HE IS SCOWLING WHEN I get back.

“Is it okay if I go to 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 minute 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 haphazardly 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 untouchable. 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 perplexing, 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 revelations 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. 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. And it took Leila and all her craziness 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 controlling. 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 everything in between, because he is all things 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 gotten 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 crossed, behind me.

“I was in the basement, photocopying,” I lie. Jack’s lips press into a thin, uncompromising 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 on the line 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 sometime next week we can go out for lunch?”

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

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

“Twelve forty-five?”

“I’ll be there. Bye, Ana.”

“Bye.” I hang up.

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

I roll my eyes. Why is he so touchy about e-mails?

I flush reading his response and shake my head. E-mail banter is all well and good, but we really need to talk. Perhaps once we’ve seen Flynn. I put my BlackBerry down and finish my petty cash reconciliation.

BY SIX FIFTEEN, THE office is deserted. I have everything ready for Jack. His cab to the airport is booked, and I just have to hand him his documents. I glance anxiously through the glass, but he’s still deep in his telephone call, and I don’t want to interrupt him—not in the mood he’s in today.

As I wait for him to finish, it occurs to me that I have not eaten today. Oh shit, that’s not going to go down well with Fifty. I quickly skip down to the kitchen to see if there are any cookies left.

As I’m opening the communal cookie jar, Jack appears unexpectedly in the kitchen doorway, startling me.

Oh. What’s he doing here?

He stares at me. “Well, Ana, I think this might be a good time to discuss your misdemeanors.” He steps in, closing the door behind him, and my mouth instantly dries as alarm bells ring loud and piercing in my head.

Oh, fuck.

His lips twitch into a grotesque smile, and his eyes gleam deep, dark cobalt. “At last, I have you on your own,” he says, and he slowly licks his lower lip.

What?

“Now … are you going to be a good girl and listen very carefully to what I say?”