N i n e-2

"Call her and give her my deepest apologies. Tell her I'm back next Monday if it can wait until then, or if she would like to do the interview over the phone let her know I'm available tomorrow. Or she can email her questions over and I'll respond." "Yes Mr Grey, I'll call her right away. I'll email your updated schedule as soon as it's ready." "Thanks, Andrea," "Of course Sir. See you when you return." After I hang up I order some room service breakfast and make some calls. One to Flynn to tell him why I won't be able to make our next few appointments. I actually tell him the truth. That I was spending it with a friend from Harvard. A woman. He'd sounded as shocked as I'd ever heard him and told me to call him if I needed to. I call Taylor and tell him to take some time off - god knows he deserves it. Lastly, I call Gideon to let him know what time the prick was coming for our 'meeting' and to discuss the finer details of what exactly was going to happen. I didn't really need Gideon's buy-in to do what I was going to do, but it certainly would make things more interesting this evening. He agreed. Also, my business acumen was one of the only things he liked about me he'd told me with a chuckle. I also tell him he doesn't have to come if he is otherwise engaged. To which I'd received a typically Gideon-like response. "What and miss the look on that smug bastard's face when we tell him we're his only option? Not a chance." "Well, he won't be smug for long," I mutter. "So Charlie called me this morning, asking for your number. You two finally going to stop lying to yourselves then? And each other?" He laughs quietly. I didn't find him in the slightest bit amusing, but his lack of awareness makes me smile. "No idea what you're referring to," I say noncommittally. "Sure you don't," He chuckles. "I'd tell you what she likes in bed but you already know." "Clearly not guys whose wit is located between their legs." "Hey, at least I have a sense of humour." He retorts playfully. "Really? You do? Tell me a joke." "I would but I have to go make some money. I'll be over before he gets there." "You make money on Saturdays?" I ask feigning disgust. "Yeah, you should try it sometime Grey," In the afternoon I'm bored, so decide to go for a run around Central Park. It's a dry, fresh day and the park is busy with people of all shapes, sizes and purposes. Lover's picnics, dog walkers, tourists and lots of children. By the north gate, I even find an amateur theatre group retelling A Midsummer Nights Dream. Horrendously. I make it once around the entire park, which according to my counter is just over 6 miles. I'm just about ready to return to the hotel when I see them. I'm not completely sure it's her, but as I get closer the uncertainty disappears, fast. I'd know the shape of her neck anywhere. I'd covered the entirety of it with my mouth last night. In fact, I could still taste it. She's holding his hand. His other arm is wrapped around her shoulder, as her head rests on his chest. He has his nose in her hair as he kisses the top of her head. The closeness of them stops me dead in my tracks. I stare at them hard, as though I'm able to cause physical damage with it. I slowly start walking towards them, even though I have no reason to or any idea what I'm going to say or do when I get there. I know what I want to do. I'm almost upon them when she notices me, looking up blinking in surprise. She takes far too long untangling herself from him making my rage intensify. "Christian," she sounds shocked. But not embarrassed, or apologetic. Just surprised. Still breathing hard from the run, I stare between them through narrowed eyes. Only then does she moves away from him, letting go of his hand and sliding along the bench a little. "What are you doing here?" She asks. Is she fucking kidding me? What am I doing here? "I was running, what does it look like?" My tone is cold and she flinches from it. Good. "Oh," She nods. She looks at the prick sitting next to her. "Christian, this is Louis Ashton, you may remember him from Harvard. He was in my modern European Art class. He's over visiting from London-," "He's what you left me to go do this morning?" I snap cutting her off. Completely ignoring the tweed-wearing fucker sitting next to her with his hand stretched out to me. "What are you talking about?" She sounds confused. "Another long lost Harvard love?" I mock. Her eyes cloud over, and her mouth hardens. "Excuse me?" she says. "Ignorance doesn't suit you.' She moves to stand then, glaring at me. Tweed wearer stands too, shifting uncomfortably on his brogues. I glance momentarily at him. He has freckles, a big mouth and almost red hair. He looks like a caricature of someone from London. He should be wearing a goddam bowler hat and carrying an umbrella under his arm. "I think there has perhaps been some misunderstanding, Christian. Charlotte and I were just talking," He says in his affable English accent as I glare at him. "Yes, I think maybe there has," I say turning to her. "A monumental one." "Christian this is ridiculous. You're making a mistake. I don't know what you think  is going on here but it's not that.' "No. I think the mistake was last night." I sniff, before turning on my heel to walk off. I don't look back. Not once. Though I feel her eyes on me. My walk back to the hotel is done under a cloud of fury, my fists curling and uncurling, my jaw clenching and unclenching.