Jack raises his eyebrows. "So many things. Who does he work for?"
"He works for himself. If you're happy with the document, I'd like to go, if that's okay?"
He leans back. My personal space is safe again.
"Of course. Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you," he says disingenuously.
"What time does the building close?"
"Security is here until eleven."
"Good." I smile, and my subconscious flops down in her armchair, relieved to know that we are not alone in the building. Switching off my computer, I grab my purse and stand up, ready to leave.
"You like him then? Your boyfriend?"
"I love him," I answer, looking Jack squarely in the eye.
"I see." Jack frowns and he stands up from my desk. "What's his surname?"
I flush.
"Grey. Christian Grey," I mumble.
Jack's mouth drops open. "Seattle's richest bachelor? That Christian Grey?"
"Yes. The same." Yes, that Christian Grey, your future boss who will have you for breakfast if you invade my personal space again.
"I thought he looked familiar," Jack says darkly and his brow creases again. "Well, he's a lucky man."
I blink at him. What do I say to that?
"Have a good evening, Ana." Jack smiles, but the smile doesn't touch his eyes, and he walks stiffly back into his office without a backward glance.
I let out a long sigh of relief. Well, that problem might be solved. Fifty works his magic again. Just his name is my talisman, and it has this man retreating with his tail between his legs. I allow myself a small victorious smile. You see, Christian? Even your name protects me - you didn't have to go to all that trouble of clamping down on expenses. I tidy my desk and check my watch. Christian should be outside.
The Audi is parked up against the sidewalk, and Taylor leaps out to open the rear passenger door. I have never been so pleased to see him, and I scramble into the car out of the rain. Christian is in the rear seat, gazing at me, his eyes wide and wary. He's bracing himself for my anger, his jaw tight and tense.
"Hi," I murmur.
"Hi," he replies cautiously. He reaches over and grasps my hand, squeezing it tightly, and my heart thaws a little. I'm so confused. I haven't even worked out what I need to say to him.
"Are you still mad?" he asks.
"I don't know," I murmur. He raises my hand and lightly grazes my knuckles with soft butterfly kisses.
"It's been a shitty day," he says.
"Yes, it has." But for the first time since he left for work this morning, I begin to relax.
Just being in his company is a soothing balm, and all the shit from Jack, and the snarky e-mails to and fro, and the nuisance that is Elena fade into the background. It's just me and my control freak in the back of the car.
"It's better now that you're here," he murmurs. We sit in silence as Taylor weaves through the evening traffic, both of us brooding and contemplative; but I feel Christian slowly unwind beside me as he, too, relaxes, gently running his thumb across my knuckles in a soft, soothing rhythm.
Taylor drops us outside the apartment building, and we both duck inside, out of the rain. Christian clasps my hand as we wait for the elevator, his eyes scanning the front of the building.
"I take it you haven't found Leila yet."
"No. Welch is still looking for her," he mutters despondently.
The elevator arrives and in we step. Christian glances down at me, his gray eyes unreadable. Oh, he just looks glorious - tousled hair, white shirt, dark suit. And suddenly it's there, from nowhere, that feeling. Oh my - the longing, the lust, the electricity. If it were visible, it would be an intense blue aura around and between us it's so strong. His lips part as he gazes at me.
"Do you feel it?" he breathes.
"Yes."
"Oh, Ana." He groans and he grabs me, his arms snaking around me, one hand at the nape of my neck, tipping my head back as his lips find mine. My fingers are in his hair and caressing his cheek as he pushes me back against the elevator wall.
"I hate arguing with you," he breathes against my mouth, and there's a desperate, passionate quality to his kiss that mirrors mine. Desire explodes in my body, all the tension of the day seeking an outlet, straining against him, seeking more. We're all tongues and breathing and hands and touch and sweet, sweet sensation. His hand is on my hip, and abruptly he's pulling up my skirt, his fingers stroking my thighs.
"Sweet Jesus, you're wearing stockings." He moans in appreciative awe as his thumb caresses the flesh above my stocking line. "I want to see this," he breathes, and he pulls my skirt right up, exposing the tops of my thighs.
Stepping back, he reaches over to press the stop button, and the elevator coasts smoothly to a halt between the twenty-second and twenty-third floors. His eyes are dark, lips parted, and he's breathing as hard as am I. We gaze at each other, not touching. I am grateful for the wall against my back, holding me up while I bask in this beautiful man's sensual, carnal appraisal.
"Take your hair down," he orders, his voice husky. I reach up and undo the tie, releasing my hair so it tumbles in a thick cloud around my shoulders to my br**sts. "Undo the top two buttons of your shirt," he whispers, his eyes wilder now.
He makes me feel so wanton. My inner goddess is writhing on her chaise longue, waiting, wanting, and panting. I reach up and undo each button, achingly, slowly, so that the tops of my br**sts are tantalizingly revealed.
He swallows. "Do you have any idea how alluring you look right now?"
Very deliberately, I bite my lip and shake my head. He closes his eyes briefly, and when he opens them again, they are blazing. He steps forward and places his hands on the elevator walls on either side of my face. He's as close as he can be without touching me.