Freed

by James, E L

Ana x

  Anastasia Grey

  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?

  My palm, however, is twitching.

  I might do something about that tonight.

  x

  Christian Grey

  Not Bald Yet CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

  I send a quick e-mail to Ros to bring signature copies for the Geolumara deal with her, and there’s another e-mail from my wife.

  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

  Editor, SIP

  There’s a knock on the door, and this time it’s Ros, twenty minutes late.

  “You look well.” Flynn motions me into his office.

  “I am, thank you.” I take my usual seat and wait patiently for him to take his. When he’s ready, he gives me his expectant look.

  “So, what’s occurring?” he asks.

  I fill him in on the week’s events, starting with my rushed flight back from New York. Hiding my amusement, I watch his eyebrows ascend farther up his forehead as my tale unfolds.

  “That’s it?” he asks, when I finish.

  “More or less.”

  “So, let me get this straight. You canceled two important meetings to fly home to check on Anastasia, because you were angry with her that she hadn’t followed your instructions, only to find this Hyde character had broken into your apartment to kidnap your wife.”

  “In a nutshell. Yes.”

  “She safe-words on you, and that’s never happened before—I don’t want to know the details, unless you really feel a need to tell me—but you resolve your differences, and following that, you have a nightmare that she dies.”

  I nod, trying to dampen my sudden anxiety as I remember fragments of my dream.

  “Anything else?”

  “I took her to Aspen with some friends. I punched a guy’s lights out because he touched her. And this afternoon Hyde was refused bail. And I got a text from Leila.”

  He closes his eyes, and I don’t know if it’s because he can’t believe what he’s just heard, or because he’s collecting his thoughts, or because he’s pissed at Leila.

  “Christian, that’s a hell of a lot to take on board. I’m surprised you’re not more stressed.”

  “Yes. You’d think. But my stress has been tempered by something altogether unfamiliar and frankly alarming.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. Something you alluded to in our last couple of meetings.”

  “Go on,” Flynn prompts.

  “I have a general and creeping sense of happiness. It’s quite unsettling.”

  “Ah. I see.”

  “You do?”

  “It’s obvious. To me anyway.” His expression, frustratingly, gives nothing away.

  “Please. Enlighten me.”

  “Well, I would hazard a guess that Jack Hyde’s kidnap attempt and his subsequent incarceration have justified your feelings about Ana’s security, but the threat he posed has now been eliminated. So, you’ve been able to let down your guard. Ana’s safe.”

  Ah! Makes sense.

  “But I would also say this is not a new phenomenon. You’ve experienced a great deal of happiness over the last few months. Your engagement. The wedding. The honeymoon. We’ve talked about this before. You have a tendency to focus on the end result and not the journey to get there. You were focused on getting married and anxious that wouldn’t happen. Yet it did.” He pauses, I imagine for emphasis. “Christian, you are the master of your own happiness. I imagine that in your subconscious you don’t think you deserve to be happy. But let me set you right on that. You do. You are allowed to be happy. After all, it’s an unalienable right written into your constitution.”

  “I think you’ll find it’s the pursuit of happiness that’s enshrined in the Constitution.”

  “Hmm…semantics. But what I’m reading into this situation is that you hold the key to your happiness. You’re in control. You just need to let it in. And not deliberately put obstacles in its way.”

  I glance down at the mini orchids on his coffee table. “Can I?” The words are out before I realize I’ve said them out loud.

  “Can you what?”

  “Let it in.”

  “That’s entirely up to you.”

  “But what if she leaves?”

  He sighs. “There are no certainties in life except death and taxes. Everyone runs the risk of being hurt; you know this. You’ve had more than your fair share of that as a child. But you’re not a child anymore. Give yourself permission to enjoy your life and your wife.”

  Is it as simple as that?

  “Now. Leila,” he says, and I know we’ve moved on.

  Monday, September 5, 2011

  Taylor pulls away from the curb as I watch Ana and Prescott disappear into SIP. My uneasy sense of bliss lingers. We’ve had an amazing weekend…more fun and frolics with Mrs. Grey. This is what I’ve been missing from my life.

