I was right on the cusp of sleep when I heard Christian whisper, telling me he was going to pick me up and calling me baby. Then he lifted me in his arms and carried me to my bedroom. I could have opened my eyes and told him I was still awake, but I enjoyed the feeling of my head resting against his shoulder and my side pressed against his front. The distance to my bedroom was not long enough, and all too soon Christian was lowering me onto my bed, pushing the duvet back and laying me on the crisp sheets. For just a moment I hoped he might climb in beside me, but he smoothed my hair back from my face and pulled the duvet to cover me.
"Sleep well," he whispered, leaving the room and closing the door firmly behind it.
It was much later, just past 3:00 am according to the glowing digits from the bedside clock, when I woke to hear music. Piano music. Played beautifully, the melody was nonetheless mournful. Melancholy was probably the best way to describe it. Unsure whether it was a recording or live, I slipped out of bed, not needing to dress as I was still in the outfit I'd changed into before dinner.
With bare feet, I padded down the hallway toward the great room. The room was in complete darkness, other than a floor lamp beside the piano bathing it in a pool of light. A Fazioli, Christian had told me when I'd asked about it earlier. I knew nothing of pianos, however, if it was here in Christian's apartment, it was undoubtedly the best of the best.
Speaking of Christian, he was sitting at the instrument, his face partially lit by the floor lamp beside him, his eyes focussed on sheet music in front of him. Clad only in a pair of sleep pants, his fingers positively flew across the black and white keys, coaxing subtle yet complicated swells and waves to complement the main melody he was playing. It was simply mesmerizing to listen to, so leaning unseen against a doorframe in the corridor's darkness I watched this beautiful man as he made beautiful music.
At times he closed his eyes, playing the piece from memory. This melody was obviously familiar to him—I doubt any player could be so competent with such a complex piece without considerable practice—still he made it look simple.
I'd been watching Christian play for quite some time when the melody ended. Taking a sip from a crystal tumbler I'd not noticed on the piano seat beside him, he started in on another piece. Something contemporary, he appeared to be playing it by ear. I knew the tune instantly, but with the translation to piano, I could not recall the words. It wasn't until he reached the chorus that I placed it. 'I Want to Know What Love Is' by Foreigner. One of Carla's 1980s favorites from her teenage years, she played it regularly in my childhood home in Montesano.
As the words came to me, I could feel a sadness—almost despair—radiating from the man I observed. It was as though he was pouring out his innermost thoughts through music, and I felt like a voyeur witnessing it without his permission. So, before he finished, I tip-toed back to my room, changing into a beautiful silk nightdress he'd insisted I'd needed before climbing back into bed. It was only as I pulled the duvet over myself that I noticed the music had stopped and all was, once again, quiet.
"Good morning, Anastasia," Christian said, looking better than anyone should at 7:00 am. Despite showering, dressing in a pretty skirt and top with heels, and applying makeup, I felt positively frumpy compared to the God who sat at the breakfast bar waiting for me. "Here's your tea—Mrs. Jones can make whatever you'd like for breakfast."
My eyes flicked to the cup and saucer sitting at 'my' spot at the counter. I was expecting to see a teabag drowned in a lake of tea too strong to drink. So imagine my surprise when I saw a virgin bag of English Breakfast tea sitting beside a delicate bone china cup with a single pot of boiling water in a matching china teapot for one beside it. When it came to details Christian, or perhaps Mrs. Jones, was all across it!
"You've noticed how I like my tea," I murmured, Christian and Gail both within earshot.
Christian grinned. "That I did, Ms. Steele," he teased. Initially, when he called me Ms. Steele, it bothered me. Now I recognized it as just another way the mercurial Mr. Grey tried to be playful.
"I'm afraid I'm unable to reciprocate. Your coffee machine looks far too complicated for me to manage."
"You and me both," he confided. "Every time Gail asks for a raise I have to say yes, otherwise I'll never have a decent coffee again!"
