umber?”
“Yes, that’s outrageous.”
“I do background checks on all my submissives. I’ll
show you.” He turns and heads for his study.
I dutifully follow him, dazed. From a locked filing
cabinet, he pulls a manila folder. Typed on the tab:
cabinet, he pulls a manila folder. Typed on the tab:
ANASTASIA ROSE STEELE.
Holy fucking shit. I glare at him.
He shrugs apologetically. “You can keep it,” he says
quietly.
“Well, gee, thanks,” I snap. I flick through the
contents. He has a copy of my birth certificate, for
hea一ven’s sake, my hard limits, the NDA, the contract
—Jeez—my social security number, resume, employment
records.
“So you knew I worked at Clayton’s?”
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t a coincidence. You didn’t just drop by?”
“No.”
I don’t know whether to be angry or flattered.
“This is fucked-up. You know that?”
“I don’t see it that way. What I do, I ha一ve to be
careful.”
“But this is private.”
“I don’t misuse the information. Anyone can get hold
“I don’t misuse the information. Anyone can get hold
of it if they ha一ve half a mind to, Anastasia. To ha一ve control
—I need information. It’s how I’ve always operated.” He
gazes at me, his expression guarded and unreadable.
“You do misuse the information. You deposited
twenty-four thousand dollars that I didn’t want into my
account.”
His mouth presses in a hard line. “I told you. That’s
what Taylor managed to get for your car. Unbelievable, I
know, but there you go.”
“But the Audi . . .”
“Anastasia, do you ha一ve any idea how much money I
make?”
I flush, of course not. “Why should I? I don’t need to
know the bottom line of your bank account, Christian.”
His eyes soften. “I know. That’s one of the things I
love about you.”
I gaze at him, shocked. Love about me?
“Anastasia, I earn roughly one hundred thousand
dollars an hour.”
My mouth drops open. That is an obscene amount of
money.
“Twenty-four thousand dollars is nothing. The car, the
Tess books, the clothes, they’re nothing.” His voice is soft.
I gaze at him. He really has no idea. Ext
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