  “Sir.” Taylor distracts me from my happy place.

  “Yes?”

  “The R8 Spyder for Mrs. Grey will be ready at the end of the week.”

  “Excellent. Thanks.”

  His gaze does not leave mine in the rearview mirror.

  “What?”

  “Gail has a suggestion for you, with regard to Mrs. Grey’s birthday.”

  “Oh?” I wait for him to tell me more, but he continues to drive. “Are you going to tell me?”

  His eyes flick back to mine in the rearview mirror, and in them I see a silent plea. He doesn’t want to rain on her parade.

  “I’ll talk to her.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  My phone buzzes.

  ELLIOT

  It begins!

  He’s attached a photograph of his team taking down one of the rear walls of our house on the coast. It’s a dramatic shot: blue skies, a gaping hole in a wall, clouds of brick dust, and five hulking men in yellow hard hats wielding sledgehammers.

  Whoa! Leave some of it standing!

  ELLIOT

  Don’t get your panties in a wad.

  We’re following the plans.

  I’d expect no less. Good luck.

  In the elevator at Grey House, I check my e-mails.

  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

  Editor, SIP

  At my desk, I respond.

  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.

  Smitten doesn’t cover it. I want to do something special for her birthday,
and I wonder what Mrs. Jones has in mind. I’ll talk to her this evening. In the meantime, I’d like to get Ana something other than the car…a gift that requires a little more creative thought.

  As I sip my coffee, an idea slowly forms in my mind.

  Something to celebrate all our firsts.

  When I finish my coffee, her response is in my inbox.

  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 Editor, SIP

  I grin. We’re both smitten.

  Tuesday, September 6, 2011

  Astoria Fine Jewelry has outdone itself. My lunchtime quest was a success, and I’m delighted with the gift I’ve bought for Ana. I hope she likes it, too. Glancing at her beautiful face on my office wall, I admire her secret smile as she peers down at me, but as ever, she gives nothing away.

  Lord, she is lovely.

  I find myself grinning at her portrait like the lovesick fool I am.

  A man in love with his wife.

  Get a grip, Grey.

  My plans for Ana’s birthday are falling into place. Mrs. Jones has volunteered to cook a surprise dinner party for Ana, and I’m waiting to hear if all our guests can make it. I’ve offered to send the jet to collect Carla and Bob, Ray is on, and my siblings have both said yes, but I’ve yet to hear from my folks. Ana knows nothing of this, and the event will be the first surprise party I’ve ever organized. I remember, when I bought my apartment pre-construction, how the real estate agent had waxed lyrical about the expansive entertainment space within. I never thought I’d actually get to use it. That wasn’t my life. And now, two years later, I’m hosting a party.

  For my wife. Who knew.

  It should be fun.

  Perhaps we could take everyone to see the new house on Sunday after lunch and check out how Elliot and his team are doing. Or perhaps we could go before, just Ana and me. Maybe on Friday. I check my schedule, but I’m interrupted by a text from Taylor, and a nanosecond later, an e-mail from Ana. I open the e-mail first.

  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

  Editor, SIP

  What!

  Leila?

  Fuck!

  I dial Ana’s number immediately.

  No fucking way is she meeting with Leila.

  The phone rings and rings, ignored by Ana, and my blood pressure climbs with each unanswered chime until it reaches a dizzying height. Eventually her voice mail kicks in, asking me to leave a message. I hang up, not trusting myself to speak.

  Hell.

  I check Taylor’s text.

  TAYLOR

  Mrs. Grey is meeting with Leila Williams.

  Prescott is attending the meeting.

  I’m heading to the car.

  Prescott must have told him. “Andrea!” My bellow practically shakes the window behind me. I text Taylor back.

  You going to SIP?

  Andrea doesn’t bother to knock and comes barreling into my office.

  “Mr. Grey?”

  “Get me Ana’s assistant on the line. Now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  What the hell is Leila playing at? She knows this is forbidden. And as for Prescott—Leila is on the watch list, she knows this is prohibited.

  My office phone buzzes and Andrea puts Hannah through.

