Freed (Fifty Shades as Told by Christian #3) - E.L. James Page 0,146

how many drinks?

I hope she’s had something to eat.

“Excuse me, I have to make a call.” I leave the table and call Ana from the lobby. She doesn’t pick up. I try her again. No answer. I try once more. Still no answer.

Fuck.

I text her.

WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU!

She should be home. Or here.

And I know I’m being petulant, but she won’t even pick up my calls.

I storm back into the ballroom, where a charity auction is about to begin. I listen to the first two lots. Both involve golf.

Fuck this.

I write a check for one hundred thousand dollars and hand it to Mrs. Michaels. “I am sorry, Callista, but I have to go. Thank you for hosting a lovely evening. I’ll pledge the same again for next year. It’s a worthy cause.”

“Christian, that’s so generous. Thank you.” I get up to leave, as does she, and she kisses me on both cheeks, which I’m not expecting.

“Good night,” I say to Callista, and I shake her husband’s hand.

I eye Taylor at the edge of the room, and I think he’s already calling the car.

Even with its high ceilings and great views over the city, the place suddenly feels claustrophobic, and I’m grateful when we get outside into the balmy evening heat of New York.

“Sir, the car will be a couple of minutes.”

“Okay. She’s still there? At the Zig Zag?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s go home.”

Taylor tilts his head. “Tribeca?”

“No, Seattle.”

He stares at me, his face giving nothing away, but I know he thinks I’m crazy.

I sigh. “Yes. I’m sure. I want to go home.” I answer his unspoken question.

“I’ll call Stephan,” he says.

He wanders over to the side of the main entrance and makes the call. I try Ana again, and her phone goes to voice mail. I don’t trust myself to leave a message. I realize I could call Sawyer, but I have only a flimsy hold on my temper.

Taylor could call him. But what would that achieve? It’s not like Sawyer can physically remove Ana from the bar.

Could he?

Grey! Behave.

Taylor finishes his call and walks back to me, his expression grim.

What the hell?

“Sir, the Gulfstream is at Teterboro. It can be ready to fly in an hour.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

“Do you want to go back to the apartment?” he asks.

“No, I don’t need anything there. Do you need to go back there?”

“No, sir.”

“We’ll go straight to the airport.”

In the car I brood. I have a nagging suspicion that I’m behaving badly, but not as badly as my wife. Why can’t she do what she says? Or let me know?

Hyde is out for revenge, and I’m scared.

For her.

And for me, if I lose her.

Friday, August 26, 2011

Once we’re on board, I remove my bow tie, fold it, and stuff it into the outside breast pocket of my tux. Taylor hangs my jacket with his in the small closet, and I grab a blanket for each of us, then take a seat in the main cabin.

I gaze out into the New Jersey darkness, tension leaching from my muscles into my bones. While we were in the terminal waiting for the Gulfstream, I managed to restrain myself from calling Ana again. But I can bear it no longer, and as Stephan and Beighley do their final checks, I call Sawyer.

“Mr. Grey,” he says, above the background hum of the bar. People are out, enjoying themselves. Like Ana.

“Sawyer, good evening. Is Mrs. Grey still with you?”

“She is, sir.”

I’m tempted to ask him to hand his phone to her, but I know I will lose my shit and she’s probably having a good time. I’m reassured that she’s under Sawyer’s watchful eye.

“Do you want to talk to her?” he asks.

“No. Stick close to her. Keep her safe.”

Hyde could be anywhere.

“Yes, sir. Prescott and I have her covered,” Sawyer replies. I hang up and glance at Taylor, who is sitting diagonally opposite me, watching me impassively.

I look back down at my phone and I’m so mad at my wife, I didn’t even tell Sawyer that we were on our way home. Taylor must think I’m crazy.

I am crazy—crazy for my fucking wife, who cannot be trusted to do as she says. Taylor’s seen me sitting on the floor of my foyer, staring at the elevator, after she left me. And he had glue for the little glider.

“Sir, she’ll be fine,” he says gently.

I look up at him again and bite my tongue.

This is none of his goddamn business.

This is between me and my wife.

Deep down I think she’s