Mrs. Jones smiled indulgently, listing a range of breakfast options. I could see it thrilled Christian when each was on the more filling side. I wasn't stupid—I knew he was tasking Mrs. Jones with fattening me up—yet since I knew I actually needed a few more pounds, I happily accepted her suggestion of Canadian pancakes.
"I'm still a little hungry," Christian said as Mrs. Jones prepared to make my meal. "Can you make a single pancake and a rasher of bacon for me, too?" It was an order yet phrased as a question.
"Of course, Mr. Grey. Would you like another coffee with it?" Gail checked.
"Only if you can work out the machine," he replied, winking at me conspiratorially.
We were five minutes away from leaving for day two at Grey House when Christian reminded me of today's lunch date with Mia. He refused to tell me where we were going, other than recommending I pack a change of clothes. Specifically, some casual jeans, a shirt, some joggers, and a hat. With less than half of what he'd ordered for me delivered, I worried I wouldn't have what was required. But when I mentally ran through what was in my new closet, there was a pair of jeans from my studio and a pretty new top that could work. With my sneakers and an old hat, it wasn't haute couture, but it would hopefully be ok.
"Barney needs you for a few more hours this morning, then Denise from HR will meet with you for an hour or two to go through your resume so it's ready to submit when you apply for jobs."
"Do you think that will be soon?"
"Monday. Tuesday at the latest," Christian replied, standing from the breakfast bar, and reaching out to help me to my feet. We stood, hand in hand, looking at one another. If it were not for Mrs. Jones coming to clear our dishes from the counter, we may have stood there for hours!
"I'll let you get your change of clothes," Christian said, hardly louder than a whisper as he released my hand. He looked as disappointed as I felt at the sudden lack of contact between us. "Meet you back here in five?"
As promised, Christian was standing at the elevator waiting four minutes later.
"You didn't need to rush," he crooned, making me blush more than my tearing around my bedroom already had.
"No rush," I lied, hiding my pink cheeks by looking at the ground. I said nothing more until we were in the back of one of Christian's cars, again being driven by Taylor. "Do you have a busy morning?"
"Yes and no," he replied, glancing at me in a way I didn't understand. "Mostly looking into a new acquisition I have my eye on."
"Something exciting?" I asked, already fascinated by the little Christian had shared with me of his work over the last two days.
"I think so. It just needs more investigation. Time will tell, I suppose."
"If you want it, I am sure you'll succeed. I can't imagine you failing at anything you attempt!"
"I hope so," Christian said, a strange expression crossing his face before he grabbed my hand from the leather seat where it rested between us. And while I had no sense of why he'd taken my hand, I very much enjoyed the fact he was holding it.
Barney and I spent another two hours looking at footage. I couldn't contribute much other than confirming some outfits were the same as the guy had worn when I'd noticed him. Some footage was new to me, which is when Barney revealed he'd identified another three young women who'd been trailed by the man and subsequently disappeared. All young. Petite. Recently arrived in Seattle, and most importantly with no local friends or family.
"Mr. Grey has been so kind, but I can't stay at his home forever," I said, thinking it would be easier to pack the little I had and disappear to LA, New York, or even Chicago and start over again. I'd confided a little in Barney about how I was staying with Christian, so he understood.
"Ana? You've said you're used to being independent, but please—let the boss take care of this for you. Stay with him until they catch this guy," Barney said as we were wrapping up. "The boss is a good man. He won't let anyone hurt you. You're obviously on this guy's radar and who knows what that means."
I looked at him, unconvinced.
"You have a twenty-four-seven guard with the boss," Barney argued. "There's nowhere safer. And Mr. Grey's contacts will be invaluable getting you a foot in the door in the career of your choice. Just give him a chance."
