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

“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?