I just stare at her. She frowns.
“I know you don’t like me doing this—but can I make you some tea?” I nod.
“Twinings English Breakfast, weak and black?” I nod.
“Coming right up, Ana.”
I stare blankly at my computer screen, still in shock. How can I make him understand? E-mail!
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
150/551
prior warning of your adolescent overbearing megalomania.
Yours
Anastasia Grey <-----please note name.
Commissioning Editor, SIP
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.
He’s trying to be funny, but I am in no mood to laugh. I take a deep breath and go back to my correspondence.
Christian is quiet when I climb into the car that evening.
“Hi,” I murmur.
“Hi,” he responds, warily—as he should.
“Disrupt anyone else’s work today?” I ask too sweetly.
A ghost of a smile crosses his face. “Only Flynn’s.” Oh.
“Next time you go to see him, I’ll give you a list of topics I want covered,” I hiss at him.
“You seem out of sorts, Mrs. Grey.”
I glare steadily at the backs of Ryan and Sawyer’s heads in front of me.
Christian shifts beside me.
151/551
“Hey,” he says softly and reaches for my hand. All afternoon, when I should have been concentrating on work, I was trying to figure out what to say to him.
But I became angrier and angrier with each passing hour. I’ve had enough of his cavalier, petulant, and frankly childish behavior. I snatch my hand out of his—in a cavalier, petulant, and childish manner.
“You’re mad at me?” he whispers.
“Yes,” I hiss. Folding my arms protectively across my body, I gaze out my window. He shifts beside me once more, but I will myself not to look at him. I don’t understand why I’m so mad at him—but I am. Really fucking mad.
As soon as we pull up outside Escala, I break protocol and leap out of the car with my briefcase. I stomp into the building, not checking to see who is following.
Ryan scuttles into the foyer behind me and dashes to the elevator to press the call button.
“What?” I snap when I’m alongside him. His cheeks redden.
“Apologies, ma’am,” he mutters.
Christian comes and stands beside me to wait for the elevator, and Ryan retreats.
“So it’s not just me you’re mad at?” Christian murmurs dryly. I glare up at him and see a trace of a smile on his face.
“Are you laughing at me?” I narrow my eyes.