Текст книги "Fifty Shades Freed"

Автор книги: Erika Leonard James

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“It’s better, thank you.”

He smiles. “Very good, Mrs. Grey. You ready to face Gia again?”

Oh crap. I’d forgotten we were seeing her this evening to go over the final plans. I roll my eyes. “I might want to keep you out of the way, keep you safe.” I

smirk.

“Protecting me?” Christian is laughing at me.

“As ever, Mr. Grey. From all sexual predators,” I whisper.

Christian is brushing his teeth when I crawl into bed. Tomorrow we go back to reality—back to work, the paparazzi, and to Jack in custody but with the possibility

that he has an accomplice. Hmm . . . Christian was vague about that. Does he know? And if he did know, would he tell me? I sigh. Getting information out of

Christian is like pulling teeth, and we’ve had such a lovely weekend. Do I want to ruin the feel-good moment by trying to drag the information out of him?

It’s been a revelation to see him out of his normal environment, outside this apartment, relaxed and happy with his family. I wonder vaguely if it’s because we’re

here in this apartment with all its memories and associations that he gets wound up. Maybe we should move.

I snort. We are moving—we’re having a huge house refurbished on the coast. Gia’s plans are complete and approved, and Elliot’s team starts building next week.

I chuckle as I recall Gia’s shocked expression when I told her that I’d seen her in Aspen. Turns out it was nothing but co-incidence. She’d camped out at her

holiday place to work solely on our plans. For one awful moment I’d thought she’d had a hand in choosing the ring, but apparently not. But I still don’t trust Gia. I

want to hear the same story from Elliot. At least she kept her distance from Christian this time.

I look out at the night sky. I will miss this view. This panoramic vista . . . Seattle at our feet, so full of possibilities, yet so far removed. Maybe that’s Christian’s

problem—he’s been too isolated from real life for too long, thanks to his self-imposed exile. Yet with his family around him, he is less controlling, less anxious—

freer, happier. I wonder what Flynn would make of all that. Holy crap! Maybe that’s the answer. Maybe he needs his own family. I shake my head in denial—

we’re too young, too new to all this. Christian strides into the room, looking his usual gorgeous but pensive self.

“Everything okay?” I askHe nods distractedly as he climbs into bed.

“I’m not looking forward to going back to reality,” I murmur.

“No?”

I shake my head and caress his lovely face. “I had a wonderful weekend. Thank you.”

He smiles softly. “You’re my reality, Ana,” he murmurs and kisses me.

“Do you miss it?”

“Miss what?” he asks, perplexed.

“You know. The caning . . . and stuff,” I whisper, embarrassed.

He stares at me, his gaze impassive. Then doubt crosses his face, his where-is-she-going-with-this look.

“No Anastasia, I don’t.” His voice is steady and quiet. He caresses my cheek. “Dr. Flynn said something to me when you left, something that’s stayed with me.

He said I couldn’t be that way if you weren’t so inclined. It was a revelation.” He stops, and frowns. “I didn’t know any other way, Ana. Now I do. It’s been

educational.”

“Me, educate you?” I scoff.

His eyes soften. “Do you miss it?” he asks.

Oh! “I don’t want you to hurt me, but I like to play, Christian. You know that. If you wanted to do something . . .” I shrug, gazing at him.

“Something?”

“You know, with a flogger or your crop—” I stop, blushing.

He raises his brow, surprised. “Well . . . we’ll see. Right now, I’d like some good old-fashioned vanilla.” His thumb skirts my bottom lip, and he kisses me once

more.

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: Good Morning

Date: August 29, 2011 09:14

To: Christian Grey

Mr. Grey

I just wanted to tell you that I love you.

That is all.

Yours Always

A x

Anastasia Grey

Commissioning Editor, SIP

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Banishing Monday Blues

Date: August 29, 2011 09:18

To: Anastasia Grey

Mrs. Grey

What gratifying words to hear from one’s wife (errant or not) on a Monday morning.

Let me assure you that I feel exactly the same way.

