Freed (Fifty Shades as Told by Christian #3) - E.L. James Page 0,127

through each word and she cocks her head to one side, like I do…copying me, laughing at me, I suspect.

God, I love her; she’s recovered her backbone.

“I’m changing the name of the company—to Grey Publishing.”

Ana blinks.

“And in a year’s time, it will be yours.”

Her mouth drops open.

“This is my wedding present to you.”

She shuts her mouth, opens it again, then shuts it again, looking shell-shocked.

“So, do I need to change the name to Steele Publishing?”

“Christian, you gave me a watch. I can’t run a business.”

“I ran my own business from the age of twenty-one.”

“But you’re, you. Control freak and whiz-kid extraordinaire. Jeez, Christian, you majored in economics at Harvard before you dropped out. At least you have some idea. I sold paint and cable ties for three years on a part-time basis, for heaven’s sake. I’ve seen so little of the world, and I know next to nothing!”

Well, that’s not true.

“You’re also the most well-read person I know.” I have to pitch this to her. “You love a good book. You couldn’t leave your job while we were on our honeymoon. You read how many manuscripts? Four?”

“Five,” she whispers.

“And you wrote full reports on all of them. You’re a very bright woman, Anastasia. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Crazy for you.” Always.

She snorts, trying not to laugh. “You’ll be a laughingstock. Buying a company for the little woman, who has only had a full-time job for a few months of her adult life.”

I dismiss her concerns with a wave of my hand. “Do you think I give a fuck what people think? Besides, you won’t be on your own.”

“Christian, I—” She stalls, lost for words, and I cherish the moment—it doesn’t happen often. She lays her head in her hands again. When she looks up, she’s trying not to laugh.

“Something amusing you, Ms. Steele?”

“Yes. You.”

Her amusement is contagious, and I find myself smiling. This is what she does. Disarms me.

Every time.

“Laughing at your husband? That will never do.” Her teeth sink into her lovely lower lip. “And you’re biting your lip,” I mutter darkly; it’s a stirring sight.

She sits back. “Don’t even think about it,” she warns.

“Think about what, Anastasia?”

Fucking you in your office? Lust streaks through my bloodstream like lightning.

“I know that look. We’re at work,” she whispers.

Can’t you feel this, Ana? The sorcery between us is potent. Raw. I lean forward to get closer to her, to catch her scent, to touch her. “We’re in a small, reasonably soundproofed office with a lockable door,” I whisper.

I want to seduce my wife.

“Gross. Moral. Turpitude.” Each word is a bullet forming a shield around her.

“Not with your husband.”

“With my boss’s boss’s boss,” she hisses.

“You’re my wife.”

“Christian, no. I mean it. You can fuck me seven shades of Sunday this evening. But not now. Not here!”

Hell. I take a deep breath as I come to my senses and the temperature in the room drops back to normal. I laugh, releasing my tension. “Seven shades of Sunday?” I arch a brow, intrigued. “I may hold you to that, Ms. Steele.”

“Oh, stop with the Ms. Steele!” she snaps and hammers her hand on her desk, making us both jump. “For heaven’s sake, Christian. If it means so much to you, I’ll change my name!”

What?

She’s agreeing?

I feel a sudden rush of relief.

My face erupts in a huge grin. I’ve succeeded in a negotiation with my wife. I think this might be a first.

Thank you, Ana.

“Good.” I clap my hands and stand. “Mission accomplished. Now, I have work to do. If you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Grey.”

She gawks at me. “But—”

“But what, Mrs. Grey?”

She shakes her head and closes her eyes, looking thoroughly exasperated. “Just go.”

“I intend to. I’ll see you this evening. I’m looking forward to seven shades of Sunday.” I ignore her scowl. “Oh, and I have a stack of business-related social engagements coming up, and I’d like you to accompany me.”

She frowns.

“I’ll have Andrea call Hannah to put the dates in your calendar. There are some people you need to meet. You should get Hannah to handle your schedule from now on.”

“Okay,” she mumbles, sounding bewildered.

I lean over the desk, staring straight into her dazed baby blues. “Love doing business with you, Mrs. Grey.” She doesn’t move, and I plant a soft kiss on her lips. “Laters, baby,” I whisper, then turn and leave.

Outside SIP, I sink into the plush leather in the back of the waiting Audi and ask Ryan to take me back to Grey House.

Thank heavens.

My relief is proportionate to