Why is he so mad? What’s his problem? What have I done? I hurry to the kitchen to fix his coffee. Maybe I should have ditched. I could be … well, doing something hot with Christian, or having breakfast with him, or just talking—that would be novel.

Jack barely acknowledges my presence when I venture back into his office to deliver his coffee. He thrusts a sheet of paper at me—it’s handwritten in a barely legible scrawl.

“Type this up, have me sign, then copy and mail it to all our authors.”

“Yes, Jack.”

He doesn’t look up as I leave. Boy, is he mad.

It is with some relief that I finally sit down at my desk. I take a sip of tea as I wait for my computer to boot up. I check my e-mails.

Oh shit. Now he’s mad at me, too. Well, he can stew for all I care. I take my BlackBerry out of my purse and eye it with skepticism. As I do, it starts ringing. Can’t he leave me alone?

“Yes,” I snap.

“Ana, hi—”

“José! How are you?” Oh, it’s good to hear his voice.

“I’m fine, Ana. Look, are you still seeing that Grey guy?”

“Er—yes … Why?” Where is he going with this?

“Well, he’s bought all your photos, and I thought I could deliver them up to Seattle. The exhibition closes Thursday, so I could bring them up Friday evening and drop them off, you know. And maybe we could catch a drink or something. Actually, I was hoping for a place to crash, too.”

“José, that’s cool. Yeah, I’m sure we could work something out. Let me talk to Christian and call you back, okay?”

“Cool, I’ll wait to hear from you. Bye, Ana.”

“Bye.” And he’s gone.

Holy cow. I haven’t seen or heard from José since his show. I didn’t even ask him how it went or if he sold any more pictures. Some friend I am.

So, I could spend the evening with José on Friday. How will Christian like that? I become aware that I am biting my lip till it hurts. Oh, that man has double standards. He can—I shudder at the thought—bathe his batshit ex-lover, but I will probably get a truckload of grief for wanting to have a drink with José. How am I going to handle this?

“Ana!” Jack pulls me abruptly out of my reverie. Is he still mad? “Where’s that letter?”

“Er—coming.” Shit. What is eating him?

I type up his letter in double-quick time, print it out, and nervously make my way into his office.

“Here you go.” I place it on his desk and turn to leave. Jack quickly casts his critical, piercing eyes over it.

“I don’t know what you’re doing out there, but I pay you to work,” he barks.

“I’m aware of that, Jack,” I mutter apologetically. I feel a slow flush creep up my skin.

“This is full of mistakes,” he snaps. “Do it again.”

Fuck. He’s beginning to sound like someone I know, but rudeness from Christian I can tolerate. Jack is beginning to piss me off.

“And get me another coffee while you’re at it.”

“Sorry,” I whisper and scurry out of his office as quickly as I can.

Holy fuck. He’s being unbearable. I sit back down at my desk, hastily redo his letter, which had two mistakes in it, and check it thoroughly before printing. Now it’s perfect. I fetch him another coffee, letting Claire know with a roll of my eyes that I am in deep doo-doo. Taking a deep breath, I approach his office again.

“Better,” he mumbles reluctantly as he signs the letter. “Photocopy it, file the original, and mail out to all authors. Understand?”

“Yes.” I am not an idiot. “Jack, is there something wrong?”

He glances up, his blue eyes darkening as his gaze runs up and down my body. My blood chills.

“No.” His answer is concise, rude, and dismissive. I stand there like the idiot I professed not to be and then shuffle back out of his office. Perhaps he, too, suffers from a personality disorder. Sheesh, I’m surrounded by them. I make my way to the copy machine—which, of course, is suffering from a paper jam—and when I’ve fixed it, I find it’s out of paper. This is not my day.

When I am finally back at my desk, stuffing envelopes, my BlackBerry buzzes. I can see through the glass wall that Jack is on the phone. I answer—it’s Ethan.

“Hi, Ana. How’d it go last night?”

Last night. A quick montage of images flashes through my mind—Christian kneeling, his revelation, his proposal, macaroni and cheese, my weeping, his nightmare, the sex, touching him …

“Eh … fine,” I mutter unconvincingly.

Ethan pauses and decides to collude in my denial. “Cool. Can I pick up the keys?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll be over in about half an hour. Will you have time to grab a coffee?”

