Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

a great first day back.
Miss our bubble already.
x
Christian Grey
Back in the Real World CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
    Shit. I hit reply immediately.

    From: Anastasia Steele
    Subject: Don’t Burst the Bubble
    Date: August 22, 2011 09:58
    To: Christian Grey
    Husband
I am all for a baseball metaphor with you, Mr. Grey.
I want to keep my name here.
I’ll explain this evening.
I am going in to a meeting now.
Miss our bubble, too . . .
PS: Thought I had to use my BlackBerry?
    Anastasia Steele
Commissioning Editor, SIP
    This is going to be such a fight. I can feel it. Sighing, I gather up my papers for the meeting.
    The meeting lasts for two hours. All the commissioning editors are there, plus Roach and Elizabeth. We discuss personnel, strategy, marketing, security, and year-end. As the meeting progresses, I grow more and more uncomfortable. There’s a subtle change in how my colleagues are treating me—a distance and deference that wasn’t there before I left for my honeymoon. And from Courtney, who heads up the non-fiction division, there’s downright hostility. Maybe I’m just being paranoid but it goes some way to explaining Elizabeth’s odd greeting this morning.
    My mind drifts back to the yacht, then to the playroom, then to the R8 speeding away from the mystery Dodge on I-5. Perhaps Christian’s right . . . perhaps I can’t do this anymore. The thought is depressing—this is all I’ve ever wanted to do. If I can’t do this, what will I do? As I walk back to my office, I try to dismiss these dark thoughts.
    When I sit down at my desk, I quickly check my e-mails. Nothing from Christian. I check my BlackBerry . . . Still nothing. Good. At least there’s been no adverse reaction to my e-mail. Perhaps we’ll discuss this tonight as per my request. I find that hard to believe, but ignoring my uneasy feeling, I open the marketing plan I was given at the meeting.
    As is our ritual on a Monday, Hannah comes into my office with a plate for my packed lunch courtesy of Mrs. Jones, and we sit and eat our lunches together, discussing what we want to achieve during the week. She brings me up to date with the office gossip, too, which—considering I’ve been away for three weeks—is pretty thin on the ground. As we’re chatting, there’s a knock on the door.
    “Come in.”
    Roach opens the door, and standing beside him is Christian. I’m momentarily struck dumb. Christian shoots me a blazing look and stalks in, before smiling politely at Hannah.
    “Hello, you must be Hannah. I’m Christian Grey,” he says. Hannah scrambles to her feet and holds out her hand.
    “Mr. Grey. H-how nice to meet you,” she stutters as they shake hands. “Can I fetch you a coffee?”
    “Please,” he says warmly. With a quick puzzled glance at me, she scuttles out of the office past Roach, who stands as dumbstruck as me on the threshold of my office.
    “If you’ll excuse me, Roach, I’d like a word with Ms. Steele.” Christian hisses the S sibilantly . . . sarcastically.
    This is why he’s here . . . Oh shit.
    “Of course, Mr. Grey. Ana,” Roach mutters, shutting the door to my office as he departs. I recover my power of speech.
    “Mr. Grey, how nice to see you.” I smile, far too sweetly.
    “ Ms. Steele, may I sit down?”
    “It’s your company.” I wave at the chair Hannah vacated.
    “Yes, it is.” He smiles wolfishly at me, the smile not reaching his eyes. His tone is clipped. He’s bristling with tension—I can feel it all around me. Fuck . My heart sinks.
    “Your office is very small,” he says as he sits down facing my desk.
    “It suits me.”
    He regards me neutrally, but I know he’s mad. I take a deep breath. This is not going to be fun.
    “So what can I do for you, Christian?”
    “I’m just looking over my assets.”
    “Your assets? All of them?”
    “All of them. Some of them need rebranding.”
    “Rebranding? In what way?”
    “I think you know.” His voice is menacingly quiet.
    “Please—don’t tell me you have interrupted your day after three weeks away to come over here and fight with me about my name.” I am not a freaking asset!
    He shifts and crosses his legs. “Not exactly fight. No.”
    “Christian, I’m working.”
    “Looked like you were gossiping with your assistant to me.”
    My cheeks heat. “We were going through our schedules,” I snap. “And you haven’t answered my question.”
    There’s a knock on the door. “Come in!” I shout,