Chapter 158 (1/2)

I have to think of a way.

BACK AT ESCALA, GAIL watches me impassively.

“I didn’t ask for this.” I stare at the omelet she’s placed in front of me.

“I’ll throw it away, then, Mr. Grey,” she says, and reaches for the plate. She knows I hate waste, but she doesn’t quail at my hard stare.

“You did this on purpose, Mrs. Jones.” Interfering woman.

And she smiles, a small victorious smile. I scowl, but she’s unfazed, and with the memory of last night’s nightmare lingering, I devour my breakfast.

COULD I JUST CALL Ana and say hi? Would she take my call? My eyes wander to the glider on my desk. She asked for a clean break. I should honor that and leave her alone. But I want to hear her voice. For a moment I contemplate calling her and hanging up, just to hear her speak.

“Christian? Christian, are you okay?”

“Sorry, Ros, what was that?”

“You’re so distracted. I’ve never seen you like this.”

“I’m fine,” I snap.

Shit—concentrate, Grey. “What were you saying?”

Ros eyes me suspiciously. “I was saying that SIP is in more financial difficulty than we thought. Are you sure you want to go ahead?”

“Yes.” My voice is vehement. “I am.”

“Their team will be here this afternoon to sign the heads of agreement.”

“Good. Now, what’s the latest on our proposal for Eamon Kavanagh?”

I STAND BROODING, STARING down through the slatted wooden blinds at Taylor, who is parked outside Flynn’s office. It’s late afternoon and I’m still thinking about Ana.

“Christian, I’m more than happy to take your money and watch you stare out the window, but I don’t think the view is the reason you’re here,” Flynn says.

When I turn to face him he’s regarding me with an air of polite anticipation. I sigh and make my way to his couch.

“The nightmares are back. Like never before.”

Flynn lifts a brow. “The same ones?”

“Yes.”

“What’s changed?” He cocks his head to one side, waiting for my response. When I remain mute, he adds, “Christian, you look as miserable as sin. Something’s happened.”

I feel like I did with Elena; part of me doesn’t want to tell him, because then it’s real.

“I met a girl.”

“And?”

“She left me.”

He looks surprised. “Women have left you before. Why is this different?”

I stare at him blankly.

Why is it different? Because Ana was different.

My thoughts blur together in a colorful tangled tapestry: she wasn’t a submissive. We had no contract. She was sexually inexperienced. She was the first woman I wanted more from than just sex. Christ—all the firsts I experienced with her: the first girl I’d slept beside, the first virgin, the first to meet my family, the first to fly in Charlie Tango, the first I took soaring.

Yeah…Different.