I have overstepped the mark.

“Sorry,” I mouth at Taylor, who shrugs and smiles kindly before I turn to follow Chris-

tian.“I’ll be with you shortly. I just want a word with Miss Steele,” Christian says to Taylor,

and I know I’m in trouble.

Christian leads me into his bedroom and closes the door.

“Don’t flirt with the staff, Anastasia,” he scolds.

I open my mouth to defend myself—then close it again, then open it. “I wasn’t flirting.

I was being friendly—there is a difference.”

“Don’t be friendly with the staff or flirt with them. I don’t like it.”

Oh. Good-bye, carefree Christian.“I’m sorry,” I mutter and stare down at my fingers.

He hasn’t made me feel like a child all day. Reaching down he cups my chin, pulling my

head up to meet his eyes.

“You know how jealous I am,” he whispers.

“You have no reason to be jealous, Christian. You own me body and soul.”

He blinks as if he’s finding this fact hard to process. He leans down and kisses me

quickly, but with none of the passion we experienced a moment ago in the elevator.

“I won’t be long. Make yourself at home,” he says sulkily and turns, leaving me stand-

ing in his bedroom, dazed and confused.

Why on earth would he be jealous of Taylor?I shake my head in disbelief.

Glancing at the alarm clock, I notice it’s just after eight. I decide to get my clothes

ready for work tomorrow. I head upstairs to my room and open the walk-in closet. It’s

empty. All the clothes have gone. Oh no!Christian has taken me at my word and disposed

of the clothes. Shit.

My subconscious glares at me. Well, that will be you and your big mouth.

Why did he take me at my word? My mother’s advice comes back to haunt me, “Men

are so literal, darling.”I pout, staring at the empty space. There were some lovely clothes,

too, like the silver dress I wore to the ball.

I wander disconsolately into the bedroom, Wait a moment—what is going on?The iPad

is gone. Where’s my Mac? Oh no.My first uncharitable thought is that Leila may have

stolen them.

I fly back downstairs and back into Christian’s bedroom. On the bedside table are my

Mac, my iPad, and my satchel. It’s all here.

I open the walk-in closet door. My clothes are here—all of them—sharing space with

Christian’s clothes. When did this happen? Why does he never warn me before he does

things like this?

I turn, and he’s standing in the doorway.

“Oh, they managed the move,” he mutters, distracted.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. His face is grim.

“Taylor thinks Leila was getting in through the emergency stairwell. She must have

had a key. All the locks have been changed now. Taylor’s team has done a sweep of every

room in the apartment. She’s not here.” He stops and runs a hand through his hair. “I wish

I knew where she was. She’s evading all our attempts to find her when she needs help.”

He frowns, and my earlier pique vanishes. I put my arms around him. Folding me into his

embrace, he kisses my hair.

“What will you do when you find her?” I ask.

“Dr. Flynn has a place.”

“What about her husband?”

“He’s washed his hands of her.” Christian’s tone is bitter. “Her family is in Connecti-

cut. I think she’s very much on her own out there.”

“That’s sad.”

“Are you okay with all your stuff being here? I want you to share my room,” he mur-

murs. Whoa, quick change of direction.

“Yes.”

“I want you sleeping with me. I don’t have nightmares when you’re with me.”

“You have nightmares?”

“Yes.”

I tighten my hold around him. Holy cow. More baggage. My heart contracts for this

man.“I was just getting my clothes ready for work tomorrow,” I mutter.

“Work!” Christian exclaims as if it’s a dirty word, and he releases me, glaring.

“Yes, work,” I reply, confused by his reaction.

He stares at me with complete incomprehension. “But Leila—she’s out there,” he

pauses. “I don’t want you to go to work.”

What?“That’s ridiculous, Christian. I have to go to work.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I have a new job, which I enjoy. Of course I have to go to work.” What does he mean?

“No, you don’t,” he repeats, emphatically.

“Do you think I am going to stay here twiddling my thumbs while you’re off being

Master of the Universe?”

“Frankly . . . yes.”

Oh, Fifty, Fifty, Fifty . . . give me strength.

“Christian, I need to go to work.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes. I. Do.” I say it slowly as if he’s a child.

He scowls at me. “It’s not safe.”

“Christian . . . I need to work for a living, and I’ll be fine.”

“No, you don’t need to work for a living—and how do you know you’ll be fine?” He’s

almost shouting.

What does he mean? He’s going to support me? Oh, this is beyond ridiculous—I’ve

known him for what—five weeks?

He’s angry now, his gray eyes stormy and flashing, but I don’t give a shit.

“For heaven’s sake, Christian, Leila was standing at the end of your bed, and she didn’t

harm me, and yes, I do need to work. I don’t want to be beholden to you. I have my student

loans to pay.”

His mouth presses into a grim line, as I place my hands on my hips. I am not budging

on this. Who the fuck does he think he is?

“I don’t want you going to work.”

“It’s not up to you, Christian. This is not your decision to make.”

He runs his hand through his hair as he stares at me. Seconds, minutes tick by as we

glare at each other.

“Sawyer will come with you.”

“Christian, that’s not necessary. You’re being irrational.”

“Irrational?” he growls. “Either he comes with you, or I will be really irrational and

keep you here.”

He wouldn’t, would he?“How, exactly?”

“Oh, I’d find a way, Anastasia. Don’t push me.”

“Okay!” I concede, holding up both my hands, placating him. Holy fuck—Fifty is back

with a vengeance.

We stand, scowling at each other.

“Okay—Sawyer can come with me if it makes you feel better.” I concede rolling my

eyes. Christian narrows his and takes a menacing step in my direction. I immediately step

back. He stops and takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and runs both his hands through his

hair. Oh no. Fifty is well and truly wound up.

“Shall I give you a tour?”

A tour? Are you kidding me?“Okay,” I mutter warily. Another change of tack—Mr.

Mercurial is back in town. He holds out his hand and when I take it, he squeezes mine

softly.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You didn’t. I was just getting ready to run,” I quip.

“Run?” Christian eyes widen.

“I’m joking!” Oh jeez.

He leads me out of the closet, and I take a moment to calm down. Adrenaline is still

coursing through my body. A fight with Fifty is not to be undertaken lightly.

He gives me a tour of the apartment, showing me the various rooms. Along with the

playroom and three spare bedrooms upstairs, I’m intrigued to find that Taylor and Mrs.

Jones have a wing to themselves—a kitchen, spacious living area, and a bedroom each.

Mrs. Jones has not yet returned from visiting her sister who lives in Portland.

Downstairs, the room that catches my eye is opposite his study—a TV room with a

too-large plasma screen and assorted games consoles. It’s cozy.

“So you do have an Xbox?” I smirk.

“Yes, but I’m crap at it. Elliot always beats me. That was funny, when you thought

I meant this room was my playroom.” He grins down at me his snit-fit forgotten. Thank

heavens he’s recovered his good mood.