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“Look, we were talking about my name. I want to keep my name here because I want to put some distance between you and me . . . but only here, that’s all. You know everyone thinks I got the job because of you, when the reality is—” I stop, when his eyes widen. Oh no . . . it is because of him?

“Do you want to know why you got the job, Anastasia?” Anastasia? Shit. “What? What do you mean?” He shifts in his chair as if steeling himself. Do I want to know?

“The management here gave you Hyde’s job to babysit. They didn’t want the expense of hiring a senior executive when the company was mid-sale. They had no idea what the new owner would do with it once it passed into his ownership, and wisely, they didn’t want an expensive redundancy. So they gave you Hyde’s job to caretake until the new owner” —he pauses, and his lips twitch in an ironic smile—“namely me, took over.”

Holy crap! “What are you saying?” So it was because of him. Fuck! I’m horrified.

He smiles and shakes his head at my alarm. “Relax. You’ve more than risen to the challenge. You’ve done very well.” There’s the tiniest hint of pride in his voice, and it’s almost my undoing.

“Oh,” I murmur incoherently, reeling from this news. I sit right back in my chair, open-mouthed, staring at him. He shifts again.

“I don’t want to suffocate you, Ana. I don’t want to put you in a gilded cage.

Well . . .” He pauses, his face darkening. “Well, the rational part of me doesn’t.” He strokes his chin thoughtfully as his mind concocts some plan.

Oh, where is he going with this? Christian looks up suddenly, as if he’s had a eureka moment. “So one of the reasons I’m here—apart from dealing with my errant wife,” he says, narrowing his eyes, “is to discuss what I am going to do with this company.”

Errant wife! I am not errant, and I’m not an asset! I scowl at Christian again and the threat of tears subsides.

“So what are your plans?” I incline my head to one side, mirroring him, and I can’t help my sarcastic tone. His lips twitch with the hint of a smile.

Jeez—change of mood, again! How can I ever keep up with Mr. Mercurial?

“I’m renaming the company—to Grey Publishing.” Holy shit.

“And in a year’s time, it will be yours.”

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My mouth drops open once more—wider this time.

“This is my wedding present to you.”

I shut my mouth then open it, trying to articulate something—but there’s nothing there. My mind is blank.

“So, do I need to change the name to Steele Publishing?” He’s serious. Holy fuck.

“Christian,” I whisper when my brain finally reconnects with my mouth.

“You gave me a watch . . . I can’t run a business.” He tilts his head to one side again and gives me a censorious frown. “I ran my own business from the age of twenty-one.”

“But you’re . . . you. Control freak and whiz-kid extraordinaire. Jeez Christian, you majored in economics at Harvard before you dropped out. At least you have some idea. I sold paint and cable ties for three years on a part-time basis, for heaven’s sake. I’ve seen so little of the world, and I know next to nothing!” My voice rises, growing louder and higher, as I complete my tirade.

“You’re also the most well-read person I know,” he counters earnestly. “You love a good book. You couldn’t leave your job while we were on our honeymoon.

You read how many manuscripts? Four?”

“Five,” I whisper.

“And you wrote full reports on all of them. You’re a very bright woman, Anastasia. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Crazy for you,” he whispers.

And I snort because it’s the only expression my body can make. He narrows his eyes.

“You’ll be a laughing stock. Buying a company for the little woman, who has only had a full time job for a few months of her adult life.”

“Do you think I give a fuck what people think? Besides, you won’t be on your own.”

I gape at him. He really has lost his marbles this time. “Christian, I . . .” I put my head in my hands—my emotions have been through a wringer. Is he crazy?

And from somewhere dark and deep inside I have the sudden, inappropriate need to laugh. When I look up at him again, his eyes widen.

“Something amusing you, Ms. Steele?”

“Yes. You.”

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His eyes widen further, shocked but also amused. “Laughing at your husband? That will never do. And you’re biting your lip.” His eyes darken . . . in that way. Oh no—I know that look. Sultry, seductive, salacious . . . No, no, no! Not here.

“Don’t even think about it,” I warn, alarm clear in my voice.

“Think about what, Anastasia?”

“I know that look. We’re at work.”

He leans forward, his eyes glued to mine, molten gray and hungry. Holy shit!

I swallow instinctively. “We’re in a small, reasonably sound-proofed office with a lockable door.”

“Gross moral turpitude.” I enunciate each word carefully.

“Not with your husband.”

“With my boss’s boss’s boss,” I hiss.

“You’re my wife.”

“Christian, no. I mean it. You can fuck me seven shades of Sunday this evening. But not now. Not here!”