Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

whip, eh? Well, there was a time when I would have called him a lucky man.” His voice is full of dry humor. “Don’t let him get on top of you, baby.”
    “Christian!” I scold him and I know he’s grinning.
    “Just watch him, that’s all. Look, I’m glad you’re okay. What time shall I collect you?”
    “I’ll e-mail you.”
    “From your Blackberry,” he says sternly.
    “Yes, Sir,” I snap back.
    “Laters, baby.”
    “Bye . . .”
    He’s still hanging on.
    “Hang up,” I scold, smiling.
    He sighs heavily down the phone. “I wish you’d never gone to work this morning.”
    “Me, too. But I am busy. Hang up.”
    “You hang up.” I hear his smile. Oh, playful Christian. I love playful Christian. Hmm . . . I love Christian, period.
    “We’ve been here before.”
    “You’re biting your lip.”
    Shit, he’s right. How does he know?
    “You see, you think I don’t know you, Anastasia. But I know you better than you think,” he murmurs seductively in that way that makes me weak, and wet.
    “Christian, I’ll talk to you later. Right now, I really wish I hadn’t left this morning, too.”
    “I’ll wait for your e-mail, Miss Steele.”
    “Good day, Mr. Grey.”
    Hanging up, I lean against the cold, hard glass of the deli store window. Oh my, even on the phone he owns me. Shaking my head to clear it of all thoughts Grey, I head into the deli, depressed by all thoughts Jack.

    He is scowling when I get back.
    “Is it okay if I take my lunch now?” I ask tentatively. He gazes up at me and his scowl deepens.
    “If you must,” he snaps. “Forty-five minutes. Make up the time you lost this morning.”
    “Jack, can I ask you something?”
    “What?”
    “You seem, kind of out of sorts today. Have I done something to offend you?”
    He blinks at me momentarily. “I don’t think I’m in the mood to list your misdemeanors right now. I’m busy.” He continues to stare at his computer screen, effectively dismissing me.
    Whoa . . . What have I done ?
    I turn and leave his office, and for a moment I think I’m going to cry. Why has he taken such a sudden and intense dislike to me? A very unwelcome idea pops into my head, but I ignore it. I don’t need his shit right now—I have enough of my own.  
    I head out of the building to the nearby Starbucks, order a latte, and sit down in the window. Taking my iPod from my purse, I plug my headphones in. I choose a song haphazardly and press repeat so it will play over and over again. I need music to think by.
    My mind drifts. Christian the sadist. Christian the submissive. Christian the untouchable. Christian’s oedipal impulses. Christian bathing Leila. I groan and close my eyes while that last image haunts me.  
    Can I really marry this man? He’s so much to take in. He’s complex and difficult, but deep down I know I don’t want to leave him despite all his issues. I could never leave him. I love him. It would be like cutting off my right arm.
    Right now, I have never felt so alive, so vital. I’ve encountered all manner of perplexing, profound feelings and new experiences since I met him. It’s never a dull moment with Fifty.  
    Looking back on my life before Christian, it’s as if everything was in black and white like José’s pictures. Now my whole world is in rich, bright, saturated color. I am soaring in a beam of dazzling light, Christian’s dazzling light. I am still Icarus, flying too close to his sun. I snort to myself. Flying with Christian—who can resist a man who can fly?
    Can I give him up? Do I want to give him up? It’s as if he’s flipped a switch and lit me up from within. It’s been an education knowing him. I have discovered more about myself in the last few weeks than ever before. I’ve learned about my body, my hard limits, my soft limits, my tolerance, my patience, my compassion, and my capacity for love.  
    And it strikes me like a thunderbolt—that’s what he needs from me, what he’s entitled to—unconditional love. He never received it from the crack whore—it’s what he needs. Can I love him unconditionally? Can I accept him for who he is regardless of his revelations last night?
    I know he’s damaged, but I don’t think he’s irredeemable. I sigh, recalling Taylor’s words. “ He’s a good man, Miss Steele. ”  
    I’ve seen the weighty evidence of his goodness—his charity work, his business ethics, his generosity—and yet he doesn’t see it in himself. He doesn’t