Happy Thursday! Let’s get ourselves ready for the weekend and one more work day with some laughs from Chapter Twelve of Fifty Shades Darker.
And here she is . . . Why is she so damned attractive? She’s dressed entirely in black: tight jeans, a shirt that emphasizes her perfect figure, and a halo of bright, glossy hair.
Oh, look, Ana is jealous. But Christian would just tell her to shut up and deal with it, because he’s allowed to have all his ex-girlfriends coming to see him, right?
Holy shit. Not what I expected out of her mouth. Christian stiffens. Has someone found out about her penchant for beating and fucking underage boys? I suppress my revulsion, and a fleeting thought about chickens coming home to roost crosses my mind. My subconscious rubs her hands together with ill-disguised glee. Good.
“Elena, we have a business relationship which has profited us both immensely. Let’s keep it that way. What was between us is part of the past. Anastasia is my future, and I won’t jeopardize it in any way, so cut the fucking crap.”
“And now my past and my future are colliding in a way I never thought possible.”
“Your car arrived a day early. It’s in the garage. Taylor has the key.”Whoa . . . the Saab? “Can I drive it tomorrow?”“No.”“Why not?”“You know why not. And that reminds me. If you are going to leave your office, let me know. Sawyer was there, watching you. It seems I can’t trust you to look after yourself at all.” He scowls down at me, making me feel like an errant child—again. And I would argue with him, but he’s pretty worked up over Elena, and I don’t want to push him any further, but I can’t resist one comment.
I get off the bed and wander to the window. Unlocking the balcony door, I open it and stroll over to the glass railing. Its transparency is unnerving. The air’s chilly and fresh, as I’m up so high.
I gaze out over the twinkling lights of Seattle. He’s so far removed from everything up here in his fortress. Answerable to no one. He’d just told me he loves me, then all this crap comes up because of that dreadful woman. I roll my eyes. His life is so complicated. He’s so complicated.
I shower quickly, and back in the bedroom, decide to wear one of the nightdresses that Caroline Acton procured for me from Neiman Marcus. Christian’s always moaning about my T-shirts. There are three. I choose the pale pink and put it on over my head. The fabric skims across my skin, caressing and clinging to me as it falls around my body. It feels luxurious—the finest, thinnest satin. Holy crap. In the mirror, I look like a 1930s movie star. It’s long, elegant—and very un-me.
Most of the books are first editions. How can he have amassed a collection like this in such a short time? Perhaps Taylor’s job description includes book buying. I settle on Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier. I haven’t read this for a long time.
The door buzzes, and I head upstairs to the apartment. It occurs to me that I have not been here since Saturday morning. That seems so long ago. Ethan has kindly left the front door open. I step into the apartment, and I don’t know why, but I freeze instinctively as soon as I step inside. I take a moment to realize it’s because the pale, wan figure standing by the kitchen island, holding a small revolver is Leila, and she’s gazing impassively at me.