Sorry about the dinner this evening. I hope it won’t be too tedious for you.

x

Christian Grey,

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Oh yes. The American Shipbuilding Association dinner. I roll my eyes . . . More stuffed shirts. Christian really does take me to the most fascinating functions.

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: Ships that pass in the night

Date: August 29, 2011 09:26

To: Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey

I am sure you can think of a way to spice up the dinner . . .

Yours in anticipation

Mrs. G. x

Anastasia (non-errant) Grey

Commissioning Editor, SIP

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Variety is the Spice of Life

Date: August 29, 2011 09:35

To: Anastasia Grey

Mrs. Grey

I have a few ideas . . .

x

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Now Impatient for the ASA Dinner Inc.

All the muscles in my belly clench. Hmm . . . I wonder what he’ll dream up. Hannah knocks on the door, interrupting my reverie.

“Ready to go through your schedule for this week, Ana?”

“Sure. Sit.” I smile, recovering my equilibrium, and minimize my e-mail program. “I’ve had to move a couple of appointments. Mr. Fox next week and Dr.—”

My phone rings, interrupting her. It’s Roach. He asks me up to his office.

“Can we pick this up in twenty minutes?”

“Of course.”

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Last night

Date: August 30, 2011 09:24

To: Anastasia Grey

Was . . . fun.

Who would have thought the ASA annual dinner could be so stimulating?

As ever, you never disappoint, Mrs. Grey.

I love you.

x

Christian Grey

Christian Grey

In awe, CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: I love a good ball game . . .

Date: August 30, 2011 09:33

To: Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey

I have missed the silver balls.

You never disappoint.

That is all.

Mrs. G. x

Anastasia Grey

Commissioning Editor, SIP

Hannah taps on my door, interrupting my erotic thoughts of the previous evening. Christian’s hands . . . his mouth.

“Come in.”

“Ana, Mr. Roach’s PA just called. He’d like you to attend a meeting this morning. It means I have to move some of your appointments again. Is that okay.”

His tongue.

“Sure. Yes,” I mutter trying to halt my wayward thoughts. She grins and ducks out of my office . . . leaving me with my delicious memory of last night.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Hyde

Date: September 1, 2011 15:24

To: Anastasia Grey

Anastasia

For your information, Hyde has been refused bail and remanded in custody. He’s charged with attempted kidnap and arson. As yet no date has been set for the trial.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: Hyde

Date: September 1, 2011 15:53

To: Christian Grey

That’s good news.

Does this mean you’ll lighten up on security?

I really don’t see eye to eye with Prescott.

Ana x

Anastasia Grey

Commissioning Editor, SIP

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Hyde

Date: September 1, 2011 15:59

To: Anastasia Grey

No. Security will remain in place. No arguments.

What’s wrong with Prescott? If you don’t like her, we’ll replace her.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

I scowl at his high-handed e-mail. Prescott isn’t that bad.

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: Keep your hair on!

Date: September 1, 2011 16:03

To: Christian Grey

I was just asking (rolls eyes). And I’ll think about Prescott.

Stow that twitchy palm!

Ana x

Anastasia Grey

Commissioning Editor, SIP

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Don’t tempt me.

Date: September 1, 2011 16:11

To: Anastasia Grey

I can assure you, Mrs. Grey, that my hair is very firmly attached—has this not been demonstrated often enough by your good self?

I can assure you, Mrs. Grey, that my hair is very firmly attached—has this not been demonstrated often enough by your good self?

My palm, however, is twitching.

I might do something about that tonight.

x

Christian Grey

Not bald yet CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: Squirm

Date: September 1, 2011 16:20

To: Christian Grey

Promises, promises . . .

Now stop pestering me. I am trying to work; I have an impromptu meeting with an author. Will try not to be distracted by thoughts of you during the meeting.

A x

Anastasia Grey

Commissioning Editor, SIP

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: Sailing & Soaring & Spanking

Date: September 5, 2011 09:18

To: Christian Grey

Husband

You sure know how to show a girl a good time.

I shall of course be expecting this kind of treatment every weekend.

You are spoiling me. I love it.

