in sweet response.

"Hmm," he growls softly and raises his head to give me a blazing gray-eyed look. "I want you now." He reaches over to the bedside table. He shifts on top of me, taking his weight on his elbows, and rubs his nose along mine while easing my legs apart with his. He kneels up and rips open the foil packet.

"I can't wait until Saturday," he says, his eyes glowing with salacious delight.

I groan.

My breath catches in my throat. "I thought you liked it when I giggle," I whisper hoarsely, gazing into the dark depths of his stormy eyes.

He smirks at me as he rolls on the condom. "Are you giggling, Miss Steele?"

"Now is not the time for giggling." He shakes his head in admonishment and his voice is low, stern, but his expression -- holy cow -- is glacial and volcanic at once.

I flush as I take my place at the breakfast bar beside Christian. The last time I set eyes on the very prim and proper Mrs. Jones, I was being unceremoniously dragged into the bedroom over Christian's shoulder.

"Aptly named." I giggle.

"I'll just have some granola. Thank you, Mrs. Jones."

"What would you like for breakfast, Ana?"

"You look lovely," Christian says softly. I'm wearing my gray pencil skirt and gray silk blouse again.

"No. I can stop using these fuckers."

"Not now. There's a time and a place for giggling. This is neither. I need to stop you, and I think I know how," he says ominously, and his body covers mine.

"Your party?" I pant.

"No." I try and fail to straighten my face.

"Well, you're less likely to object to me going away with her," I tease him.

Hmm -- shopping. I hate shopping. But with Christian, maybe it won't be so bad. I decide on distraction as the best form of defense.

"I wonder what will happen at work today?"

"They'll have to replace the sleazeball." Christian frowns, scowling as if he's just stepped in something extraordinarily unpleasant.

"I hope they take on a woman as my new boss."

"So, The key goes here." Christian points out the ignition beneath the gearshift.

"Why?"

His lips twitch and he starts on his omelet.

"What's so funny?" I ask.

"Strange place," I mutter. But I'm delighted with every little detail, practically bouncing like a small child in the comfortable leather seat. Christian is finally letting me drive my car.

Bossy as ever. I purse my lips at him but dig in.

"You are. Eat your granola, all of it, if that's all you're having."

"We should buy you some more skirts," he says matter-of-factly. "In fact -- I'd love to take you shopping."

"So do you." I smile shyly at him. He's wearing a pale blue shirt and jeans, and he looks cool and fresh and perfect, as always.

Christian's mouth twists. "Submissive Special, eh? You have such a way with words, Miss Steele." He leans back with a faux look of disapproval, but he can't fool me. I know he's enjoying himself.

He regards me coolly, though his eyes are alight with humor. "You're quite excited about this, aren't you?" he murmurs, amused.

I nod, grinning like a fool. "Just smell that new car smell. This is even better than the Submissive Special… um, the A3," I add quickly, blushing.

I clap my hands, start the car, and the engine purrs to life. Putting the gearshift into drive, I ease my foot off the brake and the Saab moves smoothly forward. Taylor starts up the Audi behind us and once the garage barrier lifts, follows us out of Escala onto the street.

"Can we have the radio on?" I ask as we wait at the first stop sign.

"Well, let's go." He waves his hand toward the entrance of the garage.

"Christian, please, I can drive with music on." I roll my eyes. He scowls for a minute and then reaches for the radio.

"I want you to concentrate," he says sharply.

I wonder how Ethan is. I should try to call him today. I won't have much to do at work.

The too-loud dulcet tones of the Police suddenly fill the car. Christian turns the music down. Hmm…"King of Pain."

"You can play your iPod and MP3 discs as well as CDs on this," he murmurs.

Anxiety blooms in my stomach. What will happen when I get to the office? Will everyone know about Jack? Will everyone know of Christian's involvement? Will I still have a job? Sheesh, if I have no job, what will I do?

Marry the gazillionaire, Ana! My subconscious has her snarky face on. I ignore her -- rapacious bitch.

"You're very distracted. Concentrate, Ana," he scolds. "Accidents happen when you don't concentrate."

"Your anthem," I tease him, then instantly regret it when his mouth tightens in a thin line. Oh no. "I have this album, somewhere." I continue hastily to distract him. Hmm… somewhere in the apartment I have spent very little time in.

"Hey, Miss Smart-mouth. Come back." Christian drags me into the here and now as I pull up at the next traffic light.

"Yes. Heaven," he says softly. "I meant what I said."

I drive into the parking lot half a block from SIP.

"Please don't interfere -- I want to do this on my own. Christian, please. It's important to me," I say as gently as I can. I don't want to argue. His mouth sets once more into a hard stubborn line, and I think he's going to berate me again.

Oh no.

"Let's not argue, Christian. We've had such a wonderful morning. And last night was'-- words fail me, last night was --"heaven."

He says nothing. I glance over at him and his eyes are closed.

"Good," he says simply, and he visibly relaxes.

"I don't want to go."

Oh, for heaven's sake -- and suddenly I'm catapulted back in time to when Ray was teaching me to drive. I don't need another father. A husband maybe, a kinky husband. Hmm.

"What?"

