something in you. So, we need to work out a deal. A deal where you keep me happy. D’you

understand what I’m saying, Ana?”

Fuck!

“Look at it as refining your job description, if you like. And if you keep me happy, I

won’t dig any further into how your boyfriend is pulling strings, milking his contacts, or

cashing in some favor from one of his Ivy League frat-boy sycophants.”

My mouth drops open. He’s blackmailing me. For sex!And what can I say? News of

Christian’s takeover is embargoed for another three weeks. I can barely believe this. Sex—

with me!

Jack moves closer until he’s standing right in front of me, staring down into my eyes.

His cloying sweet cologne invades my nostrils—it’s nauseating—and if I’m not mistaken,

the bitter stench of alcohol is on his breath. Fuck, he’s been drinking . . . when?

“You are such a tight-assed, cock-blocking, prick tease, you know, Ana,” he whispers

through clenched teeth.

What? Prick tease . . . Me?

“Jack, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I whisper, as I feel the adrenaline

surge through my body. He’s closer now. I am waiting to make my move. Ray will be

proud. Ray taught me what to do. Ray knows his self-defense. If Jack touches me—if he

even breathes too close to me—I will take him down. My breath is shallow. I must not faint,

I must not faint.

“Look at you.” He gives me a leering look. “You’re so turned on, I can tell. You’ve

really led me on. Deep down you want it. I know.”

Holy fuck.The man is completely delusional. My fear rises to defcon one, threatening

to overwhelm me. “No, Jack. I have never led you on.”

“You have, you prick-teasing bitch. I can read the signs.” Reaching up, he gently

strokes my face with the back of his knuckles, down to my chin. His index finger strokes

my throat, and my heart leaps into my mouth as I fight my gag reflex. He reaches the dip at

the base of my neck, where the top button of my black shirt is open, and presses his hand

against my chest.

“You want me. Admit it, Ana.”

Keeping my eyes firmly fixed on his and concentrating on what I have to do—rather

than my mushrooming revulsion and dread—I place my hand gently over his in a caress.

He smiles in triumph. I grab his little finger, and twist it back, pulling it sharply down

backward to his hip.

“Arrgh!” he cries out in pain and surprise, and as he leans off balance, I bring my knee,

swift and hard, up into his groin, and make perfect contact with my goal. I dodge deftly to

my left as his knees buckle, and he collapses with a groan onto the kitchen floor, grasping

himself between his legs.

“Don’t you ever touch me again,” I snarl at him. “Your itinerary and the brochures are

packaged on my desk. I am going home now. Have a nice trip. And in the future, get your

own damn coffee.”

“You fucking bitch!” he half screams, half groans at me, but I am already out the door.

I run full pelt to my desk, grab my jacket and my purse, and dash to front reception, ig-

noring the moans and curses emanating from the bastard still prostrate on the kitchen floor.

I burst out of the building and stop for a moment as the cool air hits my face, take a deep

breath, and compose myself. But I haven’t eaten all day, and as the very unwelcome surge

of adrenaline recedes, my legs give out beneath me and I sink to the ground.

I watch with mild detachment the slow motion movie that plays out in front of me:

Christian and Taylor in dark suits and white shirts, leaping out of the waiting car and run-

ning toward me. Christian sinks to his knees at my side, and on some unconscious level, all

I can think is: He’s here. My love is here.

“Ana, Ana! What’s wrong?” He scoops me into his lap, running his hands up and down

my arms, checking for any signs of injury. Grabbing my head between his hands, he stares

with wide, terrified, gray eyes into mine. I sag against him, suddenly overwhelmed with

relief and fatigue. Oh, Christian’s arms. There is no place I’d rather be.

“Ana.” He shakes me gently. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

I shake my head as I realize I need to start communicating.

“Jack,” I whisper, and I sense rather than see Christian’s swift glance at Taylor, who

abruptly disappears into the building.

“Fuck!” Christian enfolds me in his arms. “What did that sleazeball do to you?”

And from somewhere just the right side of crazy, a giggle bubbles in my throat. I recall

Jack’s utter shock as I grabbed his finger.

“It’s what I did to him.” I start giggling and I can’t stop.

“Ana!” Christian shakes me again, and my giggling fit ceases. “Did he touch you?”

“Only once.”

I feel Christian’s muscles bunch and tense as rage sweeps through him, and he stands

up swiftly, powerfully—rock steady—with me in his arms. He’s furious. No!

“Where is that fucker?”

From inside the building we hear muffled shouting. Christian sets me on my feet.

“Can you stand?”

I nod.

“Don’t go in. Don’t, Christian.” Suddenly my fear is back, fear of what Christian will

do to Jack.

“Get in the car,” he barks at me.

“Christian, no.” I grab his arm.

“Get in the goddamned car, Ana.” He shakes me off.

“No! Please!” I plead with him. “Stay. Don’t leave me on my own.” I deploy my ulti-

mate weapon.

Seething, Christian runs his hand through his hair and glares down at me, clearly

wracked with indecision. The shouting inside the building escalates, and then stops sud-

denly.

Oh, no. What has Taylor done?

Christian fishes out his Blackberry.

“Christian, he has my e-mails.”

“What?”

“My e-mails to you. He wanted to know where your e-mails to me were. He was trying

to blackmail me.”

Christian’s look is murderous. Oh shit.“Fuck!” he splutters and narrows his eyes at

me. He punches a number into his Blackberry.

Oh no. I’m in trouble. Who’s he calling?

“Barney. Grey. I need you to access the SIP main server and wipe all Anastasia Steele’s

e-mails to me. Then access the personal data files of Jack Hyde and check they aren’t stored

there. If they are, wipe them . . . Yes, all of them. Now. Let me know when it’s done.”

He stabs the off button then dials another number.

“Roach. Grey. Hyde—I want him out. Now. This minute. Call security. Get him to

clear his desk immediately, or I will liquidate this company first thing in the morning. You

already have all the justification you need to give him his pink slip. Do you understand?”

He listens for a moment and hangs up seemingly satisfied.

“Blackberry,” he hisses at me through clenched teeth.

“Please don’t be mad at me.” I blink up at him.

“I am so mad at you right now,” he snarls and once more sweeps his hand through his

hair. “Get in the car.”

“Christian, please—”

“Get in the fucking car, Anastasia, or so help me I’ll put you in there myself,” he threat-

ens, his eyes blazing with fury.

Oh shit.“Don’t do anything stupid, please,” I beg.

“ STUPID!” he explodes. “I told you to use your fucking Blackberry. Don’t talk to me

about stupid. Get in the motherfucking car, Anastasia— NOW!” he snarls and a frisson of

fear runs through me. This is Very Angry Christian. I’ve not seen him this mad before. He’s

barely holding on to his self-control.

“Okay,” I mutter, placating him. “But please, be careful.”

Pressing his lips together in a hard line, he points angrily to the car, glaring at me.

Jeez, okay, I get the message.