by E. L. James
How is your day going, baby?
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Oh my. I flush reading his response.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Hectic
Date: June 16 2011 16:00
To: Christian Grey
The day has flown by. I have hardly had a moment to myself to think about anything other than work. I think I can do this! I’ll tell you more when I’m home. Outdoors sounds … interesting.
Love you.
A x
PS: Don’t worry about Dr. Flynn.
My phone buzzes. It’s Claire from Reception, desperate to know who sent the flowers and what happened to Jack. Holed up in the office all day, I have missed the gossip. I tell her quickly that the flowers are from my boyfriend and that I know very little about Jack’s departure. My BlackBerry buzzes and I have another e-mail from Christian.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: I’ll try …
Date: June 16 2011 16:09
To: Anastasia Steele
… not to worry.
Laters, baby. x
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
At five thirty, I clean up my desk. I can’t believe how quickly the day has gone. I have to get back to Escala and prepare to meet Dr. Flynn. I haven’t even had time to think of questions. Perhaps today we can have an initial meeting, and maybe Christian will let me see him again. I shrug off the thought as I dash out of the office, waving a quick good-bye to Claire.
I’ve also got Christian’s birthday to think about. I know what I’m going to give him. I’d like him to have it tonight before we meet Flynn, but how? Beside the parking lot is a small store selling touristy trinkets. Inspiration hits me and I duck inside.
CHRISTIAN IS ON HIS BlackBerry, standing and staring out the glass wall as I enter the great room half an hour later. Turning, he beams at me and wraps up his call.
“Ros, that’s great. Tell Barney and we’ll go from there … Good-bye.”
He strides over to me as I stand shyly in the entryway. He’s changed now into a white T-shirt and jeans, all bad boy and smoldering. Whoa.
“Good evening, Miss Steele,” he murmurs and he bends to kiss me. “Congratulations on your promotion.” He wraps his arms around me. He smells delicious.
“You’ve showered.”
“I’ve just had a workout with Claude.”
“Oh.”
“Managed to knock him on his ass twice.” Christian beams, boyish and pleased with himself. His grin is infectious.
“That doesn’t happen often?”
“No. Very satisfying when it does. Hungry?”
I shake my head.
“What?” He frowns at me.
“I’m nervous. About Dr. Flynn.”
“Me, too. How was your day?” He releases me, and I give him a brief summary. He listens attentively.
“Oh—there’s one more thing I should tell you,” I add. “I was supposed to have lunch with Mia.”
He raises his eyebrows, surprised. “You never mentioned that.”
“I know, I forgot. I couldn’t make it because of the meeting, and Ethan took her out to lunch instead.”
His face darkens. “I see. Stop biting your lip.”
“I’m going to freshen up,” I say, changing the subject and turning to leave before he can react any further.
DR. FLYNN’S OFFICE IS a short drive from Christian’s apartment. Very handy, I muse, for emergency sessions.
“I usually run here from home,” Christian says as he parks my Saab. “This is a great car.” He smiles at me.
“I think so, too.” I smile back at him. “Christian … I—” I gaze anxiously at him.
“What is it, Ana?”
“Here.” I pull the small black gift box from my purse. “This is for you for your birthday. I wanted to give it to you now—but only if you promise not to open it until Saturday, okay?”
He blinks at me in surprise and swallows. “Okay,” he murmurs cautiously.
Taking a deep breath, I hand it to him, ignoring his bemused expression. He shakes the box, and it produces a very satisfactory rattle. He frowns. I know he’s desperate to see what it contains. Then he grins, his eyes alight with youthful, carefree excitement. Oh boy … he looks his age—and so beautiful.
“You can’t open it until Saturday,” I warn him.
“I get it,” he says. “Why are you giving this to me now?” He pops the box into the inside pocket of his blue pinstriped jacket, close to his heart.
How apt, I muse. I smirk at him.
“Because I can, Mr. Grey.”
His mouth twists with wry amusement.
“Why, Miss Steele, you stole my line.”
We are ushered into Dr. Flynn’s palatial office by a brisk and friendly receptionist. She greets Christian warmly, a little too warmly for my taste—she’s old enough to be his mother—and he knows her name.
The room is understated: pale green with two dark green couches facing two leather winged chairs, and it has the atmosphere of a gentlemen’s club. Dr. Flynn is seated at a desk at the far end of the room.
As we enter, he stands and walks over to join us in the seating area. He wears black pants and a pale blue open-necked shirt—no tie. His bright blue eyes seem to miss nothing.
“Christian.” He smiles amicably.
“John.” Christian shakes his hand. “You remember Anastasia?”
“How could I forget? Anastasia, welcome.”
“Ana, please,” I mumble as he shakes my hand firmly. I do love his English accent.
“Ana,” he says kindly, ushering us toward the couches.
Christian gestures to one of them for me. I sit, trying to look relaxed, resting my hand on the armrest, and he sprawls on the other couch beside me so that we’re at right angles to each other. A small table with a simple lamp is between us. I note with interest a box of tissues beside the lamp.
This isn’t what I expected. I had in my mind’s eye a stark white room with a black leather chaise longue.
