Fifty Shades Darker (book 5) novel Chapter 1

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WE LAND ON PORTLAND’S downtown helipad fifteen minutes later. As I bring Charlie Tango’s engines to idle and switch off the transponder, fuel, and radios, the uncertainty I’ve felt since I resolved to win her back resurfaces. I need to tell her how I feel, and that’s going to be hard—because I don’t understand my feelings toward her. I know that I’ve missed her, that I’ve been miserable without her, and that I’m willing to try a relationship her way. But will it be enough for her? Will it be enough for me?

Talk to her, Grey.

Once I’ve unbuckled my harness I lean across to undo hers and catch a trace of her sweet fragrance. As ever, she smells good. Her eyes meet mine in a furtive glance—revealing an inappropriate thought? What exactly is she thinking? As usual I’d love to know, but have no idea.

“Good trip, Miss Steele?”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Grey.”

“Well, let’s go see the boy’s photos.” I open the door, jump down, and hold my hand out for her.

Joe, the manager of the helipad, is waiting to greet us. He’s an antique: a veteran of the Korean War, but still as spry and acute as a man in his fifties. Nothing escapes his notice. His eyes light up as he gives me a craggy smile.

“Joe, keep her safe for Stephan. He’ll be along around eight or nine.”

“Will do, Mr. Grey. Ma’am. Your car’s waiting downstairs, sir. Oh, and the elevator’s out of order. You’ll need to use the stairs.”

“Thank you, Joe.”

As we head for the emergency stairwell, I eye Anastasia’s high-heeled boots and remember her less-than-dignified fall into my office.

“Good thing for you this is only three floors—in those heels.” I hide my smile.

“Don’t you like the boots?” she asks, looking down at her feet. A pleasing vision of them hooked over my shoulders springs to mind.

“I like them very much, Anastasia.” I hope my expression doesn’t betray my lascivious thoughts. “Come. We’ll take it slow. I don’t want you falling and breaking your neck.” I’m thankful that the elevator is out of order—it gives me a plausible excuse to hold her. Putting my arm around her waist, I pull her to my side and we descend the stairs.

In the car on the way to the gallery my anxiety doubles; we’re attending the opening of an exhibition by her so-called friend. The man who, last time I saw him, was trying to push his tongue into her mouth. Perhaps over the last few days they’ve talked. Perhaps this is a long-anticipated rendezvous between them.

Hell, I hadn’t considered that before. I sure hope it’s not.

“José is just a friend,” Ana explains.