"I don't want to let you go."

He smiles and it's this new, shy smile that dissolves everything in its path. Boy, it's powerful.

"Baby, you'll be fine. Trust me." Christian smiles.

"I'll walk you to work. Taylor will take me from there," Christian offers. I climb awkwardly out of the car, restricted by my pencil skirt, while Christian climbs out gracefully, at ease with his body or at least giving the impression of someone at ease with his body. Hmm… someone who can't bear to be touched can't be that at ease. I frown at my errant thought.

"I'm just thinking about work."

"Don't forget we're seeing Flynn at seven this evening," he says as he holds his hand out to me. I press the remote door lock and take his hand.

"Is this a good idea?" he says, his voice low and husky. I lean back to see the anxiety looming large and wide in his eyes. It tears at my soul.

"If you don't want me to, I won't." I stare at him, blinking, wanting to caress the concern out of his face. I tug on one of my hands and he frees it. I touch his cheek tenderly -- it's smooth from shaving this morning.

"Christian, how many times do I have to tell you -- I'm not going anywhere. You've already told me the worst. I'm not leaving you."

I smile at him. "Yes, but I want the unbiased, expensive charlatan's opinion."

"Questions? About me?"

"I can answer any questions you have about me." Christian looks affronted.

"That you'll go."

"What are you worried about?" I ask, my voice soft and soothing.

I nod.

"I won't forget. I'll compile a list of questions for him."

He frowns and suddenly pulls me into his embrace, holding both my hands tightly behind my back.

"You know what I'm talking about, Ana."

"Answered you?" I murmur disingenuously.

"Then why haven't you answered me?"

I sigh. "I want to know that I'm enough for you, Christian. That's all."

"And you won't take my word for it?" he says, exasperated, releasing me.

"I knew several women who like doing what I like to do. None of them appealed to me the way you do. I've never had an emotional connection with any of them. It's only ever been you, Ana."

"Christian, this has all been so quick. And by your own admission, you're fifty shades of fucked-up. I can't give you what you need," I mutter. "It's just not for me. But that makes me feel inadequate, especially seeing you with Leila. Who's to say that one day you won't meet someone who likes doing what you do? And who's to say you won't, you know… fall for her? Someone much better suited to your needs." The thought of Christian with anyone else sickens me. I stare down at my knotted fingers.

"Because you never gave them a chance. You've spent too long locked up in your fortress, Christian. Look, let's discuss this later. I have to go to work. Maybe Dr. Flynn can offer us his insight." This is all far too heavy a discussion for a parking lot at eight fifty in the morning, and Christian, for once, seems to agree. He nods but his eyes are wary.

"Anastasia." Elizabeth smiles kindly, waving me into a chair before her desk. I sit and gaze at her expectantly, hoping that she can't hear my thumping heart. She smoothes her thick black hair and regards me with somber, clear blue eyes.

"I have some rather sad news."

"Here's a detailed job description. Have a good look through it, and we can discuss it later today."

"But I've only been here for a week or so."

"Come," he orders, holding out his hand.

When I reach my desk, I find a note asking me to go straight to Elizabeth's office. My heart leaps into my mouth. Oh, this is it. I'm going to get fired.

"I've called you in to inform you that Jack has left the company rather suddenly."

What? I feel the blood rush from my head. Me?

Sad! Oh no.

"Yes, Anastasia, I understand, but Jack was always a champion of your abilities. He had high hopes for you."

"His rather hasty departure has left a vacancy, and we'd like you to fill it for now, until we find a replacement."

I stop breathing. He had high hopes of getting me on my back, sure.

I flush. This isn't sad for me. Should I tell her that I know?

"I know." I frown. "Apparently Jack really rated me."

"No -- no, not at all. I mean, with all due respect, Anastasia, you've only been there for a week or so -- and I don't mean that unkindly."

She stands, effectively dismissing me, and holds out her hand. I shake it in a complete daze.

"But --"

"Look, think about it. In the meantime you can take Jack's office."

He answers on the second ring. "Anastasia. You okay?" he asks, concerned.

"I'm glad he's gone," she whispers and a haunted look crosses her face. Holy shit. What did he do to her?

"Did you have anything to do with this?" My voice is sharper than I mean it to be.

"Please, I know this is sudden, but you've already made contact with Jack's key authors. Your chapter notes haven't gone unnoticed by the other editors. You have a shrewd mind, Anastasia. We all think you can do it."

"You're kidding," he whispers, shocked.

"Okay." This is unreal.

Back at my desk, I grab my BlackBerry and call Christian.

"They've just given me Jack's job -- well, temporarily," I blurt out.

"Hmm. Are you sure you had nothing to do with this?"

"Yes, Christian."

He doesn't hang up as I expect him to but takes a deep breath.

"Use your BlackBerry," he adds tersely.

"What?"

"I love you, too, baby." Oh, will I ever tire of him saying those words to me?

"If you need anything, let me know. I'll be here. And Anastasia…?"

I swallow. Boy, he gets mad so easily. "I'm sorry," I breathe, chastened.

He is silent for a minute, and then he says in a low menacing voice, "Do you doubt me? It angers me that you do."