“Not today. I was late getting in, and my boss is like an angry bear with a sore head and poison ivy up his ass.”

“Sounds nasty.”

“Nasty and ugly.” I giggle.

Ethan laughs and my mood lifts a little. “Okay. See you in thirty.” He hangs up.

I glance up at Jack and he’s staring at me. Oh, shit. I studiously ignore him and continue to stuff envelopes.

Half an hour later my phone buzzes. It’s Claire. “He’s here again, in Reception. The blond god.”

Ethan is a joy to see after all the angst of yesterday and the bad temper my boss is inflicting on me today, but all too soon, he’s saying good-bye.

“Will I see you this evening?”

“I’ll probably stay with Christian.” I flush.

“You have got it bad,” Ethan observes good-naturedly.

I shrug. That’s not the half of it, and in that moment I realize, I have it more than bad. I have it for life. And amazingly, Christian seems to feel the same. Ethan gives me a swift hug.

“Laters, Ana.”

I return to my desk, wrestling with my realization. Oh, what I would do for a day on my own, to just think all this through.

“Where have you been?” Jack is suddenly looming over me.

“I had some business to attend to in Reception.” He is really getting on my nerves.

“I want my lunch. The usual,” he says abruptly and stomps back into his office.

Why didn’t I stay home with Christian? My inner goddess crosses her arms and purses her lips; she wants to know the answer to that one, too. Picking up my purse and my BlackBerry, I head for the door. I check my messages.

And there’s another from him, from later this morning.

And an even later one … Oh no.

I roll my eyes, and call him. I don’t want him to worry.

“Christian Grey’s phone, Andrea Parker speaking.”

Oh. I am so disconcerted that it’s not Christian who answers that it halts me in the street, and the young man behind me mutters angrily as he swerves to avoid bumping into me. I stand under the green awning of the deli.

“Hello? Can I help you?” Andrea fills the void of awkward silence.

“Sorry … Er … I was hoping to speak to Christian—”

“Mr. Grey is in a meeting at this time.” She bristles with efficiency. “Can I take a message?”

“Can you tell him Ana called?”

“Ana? As in Anastasia Steele?”

“Er … Yes.” Her question confuses me.

“Hold one second please, Miss Steele.”

I listen attentively as she puts the phone down, but I can’t tell what’s going on. A few seconds later Christian is on the line. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

He releases his held breath, relieved.

“Christian, why wouldn’t I be okay?” I whisper reassuringly.

“You’re normally so quick at responding to my e-mails. After what I told you yesterday, I was worried,” he says quietly, and then he’s talking to someone in his office.

“No, Andrea. Tell them to wait,” he says sternly. Oh, I know that tone of voice.

I can’t hear Andrea’s response.

“No. I said wait,” he snaps.

“Christian, you’re obviously busy. I only called to let you know that I’m okay, and I mean that—just very busy today. Jack has been cracking the whip. Er … I mean …” I flush and fall silent.

Christian says nothing for a minute.

“Cracking the whip, eh? Well, there was a time when I would have called him a lucky man.” His voice is full of dry humor. “Don’t let him get on top of you, baby.”

“Christian!” I scold him and I know he’s grinning.

“Just watch him, that’s all. Look, I’m glad you’re okay. What time should I pick you up?”

“I’ll e-mail you.”

“From your BlackBerry,” he says sternly.

“Yes, Sir,” I snap back.

“Laters, baby.”

“Bye …”

He’s still hanging on.

“Hang up,” I scold, smiling.

He sighs heavily down the phone. “I wish you’d never gone to work this morning.”

“Me, too. But I am busy. Hang up.”

“You hang up.” I hear his smile. Oh, playful Christian. I love playful Christian. Hmm … I love Christian, period.

“We’ve been here before.”

“You’re biting your lip.”

Shit, he’s right. How does he know?

“You see, you think I don’t know you, Anastasia. But I know you better than you think,” he murmurs seductively in that way that makes me weak, and wet.

“Christian, I’ll talk to you later. Right now, I really wish I hadn’t left this morning, too.”

“I’ll wait for your e-mail, Miss Steele.”

“Good day, Mr. Grey.”

Hanging up, I lean against the cold, hard glass of the deli store window. Oh my, even on the phone he owns me. Shaking my head to clear it of all thoughts Grey, I head into the deli, depressed by all thoughts Jack.