“What?” He frowns at me.

“I’m nervous. About Dr. Flynn.”

“Me, too. How was your day?” He releases me, and I him give 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 emer-

gency 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 birth-

day. 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—jeez, 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 John’s 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 couch rest, 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; my inner goddess might have felt more at home then.

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 couch rest 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 non-disclosure 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 relation-

ship.”

“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 Chris-

tian’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 dis-

cuss?”

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 compas-

sion, 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.