"I mean it. If you need me, I'm here." His words are much softer, conciliatory. Oh, he's so mercurial… his mood swings are like a metronome set at presto.

"Okay," I murmur. "I'd better go. I have to move offices."

"If you need me. I mean it," he murmurs.

"Did he, now?" Christian's tone is frosty and then he sighs. "Well, baby, if they think you can do it, I'm sure you can. Congratulations. Perhaps we should celebrate after we've seen Flynn."

"I know. Thank you, Christian. I love you."

I sense his grin at the other end of the phone. I've won him back.

At twelve thirty, Elizabeth buzzes me.

I hang up and glance at Jack's office. My office. Holy cow -- Anastasia Steele, Acting Editor. Who would have thought? I should ask for more money.

Holy shit! I check through the current roster of Jack's authors. Yes, I've pretty much got those nailed. I have the five manuscripts he was championing, plus two more, which should really be considered for publication. I take a deep breath -- I cannot believe it's lunchtime already. The day has flown by, and I'm loving it. There has been so much to absorb this morning. A ping from my calendar announces an appointment.

"Laters, baby."

"Ana, we need you in a meeting at one o'clock in the boardroom. Jerry Roach and Kay Bestie will be there -- you know, the company president and vice president? All the editors will be attending."

Shit!

"I'll talk to you later."

What would Jack think if he knew? I shudder at the thought and wonder idly how he's spending his morning, obviously not in New York as he expected. I stroll into my new office, sit down at the desk, and start reading the job description.

"I'll be there." I hang up.

"No, this is just an informal gathering we do once a month. Lunch will be provided."

"Do I need to prepare anything?"

"It's him, in Reception." Claire's voice is hushed.

Ethan, dressed in a checked blue shirt, white T-shirt, and jeans, beams at me when I appear.

"Okay!" Ethan exclaims, holding up his hands. "I can tell by the secret smile. I don't want to know any more. I came by on the off chance you could do lunch. I'm enrolling at Seattle for psych courses in September. For my master's."

My phone buzzes.

Oh, what does he want? I immediately feel guilty for not having called him.

I flush and can't help my smile.

Oh no -- Mia! In all the excitement I have forgotten about our lunch. I fish out my BlackBerry and try frantically to find her phone number.

"Wow! You look hot, Steele," he says, nodding appreciatively. He gives me a quick hug.

"Ethan?"

"Is everything okay?" I ask.

"Oh, Ethan. So much has happened. I have a ton to tell you, but right now I can't. I have a meeting." An idea hits me hard. "And I wonder if you can do me a really, really, really big favor?" I clasp my hands together in supplication.

"Who?" For a second, I think it might be Christian.

He frowns. "Everything's fine, Ana. I just wanted to see you. I haven't heard from you in a while, and I wanted to check how Mr. Mogul was treating you."

"The blond god."

"So where is she?"

"Aw, Ana! I don't want to babysit some brat."

He nods, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Mia blinks several times as she gives him her hand.

"Please, Ethan." I give him the biggest-bluest-longest-eyelashed look that I can manage. He rolls his eyes and I know I've got him.

"I'm supposed to be having lunch with Christian and Elliot's sister -- but I can't get hold of her, and this meeting's just been sprung on me. Please will you take her for lunch? Please?"

"Yes. The brat that needs babysitting," I whisper back. "Hi, Mia." I give her a quick hug as she stares rather blatantly at Ethan.

"Mia -- this is Ethan, Kate's brother."

We both turn, and there she is -- all curvaceous and tall with her sleek black bob -- wearing a mint green minidress and matching high-heeled pumps with straps around her slim ankles. She looks stunning.

"She's due here now." And as if on cue, I hear her voice.

"The brat?" he whispers, gaping at her.

"Ana!" she calls from the front door.

"You'll cook me something?" he mutters.

"Sure, whatever, whenever."

"Sure," he says, bemused by my pleading.

"Delighted to meet you," Ethan murmurs smoothly and Mia blinks again -- silent for once. She blushes.

Oh my. I don't think I've ever seen her blush.

"I can't make lunch," I say lamely. "Ethan has agreed to take you, if that's okay? Can we have a rain check?"

"Yeah, I'll take it from here. Laters, Ana," Ethan says, offering Mia his arm. She accepts it with a shy smile.

"Sure," she says quietly. Mia quiet, this is novel.

"Bye, Ana." Mia turns to me and mouths, "Oh. My. God!" giving me an exaggerated wink.

This is Christian we're dealing with. My snarky subconscious is back, hatchet-mouthed, cardigan on, and purse in the crook of her arm. I shake off the image. Mia is a grown woman and Christian can be reasonable, can't he? I dismiss the thought and head back to Jack's… er… my office to prep for the meeting.

She likes him! I wave at them as they leave the building. I wonder what Christian's attitude is about his sister dating. The thought makes me uneasy. She's my age, so he can't object, can he?

It's three thirty when I return. The meeting went well. I have even secured approval to accept the two manuscripts I was championing. It's a heady feeling.

Oh my. I flush reading his response.

No help from your overfriendly, neighborhood, megalomaniac CEO

And all on your own!