"You're right there," a voice announced from the open doorway of Barney's office, evidently having overheard the last part of our conversation. Platinum blonde, like many of Christian's staff, probably in her forties, the woman had a slim figure and was dressed in what I could only describe as a power suit. In bright red crepe, from an orange base, everything from her hair to her makeup, her nails, and her heels spoke coordinated perfection. "Denise Pritchard from HR," she said, stepping into Barney's office and offering me her hand. "Mr. Grey asked me to meet with you."
"Oh. Ana... I mean Anastasia Steele. I hope I'm not taking you away from anything important? Christian said you might have a few pointers for my CV? I've just graduated from WSU, so I'm afraid I don't have a lot of experience. I'll be applying for my first professional job, so I'd appreciate all the help I can get!"
"Absolutely," Denise said after shaking my hand. "Let's step into one of the breakout rooms, see what you have, and we can take things from there." While her words and actions seemed genuine enough, I somehow felt condescended to. Yet I suppose I didn't even come close to an applicant of Grey House standards, so it was kind of Christian to ask someone to help me. An hour later I had the start of a whole new resume! Denise asked me to hold off a day or two before sending anything out as she attempted to get examples of CVs for publishing.
"Publishing is not my field, so give me the weekend to see what I can rustle up. The best way to know what to include in a CV is to look at examples from previously successful applicants. We can meet again on Monday to shape and finish your CV, then we can start work on generic and specific cover letters."
By the time I walked back toward Christian's office, my head was spinning! Denise had pointed out so many other skills I could list on my resume, even if they weren't directly related to publishing. Even changing the words I'd used to make them more punchy, and less verbose, added to the overall impression. Literary editors were not the only wordsmiths I appreciated, reminding myself to send Denise a bottle of wine as a thank you for all her help. I'd barely reached Andrea and Olivia in reception when Christian stepped out of his office, smiling happily.
"Ms. Steele? I have your bag right here. Mia's almost at our destination—let's go for lunch."
Taylor emerged from the security suite, joining us beside the elevator. "Mr. Grey. Reception just called. She doesn't have an appointment, but Mrs. Lincoln is on her way up."
Christian's mood changed in an instant. He was watching the overhead lights above the dual elevator bank, while repeatedly stabbing the call button. He'd already swiped his priority card, so I knew the elevator rising without stopping was on its way to us. It was gaining ground on the other car, which was also rising, although the latter stopped twice on its ascent. They were almost neck and neck when the priority car arrived, the elevator doors opening to an empty elevator carriage.
"After you, Ms. Steele," Christian said with a smile, stepping in just after me, followed by Taylor. We all turned to face the front of the elevator as we heard a ding. The adjacent elevator must have arrived and opened its doors, as a tall woman dressed in an almost skin-tight black pantsuit stepped out, striding on five-inch heels toward Andrea and Olivia's desks.
As she had her back to us, I could see nothing other than a bleached blonde pompadour sort of hairstyle, her tall, slim figure, and the bright red polish on her fingernails.
"I'm here to see Christian. Let him know I'm here. I know he will see me," she commanded, the rest of her words cut off as our elevator doors closed behind her. The bitch in black never even turned around.
"I don't think I've ever eaten here," Mia said, looking around Nell's on Green Lake suspiciously as we were seated.
"Then you've missed out," Christian replied irritably. "Nell's is one of Seattle's hidden gems."
The restaurant itself looked unassuming. Half-full, they quickly showed us to a private area near the back.
"Why couldn't we have gone to the Mile High Club again?" Mia persisted. "The food is always good there..."
I had my suspicions our absence from Christian's club had to do with him not wanting to be seen in public with me, but I kept those thoughts to myself.
"Anastasia and I have something to do around this area later, Mia. But if this is not up to your standards, there's no need for you to stay."
Mia immediately looked chastised. I don't think Christian told his sister off often.
"The menu looks amazing," I added, filling the awkward silence. "I'm not familiar with some dishes—is there something you can recommend?"
After ascertaining there was nothing I was unwilling to try, Christian asked if I trusted him to order for me. I said yes, immediately regretting it when he rattled off what seemed like a dozen dishes to the server.