Looking relaxed and in control, Dr. Flynn takes a seat in one of the winged chairs and picks up a leather notepad. Christian crosses his legs, his ankle resting on his knee, and stretches one arm along the back of the couch. Reaching across with his other hand, he finds my hand on the armrest and gives it a reassuring squeeze.
“Christian has requested that you accompany him to one of our sessions,” Dr. Flynn begins gently. “Just so you know, we treat these sessions with absolute confidentiality—”
I raise my eyebrow at Flynn, halting him mid-speech.
“Oh—um … I’ve signed an NDA,” I murmur, embarrassed that he’s stopped. Both Flynn and Christian stare at me, and Christian releases my hand.
“A nondisclosure agreement?” Dr. Flynn’s brow furrows, and he glances quizzically at Christian.
Christian shrugs.
“You start all your relationships with women with an NDA?” Dr. Flynn asks him.
“The contractual ones, I do.”
Dr. Flynn’s lip twitches. “You’ve had other types of relationships with women?” he asks, and he looks amused.
“No,” Christian answers after a beat, and he looks amused, too.
“As I thought.” Dr. Flynn turns his attention back to me. “Well, I guess we don’t have to worry about confidentiality, but may I suggest that the two of you discuss this at some point? As I understand, you’re no longer entering into that kind of contractual relationship.”
“Different kind of contract, hopefully,” says Christian softly, glancing at me. I flush and Dr. Flynn narrows his eyes.
“Ana. You’ll have to forgive me, but I probably know a lot more about you than you think. Christian has been very forthcoming.”
I glance nervously at Christian. What has he said?
“An NDA?” he continues. “That
must have shocked you.”
I blink at him. “Oh, I think the shock of that has paled into insignificance, given Christian’s most recent revelations,” I answer, my voice soft and hesitant. I sound so nervous.
“I’m sure.” Dr. Flynn smiles kindly at me. “So, Christian, what would you like to discuss?”
Christian shrugs like a surly teen. “Anastasia wanted to see you. Perhaps you should ask her.”
Dr. Flynn’s face registers his surprise once more, and he gazes shrewdly at me.
Holy shit. This is mortifying. I gaze down at my fingers.
“Would you be more comfortable if Christian left us for a while?”
My eyes dart to Christian and he’s gazing at me expectantly.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Christian frowns and opens his mouth but closes it again quickly and stands in one swift graceful movement.
“I’ll be in the waiting room,” he says, his mouth a flat, grumpy line.
Oh no.
“Thank you, Christian,” Dr. Flynn says impassively.
Christian gives me one long, searching look, then stalks out of the room—but he doesn’t slam the door. Phew. I immediately relax.
“He intimidates you?”
“Yes. But not as much as he used to.” I feel disloyal, but it’s the truth.
“That doesn’t surprise me, Ana. What can I help you with?”
I stare down at my knotted fingers. What can I ask?
“Dr. Flynn, I’ve never been in a relationship before, and Christian is … well, he’s Christian. And over the last week or so, a great deal has happened. I haven’t had a chance to think things through.”
“What do you need to think through?”
I glance up at him, and his head is cocked to one side as he gazes at me with compassion, I think.
“Well … Christian tells me that he’s happy to give up … er—” I stumble and pause. This is so much more difficult to discuss than I’d imagined.
Dr. Flynn sighs. “Ana, in the very limited time that you’ve known him, you’ve made more progress with my patient than I have in the last two years. You have had a profound effect on him. You must see that.”
“He’s had a profound effect on me, too. I just don’t know if I’m enough. To fulfill his needs,” I whisper.
“Is that what you need from me? Reassurance?”
I nod.
“Needs change,” he says simply. “Christian has found himself in a situation where his methods of coping are no longer effective. Very simply, you’ve forced him to confront some of his demons and rethink.”
I blink at him. This echoes what Christian has told me.
“Yes, his demons,” I murmur.
“We don’t dwell on them—they’re in the past. Christian knows what his demons are, as do I—and now I’m sure you do, too. I’m much more concerned with the future and getting Christian to a place where he wants to be.”
I frown and he raises an eyebrow.
“The technical term is SFBT—sorry.” He smiles. “That stands for Solution-Focused Brief Therapy. Essentially, it’s goal oriented. We concentrate on where Christian wants to be and how to get him there. It’s a dialectical approach. There’s no point in breast-beating about the past—all that’s been picked over by every physician, psychologist, and psychiatrist Christian’s ever seen. We know why he’s the way he is, but it’s the future that’s important. Where Christian envisages himself, where he wants to be. It took you walking out on him to make him take this form of therapy seriously. He realizes that his goal is a loving relationship with you. It’s that simple, and that’s what we’re working on now. Of course there are obstacles—his haphephobia, for one.”
His what? I gasp.
“I’m sorry. I mean his fear of being touched,” Dr. Flynn says, shaking his head as if scolding himself. “Which I’m sure you’re aware of.”
I flush and nod. Oh, that!
“He has a morbid self-abhorrence. I’m sure that comes as no surprise to you. And of course there’s the parasomnia … um—night terrors, sorry, to the layperson.”