We could have fun in the great outdoors, Anastasia…

I pick up my BlackBerry to e-mail him.

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

To: Christian Grey

Subject: Megalomaniac…

x

… is my favorite type of maniac. Thank you for the beautiful flowers. They've arrived in a huge wicker basket that makes me think of picnics and blankets.

Congratulations, Miss Steele

Date: June 16 2011 15:43

Love

Maniac, eh? Dr. Flynn may have something to say about that.

You want to go on a picnic?

On my desk is an enormous wicker basket crammed with stunning white and pale pink roses. Wow -- the fragrance alone is heavenly. I smile as I pick up the card. I know who sent them.

Date: June 16 2011 15:55

Christian

From: Christian Grey

====================

Subject: Fresh Air

How is your day going, baby?

====================

====================

From: Anastasia Steele

Christian Grey

To: Anastasia Steele

To: Anastasia Steele

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

Date: June 16 2011 16:09

My phone buzzes. It's Claire from Reception, desperate to know who sent the flowers and what happened to Jack. Holed up in the office all day, I have missed the gossip. I tell her quickly that the flowers are from my boyfriend and that I know very little about Jack's departure. My BlackBerry buzzes and I have another e-mail from Christian.

At five thirty, I clean up my desk. I can't believe how quickly the day has gone. I have to get back to Escala and prepare to meet Dr. Flynn. I haven't even had time to think of questions. Perhaps today we can have an initial meeting, and maybe Christian will let me see him again. I shrug off the thought as I dash out of the office, waving a quick good-bye to Claire.

From: Christian Grey

PS: Don't worry about Dr. Flynn.

A x

Laters, baby. x

Subject: Hectic

====================

… not to worry.

To: Christian Grey

The day has flown by. I have hardly had a moment to myself to think about anything other than work. I think I can do this! I'll tell you more when I'm home. Outdoors sounds… interesting.

Love you.

Subject: I'll try…

Christian Grey

Date: June 16 2011 16:00

From: Anastasia Steele

"You've showered."

"Ros, that's great. Tell Barney and we'll go from there… Good-bye."

"That doesn't happen often?"

Christian is on his BlackBerry, standing and staring out the glass wall as I enter the great room half an hour later. Turning, he beams at me and wraps up his call.

"Good evening, Miss Steele," he murmurs and he bends to kiss me. "Congratulations on your promotion." He wraps his arms around me. He smells delicious.

"I've just had a workout with Claude."

"Oh."

I've also got Christian's birthday to think about. I know what I'm going to give him. I'd like him to have it tonight before we meet Flynn, but how? Beside the parking lot is a small store selling touristy trinkets. Inspiration hits me and I duck inside.

"Managed to knock him on his ass twice." Christian beams, boyish and pleased with himself. His grin is infectious.

"No. Very satisfying when it does. Hungry?"

He strides over to me as I stand shyly in the entryway. He's changed now into a white T-shirt and jeans, all bad boy and smoldering. Whoa.

"Me, too. How was your day?" He releases me, and I give him a brief summary. He listens attentively.

"I usually run here from home," Christian says as he parks my Saab. "This is a great car." He smiles at me.

Dr. Flynn's office is a short drive from Christian's apartment. Very handy, I muse, for emergency sessions.

"I'm going to freshen up," I say, changing the subject and turning to leave before he can react any further.

"What?" He frowns at me.

I shake my head.

"Here." I pull the small black gift box from my purse. "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?"

"Oh -- there's one more thing I should tell you," I add. "I was supposed to have lunch with Mia."

He raises his eyebrows, surprised. "You never mentioned that."

"I know, I forgot. I couldn't make it because of the meeting, and Ethan took her out to lunch instead."

"I'm nervous. About Dr. Flynn."

"I think so, too." I smile back at him. "Christian… I --" I gaze anxiously at him.

"What is it, Ana?"

His face darkens. "I see. Stop biting your lip."

He blinks at me in surprise and swallows. "Okay," he murmurs cautiously.

Taking a deep breath, I hand it to him, ignoring his bemused expression. He shakes the box, and it produces a very satisfactory rattle. He frowns. I know he's desperate to see what it contains. Then he grins, his eyes alight with youthful, carefree excitement. Oh boy… he looks his age -- and so beautiful.

"You can't open it until Saturday," I warn him.

"I get it," he says. "Why are you giving this to me now?" He pops the box into the inside pocket of his blue pinstriped jacket, close to his heart.

How apt, I muse. I smirk at him.

We are ushered into Dr. Flynn's palatial office by a brisk and friendly receptionist. She greets Christian warmly, a little too warmly for my taste -- she's old enough to be his mother -- and he knows her name.

"Why, Miss Steele, you stole my line."

"Because I can, Mr. Grey."

His mouth twists with wry amusement.

The room is understated: pale green with two dark green couches facing two leather winged chairs, and it has the atmosphere of a gentlemen's club. Dr. Flynn is seated at a desk at the far end of the room.

"How could I forget? Anastasia, welcome."

"Christian." He smiles amicably.

"John." Christian shakes his hand. "You remember Anastasia?"

