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“Mostly, yes. I always knew it just needed some TLC.” Christian’s eyes glow warmly.

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Gia glances at the pair of us, and her cheeks pink. “Okay,” she says. “I think I get where you’re coming from, Ana. How about if we retain the glass wall, but have it open out onto a larger deck that’s in keeping with the Mediterranean style.

We have the stone terrace there already. We can put in pillars in matching stone, widely spaced so you’ll still have the view. Add a glass roof, or tile it as per the rest of the house. It’ll also make a sheltered al fresco dining and seated area.” Got to give the woman her due . . . she’s good.

“Or instead of the deck, we could incorporate a wood color of your choice in-to the glass doors—that might help to keep the Mediterranean spirit,” she continues.

“Like the bright blue shutters in the South of France,” I murmur to Christian, who is watching me intently. He takes a sip of wine and shrugs, very noncommit-tal. Hmm. He doesn’t like that idea but he doesn’t overrule me, shoot me down, or make me feel stupid. God, this man is a mass of contradictions. His words from yesterday come to mind: “I want this house to be the way you want. Whatever you want. It’s yours.” He wants me to be happy—happy in everything I do. Deep down I think I know this. It’s just—I stop myself. Don’t think about our argument now. My subconscious glares at me.

Gia is looking at Christian, waiting for him to make the decision. I watch as her pupils dilate and her glossed lips part. Her tongue darts quickly over her top lip before she takes a sip of her wine. When I turn to Christian, he’s still looking at me—not at her at all. Yes! My inner goddess fist pumps the air. I am going to have words with Ms. Matteo.

“Ana, what do you want to do?” Christian murmurs, very clearly deferring to me.

“I like the deck idea.”

“Me, too.”

I turn back to Gia. Hey, lady, look at me, not him. I’m the one making the decisions on this. “I think I’d like to see revised drawings showing the bigger deck and pillars that are in keeping with the house.” Reluctantly, Gia drags her greedy eyes away from my husband and smiles down at me. Does she think I’m not going to notice?

“Sure,” she acquiesces pleasantly. “Any other issues?” Other than you eye-fucking my husband? “Christian wants to remodel the master suite,” I murmur.

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There’s a discreet cough from the entrance to the great room. We three turn as one to find Taylor standing there.

“Taylor?” Christian asks.

“I need to confer with you on an urgent matter, Mr. Grey.” Christian clasps my shoulders from behind and addresses Gia.

“Mrs. Grey is in charge of this project. She has absolute carte blanche.

Whatever she wants, it’s hers. I completely trust her instincts. She’s very shrewd.” His voice alters subtly. In it I hear pride and a veiled warning—a warning to Gia?

He trusts my instincts? Oh, this man’s exasperating. My instincts let him run roughshod over my feelings this afternoon. I shake my head in frustration but I’m grateful that he’s telling Miss Provocative-And-Unfortunately-Good-At-Her-Job just who’s in charge. I caress his hand as it rests on my shoulder.

“If you’ll excuse me.” Christian squeezes my shoulders before following Taylor. I wonder idly what’s going on.

“So . . . the master suite?” Gia asks nervously.

I gaze up at her, pausing for a moment to ensure that Christian and Taylor are out of earshot. Then calling on all my inner strength and the fact that I’ve been seriously piqued for the last five hours, I let her have it.

“You’re right to be nervous, Gia, because right now your work on this project hangs in the balance. But I’m sure we’ll be fine as long as you keep your hands off my husband.”

She gasps.

“Otherwise, you’re fired. Understand?” I enunciate each word clearly.

She blinks rapidly, utterly stunned. She cannot believe what I’ve said . I cannot believe what I’ve just said. But I hold my ground, gazing impassively into her widening brown eyes.

Don’t back down. Don’t back down! I’ve learned this maddening impassive expression from Christian who does impassive like no one else. I know that renovating the Greys’ main residence is a prestigious project for Gia’s architectur-al firm—a resplendent feather in her cap. She can’t lose this commission. And right now I don’t give a hoot that she’s Elliot’s friend.

“Ana—Mrs. Grey . . . I-I’m so sorry. I never—” She flushes, unsure what else she can say.

“Let me be clear. My husband is not interested in you.”

“Of course,” she murmurs, the blood draining from her face.

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“As I said, I just wanted to be clear.”

“Mrs. Grey, I sincerely apologize if you think . . . I have—” She stops, still floundering for something to say.