Fifty Shades Darker (Fifty Shades #2)(22)
Author: E.L. James

He snaps the phone shut.

"Deposited in your bank account, Monday. Don’t play games with me." He’s boiling mad, but I don’t care.

"Twenty-four thousand dollars!" I’m almost screaming. "And how do you know my account number?"

My ire takes Christian by surprise.

"I know everything about you, Anastasia," he says quietly.

"There’s no way my car was worth twenty-four thousand dollars."

"I would agree with you, but it’s about knowing your market, whether you’re buying or selling. Some lunatic out there wanted that death trap and was willing to pay that amount of money. Apparently, it’s a classic. Ask Taylor if you don’t believe me."

I glower at him and he glowers back, two angry stubborn fools glaring at each other.

And I feel it, the pull – the electricity between us – tangible, drawing us together. Suddenly he grabs me and pushes me up against the door, his mouth on mine, claiming me hungrily, one hand on my behind pressing me to his groin and the other in the nape of my hair, tugging my head back. My fingers are in his hair, twisting hard, holding him to me. He grinds his body into mine, imprisoning me, his breathing ragged. I feel him. He wants me, and I’m heady and reeling with excitement as I acknowledge his need for me.

"Why, why do you defy me?" he mumbles between his heated kisses.

My blood sings in my veins. Will he always have this effect on me? And I on him?

"Because I can." I’m breathless. I feel rather than see his smile against my neck, and he presses his forehead to mine.

"Lord, I want to take you now, but I’m out of condoms. I can never get enough of you.

You’re a maddening, maddening woman."

"And you make me mad," I whisper. "In every way."

He shakes his head. "Come. Let’s go out for breakfast. And I know a place you can get your hair cut."

"Okay," I acquiesce and just like that, our fight is over.

"I’ll get this." I pick up the tab for breakfast before he does.

He scowls at me.

"You have to be quick around here, Grey."

"You’re right, I do," he says sourly, though I think he’s teasing.

"Don’t look so cross. I’m twenty-four thousand dollars richer than I was this morning. I can afford" – I glance at the check – "twenty-two dollars and sixty-seven cents for breakfast."

"Thank you," he says grudgingly. Oh, the sulky schoolboy is back.

"Where to now?"

"You really want your hair cut?"

"Yes, look at it."

"You look lovely to me. You always do."

I blush and stare down at my fingers knotted in my lap. "And there’s your father’s function this evening."

"Remember, it’s black tie."

Oh Jeez. "Where is it?"

"At my parents’ house. They have a marquee. You know, the works."

"What’s the charity?"

Christian rubs his hands down his thighs, looking uncomfortable.

"It’s a drug rehab program for parents with young kids called Coping Together."

"Sounds like a good cause," I say softly.

"Come, let’s go." He stands, effectively halting that topic of conversation and holds out his hand. As I take it, he tightens his fingers around mine.

It’s strange. He’s so demonstrative in some ways and yet so closed in others. He leads me out of the restaurant, and we walk down the street. It is a lovely, mild morning. The sun is shining, and the air smells of coffee and freshly baked bread.

"Where are we going?"

"Surprise."

Oh, okay. I don’t really like surprises.

We walk for two blocks, and the stores become decidedly more exclusive. I haven’t yet had an opportunity to explore, but this really is just around the corner from where I live. Kate will be pleased. There are plenty of small boutiques to feed her fashion passion.

Actually, I need to buy some floaty skirts for work.

Christian stops outside a large, slick-looking beauty salon and opens the door for me.

It’s called Esclava. The interior is all white and leather. At the stark white reception desk sits a young blond woman in a crisp white uniform. She glances up as we enter.

"Good morning, Mr. Grey," she says brightly, color rising in her cheeks as she bats her eyelashes at him. It’s the Grey effect, but she knows him! How?

"Hello Greta."

And he knows her. What is this?

"Is this the usual, sir?" she asks politely. She’s wearing very pink lipstick.

"No," he says quickly, with a nervous glance at me.

The usual? What does that mean?

Holy f**k! It’s Rule no 6, the damned beauty salon. All the waxing nonsense… shit!

This is where he brought all his subs? Maybe Leila, too? What the hell am I supposed to make of this?

"Miss Steele will tell you what she wants."

I glare at him. He’s introducing the Rules by stealth. I’ve agreed to the personal trainer – and now this?

"Why here?" I hiss at him.

"I own this place, and three more like it."

"You own it?" I gasp in surprise. Well, that’s unexpected.

"Yes. It’s a sideline. Anyway – whatever you want, you can have it here, on the house.

All sorts of massage; Swedish, shiatsu, hot stones, reflexology, seaweed baths, facials, all that stuff that women like – everything. It’s done here." He waves his long-fingered hand dismissively.

"Waxing?"

He laughs. "Yes waxing, too. Everywhere," he whispers conspiratorially, enjoying my discomfort.

I blush and glance at Greta, who is looking at me expectantly.

"I’d like a haircut, please."

"Certainly, Miss Steele."

Greta is all pink lipstick and bustling Germanic efficiency as she checks her computer screen.

"Franco is free in five minutes."

"Franco’s fine," says Christian reassuringly to me. I am trying to wrap my head around this. Christian Grey CEO owns a chain of beauty salons.

I peek up at him, and suddenly he blanches – something, or someone, has caught his eye. I turn to see where he’s looking, and right at the back of the salon a sleek platinum blonde has appeared, closing a door behind her and speaking to one of the hair stylists.

Platinum Blonde is tall, tanned, lovely, and in her late thirties or forties – it’s difficult to tell. She’s wearing the same uniform as Greta, but in black. She looks stunning. Her hair shines like a halo, cut in sharp bob. As she turns, she catches sight of Christian and smiles at him, a dazzling smile of warm recognition.

"Excuse me," Christian mumbles hurriedly.