Freed Page 9

  Subject: Abandoning ship.

  Date: July 5 2011 11:03

  To: Anastasia Steele

  My darling fiancée

  Thank YOU for the most relaxed July 4th I’ve ever experienced.

  I will miss you on Friday.

  But will help you move in on Saturday.

  You make my dreams come true.

  I will consider my vows and maybe write a few…

  I did not mean that to rhyme!

  Christian Grey

  CEO & poet, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

  PS: Do you possess a passport?

  From: Anastasia Steele

  Subject: Citizen of the USA

  Date: July 5 2011 11:14

  To: Christian Grey

  Dear Poet

  I’d stick to high finance if I were you.

  Though I’m glad your dreams doth come true.

  I’m thrilled and honored to report.

  I do possess a new passport.

  Now you have me thinking why?

  Are we off someplace to fly?

  I’d love to travel the world with you.

  Not as one, but as two.

  Curious of Seattle xxx

  (And not a poet, as you can tell!)

  My future wife is a dreadful poet! Grinning at her response, I grab my gym bag and head out of the office, and down to the basement to face Bastille.

  Fresh from the gym, I finish my chicken-salad sandwich at my desk and pick up the phone. It’s time to call Elliot. I’ve been putting this off because I know he’ll give me shit.

  “Hotshot. What gives?”

  “Hello, Elliot. How are you?”

  He laughs. “Jesus, man, you sound bored as fuck!”

  Why is this so difficult?

  “I’m not bored. I’m working. And taking some time out to talk to you.”

  “Now you sound pissed.”

  “I am.”

  “Something I said?” He cackles over the line, and I’m tempted to hang up and try again later.

  I take a deep breath. “I need to ask you something.”

  “About the new house?”

  “No.”

  Game on, Grey. Ask him.

  “Spit it out, man,” he says when I don’t respond. “This is like waiting for concrete to cure.”

  “Will you be my best man?”

  There. It’s done. And there’s a deafening silence on the other end of the phone, save for his quick gasp. Shit. Is he going to say no?

  “Elliot?”

  “Sure,” he says with uncharacteristic brevity. “Um…I’d be honored.” He sounds stunned. Why? Surely he knew this was coming?

  “Good. Thank you.” My relief is clear in my voice.

  He laughs, and I know my brother has recovered his dickwad humor. “Of course, this means I get to organize your goddamned bachelor party!” He whoops like a deranged gorilla.

  Bachelor party? He’s got to be kidding.

  “Whatever, Elliot.” An idea pops into my head. “Come over Friday. We can shoot some pool. Ana is spending the evening with Kate.”

  “Yeah, I heard. Sure thing. We can talk strippers, and where we’ll leave you handcuffed at the end of a drunken night!”

  I laugh, because he has no idea. “We?” I ask.

  “I know you have no friends, you fucking recluse. I’ll drum up a posse who know how to party.”

  Oh no.

  “Let’s talk Friday,” I respond.

  “Can’t wait. By the way, have you been in touch with Gia?”

  “Yes, I have. Ana and I had a look at her portfolio online. We both liked what we saw. Ms. Matteo was going with the real estate agent to check out the property so that when we meet she knows what we are talking about.”

  “I need to see this place, too, hotshot.”

  “I know. Let’s do it Friday. After work.”

  “Rad. Sounds good.”

  “Okay. Laters, Elliot.” An unexpected surge of warmth fills my chest. “And, um…thank you.”

  “What are brothers for?”

  “So, this is your new office, hotshot.” Elliot strolls through the door, as laid-back as his tone.

  “Do you have to call me that, Lelliot?” I stress his nickname and wave him toward my white leather couch.

  “It’s what you are. Look at this place.” He waves a hand in the direction of my outer office. Wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and his Aztec jacket from San Diego State, he looks like the proverbial fish out of water here.

  I sit down opposite him and notice that his knee is bouncing to a crazy beat and he’s avoiding eye contact.

  What the hell? He’s nervous.

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this way.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  He shuffles in his seat and presses his hands together. “I want to start my own construction company.” He blurts out the words in a rush.

  Ah! “You’re looking for investment.”

  His vibrant blue eyes finally meet mine. “Yes,” he says with a steeliness that surprises me.

  “How much do you need?”

  “About 100K.”

  I smirk at the irony. That’s what I started my business with.

  “It’s yours.”

  Elliot balks. “You’re not going to ask for a business plan? A pitch?”

  “No. You may be an utter fucking asshole sometimes, but you work hard. I see that. You’re passionate about what you do. This is your dream. And I believe in it, too. We should all be striving for sustainable living. Besides, you’re my brother, and what are brothers for?”

  When Elliot smiles, he lights up a room.

  Feeling uncomfortable at the sudden swell of feelings for my brother, I dial Welch’s number for an update on his investigation.

  Night shrouds my study at Escala. I’ve been poring over the documents Marco sent me regarding Geolumara. Based in Nevada, their solar farms are already producing enough kilowattage to light up two neighboring towns. They have the expertise to bring cheaper renewable energy to other parts of the U.S. I think they have a great deal of potential. I’m excited to acquire the company and see what we can add to their business model. I e-mail Marco to confirm my enthusiastic interest, then go find Ana.

  She’s in the library, curled up in her armchair, laptop on her knees and Snow Patrol playing quietly over the sound system. I assume she’s working on an upcoming book, and it occurs to me that we should get her a desk and chair in here.

  “Hi,” I say when she looks up.

  “Hi.” She smiles.

  “Are you reading another manuscript?”

  “I’m doing the first draft of my vows.”

  “I see.” I saunter into the room. “How’s that going?”

  “It’s intimidating, Mr. Grey. A little like you.”

  “Intimidating? Moi?” I press my hand to my chest and feign surprise.

  She purses her lips to hide her smile. “It’s your specialty.”

  Settling into the armchair beside Ana’s, I lean toward her, my elbows resting on my knees. “Oh. I thought I had other specialties…” Even from this distance I catch a whisper of her fragrance.

  Pure Ana. It’s intoxicating.

  A pretty pink stains her cheeks. “Well, yes. You are blessed with other specialties. This is true.” She closes her laptop, tucks her feet beneath her, and raises her chin with the air of a prim, old-fashioned schoolteacher.

  I laugh. I know better. Ana has an inner freak. “As long as you promise to love, honor, and obey, I’m sure your vows will be perfect.”

  Ana laughs. “Christian, I am not promising to obey you.”

  “What?” She thinks I’m joking?

  “No way,” she says simply.


  “What do you mean you’re not going to obey?” My stomach feels like it’s dropped twenty feet. I meant my comment to be an amusing quip, but I’m thrown by her response. Ana flicks her hair over her shoulder, and it captures the light from the table lamp, highlighting the few red and gold strands; it’s beautiful, distracting me. But my attention shifts to her mouth. Her lips flatten into a stubborn line, as she folds her arms and straightens her shoulders in that way she does when she’s gearing up for a fight.

  Hell. She’s going to argue with me?

  “You can’t be serious! I’ll love and honor you always, Christian. But obey? I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?” I’m perfectly serious.

  “Because it’s the twenty-first century!”

  “And?” How can she oppose me on this? The conversation is not going the way I expected.

  “Well, I’d hope that we could come to some consensus on issues within our marriage through discussion. You know…communicating with each other,” she continues.

  “I’m hoping for that, too. But if we can’t, and we reach an impasse and you go off and put yourself in unnecessary danger—” All manner of horrific scenarios flit through my mind, and unease spawns exponentially in my gut.

  Her face softens as she relaxes, her eyes glowing with understanding. “Christian, you always think the worst. You worry too much.” She reaches out to stroke my face, her fingers soft and gentle against my skin.

  “Ana. I need this,” I whisper.

  With a heavy sigh, she withdraws her hand and stares at me, as if she’s trying to convey a message via telepathy. “Christian, I’m not religious, but our wedding vows will be sacred, and I’m not prepared to make a vow I might break.”

  Her response is a gut punch, echoing Carrick’s words when he lectured me about Elena. We are talking about the sanctity of marriage. And if you have no respect for that, then you have no business being married.

  I stare at her as my anxiety boils over into frustration. “Anastasia, be reasonable.”

  She shakes her head. “Christian. You be reasonable. You know you have a tendency to overreact. The answer’s no.”

  Me? Overreact?

  I glare at her, and for the first time in a long while I don’t know what to say.

  “You’re just tense about the wedding,” she says, gently. “We both are.”

  “I’m a hell of a lot more tense knowing you’re not willing to obey. Ana, reconsider. Please.” I sweep my hand through my hair and stare into her big blue eyes, but I see nothing except her determination and courage. She’s not budging.

  Fuck.

  This is getting us nowhere, and the grasp on my temper is slipping. It’s time to back away before I say something I regret. I get up and try one last attempt. “Think about it. But for now, I have some work to finish.” And before she can stop me, I leave the library and head back into my study, trying to think of some way to get her to see sense.

  One of us has to be in charge, for fuck’s sake.

  I stomp over to my desk and slump into my chair, feeling blindsided by her attitude and resentful that I’m only now finding out that she won’t obey.

  To hell with it.

  I’ll have to make her see reason.

  How?

  Shit.

  I’m too wound up to think clearly, so I shelve my frustration and open my computer to look through my e-mails. The good news is that my new sailplane will be arriving from Germany next week. It’s being shipped to my hangar at the Port of Ephrata. I allow myself a moment of excitement, a glider built for two. I want to run and tell Ana, but right now I’m mad at her.

  Damn.

  It’s depressing. To cheer myself up I reread the specs for the new aircraft, and when I’ve exhausted all there is to read, I get back to my financial reports.

  A tentative knock interrupts me.

  “Come in.”

  Ana pokes her head around the door. “It’s nearly midnight,” she says with a winsome smile. She eases the door open and stands on the threshold dressed in one of her satin nightgowns. The soft material caresses her body, molding itself to every curve and dip, leaving nothing to my imagination. My mouth dries and my body responds, hot and heavy with longing.

  “Are you coming to bed?” she whispers.

  I ignore my arousal. “I have a few more things to do.”

  “Okay.” She smiles, and I half smile in return, because I love her. But I’m not going to concede on this. She has to come to her senses. Ana turns to leave but gives me a quick provocative look over her shoulder before closing the door and leaving.

  Once more I’m on my own.

  Hell.

  I want her.

  But she won’t obey and that’s pissed me off. Big-time.

  I turn back to the latest figures from Barney’s division at GEH. They’re not nearly as seductive as the delectable, and disobedient, Miss Steele.

  Wednesday, July 6, 2011

  Ana is fast asleep when I crawl into bed beside her. Ever thoughtful, she’s left my bedside light switched on so I won’t be lost in the dark. And yet, that’s exactly how I feel. Lost. And if I’m being honest, discouraged. Why can’t she understand? It’s not that big a deal, is it? Is it?

  Watching her lovely, tranquil face and the steady rise and fall of her breasts as she sleeps, an ugly undercurrent looms beneath my ribs; it’s envy. I’m lying here, bewildered and miserable, and she’s sleeping like she hasn’t a care in the world.

  But would I want her any other way?

  Of course not. I want her happy and I want to protect her. But how can I do that if she’s not willing to obey me?

  Deal with it, Grey.

  Sighing, I lean over and brush her hair with my lips; it’s the gentlest of touches, as I don’t want to wake her. But I silently implore her to change her mind.

  Please, Ana. Grant me this.

