Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

room.”
    “Will do.” Hannah looks anxiously from Prescott to me. “Shall I cancel your next meeting? It’s at four, but it’s across town.”
    “Yes,” I murmur, distracted. Hannah nods then leaves.
    What the hell does Leila want? I don’t think she’s here to do me any harm. She didn’t in the past when she had the opportunity. Christian is going to go nuts. My subconscious purses her lips, primly crosses her legs, and nods. I need to tell him that I am doing this. I type a quick e-mail, then pause, checking the time. I feel a momentary pang of regret. We’ve been getting along so well since Aspen. I press send.

    From: Anastasia Grey
    Subject: Visitors
    Date: September 6, 2011 15:27
    To: Christian Grey
    Christian
Leila is here to see me. I will see her with Prescott.
I’ll use my newly acquired slapping skills with my now healed hand, should I need to.
Try, and I mean try, not to worry.
I am a big girl.
Will call once we’ve spoken.
A x
    Anastasia Grey
Commissioning Editor, SIP
    Hurriedly, I hide my BlackBerry in my desk drawer. I stand, smoothing my gray pencil skirt over my hips, pinch my cheeks to give them some color, and undo the next button on my gray silk blouse. Okay, I’m ready. After taking a deep breath, I head out of my office to meet the infamous Leila ignoring “Your Love is King” humming gently from inside my desk.
    Leila looks much better. More than better—she’s very attractive. There’s a rosy bloom to her cheeks, and her brown eyes are bright, her hair clean and shiny. She’s dressed in a pale pink blouse and white pants. She stands as soon as I enter the meeting room, as does her friend—another dark-haired young woman with soft brown eyes, the color of brandy. Prescott hovers in the corner, not taking her eyes off Leila.
    “Mrs. Grey, thank you so much for seeing me.” Leila’s voice is soft but clear.
    “Um . . . Sorry about the security,” I mutter because I cannot think what else to say. I wave a hand distractedly at Prescott.
    “This is my friend, Susi.”
    “Hi.” I nod at Susi. She looks like Leila. She looks like me. Oh, no. Another one.
    “Yes,” Leila says, as if reading my thoughts. “Susi knows Mr. Grey, too.”
    What the hell am I supposed to say to that? I give her a polite smile.
    “Please, sit,” I murmur.
    There’s a knock on the door. It’s Hannah. I motion her in, knowing full well why she’s disturbing us.
    “Sorry to interrupt, Ana. I have Mr. Grey on the line?”
    “Tell him I’m busy.”
    “He was quite insistent,” she says fearfully.
    “I am sure he was. Would you apologize to him, and say I’ll call him back very shortly?”
    Hannah hesitates.
    “Hannah, please.”
    She nods and scurries out of the room. I turn back to the two women sitting in front of me. They are both staring at me in awe. It’s uncomfortable.
    “What can I do for you?” I ask.
    Susi speaks. “I know this is all kinds of weird, but I wanted to meet you, too. The woman who captured Chris—”
    I hold up my hand, stopping her in mid-sentence. I do not want to hear this. “Um . . . I get the picture,” I mutter.
    “We call ourselves the sub club.” She grins at me, her eyes shining with mirth.
    Oh my God.
    Leila gasps and gapes at Susi, at once amused and appalled. Susi winces. I suspect Leila’s kicked her under the table.
    What the hell am I supposed to say to that? I glance nervously at Prescott, who remains impassive, her eyes never leaving Leila.
    Susi seems to remember herself. She blushes, then nods and stands. “I’ll wait in reception. This is Lulu’s show.” I can tell she’s embarrassed.
    Lulu ?
    “You’ll be okay?” she asks Leila, who smiles up at her. Susi gives me a large, open, genuine smile and exits the room.
    Susi and Christian  . . . it’s not a thought I wish to dwell on. Prescott takes her phone out of her pocket and answers it. I didn’t hear it ring.
    “Mr. Grey,” she says. Leila and I turn to look at her. Prescott closes her eyes as if in pain.
    “Yes, sir,” she says, stepping forward, and hands me the phone.
    I roll my eyes. “Christian,” I murmur, trying to contain my exasperation. I stand and stride briskly out of the room.
    “What the fuck are you playing at?” he shouts. He’s seething.
    “Don’t shout at me.”
    “What do you mean don’t shout at you?” he shouts, louder this time. “I gave specific instructions which you have completely disregarded—again. Hell, Ana, I am