I blink at him, trying to absorb all these long words. I know about all of this. But Flynn hasn’t mentioned my central concern.
“But he’s a sadist. Surely, as such, he has needs that I can’t fulfill.”
Dr. Flynn actually rolls his eyes, and his mouth presses into a hard line. “That’s no longer recognized as a psychiatric term. I don’t know how many times I have told him that. It’s not even classified as a paraphilia anymore, not since the nineties.”
Dr. Flynn has lost me again. I blink at him. He smiles kindly at me.
“This is a pet peeve of mine.” He shakes his head. “Christian just thinks the worst of any given situation. It’s part of his self-abhorrence. Of course, there’s such a thing as sexual sadism, but it’s not a disease; it’s a lifestyle choice. And if it’s practiced in a safe, sane relationship between consenting adults, then it’s a non-issue. My understanding is that Christian has conducted all of his BDSM relationships in this manner. You’re the first lover who hasn’t consented, so he’s not willing to do it.”
Lover!
“But surely it’s not that simple.”
“Why not?” Dr. Flynn shrugs good-naturedly.
“Well … the reasons he does it.”
“Ana, that’s the point. In terms of solution-focused therapy, it is that simple. Christian wants to be with you. In order to do that, he needs to forgo the more extreme aspects of that kind of relationship. After all, what you’re asking for is not unreasonable … is it?”
I flush. No, it’s not unreasonable, is it?
“I don’t think so. But I worry that he does.”
“Christian recognizes that and has acted accordingly. He’s not insane.” Dr. Flynn sighs. “In a nutshell, he’s not a sadist, Ana. He’s an angry, frightened, brilliant young man, who was dealt a shit hand of cards when he was born. We can all beat our breasts about it, and analyze the who, the how, and the why to death—or Christian can move on and decide how he wants to live. He’d found something that worked for him for a few years, more or less, but since he met you, it no longer works. And as a consequence, he’s changing his modus operandi. You and I have to respect his choice and support him in it.”
I gape at him. “That’s my reassurance?”
“As good as it gets, Ana. There are no guarantees in this life.” He smiles. “And that is my professional opinion.”
I smile, too, weakly. Doctor jokes … jeez.
“But he thinks of himself as a recovering alcoholic.”
“Christian will always think the worst of himself. As I said, it’s part of his self-abhorrence. It’s in his makeup, no matter what. Naturally he’s anxious about making this change in his life. He’s potentially exposing himself to a whole world of emotional pain, which, incidentally, he had a taste of when you left him. Naturally he’s apprehensive.” Dr. Flynn pauses. “I don’t mean to stress how important a role you have in his Damascene conversion—his road to Damascus. But you have. Christian would not be in this place if he had not met you. Personally I don’t think that an alcoholic is a very good analogy, but if it works for him for now, then I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt.”
Give Christian the benefit of the doubt. I frown at the thought.
“Emotionally, Christian is an adolescent, Ana. He bypassed that phase in his life totally. He’s channeled all his energies into succeeding in the business world, and he has beyond all expectations. His emotional world has to play catch-up.”
“So how do I help?”
Dr. Flynn laughs. “Just keep doing what you’re doing.” He grins at me. “Christian is head over heels. It’s a delight to see.”
I flush, and my inner goddess is hugging herself with glee, but something bothers me.
“Can I ask you one more thing?”
“Of course.”
I take a deep breath. “Part of me thinks that if he
wasn’t this broken he wouldn’t … want me.”
Dr. Flynn’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “That’s a very negative thing to say about yourself, Ana. And frankly it says more about you than it does about Christian. It’s not quite up there with his self-loathing, but I’m surprised by it.”
“Well, look at him … and then look at me.”
Dr. Flynn frowns. “I have. I see an attractive young man, and I see an attractive young woman. Ana, why don’t you think of yourself as attractive?”
Oh no … I don’t want this to be about me. I stare down at my fingers. There’s a sharp knock on the door that makes me jump. Christian comes back into the room, glaring at both of us. I flush and glance quickly at Flynn, who is smiling benignly at Christian.
“Welcome back, Christian,” he says.
“I think time is up, John.”
“Nearly, Christian. Join us.”
Christian sits down, beside me this time, and places his hand possessively on my knee. His action does not go unnoticed by Dr. Flynn.
“Did you have any other questions, Ana?” Dr. Flynn asks and his concern is obvious. Shit … I should not have asked that question. I shake my head.
“Christian?”
“Not today, John.”
Flynn nods.
“It may be beneficial if you both come again. I’m sure Ana will have more questions.”
Christian nods reluctantly.
I flush. Shit … he wants to delve. Christian clasps my hand and regards me intently.
“Okay?” he asks softly.
I smile at him, nodding. Yes, we’re going for the benefit of the doubt, courtesy of the good doctor from England.
Christian squeezes my hand and turns to Flynn.
“How is she?” he asks softly.
Me?
“She’ll get there,” he says reassuringly.
“Good. Keep me updated of her progress.”
“I will.”
Holy fuck. They’re talking about Leila.
“Should we go and celebrate your promotion?” Christian asks me pointedly.