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 the anxiety I felt before I went into the building. It appears my wife can be reasonable. I reach for my phone to send her an e-mail, and find that she’s beaten me to it.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: NOT AN ASSET!
Date: August 22 2011 14:23
To: Christian Grey
Mr. Grey
Next time you come and see me, make an appointment, so I can at least have some prior warning of your adolescent overbearing megalomania.
Yours
Anastasia Grey <—please note name.
Editor, SIP
Overbearing megalomaniac, eh?
My wife has a way with words.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Seven Shades of Sunday
Date: August 22 2011 14:34
To: Anastasia Steele
My Dear Mrs. Grey (emphasis on My)
What can I say in my defense? I was in the neighborhood.
And no, you are not an asset, you are my beloved wife.
As ever, you make my day.
Christian Grey
CEO & Overbearing Megalomaniac, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
In a calmer frame of mind, I head back to my office. I need lunch.
Throughout the afternoon, I check my e-mails to see if she’s responded. She hasn’t, and I presume that’s the end of it, I hope.
Later, I’m sitting in the car waiting for Ana outside SIP. Ryan is tapping his index fingers on the steering wheel, and it’s driving me crazy.
For fuck’s sake.
Taylor will be back this evening, so I’m endeavoring to keep my cool. I keep glancing toward the door to see if Ana is on her way. According to my watch, it’s 5:35, precisely. She’s five minutes late. We have a meeting with Gia later; I hope Ana hasn’t forgotten.
Where is she?
Sawyer appears, holding the office door open for Ana. Ryan gets out and strolls around the car to the rear passenger door.
What’s he playing at?
Head down, Ana walks briskly toward us, followed by Sawyer, who heads to the driver’s seat while Ana climbs into the car. Ryan takes the passenger seat.