Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian

Chapter 177

Was this Leila’s plan all along?

She knew that if she accosted my wife, then I would come running.

I’m playing into her hands, but I don’t give a fuck.

After an agonizing journey, Taylor pulls up outside SIP and I’m out of the car as soon as he stops at the

curb. I don’t bother with reception, but head straight through the double doors toward Ana’s office. At Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

her desk, Hannah looks up. I ignore her, too.

“Mr. G-Grey—”

I burst into Ana’s office, so forcefully that a few papers fall to the floor, amplifying the room’s emptiness.

Shit.

Feeling like a complete idiot, I turn around and glare at Hannah. “Where is she?” I snap, trying not to

lose it. She pales and points toward the opposite end of the open-plan floor.

“In the meeting room. I-I’ll take you.”

“I’ll manage, thank you.” Scowling at her, my tone glacial and clipped, I blaze back in the direction I’ve

come from, a storm cloud about to burst. I have to remind myself that it’s not her fault. Ignoring the

curious glances from the staff at their desks, I pass by the double doors to reception. They open, and

Taylor stalks through to join me, but beyond him I catch a glimpse of Susannah Shaw sitting on one of

the Chesterfields in the waiting area.

What the hell?

Are all my ex-submissives here?

She’s reading a magazine, so she doesn’t see me.

I haven’t got time for this.

I spot Leila through the glass wall of the conference room. Without knocking, I barge in and am met by

three surprised pairs of eyes. Ana stares at me in shock, then fury. Leila’s eyes widen, but she drops

her gaze to the table, as she should. Prescott stares ahead. My first response is relief that Ana is

unharmed, but it’s swiftly swept aside by my anger.

“You,” I address Prescott. “You’re fired. Get out now.” Prescott nods—resigned, I think—and makes her

way around the table to leave.

Ana gapes at me. “Christian—” She pushes her chair back, and I know she’s going to stand up and

berate me. I hold a finger up in warning.

“Don’t.” I keep my voice low while I struggle to contain my fury. Prescott, her face expressionless, walks

past me out of the room. Shutting the door behind her, I turn to confront Leila.

She looks as I remember when she was with me: healthy and well adjusted. It’s a relief to see her

looking like her old self, and I’d tell her that, if I wasn’t so fucking angry with her right now. Splaying my

fingers onto the cool surface of the polished wood, I lean forward, tension tightening every muscle in

my body, and snarl, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Christian!” Ana exclaims, shocked, I think, but I ignore her and concentrate my attention on Miss Leila

Williams.

“Well?” I demand.

Leila’s eyes dart to mine, her face slowly draining of color. “I wanted to see you, and you wouldn’t let

me,” she whispers.

“So you came here to harass my wife?”

Leila examines the tabletop again.

Well, I’m here now. You got what you wanted.

I’m mad that I’ve been played, but more livid that she’s here with Ana.

“Leila, if you come anywhere near my wife again, I will cut off all support. Doctors, art school, medical

insurance—all of it—gone. Do you understand?”

“Christian!” Ana tries to interject. She looks distraught, but right now I don’t give a shit, and I silence her

with a look.

“Yes,” Leila says, her voice almost inaudible.

“What’s Susannah doing in reception?”

“She came with me.”

I stand upright and run a hand through my hair.

What am I going to do with her?

“Christian, please,” Ana interjects again. “Leila just wants to say thank you. That’s all.”

Ignoring Ana, I direct a question at Leila. “Did you stay with Susannah while you were sick?”

“Yes.”

“Did she know what you were doing while you were staying with her?”

“No. She was away on vacation.”

I can’t imagine that Susannah would have stood by and let Leila lose her mind. She always struck me

as a caring and considerate person.

I sigh. “Why do you need to see me? You know you should send any requests through Flynn. Do you

need something?”

Leila traces her finger along the edge of the table and the silence fills the room. Abruptly, she looks up.

“I had to know,” she declares, looking directly at me.

“Had to know what?”

“That you’re okay.”

What the fuck? “That I’m okay?” I don’t believe her.

“Yes.” She’s not backing down.

“I’m fine. There, question answered. Now Taylor will run you to Sea-Tac so you can go back to the East

Coast. And if you take one step west of the Mississippi, it’s all gone. Understand?”

“Yes. I understand,” Leila says quietly, her expression finally contrite. It goes a long way to calming me.

“Good,” I mutter.

“It might not be convenient for Leila to go back now. She has plans,” Ana intervenes again.

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