Chapter 41


    A+A++


    And I lower my mouth to hers, my lips brushing hers, coaxing her. Tasting her. Teasing her until she


    opens up for me. I embrace her, one hand on her behind pushing her against my arousal and my


    other hand running up her back, into her soft hair, where I tug gently. She moans as her tongue


    meets mine.


    “Mr. Grey.” We’re interrupted.


    Christ.


    I release Ana.


    “Taylor,” I acknowledge through gritted teeth as he stands on the threshold of the living room,


    looking suitably embarrassed but resolute.


    What. The. Fuck.


    We have an understanding that he makes himself scarce when I’m not alone in the apartment.


    Whatever he has to say must be important. “My study,” I indicate, and Taylor walks briskly across


    the room. “Rain check,” I whisper to Ana and follow Taylor out.


    “I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir,” he says when we’re in my office.


    “You’d better have a good reason.”


    “Well, your mother called.”


    “Please don’t tell me that’s the reason.”


    “No, sir. But you should call her back sooner rather thanter. It’s about this evening.”


    “Okay. What else?”


    “The security team is here, and, knowing how you feel about guns, I thought I should inform you


    that they’re armed.”


    “What?”


    “Mr. Welch and I both think it’s a precautionary measure.”


    “I loathe guns. Let’s hope they don’t have to use them.” I sound pissed—and I am—I was making


    out with Anastasia Steele.


    When have I ever been interrupted while making out?


    Never.


    The thought suddenly amuses me.


    I’m living the adolescence I never had.


    Taylor rxes, and I know it’s because my mood has changed.


    “Did you know Andrea was getting married today?” I ask him, because this has been bugging me


    since this morning.


    “Yes,” he answers with a puzzled expression.


    “She didn’t tell me.”


    “Probably just an oversight, sir.”


    Now I know he’s patronizing me. I raise an eyebrow.


    “The wedding is at The Edgewater,” he says quickly.


    “Is she staying there?”


    “I believe so.”


    “Can you discreetly inquire if the happy couple has a room there and get them upgraded to the best


    suite avable? And pay for it.”


    Taylor smiles. “Certainly, sir.”


    “Who’s the lucky guy?”


    “That I don’t know, Mr. Grey.”


    I wonder why Andrea has been so mysterious about her wedding. I brush aside the thought as the


    aroma of something delicious filters into the room and my stomach growls in anticipation.


    “I’d better get back to Anastasia.”


    “Yes, sir.”


    “Was that all?”


    “Yes.”


    “Great.” We both exit my study. “I’ll brief them in ten,” I say to Taylor when we’re back in the living


    room. Ana is bending over the stove, retrieving a couple of tes.


    “We’ll be ready,” Taylor says, and departs, leaving me alone with Anastasia.


    “Lunch?” she offers.


    “Please.” I sit down at one of the barstools where she’sid our ces for lunch.


    Text property ? N?vel(D)ra/ma.Org.


    “Problem?” she inquires, as curious as ever. I have yet to tell her about the additional security.


    “No.”


    She doesn’t push me for any answers as she busies herself ting our lunch of Spanish omelet


    with sd. I’m impressed she’s so capable and at ease in my kitchen. She sits beside me as I take


    a bite and the food melts in my mouth.


    Hmm. Delicious.


    “This is good. Would you like a ss of wine?”


    “No thank you,” she replies, and gingerly starts eating her lunch.


    At least she’s eating.


    I forgo the wine, as I know I’ll be drinking this evening. Which reminds me that I have to call my


    mother. I wonder what she wants. She doesn’t know I split up with Ana—and now we’re back


    together. I should let her know that Ana ising to the ball this evening.


    Using the remote, I switch on some rxing music.


    “What’s this?” Ana asks.


    “Canteloube, Songs of the Auvergne. This is called ‘Bailero.’ ”


    “It’s lovely. Whatnguage is it?”


    “It’s in old French—itan, in fact.”


    “You speak French; do you understand it?”


    “Some words, yes. My mother had a mantra: ‘musical instrument, foreignnguage, martial art.’


    Elliot speaks Spanish; Mia and I speak French. Elliot ys guitar, I y piano, and Mia the cello.”


    “Wow. And the martial arts?”


    “Elliot does judo. Mia put her foot down at age twelve and refused.” Ana knows I kickbox.


    “I wish my mother had been that organized.”


    “Dr. Grace is formidable when ites to the aplishments of her children.”


    “She must be very proud of you. I would be,” Ana says warmly.


    Oh, baby, you couldn’t be more wrong. Nothing is that simple. I’ve been a big disappointment to my


    folks: school expulsions, dropping out of college, no rtionships that they knew of…If Grace only


    knew the truth about my lifestyle.


    If you only knew the truth, Ana.


    Don’t go there, Grey.


    “Have you decided what you’ll wear this evening? Or do I need toe and pick something for


    you?”


    “Um, not yet. Did you choose all those clothes?”


    “No, Anastasia, I didn’t. I gave a list and your size to a personal shopper at Neiman Marcus. They


    should fit. Just so you know, I have ordered additional security for this evening and the next few


    days. With Le unpredictable and unounted for somewhere on the streets of Seattle, I think it’s


    a wise precaution. I don’t want you going out unapanied. Okay?”


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