Your wife

xox

Anastasia Grey

Commissioning Editor, SIP

From: Christian Grey

Subject: My Life’s Mission . . .

Date: September 5, 2011 09:25

To: Anastasia Grey

Is to spoil you, Mrs. Grey.

And keep you safe because I love you.

Christian Grey

Smitten CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Oh my. Could he be any more romantic?

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: My Life’s Mission . . .

Date: September 5, 2011 09:33

To: Christian Grey

Is to let you—because I love you, too.

Now stop being so sappy.

You are making me cry.

Anastasia Grey

Equally Smitten Commissioning Editor, SIP

The following day, I gaze at the calendar on my desk. Only five days until September 10—my birthday. I know we are driving out to the house to see how Elliot

and his crew are progressing. Hmm . . . I wonder if Christian has any other plans? I smile at the thought. Hannah taps on my door.

“Come in.”

Prescott is hovering outside. Odd . . .

“Hi, Ana,” says Hannah. “There’s a Leila Williams here to see you? She says it’s personal.”

“Leila Williams? I don’t know a . . .” My mouth goes dry, and Hannah’s eyes widen at my expression.

Leila? Fuck. What does she want?

“Do you want me to send her away?” Hannah asks, alarmed at my expression.

“Um, no. Where is she?”

“In reception. She’s not alone. She’s accompanied by another young woman.”

Oh!

“And Miss Prescott wants to talk to you,” Hannah adds.

I’m sure she does. “Send her in.”

Hannah stands aside, and Prescott enters my office. She’s on a mission, bristling with professional efficiency.

“Give me a moment, Hannah. Prescott, take a seat.”

Hannah closes the door, leaving Prescott and me alone.

“Mrs. Grey, Leila Williams is on your proscribed list of visitors.”

“What?” I have a proscribed list?

“On our watch list, ma’am. Taylor and Welch have been quite specific about not letting her come into contact with you.”

I frown, not understanding. “Is she dangerous?”

“I can’t say, ma’am.”

“Why do I even know that she’s here?”

Prescott swallows and for a moment looks awkward. “I was on a restroom break. She came in, spoke directly to Claire, and Claire called Hannah.”

“Oh. I see.” I realize that even Prescott has to pee, and I laugh. “Oh dear.”

“Yes ma’am.” Prescott gives me an embarrassed grin, and it’s the first time I’ve seen a chink in her armor. She has a lovely smile.

“I need to talk to Claire about protocol, again,” she says, her tone weary.

“Sure. Does Taylor know she’s here?” I cross my fingers unconsciously, hoping she hasn’t told Christian.

“I left a brief voice message for him.”

Oh. “Then I only have a short time. I’d like to know what she wants.”

Prescott gazes at me for a moment. “I must advise against it, ma’am.”

“She’s here to see me for a reason.”

“I’m supposed to prevent that, ma’am.” Her voice is soft but resigned.

“I really want to hear what she has to say.” My tone is more forceful than I intend.

Prescott stifles her sigh. “I’d like to search them both before you do.”

“Okay. Can you do that?”

“I’m here to protect you, Mrs. Grey, so yes, I can. I’d also like to stay with you while you talk.”

“Okay.” I’ll grant her this concession. Besides, last time I met Leila, she was armed. “Go ahead.”

Prescott rises.

“Hannah,” I call.

Hannah opens the door too quickly. She must have been hovering outside.

“Can you check to see if the meeting room is free, please?”

“I already have, and it’s good to go.”

“Prescott, can you search them in there? Is it private enough?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes, then. Hannah, show Leila Williams and whomever she’s with into the meeting room.”

“Will do.” Hannah looks anxiously from Prescott to me. “Shall I cancel your next meeting? It’s at four, but it’s across town.”

“Yes,” I murmur, distracted. Hannah nods then leaves.

What the hell does Leila want? I don’t think she’s here to do me any harm. She didn’t in the past when she had the opportunity. Christian is going to go nuts. My

subconscious purses her lips, primly crosses her legs, and nods. I need to tell him that I am doing this. I type a quick e-mail, then pause, checking the time. I feel a

momentary pang of regret. We’ve been getting along so well since Aspen. I press send.

