Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian

Chapter 118

She frowns.

“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,” she mumbles, sounding bewildered.

I lean over the desk, staring straight into her dazed baby blues. “Love doing business with you, Mrs.

Grey.” She doesn’t move, and I plant a soft kiss on her lips. “Laters, baby,” I whisper, then turn and

leave.

Outside SIP, I sink into the plush leather in the back of the waiting Audi and ask Ryan to take me back

to Grey House.

Thank heavens.

My relief is proportionate to the anxiety I felt before I went into the building. It appears my wife can be

reasonable. I reach for my phone to send her an e-mail, and find that she’s beaten me to it.

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.

Editor, SIP

Overbearing megalomaniac, eh?

My wife has a way with words.

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.

In a calmer frame of mind, I head back to my office. I need lunch.

Throughout the afternoon, I check my e-mails to see if she’s responded. She hasn’t, and I presume

that’s the end of it, I hope.

Later, I’m sitting in the car waiting for Ana outside SIP. Ryan is tapping his index fingers on the steering All content © N/.ôvel/Dr/ama.Org.

wheel, and it’s driving me crazy.

For fuck’s sake.

Taylor will be back this evening, so I’m endeavoring to keep my cool. I keep glancing toward the door to

see if Ana is on her way. According to my watch, it’s 5:35, precisely. She’s five minutes late. We have a

meeting with Gia later; I hope Ana hasn’t forgotten.

Where is she?

Sawyer appears, holding the office door open for Ana. Ryan gets out and strolls around the car to the

rear passenger door.

What’s he playing at?

Head down, Ana walks briskly toward us, followed by Sawyer, who heads to the driver’s seat while Ana

climbs into the car. Ryan takes the passenger seat.

“Hi,” she says, avoiding eye contact.

“Hi.”

“Disrupt anyone else’s work today?” Her tone is frostier than an arctic night.

“Only Flynn’s.”

Her eyes flick to me in surprise, but she looks ahead. “Next time you go to see him, I’ll give you a list of

topics I want covered.” She’s bristling like a feral kitten beside me.

She’s still mad.

I clear my throat. “You seem out of sorts, Mrs. Grey.”

She doesn’t answer. She just stares ahead, ignoring me. I shuffle a little closer and reach for her hand.

“Hey,” I whisper. But she snatches her hand out of mine. “You’re mad at me?”

“Yes,” she spits, and folds her arms, turning away from me and staring through the window.

Damn.

Seattle streams past my window, and I stare out, unseeing, feeling miserable and out of my depth. I

thought we’d resolved this.

Sawyer stops outside Escala, and Ana grabs her briefcase and is out of the car before any of us are

ready.

“Ana!” I call.

“I’ve got this,” Ryan says, and scoots out in pursuit.

Not waiting for Sawyer to open my door, I scramble out after them, in time to watch Ana stomp into the

building with Ryan at her heels.

I’m right behind them when he dashes ahead to reach the elevator before her, to press the call button.

“What?” she snaps at him.

He flushes, shocked, I think, by her tone. “Apologies, ma’am,” he says. He steps back when I join them.

“So, it’s not just me you’re mad at?” I observe, wryly.

“Are you laughing at me?” she seethes, her eyes narrowing.

“I wouldn’t dare.” I hold my hands up in surrender. I am no match for my wife’s bad mood.

“You need a haircut.” She scowls as she steps into the elevator.

“Do I?” Taking my life in my hands and brushing my hair off my forehead, I follow her in.

“Yes.” She stabs the code for our floor into the keypad.

“So, you’re talking to me now?”

“Just.”

“What exactly are you mad about? I need an indication.” So I’m sure.

She stares at me, horrified. “Do you really have no idea? Surely, for someone so bright, you must have

an inkling? I can’t believe you’re that obtuse.”

Wow.

I take a step back. “You really are mad. I thought we had sorted all this in your office.”

“Christian, I just capitulated to your petulant demands. That’s all.”

I have no answer to that.

The elevator doors open and Ana storms out. “Hi, Taylor,” I hear her say.

I follow her into the foyer. “Mrs. Grey,” Taylor says, and glances at me with raised eyebrows. She

dumps her briefcase in the hallway.

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