he didn’t mention that yesterday.
Oh no, realization dawns. Something’s changed. What could that be? I halt, and Christian halts with me. “What’s happened?” I demand.
He knits his brow. “What do you mean?”
“With Leila.”
“I’ve told you.”
“No, you haven’t. There’s something else. You didn’t insist that I go to your place yesterday. So what’s happened?”
He shifts uncomfortably.
“Christian! Tell me!” I snap.
“She managed to obtain a concealed weapons permit yesterday.”
“That means she can just buy a gun,” I whisper.
“Ana,” he says, his voice full of concern. He places his hands on my shoulders, pulling me close to him. “I don’t think she’ll do anything stupid, but—I just don’t want to take that risk with you.”
“Not me . . . what about you?” I whisper.
He frowns down at me, and I wrap my arms around him and hug him hard, my face against his chest. He doesn’t seem to mind.
“Let’s get back,” he murmurs, and he reaches down and kisses my hair, and that’s it.
All my fury is gone, but not forgotten. Dissipated under the threat of some harm coming to Christian. The thought is unbearable.
Solemnly I pack a small case and place my Mac, the Blackberry, my iPad, and Charlie Tango in my backpack.
“Charlie Tango’s coming, too?” Christian asks.
I nod and he gives me a small, indulgent smile.
“Ethan is back Tuesday,” I mutter.
“Ethan?”
“Kate’s brother. He’s staying here until he finds a place in Seattle.” Christian gazes at me blankly, but I notice the frostiness creep into his eyes.
“Well, it’s good that you’ll be staying with me. Give him more room,” he says quietly.
“I don’t know that he’s got keys. I’ll need to be back then.” Christian gazes at me impassively but says nothing.
“That’s everything.”
He grabs my case, and we head out the door. As we walk around to the back of the building to the parking lot, I’m aware that I am looking over my shoulder. I don’t know if my paranoia has taken over or if someone really is watching me. Christian opens the passenger door of the Audi and looks at me expectantly.
“Are you getting in?” he asks.
“I thought I was driving.”
“No. I’ll drive.”
“Something wrong with my driving? Don’t tell me you know what I scored on my driving test . . . I wouldn’t be surprised with your stalking tendencies.” Maybe he knows that I just scraped through the written test.
“Get in the car, Anastasia,” he snaps angrily.
“Okay.” I hastily climb in.
Perhaps he has the same uneasy feeling, too. Some dark sentinel watching us—well, a pale brunette with brown eyes who has an uncanny resemblance to yours truly and quite possibly a concealed firearm.
Christian sets off into the traffic.
“Were all your submissives brunettes?”
He frowns and glances at me quickly. “Yes,” he mutters. He sounds uncertain, and I imagine him thinking,
“I just wondered.”
“I told you. I prefer brunettes.”
“Mrs. Robinson isn’t a brunette.”
“That’s probably why,” he mutters. “She put me off blondes forever.”
“You’re kidding,” I gasp.
“Yes. I’m kidding,” he replies, exasperated.
I stare impassively out the window, spying brunettes everywhere, none of them Leila, though.
So, he only likes brunettes. I wonder why? Did Mrs. Extraordinarily-Glamorous-In-Spite-Of-Being-Old Robinson really put him off blondes? I shake my head—Christian Mindfuck Grey.
“Tell me about her.”
“What do you want to know?” Christian’s brow furrows, and his tone of voice tries to warn me off.
“Tell me about your business arrangement.”
He visibly relaxes, happy to talk about work. “I am a silent partner. I’m not particularly interested in the beauty business, but she’s built it into a successful venture. I just invested and helped get her started.”
“Why?”
“I owed it to her.”
“Oh?”
“When I dropped out of Harvard, she lent me a hundred grand to start my business.”
“You dropped out?”
“It wasn’t my thing. I did two years. Unfortunately, my parents were not so understanding.”I frown. Mr. Grey and Dr. Grace Trevelyan disapproving, I can’t picture it.
“You don’t seem to have done too badly dropping out. What was your major?”
“Politics and Economics.”
Hmm . . . figures.
“So she’s rich?” I murmur.
“She was a bored trophy wife, Anastasia. Her husband was wealthy—big in timber.” He smirks. “He wouldn’t let her work. You know, he was controlling. Some men are like that.” He gives me a quick sideways grin.
“Really? A controlling man, surely a mythical creature?” I don’t think I can squeeze any more sarcasm into my response.
Christian’s grin gets bigger.
“She lent you her husband’s money?”
He nods and a small mischievous smile appears on his lips.
“That’s terrible.”
“He got his own back,” Christian says darkly as he pulls into the underground garage at Escala.
“How?”