  “Mr. Grey, good afternoon.” Hannah sounds irritatingly cheery.

  “I need to speak to my wife. Now.” I am not in the mood for pleasantries.

  “Oh. Um. I’m afraid she’s in a meeting.”

  I’m going to have a coronary. “I’m fully aware of that. Get her out of the meeting.”

  “Um. I’m not—”

  “Do it, now, or you’re fired,” I seethe through gritted teeth.

  “Yes, sir,” she squeaks, and the phone clatters to her desk, the noise an assault on my eardrum.

  Shit.

  I’m left hanging. Waiting once more for Anastasia Stee—Grey.

  My fingers drum a frantic tattoo on my desk.

  Perhaps I should just get up and go.

  That’s absurd.

  Did John speak to Leila?

  My BlackBerry buzzes.

  TAYLOR

  I’m in the car. Outside.

  Wait for me.

  TAYLOR

  Copy.

  I don’t understand what Prescott is playing at. How did she let this happen?

  The phone scrapes along the desk and is dropped back onto the hard surface, the noise deafening again.

  Fucking hell. Hannah is clumsy!

  “Um. M-Mr. Grey?”

  “Yes.” The word hisses out at her in frustration.

  Get on with it!

  “Ana says she’s sorry, but she’s b-busy and she’ll c-call you b-back shortly.”

  Jesus Christ. She’s a tongue-tied mess.

  “Fine,” I snap, and hang up.

  Shit. What to do?

  Prescott! Of course.

  Ana said Prescott would be in the meeting with her. She has a phone, though I don’t think I have her number. “Andrea!” I shout once more, and a moment later she’s in the doorway, her demeanor tentative. “Get me Prescott on her mobile.”

  Andrea looks momentarily baffled, and I think I’m going to explode.

  “Belinda Prescott, Ana’s security,” I snap. “Now!”

  “Ah, yes.” Andrea disappears.

  Don’t be an asshole, Grey.

  Taking a deep breath in an effort to calm myself, I get up and pace behind my desk, knowing it will be a moment before Andrea has Prescott’s number. I’m suffocated by my anxiety. Loosening my tie, I undo my top button to ameliorate the situation. But an image of Leila—bedraggled and destitute, holding a gun at Ana—remains at the forefront of my mind.

  It’s torture.

  My anger and apprehension rise several notches on the Richter scale.

  When my phone rings, I grab it. “Mrs. Grey’s security for you,” Andrea says.

  “Mr. Grey,” Prescott says.

  “Prescott, I cannot begin to articulate how disappointed I am in you right now. Let me talk my wife.”

  “Yes, sir,” she answers.

  There’s a beat of muffled chatter. “Christian,” Ana snaps, and from her tone I know she’s on her high-fucking-horse, condescending to talk to me.

  “What the fuck are you playing at?” I bark down the phone.

  “Don’t shout at me.” Her retort only fuels my temper.

  “What do you mean, don’t shout at you?” My voice bellows around the room and into the phone. “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.”

  Oh, no! “Don’t you hang up on me!”

  “Good-bye, Christian.”

  “Ana! Ana!” The line is dead, and I think I’m going to erupt like Mount St. Helens. Incandescent with fury, I grab my jacket and my phone, and storm out of my office. “Cancel the rest of my meetings today,” I growl a
t Andrea. “And let Taylor know I’m on my way down.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The elevator takes an eternal sixteen seconds to arrive. I know because I count each and every one in an effort to rein in my temper. After I step in and jab the button for the lobby, I clench my fists so tightly that my fingernails dig into my palms, and I know I have lost the fight. Andrea glances up, consternation writ large on her face, but I remain impassive, ignoring her as the doors close.

  I am ready to do battle.

  With my wife.

  Again.

  And with Leila. What the fuck is she thinking?

  Taylor is standing by the car, holding the door open. I’m grateful that at least he’s on the case. We drive in silence to SIP as my anger simmers, ready to boil over at the slightest provocation. From the back of the car I call Flynn’s office, but I get his secretary Janet’s voice mail. I hang up, frustrated that I can’t even vent my anger on Flynn.

  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 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.