As we enter, he stands and walks over to join us in the seating area. He wears black pants and a pale blue open-necked shirt -- no tie. His bright blue eyes seem to miss nothing.

Christian gestures to one of them for me. I sit, trying to look relaxed, resting my hand on the armrest, and he sprawls on the other couch beside me so that we're at right angles to each other. A small table with a simple lamp is between us. I note with interest a box of tissues beside the lamp.

"Ana," he says kindly, ushering us toward the couches.

"Ana, please," I mumble as he shakes my hand firmly. I do love his English accent.

Looking relaxed and in control, Dr. Flynn takes a seat in one of the winged chairs and picks up a leather notepad. Christian crosses his legs, his ankle resting on his knee, and stretches one arm along the back of the couch. Reaching across with his other hand, he finds my hand on the armrest and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

This isn't what I expected. I had in my mind's eye a stark white room with a black leather chaise longue.

"Christian has requested that you accompany him to one of our sessions," Dr. Flynn begins gently. "Just so you know, we treat these sessions with absolute confidentiality --"

I raise my eyebrow at Flynn, halting him mid-speech.

Dr. Flynn's lip twitches. "You've had other types of relationships with women?" he asks, and he looks amused.

"Oh -- um… I've signed an NDA," I murmur, embarrassed that he's stopped. Both Flynn and Christian stare at me, and Christian releases my hand.

"A nondisclosure agreement?" Dr. Flynn's brow furrows, and he glances quizzically at Christian.

"The contractual ones, I do."

Christian shrugs.

"You start all your relationships with women with an NDA?" Dr. Flynn asks him.

"No," Christian answers after a beat, and he looks amused, too.

"As I thought." Dr. Flynn turns his attention back to me. "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."

I blink at him. "Oh, I think the shock of that has paled into insignificance, given Christian's most recent revelations," I answer, my voice soft and hesitant. I sound so nervous.

"Ana. You'll have to forgive me, but I probably know a lot more about you than you think. Christian has been very forthcoming."

Christian frowns and opens his mouth but closes it again quickly and stands in one swift graceful movement.

Christian shrugs like a surly teen. "Anastasia wanted to see you. Perhaps you should ask her."

Holy shit. This is mortifying. I gaze down at my fingers.

I glance nervously at Christian. What has he said?

"An NDA?" he continues. "That must have shocked you."

My eyes dart to Christian and he's gazing at me expectantly.

"I'm sure." Dr. Flynn smiles kindly at me. "So, Christian, what would you like to discuss?"

Dr. Flynn's face registers his surprise once more, and he gazes shrewdly at me.

"Yes," I whisper.

"Would you be more comfortable if Christian left us for a while?"

"Different kind of contract, hopefully," says Christian softly, glancing at me. I flush and Dr. Flynn narrows his eyes.

"Well… Christian tells me that he's happy to give up… er --" I stumble and pause. This is so much more difficult to discuss than I'd imagined.

"I'll be in the waiting room," he says, his mouth a flat, grumpy line.

"Yes. But not as much as he used to." I feel disloyal, but it's the truth.

"Thank you, Christian," Dr. Flynn says impassively.

Oh no.

"Dr. Flynn, I've never been in a relationship before, and Christian is… well, he's Christian. And over the last week or so, a great deal has happened. I haven't had a chance to think things through."

"He intimidates you?"

Dr. Flynn sighs. "Ana, in the very limited time that you've known him, you've made more progress with my patient than I have in the last two years. You have had a profound effect on him. You must see that."

I stare down at my knotted fingers. What can I ask?

"What do you need to think through?"

I glance up at him, and his head is cocked to one side as he gazes at me with compassion, I think.

Christian gives me one long, searching look, then stalks out of the room -- but he doesn't slam the door. Phew. I immediately relax.

"That doesn't surprise me, Ana. What can I help you with?"

"Is that what you need from me? Reassurance?"

I nod.

"Yes, his demons," I murmur.

"He's had a profound effect on me, too. I just don't know if I'm enough. To fulfill his needs," I whisper.

"Needs change," he says simply. "Christian has found himself in a situation where his methods of coping are no longer effective. Very simply, you've forced him to confront some of his demons and rethink."

I blink at him. This echoes what Christian has told me.

"We don't dwell on them -- they're in the past. Christian knows what his demons are, as do I -- and now I'm sure you do, too. I'm much more concerned with the future and getting Christian to a place where he wants to be."

I frown and he raises an eyebrow.

"The technical term is SFBT -- sorry." He smiles. "That stands for Solution-Focused Brief Therapy. Essentially, it's goal oriented. We concentrate on where Christian wants to be and how to get him there. It's a dialectical approach. There's no point in breast-beating about the past -- all that's been picked over by every physician, psychologist, and psychiatrist Christian's ever seen. We know why he's the way he is, but it's the future that's important. Where Christian envisages himself, where he wants to be. It took you walking out on him to make him take this form of therapy seriously. He realizes that his goal is a loving relationship with you. It's that simple, and that's what we're working on now. Of course there are obstacles -- his haphephobia, for one."

I blink at him, trying to absorb all these long words. I know about all of this. But Flynn hasn't mentioned my central concern.

