astasia, you’re going to ha一ve to learn to be rich,
too, if you say yes,” he says softly.
“Wealth isn’t something I’ve ever aspired to,
Christian.” I frown.
“I know. I love that about you. But then you’ve never
been hungry,” he says simply. His words are sobering.
“Where are we going?” I ask brightly, changing the
subject.
“To celebrate.” Christian relaxes.
Oh! “Celebrate what, the house?”
“Ha一ve you forgotten already? Your acting editor role.”
“Oh yes.” I grin. Unbelievably, I had forgotten.
“Where?”
“Up high at my club.”
“Your club?”
“Yes. One of them.”
The Mile High Club is on the seventy-sixth floor of
Columbia Tower, higher even than Christian’s apartment.
Columbia Tower, higher even than Christian’s apartment.
It’s very now and has the most head-spinning views over
Seattle.
“Cristal, ma’am?” Christian hands me a glass of chilled
champagne as I sit perched on a barstool.
“Why thank you, sir.” I stress the last word
flirtatiously, batting my eyelashes at him deliberately.
He gazes at me and his face darkens. “Are you flirting
with me, Miss Steele?”
“Yes, Mr. Grey, I am. What are you going to do about
it?”
“I’m sure I can think of something,” he says, his voice
low. “Come—our table’s ready.”
As we approach the table, Christian stops me, his hand
on my elbow.
“Go and take your panties off,” he whispers.
Oh? A delicious tingle runs down my spine.
“Go,” he commands quietly.
Whoa, what? I blink up at him. He’s not smiling—he’s
dead serious. Every muscle below my waistline tightens. I
hand him my glass of champagne, turn sharply on my heel,
and head for the restroom.
Shit. What’s he going to do? Perhaps this club is aptly
named.
The restrooms are the height of modern design—all
dark wood, black granite, and pools of light from
strategically placed halogens. In the privacy of the stall, I
smirk as I divest myself of my underwear. Again I’m
grateful I changed into the na一vy blue shift dress. I thought it
appropriate attire to meet the good Dr. Flynn—I hadn’t
appropriate
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