Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian (Fifty Shades 6)

“Hi! How was your flight?”

“Long. What are you doing with Kate?”

“We’re just going out for a quiet drink.”

Out? With Hyde at large? Fuck!

“Sawyer and the new woman—Prescott—are coming to watch over us,” she says sweetly.

Then I remember. “I thought Kate was coming to the apartment.”

“She is, after a quick drink.”

I sigh. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I’m not in Seattle. If something happens to them…to her, and I’m not there, I’ll never forgive myself.

“Christian, we’ll be fine. I have Ryan, Sawyer, and Prescott here. It’s a quick drink. I’ve seen her only a few times since you and I met. Please. She’s my best friend.”

“Ana, I don’t want to keep you from your friends. But I thought she was coming back to the apartment.”

She sighs. “Okay. We’ll stay in.”

“Only while this lunatic is out there. Please.”

“I’ve said okay,” she mutters, and I know by the tone of her voice she’s exasperated.

I chuckle, relieved that she’s reverting to type. “I always know when you’re rolling your eyes at me.”

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I’ll tell Kate.”

“Good.” I blow out a breath. I can go about the rest of my day and not worry about her.

“Where are you?”

“On the tarmac at JFK.”

“Oh, so you just landed?”

“Yes. You asked me to call the moment I landed.”

“Well, Mr. Grey, I’m glad one of us is punctilious.”

“Mrs. Grey, your gift for hyperbole knows no bounds. What am I going to do with you?”

“I am sure you’ll think of something imaginative. You usually do,” she whispers.

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Yes.” She sounds breathless and even from this far away, and over the phone her voice is arousing.

I grin. “I’d better go. Ana, do as you’re told, please. The security team knows what they’re doing.”

“Yes, Christian, I will.” I sense more eye rolling.

“I’ll see you tomorrow evening. I’ll call you later.”

“To check up on me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Christian!” she chides me.

“Au revoir, Mrs. Grey.”

“Au revoir, Christian. I love you.”

Hearing her say those three words will never get old. “And I you, Ana.”

Neither of us hangs up.

“Hang up, Christian,” she murmurs.

“You’re a bossy little thing, aren’t you?”

“Your bossy little thing.”

“Mine,” I whisper. “Do as you’re told. Hang up.”

“Yes, Sir,” she purrs, and hangs up.

And the disappointment is real.

Ana.

I type a quick e-mail.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Twitching Palms

Date: August 25 2011 13:42 EDT

To: Anastasia Grey

Mrs. Grey

You are as entertaining as ever on the phone.

I mean it. Do as you’re told.

I need to know you’re safe.

I love you.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

The plane pulls to a stop outside the terminal. Our car is waiting for us on the tarmac. It’s time to head to the Flatiron district and rally the troops.

I loathe the tedious drive from JFK to Manhattan. The traffic is always gridlocked, and even when it’s moving, it’s slow. That’s why I prefer to travel from Teterboro. I occupy myself with e-mails until I glance out of the car window. We’re driving through Queens on the expressway, heading to the Midtown Tunnel, and there she is—Manhattan. There is something magical about her skyline. I’ve not been to New York for a few months; well, since before I met Ana. And I know I must bring her here soon, as she’s never been before, if only to see this iconic view.

We head straight to the GEH Fiber Optics division, which is based in an old building on East Twenty-Second Street. We pull up outside, and I can feel the bustling energy of the city. It’s invigorating. As I step out of the car into the Manhattan throng, I’m hyped for my first meeting of the day.

The engineering team blows me away. Young. Creative. Energetic. I feel at home here. Over a long lunch of sandwiches and beer, I tell them how their technology is going to revolutionize Kavanagh Media’s operation and how the work they’re doing now is vital in future-proofing Kavanagh’s expansion plans. His will be the first major media outlet to use their technology, and when I show them how we intend to deploy their expertise in other fields, they’re all buzzing with excitement.

Ros was right—I needed to do this. Hassan, who is now the senior vice president of the company, is smart, young, and driven; he reminds me of myself. He’s far superior to Woods, an inspiring and worthy successor with vision and drive. One only has to see the premises that Woods has inflicted on his team to know he had a short-term, narrow perspective. What was he thinking? While the reception area is remarkably upscale and frankly pretentious, the offices are cramped, shabby, and in need of substantial refurbishment. We need to relocate. I’ve instructed Rachel Morris, their logistics chief, to get on that. She’s keen to do so, which is great, but it’s no wonder morale is low; the place is grim. I e-mail Ros and ask her to go through the lease to see if we can get out before the end of the term, which has another two years to run.