Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

relays the information to whoever’s on the line, not taking his eyes off me, his expression dark and earnest.
    “Find out how . . . Yes . . . I wouldn’t have said so, but then I wouldn’t have thought she could do this.” He closes his eyes as if he’s in pain. “I don’t know how that will go down . . . Yes, I’ll talk to her . . . Yes . . . I know . . . Follow it up and let me know. Just find her, Welch—she’s in trouble. Find her.” He hangs up.
    “Do you want some tea?” I ask. Tea, Ray’s answer to every crisis and the only thing he does well in the kitchen. I fill the kettle with water.
    “Actually, I’d like to go back to bed.” His look tells me that it’s not to sleep.
    “Well, I need some tea. Would you like to join me for a cup?” I want to know what’s going on. I will not be sidetracked by sex.
    He runs his hand through his hair in exasperation. “Yes, please,” he says, but I can tell he’s irritated.
    I put the kettle on the stove and busy myself with teacups and the teapot. My anxiety level has shot to DEFCON ONE . Is he going to tell me the problem? Or am I going to have to dig?  
    I sense his eyes on me—sense his uncertainty, and his anger is palpable. I glance up, and his eyes glitter with apprehension.
    “What is it?” I ask softly.
    He shakes his head.
    “You’re not going to tell me?”
    He sighs and closes his eyes. “No.”
    “Why?”
    “Because it shouldn’t concern you. I don’t want you tangled up in this.”
    “It shouldn’t concern me, but it does. She found me and accosted me outside my office. How does she know about me? How does she know where I work? I think I have a right to know what’s going on.”
    He runs a hand through his hair again, radiating frustration as if waging some internal battle.
    “Please?” I ask softly.
    His mouth sets into a hard line, and he rolls his eyes at me.
    “Okay,” he says, resigned. “I have no idea how she found you. Maybe the photograph of us in Portland, I don’t know.” He sighs again, and I sense his frustration is directed at himself.  
    I wait patiently, pouring boiling water into the teapot as he paces back and forth. After a beat he continues.
    “While I was with you in Georgia, Leila turned up at my apartment unannounced and made a scene in front of Gail.”
    “Gail?”
    “Mrs. Jones.”
    “What do you mean, ‘made a scene’?”
    He glares at me, appraising.
    “Tell me. You’re keeping something back.” My tone is more forceful than I feel.
    He blinks at me, surprised. “Ana, I—” he stops.
    “Please?”
    He sighs in defeat. “She made a haphazard attempt to open a vein.”
    “Oh no!” That explains the bandage on her wrist.
    “Gail got her to hospital. But Leila discharged herself before I could get there.”
    Crap. What does this mean? Suicidal? Why?
    “The shrink who saw her called it a typical cry for help. He didn’t believe her to be truly at risk—one step from suicidal ideation, he called it. But I’m not convinced. I’ve been trying to track her down since then to get her some help.”
    “Did she say anything to Mrs. Jones?”
    He gazes at me. He looks really uncomfortable.
    “Not much,” he says eventually, but I know he’s not telling me everything.  
    I distract myself with pouring tea into teacups. So Leila wants back into Christian’s life and chooses a suicide attempt to attract his attention? Whoa . . . scary. But effective. Christian left Georgia to be at her side, but she disappears before he gets there? How odd.
    “You can’t find her? What about her family?”
    “They don’t know where she is. Neither does her husband.”
    “Husband?”
    “Yes,” he says distractedly, “she’s been married for about two years.”
    What? “So she was with you while she was married?” Holy fuck. He really has no boundaries.
    “No! Good God, no. She was with me nearly three years ago. Then she left and married this guy shortly afterward.”
    Oh. “So why is she trying to get your attention now?”
    He shakes his head sadly. “I don’t know. All we’ve managed to find out is that she ran out on her husband about four months ago.”
    “Let me get this straight. She hasn’t been your submissive for three years?”
    “About two and a half years.”
    “And she wanted more.”
    “Yes.”
    “But you didn’t?”
    “You know this.”
    “So she left you.”
    “Yes.”
    “So why is she coming to you now?”
    “I don’t