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: Visitors

Date: September 6, 2011 15:27

To: Christian Grey

Christian

Leila is here to see me. I will see her with Prescott.

I’ll use my newly acquired slapping skills with my now healed hand, should I need to.

Try, and I mean try, not to worry.

I am a big girl.

Will call once we’ve spoken.

A x

Anastasia Grey

Commissioning Editor, SIP

Hurriedly, I hide my BlackBerry in my desk drawer. I stand, smoothing my gray pencil skirt over my hips, pinch my cheeks to give them some color, and undo

the next button on my gray silk blouse. Okay, I’m ready. After taking a deep breath, I head out of my office to meet the infamous Leila ignoring “Your Love is

King” humming gently from inside my desk.

Leila looks much better. More than better—she’s very attractive. There’s a rosy bloom to her cheeks, and her brown eyes are bright, her hair clean and shiny.

She’s dressed in a pale pink blouse and white pants. She stands as soon as I enter the meeting room, as does her friend—another dark-haired young woman with

soft brown eyes, the color of brandy. Prescott hovers in the corner, not taking her eyes off Leila.

“Mrs. Grey, thank you so much for seeing me.” Leila’s voice is soft but clear.

“Um . . . Sorry about the security,” I mutter because I cannot think what else to say. I wave a hand distractedly at Prescott.

“This is my friend, Susi.”

“Hi.” I nod at Susi. She looks like Leila. She looks like me. Oh, no. Another one.

“Yes,” Leila says, as if reading my thoughts. “Susi knows Mr. Grey, too.”

What the hell am I supposed to say to that? I give her a polite smile.

“Please, sit,” I murmur.

There’s a knock on the door. It’s Hannah. I motion her in, knowing full well why she’s disturbing us.

“Sorry to interrupt, Ana. I have Mr. Grey on the line?”

“Tell him I’m busy.”

“He was quite insistent,” she says fearfully.

“I am sure he was. Would you apologize to him, and say I’ll call him back very shortly?”

Hannah hesitates.

“Hannah, please.”

She nods and scurries out of the room. I turn back to the two women sitting in front of me. They are both staring at me in awe. It’s uncomfortable.

“What can I do for you?” I ask.

Susi speaks. “I know this is all kinds of weird, but I wanted to meet you, too. The woman who captured Chris—”

I hold up my hand, stopping her in mid-sentence. I do not want to hear this. “Um . . . I get the picture,” I mutter.

“We call ourselves the sub club.” She grins at me, her eyes shining with mirth.

Oh my God.

Leila gasps and gapes at Susi, at once amused and appalled. Susi winces. I suspect Leila’s kicked her under the table.

What the hell am I supposed to say to that? I glance nervously at Prescott, who remains impassive, her eyes never leaving Leila.

Susi seems to remember herself. She blushes, then nods and stands. “I’ll wait in reception. This is Lulu’s show.” I can tell she’s embarrassed.

Lulu?

“You’ll be okay?” she asks Leila, who smiles up at her. Susi gives me a large, open, genuine smile and exits the room.

Susi and Christian . . . it’s not a thought I wish to dwell on. Prescott takes her phone out of her pocket and answers it. I didn’t hear it ring.

“Mr. Grey,” she says. Leila and I turn to look at her. Prescott closes her eyes as if in pain.

“Yes, sir,” she says, stepping forward, and hands me the phone.

I roll my eyes. “Christian,” I murmur, trying to contain my exasperation. I stand and stride briskly out of the room.

“What the fuck are you playing at?” he shouts. He’s seething.

“Don’t shout at me.”

“What do you mean don’t shout at you?” he shouts, louder this time. “I gave specific instructions which you have completely disregarded—again. Hell, Ana, I

am fucking furious.”

“When you are calmer, we will talk about this.”

“Don’t you hang up on me,” he hisses.

“Good-bye, Christian.” I hang up and switch off Prescott’s phone.

Holy shit. I don’t have long with Leila. Taking a deep breath, I reenter the meeting room. Both Leila and Prescott look up at me expectantly, and I hand Prescott

her phone.

