Welch has informed me that as a precaution, he’s secured all of last week’s CCTV footage from the helipad in Portland, and from in and around Charlie Tango’s private hangar at Boeing Field. A shiver skates up my spine. Welch thinks it might be sabotage, and I have to admit the possibility has been at the back of my mind since both engines caught fire.
Sabotage.
But why?
I’ve asked him to have his team comb through all the recordings and see if they find anything suspicious.
After much wheedling from Sam, my VP for publicity, I’ve agreed to a brief press conference later this afternoon. Sam’s nagging voice rings in my head. “You need to get in front of this, Christian. Your miraculous escape is still all over the news cycle. They have aerial footage of the recovery operation.”
Frankly, I think Sam just loves the drama. I hope that a press briefing will stop them from hounding Ana and me.
Andrea buzzes my phone.
“What?”
“Dr. Grey is on the line again.”
“Fuck,” I whisper under my breath. I guess I can’t avoid her forever. “Okay, put her through.” Leaning against my desk, I wait for her dulcet tones.
“Christian. I know you’re busy, but two things.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“I’ve found a wedding planner I want to use. Her name is Alondra Gutierrez. She organized this year’s Coping Together Ball. I think you and Ana should meet her.”
I roll my eyes. “Sure.”
“Good. I’ll arrange a meeting later this week. Secondly, your father really wants to talk to you.”
“I spoke to my father at length on the night I announced my engagement. We were also celebrating my twenty-eighth year in the world and, as you know, I’m always reluctant to mark these milestones.” I’m on a roll. “And I’d just survived a hair-raising crash-landing.” My voice is rising. “Dad really rained on my parade. I think he said enough then. I don’t want to talk to him now.”
He’s a pompous prick.
“Christian. Stop sulking. Talk to your dad.”
Sulking! I’m fucking pissed, Grace.
My mother’s silence stretches between us, laced with her censure.
I sigh. “Okay, I’ll think about it.” The other line on my phone flashes. “I’ve got to go.”
“Very well, darling. I’ll let you know about the meeting with Alondra.”
“Good-bye, Mom.”
My phone buzzes again. “Mr. Grey, I have Anastasia Steele for you.”
My rancor disappears. “Great. Thanks, Andrea.”
“Christian?” Her voice is small, and uneven. She sounds scared.
My breath catches in my throat. “Ana, is everything all right?”
“Um…I went out for some fresh air. I thought they’d be gone. And, well…”
“The reporters and photographers?”
“Yes.”
Fuckers.
“I didn’t comment on anything. I just turned around and ran back into the building.”
Damn. I should have sent Sawyer to watch over her, and I’m grateful once more that Taylor persuaded me to keep him on after the Leila Williams incident. “Ana, it’s going to be fine. I was going to call you. I’ve just agreed to give a press conference later this afternoon about Charlie Tango. They’ll ask about our engagement. I’ll give them the barest of details. Hopefully that will be enough to satisfy them.”
“Good.”
I chance my luck. “Would you like me to send Sawyer to watch over you?”
“Yes,” she says immediately.
Whoa. That was easy. She must be more shaken than I thought. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re not normally so amenable.”
“I have my moments, Mr. Grey. They usually occur after I’ve been pursued by the media through the streets of Seattle. It was quite the workout. I was breathless when I got back to the office.” She’s making light of the situation.
“Really, Miss Steele? You have such great stamina, normally.”
“Why, Mr. Grey, what on earth are you referring to?” I hear the smile in her voice.
“I think you know,” I whisper.
Her breath hitches and the sound travels straight to my groin.
“Are you flirting with me?” she asks.
“I hope so.”
“Will you test my stamina later?” Her voice is low and sultry.
Oh, Ana. Desire streaks through my body like lightning.
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”
“I’m so glad to hear that, Christian Grey.”
She’s far too good at this game. “I’m so happy you called me,” I say. “Made my day.”
“I aim to please.” She giggles. “I must call your personal trainer, so I can keep up with you!”
I laugh. “Bastille will be delighted.”
She’s silent for a moment. “Thank you for making me feel better.”
“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?”
“It is. And you do it well.”
I bask in her loving words. Ana, you make me feel whole.
There’s a knock on my door, and I know it’s either Andrea or Sarah with my lunch.
“I’ve got to go.”
“Thank you, Christian,” she says.
“For what?”
“Being you. Oh, one more thing. The news of you buying SIP is still embargoed, isn’t it?”
“Yes, for another three weeks.”
“Okay. I’ll try and remember that.”
“Do. Laters, baby.”
“Okay. Laters, Christian.”
Andrea and Sarah have gone all out today. I have my favorite sandwich—turkey club with a pickle on the side—a sprinkling of salad, and some potato chips, all served on a tray with GEH linen, a cut crystal highball glass with sparkling water, and a matching vase sporting a perky pink rose.
“Thanks,” I mutter, bemused, as they both fuss setting up the tray.
“Pleasure, Mr. Grey,” Andrea says with a smile that is becoming less rare. They both seem strangely distracted and a little skittish today. What are they up to?