"Don't worry. I've ordered tasting plates for you and me to share," Christian explained while Mia placed her order. "That way you get to taste a bit of everything, so next time you'll know what you like."
Such a considerate gesture, I thanked Christian for his thoughtfulness. Over the next hour, I enjoyed a riot of flavors and tastes, Christian tempting me with dish after dish as I got to know him and Mia better. My initial assessment of Mia was correct—she was sweet and kind natured. She was also highly excitable, and a little spoiled.
"It's hard to believe you and Mia are the same age," Christian murmured when Mia left to visit the bathroom ahead of our departure. "I've never realized, before, just how shallow she is."
I didn't know what to say, so said nothing.
"I need to talk to my parents about her. Speaking of my parents, they're expecting me for brunch on Sunday. They hold it at their home every weekend, but I've not been for a while. I should probably attend, and I'd like you to come with me."
"You want me to meet your parents?"
"Yes. They've undoubtedly already heard about you from Mia, but I'd like to introduce you to them myself."
"But in a week or so I'll be out of your hair. They don't need to meet me."
"Ms. Steele, even after you leave Escala, I hope we can remain friends? I don't have many friends, so I'd love it if my parents could meet one." The hard-assed take no prisoners CEO was absent, leaving a young man who was strangely vulnerable. Apparently, my meeting Christian's parents was important to him.
"In which case, I'd be happy to join you at your parents' house for brunch," I replied, immediately rewarded with a huge grin.
"What are you smiling about?" Mia asked Christian as she re-joined our table.
"Nothing in particular," Christian said to Mia before calling for the check. "Are you going home after this?"
"Yes. Mom has the seating chart for the Coping Together ball she wants me to help with. You will come this year, won't you? Mom rang and checked with Andrea, so she knows you're not booked to travel anywhere."
"I'll be there," Christian replied with irritation. "You can also tell Mom that Anastasia and I will be at brunch this Sunday."
"Really? You haven't been in months!"
"It's been a busy time at GEH," Christian defended, motioning to Taylor, where he sat with Mia's CPO Gamboa, that we were ready to leave.
"It was nice to see you again, Ana," Mia said, embracing me before giving her brother a half hug. "I'll see you on Sunday. Mom is going to be beside herself..." Before I could ask her what she meant, Mia was leaving the restaurant with her CPO.
"Is everything ready for this afternoon's activities?" Christian asked Taylor, receiving a nod in response.
"Ms. Steele, we seemed blessed with a rare sunny Seattle day. Trust me?"
"Do I have a choice?" I teased, allowing him to take my arm and guide me out to the waiting SUV toward our next destination.
"Pedal boats?" I squealed when he pulled up at the Greenlake Boathouse.
"I was going to take you out on my yacht, but when you mentioned pedal boating, I thought, why not?"
I was grinning like an idiot. Pedal boating was a fond memory from my childhood with Ray. Not something I could imagine a billionaire doing, I was excited to try it again.
"I've not done this in years," I giggled, remembering trips on the lake and nearly capsizing our craft several times.
"Me either," Christian confided. Still dressed in his suit, Taylor passed Christian a small bag before the three of us moved across to the boathouse change rooms. Minutes later we were all in casual attire, Christian still looking like a supermodel in dark jeans, a fitted T-shirt, canvas shoes, a cap, and aviators.
At the water's edge, we were all fitted with lifejackets, Taylor looking distinctly uncomfortable as an attendant strapped him in. Christian refused any help with his before helping me with mine. I might have been imagining things, but his hands seemed to linger on the straps as he checked they were tight enough. A quick lesson on how to steer, and what to do if we got in trouble, then we were led to a two-person pedal boat.
"I thought we'd be in a four-person boat with Taylor?" I asked.
"Taylor will kayak, today. He'll be close enough if we need him."
Turning to look at Taylor, I could see him climbing into a kayak with an expression that could only be described as stoic.
"Come on, Ms. Steele. Our vessel awaits!"