Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

lunch?”
    “Sure. What would you like?”
    “Pastrami on rye, hold the mustard. I’ll give you the money when you’re back.”
    “Anything to drink?”
    “Coke, please. Thanks, Ana.” He heads back into his office as I reach for my purse.  
    Crap. I promised Christian I wouldn’t go out. I sigh. He’ll never know, and I’ll be quick.
    Claire from reception offers me her umbrella since it is still pouring with rain. As I head out of the front doors, I pull my jacket around me and take a furtive glance in both directions from beneath the overlarge golf umbrella. Nothing seems amiss. There’s no sign of Ghost Girl.  
    I march briskly, and I hope inconspicuously, down the block to the deli. However, the closer I get to the deli, the more I have a creepy sense that I am being watched, and I don’t know if it’s my heightened feeling of paranoia or a reality. Shit. I hope it’s not Leila with a gun.  
    It’s just your imagination , my subconscious snaps. Who the hell would want to shoot you?
    Within fifteen minutes, I am back—safe, sound but relieved. I think Christian’s extreme paranoia and his overprotective vigilance is beginning to get to me.
    As I take Jack’s lunch in to him, he glances up from the phone.
    “Ana, thanks. Since you’re not coming with me, I’m going to need you to work late. We need to get these briefs ready. Hope you don’t have plans.” He smiles up at me warmly, and I flush.
    “No, that’s fine,” I say with a bright smile and a sinking heart. This is not going to go down well. Christian will freak, I’m sure.  
    As I head back to my desk I decide not to tell him immediately, otherwise he might have time to interfere in some way. I sit and eat the chicken salad sandwich Mrs. Jones made for me. It’s delicious. She makes a mean sandwich.  
    Of course, if I moved in with Christian, she would make lunch for me every weekday. The idea is unsettling. I have never had dreams of obscene wealth and all the trappings—only love. To find someone who loves me and doesn’t try to control my every move. The phone rings.
    “Jack Hyde’s office—”
    “You assured me you wouldn’t go out,” Christian interrupts me, his voice cold and hard.
    My heart sinks for the millionth time this day. Shit. How the hell does he know?
    “Jack sent me out for some lunch. I couldn’t say no. Are you having me watched?” My scalp prickles at the notion. No wonder I felt so paranoid—someone  was  watching me. The thought makes me angry.
    “This is why I didn’t want you going back to work,” Christian snaps.
    “Christian, please. You’re being”— So Fifty —“so suffocating.”
    “Suffocating?” he whispers, surprised.
    “Yes. You have to stop this. I’ll talk to you this evening. Unfortunately, I have to work late because I can’t go to New York.”
    “Anastasia, I don’t want to suffocate you,” he says quietly, appalled.
    “Well, you are. I have work to do. I’ll talk to you later.” I hang up, feeling drained and vaguely depressed.  
    After our wonderful weekend, the reality is hitting home. I have never felt more like running. Running to some quiet retreat so I can think about this man, about how he is, and about how to deal with him. On one level, I know he’s broken—I can see that clearly now—and it’s both heartbreaking and exhausting. From the small pieces of precious information that he’s given me about his life, I understand why. An unloved child; a hideously abusive environment; a mother who couldn’t protect him, whom he couldn’t protect, and who died in front of him.  
    I shudder. My poor Fifty. I am his, but not to be kept in some gilded cage. How am I going to make him see this?
    With a heavy heart, I drag one of the manuscripts Jack wants me to summarize into my lap and continue to read. I can think of no easy solution to Christian’s fucked-up control issues. I will just have to talk to him later, face to face.
    Half an hour later, Jack e-mails me a document that I need to tidy up and polish, ready for printing tomorrow in time for his conference. It will take me not just the rest of the afternoon but well into the evening, too. I set to work.
    When I look up, it’s after seven and the office is deserted, though the light in Jack’s office is still on. I hadn’t noticed everyone leaving, but I am nearly finished. I e-mail the document back to Jack for his approval and check my inbox. There’s nothing new from Christian, so I