I flush and nod. Oh, that!

"I'm sorry. I mean his fear of being touched," Dr. Flynn says, shaking his head as if scolding himself. "Which I'm sure you're aware of."

"He has a morbid self-abhorrence. I'm sure that comes as no surprise to you. And of course there's the parasomnia… um -- night terrors, sorry, to the layperson."

Dr. Flynn has lost me again. I blink at him. He smiles kindly at me.

Dr. Flynn actually rolls his eyes, and his mouth presses into a hard line. "That's no longer recognized as a psychiatric term. I don't know how many times I have told him that. It's not even classified as a paraphilia anymore, not since the nineties."

His what? I gasp.

"But he's a sadist. Surely, as such, he has needs that I can't fulfill."

"This is a pet peeve of mine." He shakes his head. "Christian just thinks the worst of any given situation. It's part of his self-abhorrence. Of course, there's such a thing as sexual sadism, but it's not a disease; it's a lifestyle choice. And if it's practiced in a safe, sane relationship between consenting adults, then it's a non-issue. My understanding is that Christian has conducted all of his BDSM relationships in this manner. You're the first lover who hasn't consented, so he's not willing to do it."

"Why not?" Dr. Flynn shrugs good-naturedly.

Lover!

"But surely it's not that simple."

"Well… the reasons he does it."

"Ana, that's the point. In terms of solution-focused therapy, it is that simple. Christian wants to be with you. In order to do that, he needs to forgo the more extreme aspects of that kind of relationship. After all, what you're asking for is not unreasonable… is it?"

"I don't think so. But I worry that he does."

I flush. No, it's not unreasonable, is it?

"Christian recognizes that and has acted accordingly. He's not insane." Dr. Flynn sighs. "In a nutshell, he's not a sadist, Ana. He's an angry, frightened, brilliant young man, who was dealt a shit hand of cards when he was born. We can all beat our breasts about it, and analyze the who, the how, and the why to death -- or Christian can move on and decide how he wants to live. He'd found something that worked for him for a few years, more or less, but since he met you, it no longer works. And as a consequence, he's changing his modus operandi. You and I have to respect his choice and support him in it."

"As good as it gets, Ana. There are no guarantees in this life." He smiles. "And that is my professional opinion."

I gape at him. "That's my reassurance?"

"But he thinks of himself as a recovering alcoholic."

I smile, too, weakly. Doctor jokes… jeez.

Give Christian the benefit of the doubt. I frown at the thought.

"Christian will always think the worst of himself. As I said, it's part of his self-abhorrence. It's in his makeup, no matter what. Naturally he's anxious about making this change in his life. He's potentially exposing himself to a whole world of emotional pain, which, incidentally, he had a taste of when you left him. Naturally he's apprehensive." Dr. Flynn pauses. "I don't mean to stress how important a role you have in his Damascene conversion -- his road to Damascus. But you have. Christian would not be in this place if he had not met you. Personally I don't think that an alcoholic is a very good analogy, but if it works for him for now, then I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt."

Dr. Flynn laughs. "Just keep doing what you're doing." He grins at me. "Christian is head over heels. It's a delight to see."

"Emotionally, Christian is an adolescent, Ana. He bypassed that phase in his life totally. He's channeled all his energies into succeeding in the business world, and he has beyond all expectations. His emotional world has to play catch-up."

"Can I ask you one more thing?"

"So how do I help?"

"Of course."

I flush, and my inner goddess is hugging herself with glee, but something bothers me.

"Well, look at him… and then look at me."

I take a deep breath. "Part of me thinks that if he wasn't this broken he wouldn't… want me."

Dr. Flynn's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "That's a very negative thing to say about yourself, Ana. And frankly it says more about you than it does about Christian. It's not quite up there with his self-loathing, but I'm surprised by it."

Dr. Flynn frowns. "I have. I see an attractive young man, and I see an attractive young woman. Ana, why don't you think of yourself as attractive?"

Christian sits down, beside me this time, and places his hand possessively on my knee. His action does not go unnoticed by Dr. Flynn.

I smile at him, nodding. Yes, we're going for the benefit of the doubt, courtesy of the good doctor from England.

"Nearly, Christian. Join us."

"Okay?" he asks softly.

Christian nods reluctantly.

"Christian?"

"Welcome back, Christian," he says.

"It may be beneficial if you both come again. I'm sure Ana will have more questions."

Flynn nods.

"Not today, John."

I flush. Shit… he wants to delve. Christian clasps my hand and regards me intently.

"Did you have any other questions, Ana?" Dr. Flynn asks and his concern is obvious. Shit… I should not have asked that question. I shake my head.

Oh no… I don't want this to be about me. I stare down at my fingers. There's a sharp knock on the door that makes me jump. Christian comes back into the room, glaring at both of us. I flush and glance quickly at Flynn, who is smiling benignly at Christian.

"I think time is up, John."

Oh, change of direction. My BlackBerry buzzes. I haul it out of my purse.

Christian squeezes my hand and turns to Flynn.

"Good. Keep me updated of her progress."

"You'll see."

"What does that mean?"

He regards me suspiciously. I cock my head to one side.

