Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed (95 page)

I open my e-mails and delete the one I sent him. It’s not that bad. I just mention spanking and well, whipping. If he’s so ashamed of it, he damn well shouldn’t do it. I pick up my BlackBerry and call his mobile.

“What?” he snaps.

“I am going to New York whether you like it or not,” I hiss.

“Don’t count—”

I hang up, cutting him off mid-sentence. Adrenaline is coursing through my body. There—that told him. I am so mad.

I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself. Closing my
eyes, I imagine that I am in my happy place.
Hmm … a boat cabin with Christian
. I shake the image off, as I am too mad at Fifty right now for him to be anywhere near my happy place.

Opening my eyes, I calmly reach for my notebook and carefully run through my to-do list. I take a long, deep breath, my equilibrium restored.

“Ana!” Jack shouts, startling me. “Don’t book that flight!”

“Oh, too late. I’ve done it,” I reply as he strides out of his office over to me. He looks mad.

“Look, there’s something going on. For some reason, suddenly, all travel and hotel expenses for staff have to be approved by senior management. This has come right from the top. I am going up to see old Roach. Apparently, a moratorium on all spending has just been implemented. I don’t understand it.” Jack pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes.

Most of the blood drains from my face and knots form in my stomach.
Fifty!

“Take my calls. I’ll go see what Roach has to say.” He winks at me and strides off to see his boss—not the boss’s boss.

Damn it. Christian Grey …
My blood starts to boil again.

I check to see if I still have his e-mails, and they have disappeared. This man’s influence knows no bounds. How does he do this? Who does he know that can stealthily delve into the depths of SIP’s servers and remove e-mails? I am so out of my league here.

Oh, Christian!
That’s not the point. He’s so damn frustrating. And of course he has an apartment there. Where else does he own property? Trust him to bring up José. Will I ever live that down? I was drunk, for heaven’s sake. I wouldn’t get drunk with Jack.

I shake my head at the screen, but figure I cannot continue to argue with him over e-mail. I will have to bide my time until this evening. I check the clock. Jack is still not back from his meeting with Jerry, and I need to deal with Elena. I read her e-mail again
and decide that the best way to handle it is to send it to Christian. Let him concentrate on her rather than me.

Jack returns after midday and tells me that New York is off for me, though he is still going and there’s nothing he can do to change senior management policy. He strides into his office, slamming the door, obviously furious. Why is he so angry?

Deep down, I know his intentions are less than honorable, but I am sure I can deal with him, and I wonder what Christian knows about Jack’s previous PAs. I park these thoughts and continue with some work, but resolve to try to make Christian change his mind, though the prospects are bleak.

At one o’clock, Jack pokes his head out of the office door.

“Ana, please could you go and get me some lunch?”

“Sure. What would you like?”

“Pastrami on rye, hold the mustard. I’ll give you the money when you’re back.”

“Anything to drink?”

“Coke, please. Thanks, Ana.” He heads back into his office as I reach for my purse.

Crap. I promised Christian I wouldn’t go out. I sigh. He’ll never know, and I’ll be quick.

Claire from Reception offers me her umbrella since it is still pouring with rain. As I head out of the front doors, I pull my jacket around me and take a furtive glance in both directions from beneath the overlarge golf umbrella. Nothing seems amiss. There’s no sign of Ghost Girl.

I march briskly, and I hope inconspicuously, down the block to the deli. However, the closer I get to the deli, the more I have a creepy sense that I am being watched, and I don’t know if it’s my heightened feeling of paranoia or a reality. Shit. I hope it’s not Leila with a gun.

It’s just your imagination
, my subconscious snaps.
Who the hell would want to shoot you?

Within fifteen minutes, I am back—safe and sound, but relieved. I think Christian’s extreme paranoia and his overprotective vigilance is beginning to get to me.

As I take Jack’s lunch in to him, he glances up from the phone.

“Ana, thanks. Since you’re not coming with me, I’m going to need you to work late. We need to get these briefs ready. Hope you don’t have plans.” He smiles up at me warmly, and I flush.

“No, that’s fine,” I say with a bright smile and a sinking heart. This is not going to go down well. Christian will freak, I’m sure.

As I head back to my desk I decide not to tell him immediately; otherwise he might have time to interfere in some way. I sit and eat the chicken salad sandwich Mrs. Jones made for me. It’s delicious. She makes a mean sandwich.

