50 shades darker

Chapter 5

Everything in it is entirely imaginary and intended only for entertainment; I created it for fun. I did not write 50 Shades darker or any of its characters, and I do not own them.

Chapter 5 

"Greta, who is Mr. Styles talking to?" My scalp is trying to leave the building. It's prickling with apprehension, and my subconscious is screaming at me to follow it. But I sound nonchalant enough.

"Oh, that's Mr. Grinshaw. He owns the place with Mr. Styles." Greta seems more than happy to share.

"Mr. Grimshaw?" I thought Mr. Robinson was divorced. Perhaps he's remarried to some poor sap.

"Yes. He's not usually here, but one of our technicians is sick today so he's filling in."

"Do you know Mr. Grimshaw's first name?"

Greta looks up at me, frowning, and purses her bright pink lips, questioning my curiosity. Shit, perhaps this is a step too far.

"Nick," she says, almost reluctantly.

I'm swamped by a strange sense of relief that my spidey sense has not let me down.

Spidey sense? My subconscious snorts, Paedo sense.

They are still deep in discussion. Harry is talking rapidly to Nick, and he looks worried, nodding, grimacing, and shaking his head. Reaching out, he rubs Harry's arm soothingly while biting his lip. Another nod and he glances at me and offers me a small reassuring smile.

I can only stare at him stony-faced. I think I'm in shock. How could he bring me here?

He murmurs something to Harry, and he looks my way briefly then turns back to him and replies. He nods, and I think he's wishing him luck, but my lip-reading skills aren't highly developed.

Fifty strides back to me, anxiety etched on his face. Damn right. Mr. Robinson returns to the back room, closing the door behind him.

Harry frowns. "Are you okay?" he asks, but his voice is strained, cautious.

"Not really. You didn't want to introduce me?" My voice sounds cold and hard.

His mouth drops open, he looks as if I've pulled the rug from under his feet.

"But I thought—"

"For a bright man, sometimes . . ." Words fail me. "I'd like to go, please."

"Why?"

"You know why." I roll my eyes.

He gazes down at me, his eyes burning.

"I'm sorry, Lou. I didn't know he'd be here. He's never here. He's opened a new branch at the Bravern Center, and that's where he's normally based. Someone was sick today."

I turn on my heel and head for the door.

"We won't need Franco, Greta," Harry snaps as we head out of the door. I have to suppress the impulse to run. I want to run fast and far away. I have an overwhelming urge to cry. I just need to get away from all this fuckedupness.

Harry walks wordlessly beside me as I try to mull all this over in my head. Wrapping my arms protectively around myself, I keep my head down, avoiding the trees on Second Avenue. Wisely, he makes no move to touch me. My mind is boiling with unanswered questions. Will Mr. Evasive fess up?

"You used to take your subs there?" I snap.

"Some of them, yes," he says quietly, his tone clipped.

"Luke?"