In the street, He turns to me. "How was that?" His voice is anxious.

We say our quick good-byes to Dr. Flynn, and Christian ushers me out with unseemly haste.

I stare at Fifty, who is eyeing me suspiciously. "José," I mouth at him. He stares impassively at me, but his eyes harden. Does he think I don't notice? I turn my attention back to José.

"She'll get there," he says reassuringly.

Shit, José!

"Hi!"

Me?

"Should we go and celebrate your promotion?" Christian asks me pointedly.

I nod shyly as Christian stands.

"Mr. Grey, please don't look at me that way. Under doctor's orders I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt."

His mouth twists and his eyes narrow. "Get in the car," he orders while opening the passenger door of the Saab.

Holy fuck. They're talking about Leila.

"I will."

"How is she?" he asks softly.

"It was good."

"Ana, hi…"

Oh.

"Okay. So are you allowed out tomorrow?"

José is silent for a minute, absorbing this news. I cringe. I haven't had a chance to talk to him about Christian.

"Okay," he says eventually. "This thing with Grey, it's serious?"

"Sorry I haven't called you. Is it about tomorrow?" I ask José, but stare up at Christian.

"Yeah, listen -- I spoke with some guy at Grey's place, so I know where I'm delivering the photos, and I should get there between five and six… after that, I'm free."

"So where should I meet you?"

"How serious?"

I turn away from the car and pace to the other side of the sidewalk.

"Serious."

Christian presses his mouth in a hard line. Hmm -- some host he is.

"Yes."

I roll my eyes and pause. Why does Christian have to be listening?

"Well, I'm actually staying with Christian right now, and if you want to, he says you can stay at his place."

"Is he with you now? That why you're speaking in monosyllables?"

"Yes."

"Of course I am." I hope. I automatically cross my fingers.

"You could pick me up from work," I offer.

Christian blinks at me, surprised by my request.

"Can I drive?"

"Okay."

"Why, exactly?"

I grin. "Cool. I'll see you then." I switch the phone off and turn.

"How's your friend?" he asks coolly.

"Sure. I'll see you then, Ana. Looking forward to it. I miss you."

"What time?"

"I'll text you the address."

Christian is leaning against the car watching me carefully, his expression impossible to read.

"Because I don't like to be driven."

I was expecting a fight, and his easy acquiescence throws me off balance.

"No!" My tone is exasperated -- but I refrain from rolling my eyes.

My mouth twists. We'll see about that.

"I'd rather you didn't."

"See? I can be reasonable." He smirks.

"He's well. He'll pick me up from work, and I think we'll go for a drink. Would you like to join us?"

"Six?"

"Okay." Christian holds his hands up in defeat. "You hang out with your friend, and I'll see you later in the evening."

"You managed this morning, and you seem to tolerate Taylor driving you."

Christian hesitates, his gray eyes cool. "You don't think he'll try anything?"

He shrugs in response, as if this is of no consequence whatsoever. Oh -- he's so exasperating! Benefit of the doubt? Well, screw that.

"Then give me the keys, please. I've driven it twice, and only to and from work. Now you're having all the fun." I am in full-on pout mode. Christian's lips twitch with a repressed smile.

I blush. "Mostly yes."

"But you don't know where we're going."

"Great job, eh?" he murmurs.

He frowns at me. "Of course it's your car."

"Left here," Christian orders, and we head north toward I-5. "Hell -- gently, Ana." He grabs hold of the dashboard.

"I'm sure you can enlighten me, Mr. Grey. You've done a great job of it so far."

He gazes at me, stunned, and then smiles, his new shy smile that totally disarms me and takes my breath away.

"And not mine?" I put my hands on my hips. "Honestly -- your control-freakishness knows no bounds. I've been driving since I was fifteen."

"Is this my car?" I demand.

"I trust Taylor's driving implicitly."

"Well, in that case." He hands me the keys, walks around to the driver's door, and opens it for me.

"So I can look at you."

"What are you doing?" he asks angrily, staring down at me.

"So why have you?"

"No. What are you doing?"

"You can't park here."

"I know that."

"Letting you drive."

"I told you. He says I should give you the benefit of the doubt." Damn -- maybe I should have let Christian drive. Then I could watch him. In fact… I signal to pull over.

"What are you doing?" he snaps, alarmed.

Oh, for heaven's sake. I roll my eyes but don't turn to look at him. Van Morrison croons in the background over the car sound system.

I scowl at him. "Keep your eyes on the road!" he shouts.

"Because I've had it with you barking orders. Either you drive or you shut up about my driving!"

Christian sighs. "What did Flynn say?" I hear his anxiety leaching into his voice.

"Slow down!"

"I am slowing down!"

My blood boils. Right! I pull over to the curb just before a traffic light and storm out of the car, slamming the door, and stand on the sidewalk, arms crossed. I glare at him. He climbs out of the car.

"Why?"

He laughs. "No, no -- you wanted to drive. So, you drive, and I'll look at you."

"No."

"Anastasia, get back in the car before we get a ticket."

"You."

"Oh, Anastasia! You are the most frustrating female on the planet." He throws his hands in the air. "Fine -- I'll drive."