“Where were we?” I ask Leila as I sit back down opposite her. Her eyes widen slightly.

Yes. Apparently, I handle him, I want to say to her. But I don’t think she wants to hear that.

Leila fiddles nervously with the ends of her hair. “First, I wanted to apologize,” she says softly.

Oh . . .

She glances up and registers my surprise. “Yes,” she says quickly. “And to thank you for not pressing charges. You know—for your car and in your apartment.”

“I know you weren’t . . . um, well,” I murmur, reeling. I hadn’t expected an apology.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You’re feeling better now?” I ask gently.

“Much. Thank you.”

“Does your doctor know you’re here?”

She shakes her head.

Oh.

She looks suitably guilty. “I know I’ll have to deal with the fallout for this later. But I had to get some things, and I wanted to see Susi, and you, and . . . Mr.

Grey.”

“You want to see Christian?” My stomach free-falls to the floor. That’s why she’s here.

“Yes. I wanted to ask you if that would be okay.”

Holy fuck. I gape at her, and I want to tell her that it’s not okay. I don’t want her anywhere near my husband. Why is she here? To assess the opposition? To

unsettle me? Or perhaps she needs this as some sort of closure?

“Leila.” I flounder, exasperated. “It’s not up to me, it’s up to Christian. You’ll need to ask him. He doesn’t need my permission. He’s a grown man . . . most of

the time.”

She gazes at me for a fraction of a beat as if surprised by my reaction then laughs softly, nervously twiddling the end of her hair.

“He’s repeatedly refused all my requests to see him,” she says quietly.

Oh shit. I’m in more trouble than I thought.

“Why is it so important for you to see him?” I ask gently.

“Why is it so important for you to see him?” I ask gently.

“To thank him. I’d be rotting in a stinking prison psychiatric facility if it wasn’t for him. I know that.” She glances down and runs her finger along the edge of the

table. “I suffered a serious psychotic episode, and without Mr. Grey and John—Dr. Flynn . . .” She shrugs and gazes at me once more, her face full of gratitude.

Once again I’m speechless. What does she expect me to say? Surely she should be saying these things to Christian, not me.

“And for art school. I can’t thank him enough for that.”

I knew it! Christian is funding her classes. I remain expressionless, tentatively exploring my feelings for this woman now that she’s confirmed my suspicions

about Christian’s generosity. To my surprise, I feel no ill will toward her. It’s a revelation, and I’m glad she’s better. Now, hopefully, she can move on with her life

and out of ours.

“Are you missing classes right now?” I ask, because I’m interested.

“Only two. I head home tomorrow.”

Oh good. “What are your plans, while you’re here?”

“Pick up my belongings from Susi, return to Hamden. Continue painting and learning. Mr. Grey already has a couple of my paintings.”

What the hell! My stomach plunges into the basement once more. Are they hanging in my living room? I bridle at the thought.

“What sort of painting do you do?”

“Abstracts, mainly.”

“I see.” My mind flits through the now-familiar paintings in the great room. Two by his ex-sub . . . possibly. Jeez.

“Mrs. Grey, can I speak frankly?” she asks, completely oblivious to my warring emotions.

“By all means,” I mutter, glancing at Prescott, who looks like she’s relaxed a little. Leila leans forward as if to impart a long-held secret.

“I loved Geoff, my boyfriend who died earlier this year.” Her voice drops to a sad whisper.

Holy shit, she’s getting personal.

“I’m so sorry,” I mutter automatically, but she continues as if she hasn’t heard me.

“I loved my husband . . . and one other,” she murmurs.

“My husband.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“Yes.” She mouths the word.

This is not news to me. When she lifts her brown eyes to mine, they are wide with conflicting emotions, and the overriding one seems to be apprehension . . . of

my reaction, perhaps? But my overwhelming response to this poor young woman is compassion. Mentally I run through all the classical literature I can think of that

deals with unrequited love. Swallowing hard, I clutch the moral high ground.

“I know. He’s very easy to love,” I whisper.

