What the fuck.

This has never happened.

Ever.

The throng—which includes Ros, Barney, Fred, Marco, Vanessa, and all the VPs of their departments—breaks into a rousing chorus of “Happy Birthday.” I fix a smile on my face to hide my surprise and, when they finish, blow out the candle. They all cheer and start applauding, as if I’ve done something worthy of celebration.

Sarah offers me a champagne flute.

There are shouts of “Speech. Speech.”

“Well, this is a surprise.” I turn to Andrea, who gives me a slight shrug. “But thank you.”

Ros pipes up, “We’re all grateful you’re still here, Christian, especially me, because it means I’m still here, too.” There’s a smattering of polite laughter and applause. “So we wanted to express our gratitude in some way. All of us.” She extends an arm to our colleagues. “We also want to wish you a happy birthday and congratulations on your good news. Let’s raise a glass.” She does. “To Christian Grey.”

My name echoes through the office.

I raise my glass to salute her and take a large swig.

There’s more applause.

I really don’t understand what has gotten into my staff. Why now? What gives?

“Was this your idea?” I ask Andrea when she hands me a slice of cake.

“No, sir. It was Ros’s.”

“But you got all this together.”

“Sarah and I did, sir.”

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Grey.”

Ros gives me a warm smile and tips her glass toward me, and I remember I owe her a pair of navy Manolos.

It takes me thirty-five minutes to extricate myself from the little gathering in my office. I’m touched, and I’m surprised that I’m touched. I must be going soft in my old age. But as ever, I’m anxious to return home…anxious to see Ana.

She comes dashing out of the rear entrance to SIP and my heart flips to see her. Sawyer is by her side; he opens the Audi door and she slides in beside me while Sawyer climbs in front with Taylor.

“Hi.” Her smile is dazzling.

“Hi.” Taking her hand, I kiss her knuckles. “How was your day?”

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Elena’s eyes are like flint. Cold. Hard. She’s in my face. Angry. I was the best thing that ever happened to you. Look at you now. One of the richest, most successful entrepreneurs in the United States. Controlled, driven, you need nothing. You are master of your universe. Now she’s on her knees. In front of me. Bowed. Naked. Her forehead pressed to the basement floor. Her hair a shining coronet of lightning against the dark wooden boards. Her hand is stretched out. Splayed. Tipped with scarlet nails. She’s begging. Keep your head on the floor. My voice echoes off the concrete walls. She wants me to stop. She’s had enough. My grip tightens on the crop. Enough, Grey. I wrap my fingers around my cock, hard from her mouth, covered in crimson smears from her lipstick. My palm moves up and down. Faster. Faster. Faster. Yes. I come and come. With a loud guttural cry. Painting her back with my cum. I stand over her. Panting. Heady. Sated. There’s a crash. The door flies open. His frame fills the doorway. He roars, and the blood-curdling sound fills the room. No. Elena screams. Fuck. No. No. No. He’s here. He knows. Elena stands between me and him. No, she cries, and he hits her so hard she falls to the floor. She screams. And screams. Leave him. Leave him. I’m in shock. And he hits me. A right hook to my chin. I fall. And fall. My head spins. I’m faint. No. Stop the screaming. Stop. It goes on. And on. I’m under the kitchen table. My hands on my ears. But they don’t shut out the noise. He’s here. I hear his boots. Big boots. With buckles. She’s screaming. And screaming. What did he do? Where is she? I smell his stench before I see him and he peers under the table, a lit cigarette in his hand. There you are, you little shit.

I wake instantly, gasping for air and doused in a sheen of sweat with fear streaking through my veins.

Where am I?

My eyes adjust to the light. I’m at home. Escala. The coming dawn casts a faint rosy glow over Ana’s sleeping form, and relief rushes through me like a cool autumn breeze.

Thank fuck.

She’s here. With me.

I blow out a long, steadying breath as I try to clear my head.

What the hell was that about?

I rarely dream about Elena, much less about that horrific moment in our shared history. I shudder as I lie staring at the ceiling, and I know I’m too wired to get back to sleep. I contemplate waking Ana—wanting to lose myself in her once more—but I know that’s not fair. Last night she more than proved her stamina; she has to work later today and she needs her sleep. Besides, I’m ill at ease, my skin’s crawling, and the nightmare has left a sour taste in my mouth. It must be the severing of my friendship and business relationship with Elena that’s haunting my psyche. After all, Mrs. Lincoln has been my lodestar for over a decade.

Shit.

It had to be done.

It’s over. All of that is over.

Sitting up I run my hand through my hair, careful not to disturb Ana. It’s early—5:05—and right now, I need a glass of water.

I swivel out of bed and find I’m standing on my tie, discarded after last night’s diverting shenanigans. A delicious memory of Ana invades my senses, her hands bound above her head, her body rigid, her head tipped back in ecstasy as she clutches the pale gray slats of the headboard, while I lavish my attention on her clitoris with my tongue. It’s a much more pleasing recollection than the remnants of my nightmare. I pick up my tie, fold it, and place it on the nightstand.

It’s unusual for me to have nightmares when Ana is sleeping beside me. I hope it’s a one-off. I’m grateful that I have an appointment with Flynn later today so I can dissect this new development with him.