He blinks at me, at a total loss, then runs his hands through his hair, and his anger becomes bewilderment. He looks so comical all of a sudden, and I can't help but smile at him. He frowns.

I grab the edges of his jacket and pull him to me. "No -- you are the most frustrating man on the planet, Mr. Grey."

"What?" he snaps once more.

He gazes down at me, his eyes dark and intense, then he snakes his arms around my waist and embraces me, holding me close.

"Maybe we're meant for each other, then," he says softly and inhales deeply, his nose in my hair. I wrap my arms around him and close my eyes. For the first time since this morning, I feel myself relax.

"Oh… Ana, Ana, Ana," he breathes, his lips pressed against my hair. I tighten my arms around him, and we stand, immobile, enjoying a moment of unexpected tranquility, on the street. Releasing me, he opens the passenger door. I climb in and sit quietly, watching him walk around the car.

"SFBT. The latest therapy option," he mutters.

He wouldn't be asking you to marry him if he had! My subconscious has her arms crossed and is wearing Burberry check. The song finishes and Christian grins.

Christian snorts. "Baby, I've been subjected to them all. Cognitivism, Freud, functionalism, Gestalt, behaviorism… You name it, over the years I've done it," he says and his tone betrays his bitterness. The rancor in his voice is distressing.

"You know, if we had gotten a ticket, the title of this car is in your name."

Restarting the car, Christian pulls out into the traffic, absentmindedly humming along to Van Morrison.

"You've tried others?"

"It's a surprise. What else did Flynn say?"

I sigh. "He talked about FFFSTB or something."

Whoa. I've never heard him sing, not even in the shower, ever. I frown. He has a lovely voice -- of course. Hmm… has he heard me sing?

"Well, good thing I've been promoted -- I can afford the fine," I say smugly, staring at his lovely profile. His lips twitch. Another Van Morrison song starts playing as he takes the on-ramp to I-5, heading north.

"Where are we going?"

He looks amused and slightly exasperated. "You were talking forever, Anastasia. What else did he say?"

"Really?" Christian says quietly and frowns. The atmosphere in the car takes a nosedive.

"Flynn and I have differing opinions on this," he says quietly.

"What did Flynn say?"

"What else?" he persists.

"He talked about your fear of being touched, although he called it something else. And about your nightmares and your self-abhorrence." I glance at him, and in the evening light, he's pensive, chewing on his thumbnail as he drives. He glances quickly at me.

"Eyes on the road, Mr. Grey," I admonish, my eyebrow cocked at him.

I swallow. "He doesn't think you're a sadist," I whisper.

"He said not to dwell on your past. Focus on the future -- on where you want to be."

Christian nods but shrugs at the same time, his expression cautious.

Christian's face darkens, and he exhales slowly.

"He says that term's not recognized in psychiatry. Not since the nineties," I mutter, quickly trying to rescue the mood between us.

"Do you think this latest approach will help?"

"So -- one talk with the good doctor and you're an expert," he says acidly and turns his eyes forward.

Oh dear… I sigh.

"He said you always think the worst of yourself. I know that's true," I murmur. "He also mentioned sexual sadism -- but he said that was a lifestyle choice, not a psychiatric condition. Maybe that's what you're thinking about."

His eyes flash toward me again, and his mouth sets in a grim line.

"Look -- if you don't want to hear what he said, don't ask me," I mutter softly.

I don't want to argue. Anyway he's right -- what the hell do I know about all his shit? Do I even want to know? I can list the salient points -- his control-freakishness, his possessiveness, his jealousy, his overprotectiveness -- and I completely understand where he's coming from. I can even understand why he doesn't like to be touched -- I've seen the physical scars. I can only imagine the mental ones, and I've only glimpsed his nightmares once. And Dr. Flynn said -- "I want to know what you discussed." Christian interrupts my thoughts as he heads off I-5 on exit 172, heading west toward the slowly sinking sun.

"Did you think of your subs as lovers?"

Oh… there's that magical word again, brimming with possibility. It makes me smile, and inside I hug myself, trying to contain my joy.

"No. They were sexual partners," he murmurs, his voice cautious again. "You're my only lover. And I want you to be more."

Christian's brow creases once more, but this time he's thinking. He turns the Saab smoothly north once again. Where are we going?

After a beat, the traffic light we're stopped at turns green. He nods and turns the music up, and our discussion is over.

Van Morrison is still singing -- more optimistically now -- about it being a marvelous night for moondancing. I gaze out the windows at the pines and spruce dusted gold by the fading light of the sun, their long shadows stretching across the road. Christian has turned onto a more residential street, and we're heading west toward the Sound.

"Surprise," he says and smiles mysteriously.

"I know," I whisper, trying hard to hide my excitement. "I just need some time, Christian. To get my head around these last few days." He glances at me oddly, perplexed, his head inclined to one side.

"Where are we going?" I ask again as we turn onto a road. I catch a road sign -- 9TH AVE NW. I am baffled.

"Did he, now?" His tone is conciliatory. "Well, he's nothing if not fastidious about his terms. I think that's an accurate description. Don't you?"

"He called me your lover."