Total pages in book: 262
Estimated words: 268603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1343(@200wpm)___ 1074(@250wpm)___ 895(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 268603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1343(@200wpm)___ 1074(@250wpm)___ 895(@300wpm)
“I think you know, Mr. Grey.” She gazes up at me through her lashes, giving me that look that goads my libido.
I smirk. “Eat. You didn’t eat yesterday.”
“That’s because you were being an arse.”
Mrs. Jones drops a plate that she’s washing beneath a tap into the sink; the sound startles Ana.
“Arse or not—eat.”
Don’t fuck with me on this, Ana.
Ana rolls her eyes. “Okay! Picking up spoon, eating granola.” She sounds exasperated, but proceeds to serve herself yogurt and blueberries and makes a start on her breakfast.
I relax and remember what I wanted to talk to her about. “I may have to go to New York later in the week.”
“Oh.”
“It’ll mean an overnight. I want you to come with me.”
“Christian, I won’t get the time off.”
I peer down at her. Oh, I think we can work that out.
She sighs. “I know you own the company, but I’ve been away for three weeks. Please. How can you expect me to run the business if I’m never there? I’ll be fine here. I’m assuming you’ll take Taylor with you, but Sawyer and Ryan will be here—” She stops.
As ever, my wife makes a good point.
“What?” she asks.
“Nothing. Just you.” And your negotiation skills.
She gives me a sideways look, but the amusement in her expression abruptly vanishes.
“How are you getting to New York?”
“The company jet, why?”
“I just wanted to check if you were taking Charlie Tango.” Her face loses color as she shudders.
“I wouldn’t fly to New York in Charlie Tango. She doesn’t have that kind of range. Besides, she won’t be back from the engineers for another two weeks.”
She looks relieved. “Well, I’m glad she’s nearly fixed, but—” She stops and looks down at her granola.
“What?” I ask.
She shrugs.
I hate it when she does this. “Ana?” Tell me.
“I just…you know. Last time you flew in her…I thought, we th-thought, you’d—” She stutters and then stops.
Oh.
Ana.
“Hey.” I brush my fingers down her face. “That was sabotage.”
And we suspect your ex-boss.
“I couldn’t bear to lose you,” she says.
“Five people have been fired because of that, Ana. It won’t happen again.”
“Five?”
I nod.
She frowns. “That reminds me. There’s a gun in your desk.”
How the hell does she know that?
The scissors.
Shit.
“It’s Leila’s.”
“It’s fully loaded.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
“I checked it yesterday.”
What! “I don’t want you messing with guns. I hope you put the safety back on.”
She looks at me as if I’ve grown an additional head. “Christian, there’s no safety on that revolver. Don’t you know anything about guns?”
“Um, no.”
Taylor clears his throat. He’s waiting for us at the entrance. I check my watch; it’s later than I thought.
That’s because you made love to your wife this morning, Grey.
“We have to go.” Standing up, I don my jacket, and Ana follows me out to the hallway, where we both greet Taylor.
“I am just going to brush my teeth,” Ana says, and Taylor and I watch her retreat toward the bathroom.
I turn to Taylor. “That reminds me. It’s Ana’s birthday in September. She wants an R8. A white one.”
Taylor raises his eyebrows.
I laugh. “Yeah. Surprised me, too. Can you order one?”
Taylor grins. “With great pleasure, sir. A Spyder like yours?”
“Yes. I think so. Same spec.”
Taylor rubs his hands in ill-disguised glee. “I’ll get onto it.”
“We need it by the latest September 9.”
“I’m sure I can source one in time.”
Ana returns and we head into the elevator. “You should ask Taylor to teach you how to shoot,” she says.
“Should I, now?” My tone is wry.
“Yes.”
“Anastasia, I despise guns. My mom has patched up too many victims of gun crime, and my dad is vehemently antigun. I grew up with their ethos. I support at least two gun-control initiatives here in Washington.”
“Oh. Does Taylor carry a gun?”
I glance at Taylor and hope that the utter disdain I feel for firearms doesn’t show on my face. “Sometimes.”
“You don’t approve?” Ana asks, as I usher her out of the elevator.
“No. Let’s just say that Taylor and I hold very different views with regard to gun control.”
In the car, Ana reaches over and grasps my hand. “Please,” she says.
“Please what?”
“Learn how to shoot.”
I roll my eyes. “No. End of discussion, Anastasia.”
She opens her mouth, but closes it again, and folds her arms and gazes out of the window. I suppose being an ex-soldier’s daughter will give you a different perspective on guns. Being a doctor’s son formed mine.
“Where is Leila?” Ana pipes up.
Why is she thinking about my ex-sub?
“I told you. She’s in Connecticut with her folks.”
“Did you check? After all, she does have long hair. It could have been her driving the Dodge.”
“Yes, I checked. She’s enrolled in an art school in Hamden. She started this week.”
“You’ve spoken to her?” Ana pales, her voice quietly ringing with shock.
“No. Flynn has.”
“I see,” she mutters.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I sigh. This is the second time this morning she’s done this. “Ana. What is it?”