Her wide eyes widen further in surprise, and she smiles. “Yes. He is—was.” She corrects herself quickly and blushes. Then she giggles so sweetly that I can’t

help myself. I giggle, too. Yes, Christian Grey makes us giggly. My subconscious rolls her eyes at me in despair and goes back to reading her dog-eared copy of

Jane Eyre. I glance at my watch. Deep down I know Christian will be here soon.

“You’ll get your chance to see Christian.”

“I thought I would. I know how protective he can be.” She smiles.

So this is her scheme. She’s very shrewd. Or manipulative, whispers my subconscious. “This is why you’re here to see me?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” And Christian is playing right into her hands. Reluctantly, I have to acknowledge that she knows him well.

“He seemed very happy. With you,” she says.

What? “How would you know?”

“From when I was in the apartment.” She adds cautiously.

Oh hell . . . how could I forget that?

“Were you there often?”

“No. But he was very different with you.”

Do I want to hear this? A shudder runs through me. My scalp prickles as I recall my fear when she was the unseen shadow in our apartment.

“You know it’s against the law. Trespassing.”

She nods, gazing down at the table. She runs a fingernail along the edge. “It was only a few times, and I was lucky not to get caught. Again, I need to thank Mr.

Grey for that. He could have had me thrown in jail.”

“I don’t think he’d do that,” I murmur.

Suddenly there is a flurry of activity outside the meeting room, and instinctively I know that Christian is in the building. A moment later he bursts through the

door, and before he closes it, I catch Taylor’s eye as he stands patiently outside. Taylor’s mouth is set in a grim line, and he doesn’t return my tight smile. Oh hell,

even he’s mad at me.

Christian’s burning gray gaze pins first me then Leila to our chairs. His demeanor is quietly determined, but I know better, and I suspect Leila does, too. The

menacing cool glint in his eyes reveals the truth—he’s emanating rage, though he hides it well. In his gray suit, with his dark tie loosened and the top button of his

white shirt undone, he looks at once businesslike and casual . . . and hot. His hair is in disarray—no doubt because he’s been running his hands through it in

exasperation.

Leila looks nervously down at the edge of the table, running her index finger along the edge again as Christian looks from me to her and then to Prescott.

“You,” he says to Prescott in a soft tone. “You’re fired. Get out now.”

I blanch. Oh no—this isn’t fair.

“Christian—” I make to stand up.

He holds his index finger up at me in warning. “Don’t,” he says. His voice so ominously quiet that I’m immediately silenced and rooted to my seat. Bowing her

head, Prescott walks briskly out of the room to join Taylor. Christian shuts the door behind her and walks to the edge of the table. Crap! Crap! Crap! That was my

fault. Christian stands opposite Leila, and placing both hands on the wooden surface, he leans forward.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he growls at her.

“Christian!” I gasp. He ignores me.

“Well?” he demands.

Leila peeks up at him through long lashes, her eyes wide, her face ashen, her rosy glow gone.

“I wanted to see you, and you wouldn’t let me,” she whispers.

“So you came here to harass my wife?” His voice is quiet. Too quiet.

Leila looks down at the table again.

He stands, glowering at her. “Leila, if you come anywhere near my wife again, I will cut off all support. Doctors, art school, medical insurance—all of it—gone.

He stands, glowering at her. “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—” I try again. But he silences me with a chilling look. Why is he being so unreasonable? My compassion for this sad woman blooms.

“Yes,” she says, her voice just audible.

“What’s Susannah doing in reception?”

“She came with me.”

He runs a hand through his hair, glaring at her.

“Christian, please,” I beg him. “Leila just wants to say thank you. That’s all.”

He ignores me, concentrating his wrath on 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.”

He strokes his index finger over his lower lip. “Why do you need to see me? You know you should send any requests through Flynn. Do you need something?”

His tone has softened, maybe by a fraction.

Leila runs her finger along the edge of the table again.

Stop bullying her, Christian!

“I had to know.” And for the first time she looks up directly at him.

“Had to know what?” he snaps.

“That you’re okay.”

