Favo Novel
Chapter 130
Chapter 130
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“If you need anything, let me know. I’ll be here. And Anastasia?”
“What?”
“Use your BlackBerry.”
“Yes, Christian.”
I ignore her sarcastic tone and, shaking my head, I take a deep breath. “I mean it. If you need me, I’m here.”
“Okay,” she says. “I’d better go. I have to move offices.”
“If you need me. I mean it.”
“I know. Thank you, Christian. I love you.”
Those three little words.
They used to terrify me and now I can’t wait to hear her say them.
“I love you, too, baby.”
“I’ll talk to you later.”
“Laters, baby.”
Taylor pulls up outside Grey House.
“José Rodriquez will be delivering some portraits to Escala tomorrow,” I inform him.
“I’ll let Gail know.”
“He’s staying the night.”
Taylor checks me in the rearview mirror, surprised, I think. “Tell Gail that, too,” I add.
“Yes, sir.”
AS THE ELEVATOR SHOOTS up to my floor, I allow myself a brief fantasy about married life. It’s weird, this hope.
Something I’m not used to. I imagine taking Ana to Europe, to Asia; I could show her the world. We could go
anywhere and everywhere. I could take her to England; she’d love that.
And we’d return home to Escala.
Escala? Maybe my apartment has too many memories of other women. Perhaps I should buy a house that would
be ours alone, where we can create our own memories.
But keep Escala. It’s handy for downtown.
The elevator doors open.
“Good morning, Mr. Grey,” the new girl says.
“Good morning—” I can’t remember her name.
“Coffee?”
“Please. Black. Where’s Andrea?”
“She’s around.” New Girl smiles and scurries off to make my coffee.
AT MY DESK, I start perusing houses on the Web. Andrea knocks and enters a few minutes later with my coffee.
“Good morning, Mr. Grey.”
“Andrea, good morning. I’d like you to send some flowers to Anastasia Steele.”
“What would you like to send?”
“She’s had a promotion. Maybe some roses. Pink and white.”
“Okay.”
“And can you get me Welch on the line?”
“Yes, sir. Do you remember that you’re seeing Mr. Bastille today at Escala, not here?”
“Oh, yes. Thanks. Who has the gym booked here?”
“The yoga club, sir.”
I make a face.
She stifles her smile. “Ros would like a word, too.”
“Thanks.”
AFTER MY CALLS, I go back to looking at houses online. I remember when I bought my apartment at Escala, a
broker did it all for me—and it was bought off-plan. It seemed like a great investment, so I didn’t look further.
Now I’m getting sucked into real-estate websites, looking at property after property. It’s addictive.
I’ve coveted the big houses on the shores of the Sound for all the years that I’ve sailed. I think I’d like a home that
looks out across the water. I grew up in a house like that; my parents live on the shores of Lake Washington.
A family house.
Family.
Kids.
I shake my head. Not for a long time. Ana’s young. She’s only twenty-one. We have years before we have to think
about kids.
What kind of father would I be?
Grey, don’t dwell.
I’d like to find a plot of land and build a house. Make it ecologically sustainable. Elliot could build it for me. A
couple of the listings meet my criteria; one of the homes looks out across the Sound. The house is old, built in
1924, and has only come on the market in the last few days. The photographs are spectacular. Especially at
twilight. For me, it will be all about the view. We can knock this house down and start again.
I check what time the sun will set this evening: 9:09 p.m.
Maybe I could get an appointment to see the house at dusk one night this week.
Andrea knocks and enters.
“Mr. Grey, I have a choice of flowers here.” She places some printouts on my desk.
“This one.” It’s a huge basket of white and blush roses. Ana will love it. “And can you get me in to see this house?
I’ll e-mail you the link. I’d love to do an evening around sunset as soon as possible.”
“Sure. What would you like to say on the card?”
“Put the florist through to me when you’ve ordered the flowers, and I’ll tell her directly.”
“Very good, Mr. Grey.” Andrea exits.
Three minutes later she puts through the florist, who cheerily asks me to dictate a message for the card.
“Congratulations, Miss Steele. And all on your own! No help from your overfriendly, neighborhood, megalomaniac
CEO. Love, Christian.”
“Got that. Thank you, sir.”
“Thank you.”
I go back to looking at houses online, and I know that I’m distracting myself from the anxiety I feel about Ana’s
appointment with Flynn later today. Displacing. That’s what Flynn would call it. But my happiness hangs in the
balance.
And houses are distracting.
What will Flynn say?
After half an hour of looking at houses and not doing any work, I give in and call Flynn.
“You’ve caught me between patients. Is it urgent?” he says.
“I was calling to find out about Leila.”
“She had another comfortable night. I hope to see her later this afternoon. And I’m seeing you, too, yes?”
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