I’ve heard enough.
I storm into his office.
“What the—” Hyde says, shocked to see me. He has a cut over his left eye and a purplish bruise is forming on his cheek. I suspect Taylor has been administering his own brand of discipline. I reach down to the phone cradle and press the hook, ending his call.
“Well, look what the fucking cat dragged in,” Hyde says and sneers. “The boy fucking wonder.”
“Pack your things. Get out. And she may not press charges.”
“Fuck you, Grey. I’ll be pressing charges against that little bitch, for kicking me in the balls in a completely unprovoked attack—and I’ll be sending your goon here down for assault, too. Hi, handsome,” he calls to Taylor, and blows him a kiss.
Taylor remains stoic.
“I won’t tell you again,” I state, glaring at the cocksucker.
“Like I said, fuck you. You can’t come in here throwing your fucking weight around.”
“I own this company. You are surplus to requirements. Get out while you can still walk.” My tone is low.
The color drains from Hyde’s face.
Yeah. Mine. Fuck you, Hyde.
“I knew it. I knew something shady was going on. That little bitch your spy?”
“If you mention Anastasia once more, if you even think about her, if you even think about thinking about her, I will end you.”
His eyes narrow. “You like it when she kicks you in the balls?”
I hit him square on the nose and he topples backward and smacks his head on the shelves behind him before he slumps onto the floor.
“You mentioned her. Get up. Clear your desk. And get out. You’re fired.”
Blood is pouring from his nose.
Taylor steps into his office with a box of tissues and places them on the desk for Hyde.
“You saw him,” Hyde whines to the security guard.
“I saw you fall,” the security guard says. The name on his badge is M. Mathur. Good job.
Hyde struggles onto his feet and grabs a handful of tissues to stem his nosebleed. “I’m pressing charges. She attacked me.” Hyde continues to snivel, but he begins to put his belongings in the box.
“Three hushed-up harassment cases in New York and Chicago and the two warnings you’ve had here. I don’t think you’d get very far.”
He regards me with dark eyes and unadulterated, feral hatred.
“Pack your things. You’re done,” I spit.
Turning, I head out of his office to wait with Taylor while Hyde packs up his stuff. I need to distance myself.
I want to kill him.
He takes forever, but he does it in silence. He’s mad. Real mad. I can almost smell his blood boiling. He gives me the occasional poisonous glance, but I remain impassive. The sight of his messed-up face gives me some satisfaction.
Eventually he’s done and he picks up the box. Mathur follows him out of the building.
“Are we finished here, Mr. Grey?” Taylor asks.
“For now.”
“I found him groveling on the floor, sir.”
“Really?”
“Miss Steele appears to know how to defend herself.”
“She’s always full of surprises. Let’s go.”
We follow Hyde out of the building and both of us head to the Audi. Because Ana is already in the front seat, Taylor gives me the key and I slide into the driver’s seat. Taylor gets into the back.
Ana is quiet as I pull out into the traffic.
I don’t know what to say to her.
The car phone rings.
“Grey,” I answer.
“Mr. Grey, Barney here.”
“Barney, I’m on speakerphone, and there are others in the car.”
“Sir, it’s all done. But I need to talk to you about what else I found on Mr. Hyde’s computer.”
“I’ll call you when I reach my destination. And thanks, Barney.”
“No problem, Mr. Grey.” He hangs up and I stop at a red light.
“Are you talking to me?” Ana asks.
I glance at her. “No,” I mutter. I’m still too mad. I told her he was trouble. And I told her to use her phone for e-mail. I was right about everything. I feel vindicated.
Grey, grow up, you’re behaving like a child.
Flynn’s words circle my brain. I’ve long held the belief that you never really had an adolescence—emotionally speaking. I think you’re experiencing it now.
I glance across at her in the hope I can say something amusing, but she’s staring out of the window. I’ll wait until we get home.
OUTSIDE ESCALA, I OPEN Ana’s car door while Taylor climbs into the driver’s seat.
“Come,” I say, and she takes my hand.
While we wait for the elevator, Ana whispers, “Christian, why are you so mad at me?”
“You know why.”
As we enter the elevator, I punch the code into the keypad. “God, if something had happened to you, he’d be dead by now. As it is, I’m going to ruin his career so he can’t take advantage of young women anymore, miserable excuse for a man that he is.” If anything had happened to her…Leila yesterday. Hyde today. Hell.
Slowly she sinks her teeth into her lower lip while staring at me.
“Jesus, Ana!” I pull her to me and twist so that she’s pinned in the corner of the elevator. Tugging her hair, upturning her face, I capture her lips with mine and pour my fear and desperation into my kiss. Her hands grasp my biceps as she returns my kiss, her tongue seeking mine. I pull back and we’re both breathless. “If anything had happened to you. If he’d harmed you—” I shudder. “BlackBerry. From now on. Understand?”
She nods, her expression earnest, and I straighten up and release her. “He said you kicked him in the balls.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Ray is ex-Army. He taught me well.”
“I’m very glad he did. I’ll need to remember that.” As we exit the elevator, I take her hand and we walk through the foyer and into the living room. Mrs. Jones is in the kitchen cooking. It smells good.
“I need to call Barney. I won’t be long.”
Sitting down at my desk, I pick up the phone.
“Mr. Grey.”
“Barney, what did you find on Hyde’s computer?”
“Well, sir, it was a little unsettling. There are articles and photographs of you, your mom and dad, and your brother and sister, all stored in one folder called ‘Greys.’?”
“That’s odd.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Could you send me what he has?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And keep this between us for now.”
“Will do, Mr. Grey.”
“Thanks, Barney. And go home.”
“Yes, sir.”
Barney’s e-mail arrives almost immediately, and I open the “Greys” folder. Sure enough, there are online articles about my parents and their charitable work; articles on me, my company, Charlie Tango and the Gulfstream; and photographs of Elliot, my parents, and me taken, I assume, from Mia’s Facebook page. And last, two photos of Ana and me—at her graduation and at the photographer’s exhibition.