Страница 99 из 129
“Pasta.”
She smiles. “Spaghetti, pe
“Spaghetti, your Bolognese.”
“Coming up. And Ana . . . you should know Mr. Grey was frantic this morning when he thought you’d left. He was beside himself.” She smiles fondly.
Oh . . .
He’s still not home by nine. I am sitting at my desk in the library, wondering where he is. I call him.
“Ana,” he says, his voice cool.
“Hi.”
He inhales softly. “Hi,” he says, his voice lower.
“Are you coming home?”
“Are you coming home?”
“Later.”
“Are you in the office?”
“Yes. Where did you expect me to be?”
With her. “I’ll let you go.”
We both hang on the line, the silence stretching and tightening between us.
“Goodnight, Ana,” he says eventually.
“Goodnight, Christian.”
He hangs up.
Oh shit. I gaze at my BlackBerry. I don’t know what he expects me to do. I’m not going to let him walk all over me. Yes, he’s mad, fair enough. I’m mad. But
we are where we are. I haven’t run off loose-lipped to my ex-paedo lover. I want him to acknowledge that that is not an acceptable way to behave.
I sit back in my chair, gazing at the billiard table in the library, and recall fun times playing snooker. I place my hand on my belly. Maybe it’s just too early.
Maybe this is not meant to be . . . And even as I think that, my subconscious is screaming no! If I terminate this pregnancy, I will never forgive myself—or Christian. “Oh, Blip, what have you done to us?” I can’t face talking to Kate. I can’t face talking to anyone. I text her, promising to call soon.
By eleven, I can no longer keep my eyelids open. Resigned, I head up to my old room. Curling up beneath the duvet, I finally let myself go, sobbing into my
pillow, great heaving unladylike sobs of grief . . .
My head is heavy when I wake. Crisp fall light shines through the great windows of my room. Glancing at my alarm I see it’s seven thirty. My immediate thought is
where’s Christian? I sit up and swing my legs out of bed. On the floor beside the bed is Christian’s silver-gray tie, my favorite. It wasn’t there when I went to bed
last night. I pick it up and stare at it, caressing the silky material between my thumbs and forefingers, then hug it against my cheek. He was here, watching me sleep.
And a glimmer of hope sparks deep inside me.
Mrs. Jones is busy in the kitchen when I arrive downstairs.
“Good morning,” she says brightly.
“Morning. Christian?” I ask.
Her face falls. “He’s already left.”
“So he did come home?” I need to check, even though I have his tie as evidence.
“He did,” she pauses, “Ana, please forgive me for speaking out of turn, but don’t give up on him. He’s a stubborn man.”
I nod and she stops. I’m sure my expression tells her I do not want to discuss my errant husband right now.
When I arrive at work, I check my e-mails. My heart leaps into overdrive when I see there’s one from Christian.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Portland
Date: September 15, 2011 06:45
To: Anastasia Grey
Ana,
I am flying down to Portland today.
I have some business to conclude with WSU.
I thought you would want to know.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
Oh. Tears prick my eyes. That’s it? My stomach flips. Shit! I am going to be sick. I race to the powder room and make it just in time, depositing my breakfast into
the toilet. I sink to the floor of the cubicle and put my head in my hands. Could I be any more miserable? After a while, there’s a gentle knock on the door.
“Ana?” It’s Ha
Fuck. “Yes?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’ll be out in a moment.”
“Boyce Fox is here to see you.”
Shit. “Show him into the meeting room. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Do you want some tea?”
“Please.”
After my lunch—another cream cheese and salmon bagel, which I manage to keep down—I sit staring listlessly at my computer, looking for inspiration and
wondering how Christian and I are going to resolve this huge problem.
My BlackBerry buzzes, making me jump. I glance at the screen—it’s Mia. Jeez, that’s all I need, her gushing and enthusiasm. I hesitate, wondering if I could just
ignore it, but courtesy wins out.
“Mia,” I answer brightly.
“Well, hello there, Ana—long time no speak.” The male voice is familiar. Fuck!
My scalp prickles and all the hair on my body stands to attention as adrenaline floods through my system and my world stops spi
It’s Jack Hyde.
“Jack.” My voice has disappeared, choked by fear. How is he out of jail? Why does he have Mia’s phone? The blood drains from my face, and I feel dizzy.
“You do remember me,” he says, his tone soft. I sense his bitter smile.
“Yes. Of course.” My answer is automatic as my mind races.
“You’re probably wondering why I called you.”
“Yes.”
Hang up.
“Don’t hang up. I’ve been having a chat with your little sister-in-law.”
What? Mia! No! “What have you done?” I whisper, trying to quell my fear.
“Listen here, you prick-teasing, gold-digging whore. You fucked up my life. Grey fucked up my life. You owe me. I have the little bitch with me now. And you,
that cock-sucker you married, and his whole fucking family are going to pay.”
Hyde’s contempt and bile shock me. His family? What the hell?
“What do you want?”
“I want his money. I really want his fucking money. If things had been different, it could have been me. So you’re going to get it for me. I want five million
dollars, today.”
“Jack, I don’t have access to that kind of money.”
He snorts his derision. “You have two hours to get it. That’s it—two hours. Tell no one or this little bitch gets it. Not the cops. Not your prick of a husband. Not
his security team. I will know if you do. Understand?” He pauses and I try to respond, but panic and fear seal my throat.
“You understand!” he shouts.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Or I will kill her.”
I gasp.
“Keep your phone with you. Tell no one or I’ll fuck her up before I kill her. You have two hours.”
“Jack, I need longer. Three hours. How do I know that you have her?”
The line goes dead. I gape in horror at the phone, my mouth parched with fear, leaving the nasty metallic taste of terror. Mia, he has Mia. Or does he? My mind
whirrs at the obscene possibility, and my stomach roils again. I think I’m going to be sick, but I inhale deeply, trying to steady my panic, and the nausea passes. My
mind rockets through the possibilities. Tell Christian? Tell Taylor? Call the police? How will Jack know? Does he actually have Mia? I need time, time to think—
but I can only accomplish that by following his instructions. I grab my purse and head for the door.
“Ha
“Sure, Ana. Everything okay?” Ha
“Yes,” I call back distractedly, hurrying toward reception where Sawyer is waiting.
“Sawyer.” He leaps up from the armchair at the sound of my voice, and frowns when he sees my face.
“I’m not feeling well. Please take me home.”
“Sure, ma’am. Do you want to wait here while I get the car?”
“No, I’ll come with you. I’m in a hurry to get home.”
I gaze out the window in stark terror as I go over my plan. Get home. Change. Find checkbook. Escape from Ryan and Sawyer somehow. Go to bank. Hell, how