Dr. Greene is tall, blond, and immaculate, dressed in a royal blue suit. I’m reminded of the
women who work in Christian’s office. She’s like an identikit model – another Stepford
blonde. Her long hair is swept up in an elegant chignon. She must be in her early forties.
“Mr. Grey.” She shakes Christian’s outstretched hand.
“Thank you for coming at such short notice,” Christian says.
“Thank you for making it worth my while, Mr. Grey. Miss Steele.” She smiles, her
eyes cool and assessing.
We shake hands, and I know she’s one of those women who doesn’t tolerate fools
gladly. Like Kate. I like her immediately. She gives Christian a pointed stare, and after an
awkward beat, he takes his cue.
“I’ll be downstairs,” he mutters, and he leaves what will be my bedroom.
“Well Miss Steele. Mr. Grey is paying me a small fortune to attend to you. What can
I do for you?”
After a thorough examination and lengthy discussion, Dr. Greene and I decide on the mini
pill. She writes me a pre-paid prescription and instructs me to pick them up tomorrow. I
love her no-nonsense attitude – she has lectured me until she’s as blue as her dress about
taking it at the same time every day. And I can tell she’s burning with curiosity about my
so-called relationship with Mr. Grey. I don’t give her any details. Somehow I don’t think she’d look so calm and collected if she’d seen his Red Room of Pain. I flush as we pass
its closed door and head back downstairs to the art gallery that is Christian’s living room.
Christian is reading, seated on his couch. A breathtaking aria is playing on the music
system, swirling round him, cocooning him, filling the room with a sweet, soulful song.
For a moment, he looks serene. He turns and glances at us when we enter and smiles
warmly at me.
“Are you done?” he asks as if he’s genuinely interested. He points the remote at a sleek
white box beneath the fireplace that houses his iPod, and the exquisite melody fades but
continues in the background. Standing, he strolls towards us.
“Yes, Mr. Grey. Look after her; she’s a beautiful, bright young woman.”
Christian is taken aback – as am I. What an inappropriate thing for a doctor to say. Is
she giving him some kind of not so subtle warning? Christian recovers himself.
“I fully intend to,” he mutters, bemused.
Gazing at him, I shrug, embarrassed.
“I’ll send you my bill,” she says crisply as she shakes his hand.
“Good day, and good luck to you, Ana.” She smiles, her eyes crinkling as she does
when we shake hands.
Taylor appears from nowhere to escort her through the double doors and out to the
elevator. How does he do that? Where does he lurk? “How was that?” Christian asks.