Of course, if I moved in with Christian, she would make lunch for me every weekday. The idea is unsettling. I have never had dreams of obscene wealth and all the trappings—only love. To find someone who loves me and doesn’t try to control my every move. The phone rings.

“Jack Hyde’s office—”

“You assured me you wouldn’t go out,” Christian interrupts me, his voice cold and hard.

My heart sinks for the millionth time this day. Shit. How the hell does he know?

“Jack sent me out for some lunch. I couldn’t say no. Are you having me watched?” My scalp prickles at the notion. No wonder I felt so paranoid—someone
was
watching me. The thought makes me angry.

“This is why I didn’t want you going back to work,” Christian snaps.

“Christian, please. You’re being”—
So Fifty
—“so suffocating.”

“Suffocating?” he whispers, surprised.

“Yes. You have to stop this. I’ll talk to you this evening. Unfortunately I have to work late because I can’t go to New York.”

“Anastasia, I don’t want to suffocate you,” he says quietly, appalled.

“Well, you are. I have work to do. I’ll talk to you later.” I hang up, feeling drained and vaguely depressed.

After our wonderful weekend, the reality is hitting home. I have never felt more like running. Running to some quiet retreat so I can think about this man, about how he is, and about how to deal with him. On one level, I know he’s broken—I can see that clearly now—and it’s both heartbreaking and exhausting. From the small pieces of precious information that he’s given me about his life, I understand why. An unloved child; a hideously abusive environment; a mother who couldn’t protect him, whom he couldn’t protect, and who died in front of him.

I shudder. My poor Fifty. I am his, but not to be kept in some gilded cage. How am I going to make him see this?

With a heavy heart, I drag one of the manuscripts Jack wants me to summarize into my lap and continue to read. I can think of no easy solution to Christian’s fucked-up control issues. I will just have to talk to him later, face-to-face.

Half an hour later, Jack e-mails me a document that I need to tidy up, polish, and have ready to be printed in time for his conference. It will take me not just the rest of the afternoon but well into the evening, too. I set to work.

When I look up, it’s after seven and the office is deserted, though the light in Jack’s office is still on. I hadn’t noticed everyone leaving, but I am nearly finished. I e-mail the document back to Jack for his approval and check my inbox. There’s nothing new from Christian, so I quickly glance at my BlackBerry, and it startles me by buzzing—it’s Christian.

“Hi,” I murmur.

“Hi, when will you be finished?”

“By seven thirty, I think.”

“I’ll meet you outside.”

“Okay.”

He sounds quiet, nervous even. Why? Wary of my reaction?

“I’m still mad at you, but that’s all,” I whisper. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“I know. See you at seven thirty.”

Jack comes out of his office.

“I have to go. See you later.” I hang up.

I look up at Jack as he strolls casually toward me.

“I just need a couple of tweaks. I’ve e-mailed the brief back to you.”

He leans over me while I retrieve the document, rather close—uncomfortably close. His arm brushes mine. Accidentally? I flinch, but he pretends not to notice. His other arm rests on the back of my chair, touching my back. I sit up so I’m not leaning against the backrest.

“Pages sixteen and twenty-three, and that should be it,” he murmurs, his mouth inches from my ear.

My skin crawls at his proximity, but I choose to ignore it. Opening the document, I shakily start on the changes. He’s still leaning over me, and all my senses are hyperaware. It’s distracting and awkward, and inside I am screaming,
Back off!

“Once this is done, it’ll be good to go to print. You can organize that tomorrow. Thank you for staying late and doing this, Ana.” His voice is smooth, gentle, like he’s talking to a wounded animal. My stomach twists.

“I think the least I could do is reward you with a quick drink. You deserve one.” He tucks a strand of my hair that’s come loose from my hair tie behind my ear and gently caresses the lobe.

I cringe, gritting my teeth, and jerk my head away.
Shit!
Christian was right.
Don’t touch me
.

“Actually, I can’t this evening.”
Or any other evening, Jack
.

“Just a quick one?” he coaxes.

“No, I can’t. But thank you.”

Jack sits on the end of my desk and frowns. Alarm bells sound loudly in my head. I am on my own in the office. I cannot leave. I glance nervously at the clock. Another five minutes before Christian is due.

“Ana, I think we make a great team. I’m sorry that I couldn’t pull off this New York trip. It won’t be the same without you.”

I’m sure it won’t
. I smile weakly up at him, because I can’t think of what to say. And for the first time all day, I feel the tiniest hint of relief that I am not going.

“So, did you have a good weekend?” he asks smoothly.