“Fun,” he says.

“When’s Kate back?”

“She and Elliot are flying back Friday. They’re pretty damn serious about each other.”

Ethan rolls his eyes.

“I’ve missed her.”

“Yeah? How have you been doing with Mr. Mogul?”

“Mr. Mogul?” I snicker. “Well, it’s been interesting. He’s taking us out for dinner this

evening.”

“Cool.” Ethan seems genuinely pleased. Phew!

“Here.” I hand him the keys. “You have the address?”

“Yeah. Laters.” He leans over and kisses my cheek.

“Elliot’s expression?”

“Yeah, kind of grows on you.”

“It does. Laters.” I smile at him as he collects his large shoulder bag from beside the

green couch and exits the building.

When I turn, Jack is watching me from the far side of the foyer, his expression unread-

able. I smile brightly at him and head back to my desk, feeling his eyes on me the whole

time. This is beginning to get on my nerves. What to do? I have no idea. I’ll have to wait

until Kate is back. She’s bound to come up with a plan. The thought dispels my bleak

mood, and I pick up the next manuscript.

At five to six, my phone buzzes. It’s Christian.

“Crusty and Cross here,” he says and I grin. He’s still playful Fifty. My inner goddess

is clapping her hands with glee like a small child.

“Well, this is Sex Mad and Insatiable. I take it you’re outside?” I ask dryly.

“I am indeed, Miss Steele. Looking forward to seeing you.” His voice is warm and

seductive, and my heart flutters wildly.

“Ditto, Mr. Grey. I’ll be right out.” I hang up.

I switch off my computer and gather up my purse and cream cardigan.

“I’m off now, Jack,” I call through.

“Okay, Ana. Thanks for today, honey! Have a great evening.”

“You, too.”

Why can’t he be like that all the time? I don’t understand him.

The Audi is parked at the curb, and Christian climbs out as I approach. He’s taken off his

jacket, and he’s wearing his gray pants, my favorite ones that hang from his hips—in that

way. How can this Greek god be meant for me? I find myself grinning like a loon in answer

to his own idiotic grin.

He’s spent the whole day acting like a boyfriend in love—in love with me. This ador-

able, complex, flawed man is in love with me, and I with him. Joy bursts unexpectedly

inside me, and I savor the moment as I feel briefly that I could conquer the world.

“Miss Steele, you look as captivating as you did this morning.” Christian pulls me into

his arms and kisses me soundly.

“Mr. Grey, so do you.”

“Let’s go get your friend.” He smiles down at me and opens the car door.

As Taylor heads to the apartment, Christian fills me in on his day—a much better one

than yesterday, it seems. I gaze at him adoringly as he attempts to explain some break-

through the environmental science department at WSU in Vancouver has made. His words

mean very little to me, but I’m captivated by his passion and interest in this subject. Maybe

this is what it will be like, good days and bad days, and if the good days are like this, I

won’t have much to complain about. He hands me a sheet of paper.

“These are the times that Claude is free this week,” he says.

Oh! The trainer.

As we pull up to my apartment building, he fishes his Blackberry from his pocket.

“Grey,” he answers. “Ros, what is it?” He listens intently, and I can tell it’s an involved

conversation.

“I’ll go and get Ethan. I’ll be two minutes,” I mouth at Christian and hold up two fin-

gers.He nods, obviously distracted by the call. Taylor opens my door, smiling at me warmly.

I grin at him, even Taylor’s feeling it. I press the entry phone and shout happily into it.

“Hi, Ethan, it’s me. Let me in.”

The door buzzes, and I head upstairs to the apartment. It occurs to me that I have not

been here since Saturday morning. That seems so long ago. Ethan has kindly left the front

door open. I step into the apartment, and I don’t know why, but I freeze instinctively as

soon as I step inside. I take a moment to realize it’s because the pale, wan figure standing

by the kitchen island, holding a small revolver is Leila, and she’s gazing impassively at me.

Holy fuck.

She’s here, gazing at me with an unnerving blank expression, holding a gun. My sub-

conscious swoons into a dead faint, and I don’t think even smelling salts will bring her

back.

I blink repeatedly at Leila as my mind goes into overdrive. How did she get in? Where’s

Ethan? Holy shit! Where is Ethan?

A creeping cold fear grips my heart, and my scalp prickles as each and every follicle on

my head tightens with terror. What if she’s harmed him? I start breathing rapidly as adrena-

line and bone-numbing dread course through my body. Keep calm, keep calm—I repeat the

mantra over and over in my head.

She tilts her head to one side, regarding me as if I’m an exhibit in a freak show. Jeez,

I’m not the freak here.

It feels like an eon has passed while I process all this, though in reality it is only a split

second. Leila’s expression remains blank, and her appearance is as scruffy and ill-kempt

as ever. She’s still wearing that grubby trench coat, and she looks desperately in need of a

wash. Her hair is greasy and lank, plastered against her head, and her eyes are a dull brown,

cloudy, and vaguely confused.

Despite the fact that my mouth has no moisture in it whatsoever, I attempt to speak.

“Hi. Leila, isn’t it?” I rasp. She smiles, but it’s a disturbing curl of her lip rather than a true

smile.

“She speaks,” she whispers, and her voice is soft and hoarse at the same time, an eerie

sound.

“Yes, I speak,” I say gently as if to a child. “Are you here alone?” Where is Ethan? My

heart pounds at the thought that he might have come to some harm.

Her face falls, so much so that I think she’s about to burst into tears—she looks so

forlorn.

“Alone,” she whispers. “Alone.” And the depth of sadness in that one word is heart

wrenching. What does she mean? I am alone? She’s alone? She’s alone because she’s

harmed Ethan? Oh . . . no . . . I have to fight the choking fear clawing at my throat as tears

threaten.

“What are you doing here? Can I help you?” My words are a calm, gentle interrogation

despite the suffocating fear in my throat. Her brow furrows as if she’s completely befud-

dled by my questions. But she makes no violent move against me. Her hand is still relaxed

around her gun. I take a different tack, trying to ignore my tightening scalp.

“Would you like some tea?” Why am I asking her if she wants tea? It’s Ray’s answer

to any emotional situation, resurfacing inappropriately. Jeez, he’d have a fit if he saw me

right this minute. His army training would have kicked in, and he’d have disarmed her by

now. She’s not actually pointing that gun at me. Perhaps I can move. She shakes her head

and tilts it from side to side as if stretching her neck.

I take a deep precious lungful of air, trying to calm my panicked breathing, and move

toward the kitchen island. She frowns as if she can’t quite understand what I am doing and

shifts a little so she is still facing me. I reach the kettle and with a shaking hand fill it from

the faucet. As I move, my breathing eases. Yes, if she wanted me dead, surely she would

have shot me by now. She watches me with an absent, bemused curiosity. As I switch on

the kettle, I’m plagued by the thought of Ethan. Is he hurt? Tied up?

“Is there anyone else in the apartment?” I ask tentatively.