Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

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.”
    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!”
    He blinks and narrows his eyes once more. Then unexpectedly he laughs.
    “Seven shades of Sunday?” He arches an eyebrow, intrigued. “I may hold you to that, Ms. Steele.”
    “Oh, stop with the Ms. Steele!” I snap and thump the desk, startling us both. “For heaven’s sake, Christian. If it means so much to you, I’ll change my name!”
    His mouth pops open as he inhales sharply. And then he grins, a radiant, all-teeth-showing, joyous grin. Wow . . .
    “Good.” He claps his hands, and all of a sudden he stands.
    What now?
    “Mission accomplished. Now, I have work to do. If you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Grey.”
    Gah—this man is so maddening! “But—”
    “But what, Mrs. Grey?”
    I sag. “Just go.”
    “I intend to. I’ll see you this evening. I’m looking forward to seven shades of Sunday.”
    I scowl.
    “Oh, and I have a stack of business-related social engagements coming up, and I’d like you to accompany me.”
    I gape at him. Will you just go?
    “I’ll have Andrea call Hannah to put the dates in your calendar. There are some people you need to meet. You should get Hannah to handle your schedule from now on.”
    “Okay,” I mumble, completely bemused, bewildered and shell-shocked.
    He leans over my desk. What now? I am caught in his hypnotic gaze.
    “Love doing business with you, Mrs. Grey.” He leans in closer as I sit paralyzed, and he plants a soft tender kiss on my lips. “Laters, baby,” he murmurs. He stands abruptly, winks at me, and leaves.
    I lay my head on my desk, feeling like I’ve been run over by a freight train—the freight train that is my beloved husband. He has to be the most frustrating, annoying, contrary man on the planet. I sit up and frantically rub my eyes. What have I just agreed to? Okay, Ana Grey running SIP—I mean, Grey Publishing. The man is insane. There’s a knock on the door, and Hannah pokes her head around.
    “You okay?” she asks.
    I just stare at her. She frowns.
    “I know you don’t like me doing this—but can I make you some tea?”
    I nod.
    “Twinings English Breakfast, weak and black?”
    I nod.
    “Coming right up, Ana.”
    I stare blankly at my computer screen, still in shock. How can I make him understand? E-mail!

    From: Anastasia Steele
    Subject: NOT AN ASSET!
    Date: August 22, 2011 14:23
    To: Christian Grey
    Mr. Grey
Next time you come and see me, make an appointment, so I can at least have some prior warning of your adolescent overbearing megalomania.
Yours
    Anastasia Grey <-----please note name.
Commissioning Editor, SIP

    From: Christian Grey
    Subject: Seven Shades of Sunday
    Date: August 22, 2011 14:34
    To: Anastasia Steele
    My Dear Mrs. Grey (emphasis on My)
What can I say in my defense? I was in the neighborhood.
And no, you are not an asset, you are my beloved wife.
As ever, you make my day.
    Christian Grey
CEO & Overbearing Megalomaniac, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
    He’s trying to be funny, but I am in no mood to laugh. I take a deep breath and go back to my correspondence.
    Christian is quiet when I climb into the car that evening.
    “Hi,” I murmur.
    “Hi,” he responds, warily—as he should.
    “Disrupt anyone else’s work today?” I ask too sweetly.
    A ghost of a smile crosses his face. “Only Flynn’s.”
    Oh.
    “Next time you go to see