deli, depressed by all thoughts Jack.

He is scowling when I get back.

“Is it okay if I take my lunch now?” I ask tentatively. He gazes up at me and his scowl

deepens.

“If you must,” he snaps. “Forty-five minutes. Make up the time you lost this morning.”

“Jack, can I ask you something?”

“What?”

“You seem, kind of out of sorts today. Have I done something to offend you?”

He blinks at me momentarily. “I don’t think I’m in the mood to list your misdemeanors

right now. I’m busy.” He continues to stare at his computer screen, effectively dismissing

me. Whoa . . . What have I done?

I turn and leave his office, and for a moment I think I’m going to cry. Why has he taken

such a sudden and intense dislike to me? A very unwelcome idea pops into my head, but I

ignore it. I don’t need his shit right now—I have enough of my own.

I head out of the building to the nearby Starbucks, order a latte, and sit down in the

window. Taking my iPod from my purse, I plug my headphones in. I choose a song haphaz-

ardly and press repeat so it will play over and over again. I need music to think by.

My mind drifts. Christian the sadist. Christian the submissive. Christian the untouch-

able. Christian’s oedipal impulses. Christian bathing Leila. I groan and close my eyes while

that last image haunts me.

Can I really marry this man? He’s so much to take in. He’s complex and difficult, but

deep down I know I don’t want to leave him despite all his issues. I could never leave him.

I love him. It would be like cutting off my right arm.

Right now, I have never felt so alive, so vital. I’ve encountered all manner of perplex-

ing, profound feelings and new experiences since I met him. It’s never a dull moment with

Fifty.

Looking back on my life before Christian, it’s as if everything was in black and white

like José’s pictures. Now my whole world is in rich, bright, saturated color. I am soaring in

a beam of dazzling light, Christian’s dazzling light. I am still Icarus, flying too close to his

sun. I snort to myself. Flying with Christian—who can resist a man who can fly?

Can I give him up? Do I want to give him up? It’s as if he’s flipped a switch and lit me

up from within. It’s been an education knowing him. I have discovered more about myself

in the last few weeks than ever before. I’ve learned about my body, my hard limits, my soft

limits, my tolerance, my patience, my compassion, and my capacity for love.

And it strikes me like a thunderbolt—that’s what he needs from me, what he’s entitled

to—unconditional love. He never received it from the crack whore—it’s what he needs.

Can I love him unconditionally? Can I accept him for who he is regardless of his revela-

tions last night?

I know he’s damaged, but I don’t think he’s irredeemable. I sigh, recalling Taylor’s

words. “ He’s a good man, Miss Steele.”

I’ve seen the weighty evidence of his goodness—his charity work, his business ethics,

his generosity—and yet he doesn’t see it in himself. He doesn’t feel deserving of any love.

Given his history and his predilections, I have an inkling of his self-loathing—that’s why

he’s never let anyone in. Can I get past this?

He said once that I couldn’t begin to understand the depths of his depravity. Well, he’s

told me now, and given the first few years of his life, it doesn’t surprise me. Though it was

still a shock to hear it out loud. At least he’s told me—and he seems happier now that he

has. I know everything.

Does it devalue his love for me? No, I don’t think so. He’s never felt this way before

and neither have I. In truth we’ve both come so far.

Tears prick and pool in my eyes as I recall his final barriers crumbling last night when

he let me touch him. Jeez,it took Leila and all her crazy to get us to there.

Perhaps I should be grateful. The fact that he bathed her is not quite such a bitter taste

on my tongue now. I wonder which clothes he gave her. I hope it wasn’t the plum dress. I

liked that.

So can I love this man with all his issues unconditionally? Because he deserves nothing

less. He still needs to learn boundaries and little things like empathy, and to be less control-

ling. He says he no longer feels the compulsion to hurt me; perhaps Dr. Flynn will be able

to cast some light on that.

Fundamentally, that’s what concerns me most—that he needs that and has always

found like-minded women who need it, too. I frown. Yes, this is the reassurance I need. I

want to be all things to this man, his Alpha and his Omega and all things in between be-

cause he is to me.

I hope Flynn will have the answers, and maybe then I can say yes. Christian and I can

find our own slice of heaven close to the sun.

I gaze out at bustling, lunchtime Seattle. Mrs. Christian Grey—who would have

thought? I glance at my watch. Shit!I leap up from my seat and dash to the door—a whole

hour of just sitting—where did the time go? Jack is going to go ballistic!

I slink back to my desk. Fortunately, he’s not in his office. It looks like I’ve got away with

it. I gaze intently at my computer screen, unseeing, trying to reassemble my thoughts into

work mode.

“Where were you?”

I jump. Jack is standing, arms folded, behind me.

“I was in the basement, photocopying,” I lie. Jack lips press into a thin, uncompromis-

ing line.

“I’m leaving for my plane at six thirty. I need you to stay until then.”

“Okay.” I smile as sweetly as I can manage.

“I’d like my itinerary for New York printed out and photocopied ten times. And get

the brochures packaged up. And get me some coffee!” he snarls and stalks into his office.

I breathe a sigh of relief and stick my tongue out at him as he closes the door. Bastard.

At four o’clock, Claire rings from reception.

“I have Mia Grey for you.”

Mia? I hope she doesn’t want to hang at the mall.

“Hi, Mia!”

“Ana, hi. How are you?” Her excitement is stifling.

“Good. Busy today. You?”

“I am so bored! I need to find something to do, so I’m arranging a birthday party for

Christian.”

Christian’s birthday? Jeez, I had no idea. “When is it?”

“I knew it. I knew he wouldn’t tell you. It’s on Saturday. Mom and Dad want everyone

over for a meal to celebrate. I’m officially inviting you.”

“Oh, that’s lovely. Thank you, Mia.”

“I’ve already called Christian and told him, and he gave me your number here.”

“Cool.” My mind is in a flat spin—what the hell am I going to get Christian for his

birthday? What do you buy the man who has everything?

“And maybe next week, we can go out one lunchtime?”

“Sure. How about tomorrow? My boss is away in New York.”

“Oh, that would be cool, Ana. What time?”

“Say, twelve forty-five?”

“I’ll be there. Bye, Ana.”

“Bye.” I hang up.

Christian. Birthday. What on earth should I get him?

From:Anastasia Steele

Subject:Antediluvian

Date:June 15, 2011 16:11

To:Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey

When, exactly, were you going to tell me?

What shall I get my old man for his birthday?

Perhaps some new batteries for his hearing aid?

A x

Anastasia Steele

Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP