Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian

Chapter 115

“I think so. She starts college today in Hamden. I had an e-mail from her last night. She’s excited to

begin her studies.” He angles his head to one side in an unspoken “why?”

“It’s nothing. See you Wednesday.” This content is © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Ryan, take me to SIP.”

“Yes, sir.”

On the short journey to Ana’s workplace, I contemplate what I’m going to say to her. We had three

weeks to discuss the issue of her name while we were on our honeymoon. Why didn’t she bring it up

then? I’ve done nothing but call her Mrs. Grey. She didn’t object. Maybe I’ve made a stupid assumption

about her name, but she knows I have…issues. I’ve told her to manage my expectations.

I want people to know she’s my wife, even where she works.

My name does that. It represents all that is good in my life.

My parents. My father.

It represents everything he’s done for me. For Elliot and for Mia, too.

Even though he’s an asshole sometimes.

I still want to emulate him.

And every time I stood in front of his desk while he gave me a dressing-down, I knew I’d failed and

disappointed him.

He has pushed me to be a better person, a better man.

I admire him.

I love him.

Fuck.

Maybe I should wait until this evening.

No. It can’t wait. I will burst a blood vessel.

This is too important to me.

As I stare out of the car window, looking at everyone going about their business, my resentment

simmers. Why the hell didn’t she tell me?

By the time I stalk into SIP, I’m hanging on to my temper by a silken thread. The first person I meet is

Jerry Roach, who’s standing in the reception area and talking to a willowy woman with long, out-of-

control dark hair.

“Christian Grey,” he says in disbelief.

“Jerry. How are you?”

“Um. Good. This is Elizabeth Morgan, our head of HR.”

“Hi,” I mutter tightly, as we shake hands.

“Mr. Grey. I’ve heard a great deal about you.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, and I doubt Ana’s

confided in her about me—so where she’s heard about me, I don’t know, but I’ve got no time to

speculate on this now.

“What can we do for you?” Roach asks, pleasantly.

“I need a quick word with Ms. Steele.”

“Ana? Of course. I’ll take you to her. Follow me.” His fawning small talk leaves a lot to be desired, and I

listen with half an ear as we head through the double doors behind reception and through to Ana’s

office. I recall her saying that he went a little crazy when he found out that we were engaged. This does

not endear him to me. Idly, I wonder how he would feel if he worked for Ana. That would surely make

him crazy.

There’s a thought.

That would teach him.

Ana is in Hyde’s old office. I nod in greeting to Sawyer, who’s standing outside, while Roach raps on

the door. Ana calls, “Come in.” The office is as small and shabby as I remember—still in need of

updating and a lick of paint—though there are flowers on Ana’s desk, and the shelves are ordered and

tidy. She’s eating her lunch with a young woman who I assume is her assistant. Both of them gape at

me. I turn to her PA. “Hello, you must be Hannah. I’m Christian Grey.”

Hannah leaps to her feet and offers me her hand. “Mr. Grey. H-how nice to m-meet you,” she says as

we shake hands. “Can I fetch you a coffee?”

“Please.” I give her a polite smile and she rushes out of the room. I turn to Roach. “If you’ll excuse me,

Roach, I’d like a word with Ms. Steele.”

“Of course, Mr. Grey. Ana.” Roach leaves, closing the door behind him. I turn my attention to my wife,

who looks guilty—like I’ve caught her doing something illicit—though she’s as lovely as ever.

A little pale, perhaps.

A little hostile, perhaps.

Shit. My anger recedes, leaving anxiety in its wake, as she squares her shoulders.

“Mr. Grey, how nice to see you.” Her smile is saccharine, and I know our honeymoon is over, and I

have a fight on my hands. My spirit nosedives once more.

“Ms. Steele, may I sit down?” I nod toward the worn leather chair facing Ana’s desk that’s been vacated

by Hannah.

“It’s your company.” Ana offers me the chair with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Yes, it is.” I grin back with an equally saccharine look.

Yes, baby. Mine.

We are circling each other—boxers in a ring—sizing each other up. Dampening down my bitterness, I

steel myself for the battle ahead. This issue is important to me. “Your office is very small,” I note as I

take the seat.

“It suits me.” Her tone is clipped and irritated; she’s mad at me. “So, what can I do for you, Christian?”

“I’m just looking over my assets.”

“Your assets?” she scoffs. “All of them?”

“All of them. Some of them need rebranding.”

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