Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

out for a drink with my friend after you asked me not to, or did you return because a madman was in your apartment?
    Anastasia Grey
Commissioning Editor, SIP
    I stare at my screen. There’s no response. I glance at the clock on my computer. One forty-five and still no response.

    From: Anastasia Grey
    Subject: Here’s the thing . . .
    Date: August 26, 2011 13:56
    To: Christian Grey
    I will take your silence as an admission that you did indeed return to Seattle because I CHANGED MY MIND. I am an adult female and went for a drink with my friend. I did not understand the security ramifications of CHANGING MY MIND because YOU NEVER TELL ME ANYTHING. I found out from Kate that security has, in fact, been stepped up for all the Greys, not just us. I think you generally overreact where my safety is concerned, and I understand why, but you’re like the boy crying wolf.
I never have a clue about what is a real concern or merely something that is perceived as a concern by you. I had two of the security detail with me. I thought both Kate and I would be safe. Fact is, we were safer in that bar than at the apartment. Had I been FULLY INFORMED of the situation, I would have taken a different course of action.
I understand your concerns are something to do with material that was on Jack’s computer here—or so Kate believes. Do you know how annoying it is to find out my best friend knows more about what’s going on with you than I do? And I am your WIFE. So are you going to tell me? Or will you continue to treat me like a child, guaranteeing that I continue to behave like one?
You are not the only one who is fucking pissed. Okay?
Ana
    Anastasia Grey
Commissioning Editor, SIP
    I hit send. There—stick that in your pipe and smoke it, Grey. I take a deep breath. I have worked myself up into quite a rage. Here was I feeling sorry and guilty for behaving badly. Well, no longer.

    From: Christian Grey
    Subject: Here’s the thing . . .
    Date: August 26, 2011 13:59
    To: Anastasia Grey
    As ever, Mrs. Grey, you are forthright and challenging in e-mail.
Perhaps we can discuss this when you get home to OUR apartment.
You should watch your language. I am still fucking pissed, too.
    Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
    Watch my language! I scowl at my computer, realizing this is getting me nowhere. I don’t respond, but pick up a manuscript recently received from a promising new author and begin to read.
    My meeting with Detective Clark is uneventful. He is less growly than the night before, maybe because he’s managed some sleep. Or maybe he just prefers working during the day.
    “Thank you for your statement, Mrs. Grey.”
    “You’re welcome, detective. Is Hyde in police custody yet?”
    “Yes ma’am. He was released from hospital earlier this morning. With what he’s charged with, he should be with us for a while.” He smiles, his dark eyes crinkling in the corner.
    “Good. This has been an anxious time for my husband and me.”
    “I spoke at length with Mr. Grey this morning. He’s very relieved. Interesting man, your husband.”
    You have no idea .
    “Yes, I think so.” I offer him a polite smile, and he knows he’s being dismissed.
    “If you think of anything, you can call me. Here’s my card.” He wrestles a card out of his wallet and hands it to me.
    “Thank you, detective. I’ll do that.”
    “Good day to you, Mrs. Grey.”
    “Good day.”
    As he leaves, I wonder exactly what Hyde has been charged with. No doubt Christian won’t tell me. I purse my lips.
    We ride in silence to Escala. Sawyer is driving this time, Prescott at his side, and my heart grows heavier and heavier as we head back. I know Christian and I are going to have an almighty fight, and I don’t know if I have the energy.
    As I ride in the elevator from the garage with Prescott beside me, I try to marshal my thoughts. What do I want to say? I think I said it all in my e-mail. Perhaps he’ll give me some answers. I hope so. I can’t help my nerves. My heart is pounding, my mouth is dry, and my palms are sweaty. I don’t want to fight. But sometimes he’s so difficult, and I need to stand my ground.
    The elevator doors slide open, revealing the foyer, and it’s once more neat and tidy. The table is upright and a new vase is in place with a gorgeous array of pale pink and white peonies. I quickly check the paintings as we wander through—the Madonnas all look to be intact. The broken foyer door is fixed and