Freed (Fifty Shades as Told by Christian #3) - E.L. James Page 0,28

Saturday.

You make my dreams come true.

I will consider my vows and maybe write a few…

I did not mean that to rhyme!

Christian Grey

CEO & poet, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

PS: Do you possess a passport?

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Citizen of the USA

Date: July 5 2011 11:14

To: Christian Grey

Dear Poet

I’d stick to high finance if I were you.

Though I’m glad your dreams doth come true.

I’m thrilled and honored to report.

I do possess a new passport.

Now you have me thinking why?

Are we off someplace to fly?

I’d love to travel the world with you.

Not as one, but as two.

Curious of Seattle xxx

(And not a poet, as you can tell!)

My future wife is a dreadful poet! Grinning at her response, I grab my gym bag and head out of the office, and down to the basement to face Bastille.

Fresh from the gym, I finish my chicken-salad sandwich at my desk and pick up the phone. It’s time to call Elliot. I’ve been putting this off because I know he’ll give me shit.

“Hotshot. What gives?”

“Hello, Elliot. How are you?”

He laughs. “Jesus, man, you sound bored as fuck!”

Why is this so difficult?

“I’m not bored. I’m working. And taking some time out to talk to you.”

“Now you sound pissed.”

“I am.”

“Something I said?” He cackles over the line, and I’m tempted to hang up and try again later.

I take a deep breath. “I need to ask you something.”

“About the new house?”

“No.”

Game on, Grey. Ask him.

“Spit it out, man,” he says when I don’t respond. “This is like waiting for concrete to cure.”

“Will you be my best man?”

There. It’s done. And there’s a deafening silence on the other end of the phone, save for his quick gasp. Shit. Is he going to say no?

“Elliot?”

“Sure,” he says with uncharacteristic brevity. “Um…I’d be honored.” He sounds stunned. Why? Surely he knew this was coming?

“Good. Thank you.” My relief is clear in my voice.

He laughs, and I know my brother has recovered his dickwad humor. “Of course, this means I get to organize your goddamned bachelor party!” He whoops like a deranged gorilla.

Bachelor party? He’s got to be kidding.

“Whatever, Elliot.” An idea pops into my head. “Come over Friday. We can shoot some pool. Ana is spending the evening with Kate.”

“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