"Hi." I nod at Susi. She looks like Leila. She looks like me. Oh no. Another one.
"Yes," Leila says, as if reading my thoughts. "Susi knows Mr. Grey, too."
What the hell am I supposed to say to that? I give her a polite smile.
"Please, sit," I murmur.
There's a knock on the door. It's Hanna. I motion her in, knowing full well why she's disturbing us.
"Sorry to interrupt, Ana. I have Mr. Grey on the line?"
"Tell him I'm busy."
"He was quite insistent," she says fearfully.
"I am sure he was. Would you apologize to him, and say I'll call him back very shortly?"
Hanna hesitates.
"Hanna, please."
She nods and scuttles out of the room. I turn back to the two women sitting in front of me. They are both staring at me in awe. It's uncomfortable.
"What can I do for you?" I ask.
Susi speaks. "I know this is all kinds of weird, but I wanted to meet you, too. The woman who captured Chris - "
I hold up my hand, stopping her in mid-flow. I do not want to hear this.
"Um . . . I get the picture," I mutter.
"We call ourselves the sub club." She grins at me, her eyes shining with mirth.
Oh my God.
Leila gasps and gapes at Susi, at once amused and appalled. Susi winces. I suspect Leila's kicked her under the table. What the hell am I supposed to say to that? I glance nervously at Prescott, who remains impassive, her eyes never leaving Leila. Susi seems to remember herself. She blushes, then nods and stands.
"I'll wait in reception. This is Lulu's show." I can tell she's embarrassed.
Lulu?
"You'll be okay?" she asks Leila, who smiles up at her. Susi gives me a large, open, genuine smile and exits the room.
Susi and Christian . . . it's not a thought I wish to dwell on. Prescott takes her phone out of her pocket and answers it. I didn't hear it ring.
"Mr. Grey," she says. Leila and I turn to look at her. Prescott closes her eyes as if in pain.
"Yes, sir," she says and stepping forward hands me the phone. I roll my eyes.
"Christian," I murmur, trying to contain my exasperation. I stand and stride briskly out of the room.
"What the f**k are you playing at?" he shouts. He's seething.
"Don't shout at me."
"What do you mean don't shout at you?" he shouts, louder this time.
"I gave specific instructions which you have completely disregarded -
again. Hell, Ana, I am f**king furious."
"When you are calmer, we will talk about this."
"Don't you hang up on me," he hisses.
"Goodbye, Christian." I hang up and switch off Prescott's phone. Holy shit. I don't have long with Leila. Taking a deep breath, I reenter the meeting room. Both Leila and Prescott look up at me expectantly, and I hand Prescott her phone.
"Where were we?" I ask Leila as I sit back down opposite her. Her eyes widen slightly.
Yes - apparently I handle him, I want to say to her. But I don't think she wants to hear that.
Leila fiddles nervously with the ends of her hair. "First, I wanted to apologize," she says softly.
Oh . . .
She glances up and registers my surprise. "Yes," she says quickly.
"And to thank you for not pressing charges. You know - for your car and in your apartment."
"I know you weren't . . . um, well," I murmur, reeling. I hadn't expected an apology.
"No, I wasn't."
"You're feeling better now?" I ask gently.
"Much. Thank you."
"Does your doctor know you're here?"
She shakes her head.
Oh.
She nods, looking suitably guilty. "I know I'll have to deal with the fallout from that later. But I had to get some things, and I wanted to see Susi, and you, and . . . Mr. Grey."
"You want to see Christian?" My stomach free-falls to the floor. That's why she's here.
"Yes. I wanted to ask you if that would be okay."
Holy f**k. I gape at her, and I want to tell her that it's not okay. I don't want her anywhere near my husband. Why is she here? To assess the opposition? To unsettle me? Or perhaps she needs this as some sort of closure?
"Leila." I flounder, exasperated. "It's not up to me, it's up to Christian. You'll need to ask him. He doesn't need my permission. He's a grown man . . . most of the time."
She gazes at me for a fraction of a beat, as if surprised by my reaction then laughs softly, nervously twiddling the end of her hair.
"He's repeatedly refused all my requests to see him," she says quietly.
Oh shit. I'm in more trouble than I thought.
"Why is it so important for you to see him?" I ask gently.
"To thank him. I'd be rotting in a stinking prison psychiatric facility if it wasn't for him. I know that." She glances down, and runs her finger along the edge of the table. "I suffered a serious psychotic episode, and without Mr. Grey and John - Dr. Flynn . . ." She shrugs and gazes up at me once more, her face full of gratitude. Once again I'm speechless. What does she expect me to say? Surely she should be saying these things to Christian, not me.
"And for art school. I can't thank him enough for that."
I knew it! Christian is funding her classes. I remain expressionless, tentatively exploring my feelings for this woman now that she's confirmed my suspicions about Christian's generosity. To my surprise, I feel no ill will toward her. It's a revelation - I'm glad she's better. Now, hopefully, she can move on with her life and out of ours.
"Are you missing classes being here?" I ask, because I'm interested.