I have one option that might work.

Apologize, Grey.

Yeah. It’s my only option.

Because I behaved like an asshole.

Ana’s words come back to me: You need to grow up and smell the fucking coffee, and stop behaving like a petulant adolescent.

Fuck. She’s not wrong.

Now is not the time. I have to help the WSU Environmental Science Department nail additional funding from the USDA. It’s vital to progress the work that Professor Gravett and her team are undertaking in soil technology. Her work is reaping huge benefits in our test sites in Ghana. This is a game changer. Soil could be a key initiative not only in feeding the planet and alleviating food insecurity and poverty, but also through carbon sequestration reversing climate change. From my briefcase I pull out my notes and scan them once more.

The meeting has been a resounding success—we’ve secured an additional million dollars from the USDA. It appears that feeding the world is quite high on the federal government’s agenda, too. With the gratitude of Professors Choudury and Gravett ringing in my ears, Taylor and I head back to Portland. I check my phone, but there’s no word from my wife—not even a snarky response to my e-mail. It’s depressing. I’m anxious to get home and find some way to smooth her ruffled feathers…if I can.

Maybe a meal out?

A movie?

Soaring?

Sailing?

Sex?

What can I do?

I miss her.

The Escalade parks outside the helipad building, as Taylor makes a call.

“Sawyer, I read your text,” he murmurs, and he has my full attention.

Text? Is Ana okay?

He frowns as he listens. “Copy.” Taylor’s eyes meet mine. “I see. Hold on,” he says to Luke, then addresses me. “Mrs. Grey is feeling unwell. Sawyer is taking her back to the apartment.”

“Is it serious?”

“No reason to think so.”

“Okay. We’ll fly straight to Escala.”

“Yes, sir. Sawyer, we’re leaving shortly. We’ll divert directly to Escala, land there.”

“Keep her safe!” I shout, loud enough for Sawyer to hear me.

“You heard Mr. Grey. Text me if the situation changes.” Taylor hangs up.

With a renewed sense of urgency, Taylor and I enter the building, and I’m pleased that the elevator is waiting for us.

I hope Ana’s okay…and the baby.

Maybe I should call my mom, ask her to go over and check on Ana. Or Dr. Greene—though I’m not sure she’d take my call. It will take us an hour to get home, and I can’t wait that long; I try my mother, but there’s no phone signal—we’re in the elevator. I can’t call Ana, either.

Surely if it were serious she’d have called me?

Damn. I have no idea, given she’s not talking to me.

The elevator doors open, Charlie Tango is where we left her, and Stephan is waiting at the controls.

To hell with this. I’m going to fly her. I can direct my attention to the flight, rather than dwell on what’s happening at Escala.

I hope Ana goes to bed. Our bed.

Stephan steps down from the cockpit to greet us.

“Stephan, hi. I’d like to fly her home. We need a new course, for Escala.”

“Yes, sir.” He opens the pilot’s door for me, and I think he’s surprised by the change in my attitude. I climb aboard, buckle up, and begin the final preflight checks.

“All checks done?” I ask Stephan as he takes the seat beside me.

“Just the transponder.”

“Oh, yes. I see. I need to get home to my wife. Taylor, you strapped in?”

“Yes, sir.” His disembodied voice is loud and clear in my cans. I radio the tower, and they’re ready for us.

“Right, gentlemen, let’s get home.” Pulling back the collective, I float Charlie Tango smoothly into the sky and head for Seattle.

As we cut through the air at speed, I know I’ve made the right decision to pilot. I have to focus on keeping us airborne, but deep down, my anxiety continues to gnaw at my insides. I hope Ana’s okay.

We touch down right on schedule at 2:30.

“Good flying, Mr. Grey,” Stephan says.

“Enjoy taking her back to Boeing Field.”

“Will do.” He grins.

I unbuckle my harness, switch on my phone, and follow Taylor out onto Escala’s rooftop. Taylor frowns down at his phone. I halt as he listens to a message.

“It’s from Sawyer. Mrs. Grey is at the bank.” Taylor raises his voice to be heard over the wind that whips around us on the roof.

What? I thought she was ill. What the fuck is she doing at the bank?

“Sawyer followed her there. She tried to give him the slip.”

Anxiety spirals into my chest, tightening around my heart. My rebooted phone beeps and vibrates with a flood of alerts. There’s a text from Andrea, sent four minutes ago, and a couple of missed calls from my bank, and one from Welch.

What the fuck?

ANDREA

Troy Whelan at your bank needs to speak with you urgently.

I have Whelan on speed dial. He picks up immediately.

“Whelan, it’s Christian Grey. What’s going on?” I shout over the rush of the wind.

“Mr. Grey, good afternoon. Um, your wife is here requesting to withdraw five million dollars.”

What?

My blood turns to ice.

“Five million?” I can’t quite believe what he’s said.