Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

mean it that way. “It’s Leila’s,” he says finally.
    “It’s fully loaded.”
    “How do you know?” His frown deepens.
    “I checked it yesterday.”
    He scowls at me. “I don’t want you messing with guns. I hope you put the safety back on.”
    I blink at him, momentarily stupefied. “Christian, there’s no safety on that revolver. Don’t you know anything about guns?”
    His eyes widen. “Um . . . no.”
    Taylor coughs discreetly from the entrance. Christian nods at him.
    “We have to go,” Christian says. He stands, distracted, and slips on his gray jacket. I follow him into the hallway.
    He has Leila’s gun. I am stunned by this news and briefly wonder what’s happened to her. Is she still in—where is it? East somewhere. New Hampshire? I can’t remember.
    “Good morning, Taylor,” Christian says.
    “Good morning, Mr. Grey, Mrs. Grey.” He nods at us both, but he’s careful not to look me in the eye. I’m grateful, recalling my state of undress when we bumped into each other last night.
    “I am just going to brush my teeth,” I mutter. Christian always brushes his teeth before breakfast. I don’t understand why.
    “You should ask Taylor to teach you how to shoot,” I say as we travel down in the elevator. Christian gazes down at me, amused.
    “Should I now?” he says dryly.
    “Yes.”
    “Anastasia, I despise guns. My mom has patched up too many victims of gun crime, and my dad is vehemently antigun. I grew up with their ethos. I support at least two gun control initiatives here in Washington.”
    “Oh. Does Taylor carry a gun?”
    Christian’s mouth thins.
    “Sometimes.”
    “You don’t approve?” I ask, as Christian ushers me out of the elevator on the ground floor.
    “No,” he says, tight-lipped. “Let’s just say that Taylor and I hold very different views with regard to gun control.” I’m with Taylor on this.
    Christian holds the foyer door open for me and I head out to the car. He has not let me drive alone to SIP since he found out that Charlie Tango was sabotaged. Sawyer smiles pleasantly, holding the door open for me as Christian and I climb into the car.
    “Please.” I reach across and grasp Christian’s hand.
    “Please what?”
    “Learn how to shoot.”
    He rolls his eyes at me. “No. End of discussion, Anastasia.”
    And I am a child again to be scolded. I open my mouth to say something cutting, but decide I don’t want to start my workday in a bad mood. I fold my arms instead and glimpse Taylor regarding me in the rearview mirror. He looks away, concentrating on the road in front, but shakes his head a little, in obvious frustration.
    Hmm . . . Christian drives him crazy, too, sometimes. The thought makes me smile, and my mood is saved.
    “Where is Leila?” I ask as Christian gazes out of his window.
    “I told you. She’s in Connecticut with her folks.” He glances at me.
    “Did you check? After all, she does have long hair. It could have been her driving the Dodge.”
    “Yes, I checked. She’s enrolled in an art school in Hamden. She started this week.”
    “You’ve spoken to her?” I whisper, all the blood draining from my face.
    Christian whips his head around at the tone of my voice.
    “No. Flynn has.” He searches my face for a clue to my thoughts.
    “I see,” I murmur, relieved.
    “What?”
    “Nothing.”
    Christian sighs. “Ana. What is it?”
    I shrug, not wanting to admit to my irrational jealousy.
    Christian continues, “I’m keeping tabs on her, checking that she stays on her side of the continent. She’s better, Ana. Flynn has referred her to a shrink in New Haven, and all the reports are very positive. She’s always been interested in art, so . . .” He stops, his face still searching mine. And in that moment I suspect that he is paying for her art classes. Do I want to know? Should I ask him? I mean it’s not as if he can’t afford it, but why does he feel the obligation? I sigh. Christian’s baggage hardly compares to Bradley Kent from biology class and his half-assed attempts to kiss me. Christian reaches for my hand.
    “Don’t sweat this, Anastasia,” he murmurs, and I return his reassuring squeeze. I know he’s doing what he thinks is right.
    Midmorning I have a break in meetings. As I pick up the phone to call Kate, I notice an e-mail from Christian.

    From: Christian Grey
    Subject: Flattery
    Date: August 23, 2011 09:54
    To: Anastasia Grey
    Mrs. Grey
I have received three compliments on