  Switching off the light, I stare, unflinching, into the dark, and suddenly the silence in the room is deafening and oppressive. My heart rate doubles and I’m dragged down into a swamp of despair. It’s overwhelming. Maybe this is a huge mistake. Our marriage is never going to work if she can’t do this.

  What was I thinking?

  Maybe I want—no, need—someone more submissive.

  I need to be in control.

  Always.

  Without control, there is chaos. And anger. And hurt, and fear…and pain.

  Shit. What am I going to do?

  This is an impossible hurdle to overcome.

  Isn’t it?

  But living without Ana would be unbearable. I know what it’s like to bathe in her light. She is warmth and life and home. She is everything. I want her by my side. I love her.

  How can I get her to reconsider?

  I rub my face, trying to fend off my bleak thoughts.

  Get a grip, Grey. She’ll come around.

  I close my eyes and try to utilize Dr. Flynn’s mindfulness exercises and find my happy place. Maybe a flowery bower in a boathouse…

  I’m walking on air, soaring high in the sky above Ephrata. The Washington landscape is a patchwork beneath me. I wing over and marvel at the quilt of browns and blues and greens crisscrossed by roads and irrigation canals. Catching a thermal I rise above a ridge on the Beezley Hills. The sky is unencumbered, a dazzling, shimmering blue, and I’m at peace. The wind my companion. Constant. Rushing. The only sound. I am alone. Alone. Alone. I wing over again. My world turned upside down. And Ana is in front of the cockpit, her hands stretched out to the canopy, squealing with joy. And wonder. My heart is brimming. This is happiness. This is love. This is what it feels like. I bank, and suddenly I’m in a tailspin. Ana’s disappeared. I stamp my feet, but the rudder’s gone. I fight the control stick, but the ailerons don’t respond. I have no control. All I hear is the
roar of the wind and someone screaming. We’re going down. Fuck. Spinning. Down. Down. Down. Shit. I’m going to hit the ground. No. No!

  I wake with a start.

  Fuck.

  I’m wrapped around Ana, and she’s threading her fingers through my hair. Her scent is soothing and it’s filling the desperate emptiness that’s deep in my soul. “Good morning,” she says, and immediately I’m calmer. Back to earth.

  “Good morning,” I whisper, confused. I normally wake before Ana.

  “You were having a bad dream.”

  “What time is it?”

  “It’s just after seven-thirty.”

  “Shit. I’m late.” I give her a brief, chaste kiss and bound out of bed.

  “Christian,” she calls.

  “I can’t stop. I’m late,” I mutter as I disappear into the bathroom, recalling her defiance from last night.

  And I’m still pissed.

  At my desk, I eye the model glider that Anastasia gave me when she left. It took me a whole day to make. Unease circles my gut; maybe it’s the echo of that dream or a reminder of the desolation I felt when she was gone. I touch the wing tip, holding the cool plastic between my thumb and forefinger; I never want to feel like that again.

  Ever.

  I shake off the feeling and take a sip of the espresso that Andrea has prepared, followed by a bite of fresh croissant. I glance at my iMac to see an e-mail has arrived from Ana.

  From: Anastasia Steele

  Subject: Eat!

  Date: July 6 2011 9:22

  To: Christian Grey

  My dearest husband-to-be

  It is not like you to skip breakfast. I missed you.

  I hope you’re not hungry. I know how disagreeable that is for you.

  I hope your day is a good one.

  Axxx

  I’m comforted by the number of small x’s at the end of her message, but I glance at her portrait on my office wall, close the e-mail, and summon Andrea into my office to go through my schedule.

  I’m still pissed.

  After lunch, I’m in the elevator returning from an external meeting with Eamon Kavanagh when I check my BlackBerry. There’s another e-mail from Ana.

  From: Anastasia Steele

  Subject: Are you okay?

  Date: July 6 2011 14:27

  To: Christian Grey