He gapes at her. “That I’m okay?” he scoffs, disbelieving.

“Yes.”

“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?”

Holy fuck . . . Christian! I gape at him. What the fuck is eating him? He cannot confine her to one side of the country.

“Yes. I understand,” Leila says quietly.

“Good.” Christian’s tone is more conciliatory.

“It might not be convenient for Leila to go back now. She has plans,” I object, outraged on her behalf.

Christian glares at me. “Anastasia,” he warns, his voice icy, “this does not concern you.”

I scowl at him. Of course it concerns me. She’s in my office. There must be more to this than I know. He’s not being rational.

Fifty Shades, my subconscious hisses at me.

“Leila came to see me, not you,” I murmur petulantly.

Leila turns to me, her eyes impossibly wide.

“I had my instructions, Mrs. Grey. I disobeyed them.” She glances nervously at my husband, then back at me.

“This is the Christian Grey I know,” she says, her tone sad and wistful. Christian frowns at her, while all the breath evaporates from my lungs. I can’t breathe.

Was Christian like this with her all the time? Was he like this with me, at first? I find it hard to remember. Giving me a forlorn smile, Leila rises from the table.

“I’d like to stay until tomorrow. My flight is at noon,” she says quietly to Christian.

“I’ll have someone collect you at ten to take you to the airport.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re at Susannah’s?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

I glare at Christian. He can’t dictate to her like this . . . and how does he know where Susannah lives?

“Good-bye, Mrs. Grey. Thank you for seeing me.”

I stand and hold out my hand. She takes it gratefully and we shake.

“Um . . . good-bye. Good luck,” I mutter, because I’m not sure what the protocol is for saying farewell to my husband’s ex-submissive.

She nods and turns to him. “Good-bye, Christian.”

Christian’s eyes soften a little. “Good-bye, Leila.” His is voice low. “Dr. Flynn, remember.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He opens the door to usher her out, but she halts in front of him and looks up. He stills, watching her warily.

“I’m glad you’re happy. You deserve to be,” she says and leaves before he can reply. He frowns after her, then nods to Taylor, who follows Leila toward the

reception area. Closing the door, Christian gazes uncertainly at me.

“Don’t even think about being angry with me,” I hiss. “Call Claude Bastille and kick the shit out of him or go see Flynn.”

His mouth drops open; he’s so surprised by my outburst, and his brow creases once more.

“You promised you wouldn’t do this.” Now his tone is accusatory.

“Do what?”

“Defy me.”

“No I didn’t. I said I’d be more considerate. I told you she was here. I had Prescott search her, and your other little friend, too. Prescott was with me the entire

time. Now you’ve fired the poor woman, when she was only doing what I asked. I told you not to worry, yet here you are. I don’t remember receiving your papal

bull decreeing that I couldn’t see Leila. I didn’t know that my visitors were subject to a proscribed list.” My voice rises with indignation as I warm to my cause.

Christian regards me, his expression unreadable. After a moment his mouth twists.

“Papal bull?” he says, amused, and he visibly relaxes. I wasn’t aiming to lighten our conversation, yet here he is smirking at me, and that makes me madder. The

exchange between him and his ex was painful to witness. How could he be so cold with her?

“What?” he asks, exasperated, as my face remains resolutely straight.

“You. Why were you so callous toward her?”

He sighs and shifts, stepping toward me and perching on the table.

“Anastasia,” he says as if to a child. “You don’t understand. Leila, Susannah—all of them—they were a pleasant, diverting pastime. But that’s all. You are the

center of my universe. And the last time you two were in a room together, she had you at gunpoint. I don’t want her anywhere near you.”

“But, Christian, she was ill.”

“I know that, and I know she’s better now, but I’m not giving her the benefit of the doubt anymore. What she did was unforgivable.”

“I know that, and I know she’s better now, but I’m not giving her the benefit of the doubt anymore. What she did was unforgivable.”

“But you’ve just played right into her hands. She wanted to see you again, and she knew you’d come running if she came to see me.”

Christian shrugs as if he doesn’t care. “I don’t want you tainted with my old life.”