Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

Leila. “Did you stay with Susannah while you were sick?”
    “Yes.”
    “Did she know what you were doing while you were staying with her?”
    “No. She was away on vacation.”
    He strokes his index finger over his lower lip. “Why do you need to see me? You know you should send any requests through Flynn. Do you need something?” His tone has softened, maybe by a fraction.
    Leila runs her finger along the edge of the table again.
    Stop bullying her, Christian!
    “I had to know.” And for the first time she looks up directly at him.
    “Had to know what?” he snaps.
    “That you’re okay.”
    He gapes at her. “That I’m okay?” he scoffs, disbelieving.
    “Yes.”
    “I’m fine. There, question answered. Now Taylor will run you to Sea-Tac so you can go back to the East Coast. And if you take one step west of the Mississippi, it’s all gone. Understand?”
    Holy fuck . . . Christian! I gape at him. What the fuck is eating him? He cannot confine her to one side of the country.
    “Yes. I understand,” Leila says quietly.
    “Good.” Christian’s tone is more conciliatory.
    “It might not be convenient for Leila to go back now. She has plans,” I object, outraged on her behalf.
    Christian glares at me. “Anastasia,” he warns, his voice icy, “this does not concern you.”
    I scowl at him. Of course it concerns me. She’s in my office. There must be more to this than I know. He’s not being rational.
    Fifty Shades, my subconscious hisses at me.
    “Leila came to see me, not you,” I murmur petulantly.
    Leila turns to me, her eyes impossibly wide.
    “I had my instructions, Mrs. Grey. I disobeyed them.” She glances nervously at my husband, then back at me.
    “This is the Christian Grey I know,” she says, her tone sad and wistful. Christian frowns at her, while all the breath evaporates from my lungs. I can’t breathe. Was Christian like this with her all the time? Was he like this with me, at first? I find it hard to remember. Giving me a forlorn smile, Leila rises from the table.
    “I’d like to stay until tomorrow. My flight is at noon,” she says quietly to Christian.
    “I’ll have someone collect you at ten to take you to the airport.”
    “Thank you.”
    “You’re at Susannah’s?”
    “Yes.”
    “Okay.”
    I glare at Christian. He can’t dictate to her like this . . . and how does he know where Susannah lives?
    “Good-bye, Mrs. Grey. Thank you for seeing me.”
    I stand and hold out my hand. She takes it gratefully and we shake.
    “Um . . . good-bye. Good luck,” I mutter, because I’m not sure what the protocol is for saying farewell to my husband’s ex-submissive.
    She nods and turns to him. “Good-bye, Christian.”
    Christian’s eyes soften a little. “Good-bye, Leila.” His is voice low. “Dr. Flynn, remember.”
    “Yes, Sir.”
    He opens the door to usher her out, but she halts in front of him and looks up. He stills, watching her warily.
    “I’m glad you’re happy. You deserve to be,” she says and leaves before he can reply. He frowns after her, then nods to Taylor, who follows Leila toward the reception area. Closing the door, Christian gazes uncertainly at me.
    “Don’t even think about being angry with me,” I hiss. “Call Claude Bastille and kick the shit out of him or go see Flynn.”
    His mouth drops open; he’s so surprised by my outburst, and his brow creases once more.
    “You promised you wouldn’t do this.” Now his tone is accusatory.
    “Do what?”
    “Defy me.”
    “No I didn’t. I said I’d be more considerate. I told you she was here. I had Prescott search her, and your other little friend, too. Prescott was with me the entire time. Now you’ve fired the poor woman, when she was only doing what I asked. I told you not to worry, yet here you are. I don’t remember receiving your papal bull decreeing that I couldn’t see Leila. I didn’t know that my visitors were subject to a proscribed list.” My voice rises with indignation as I warm to my cause. Christian regards me, his expression unreadable. After a moment his mouth twists.
    “Papal bull?” he says, amused, and he visibly relaxes. I wasn’t aiming to lighten our conversation, yet here he is smirking at me, and that makes me madder. The exchange between him and his ex was painful to witness. How could he be so cold with her?
    “What?” he asks, exasperated, as my face remains resolutely straight.
    “You. Why were you so callous toward her?”
    He