rts on all of them. You’re a very bright woman,
Anastasia. I’m sure you’ll manage.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Crazy for you,” he whispers.
What? And I snort because it’s the only expression my body can make. He
narrows his eyes.
“You’ll be a laughing stock. Buying a company for the little woman, who has
only had a full time job for a few months of her adult life.”
“Do you think I give a fuck what people think? Besides, you won’t be on your
own.”
I gape at him. He really has lost his marbles this time. “Christian, I . . .” I put
my head in my hands—my emotions ha一ve been through a wringer. What is
he thinking? And from somewhere dark and deep inside I ha一ve the sudden,
inappropriate need to laugh. When I look up at him again, his eyes widen.
“Something amusing you, Miss Steele?”
“Yes. You.”
His eyes widen further, shocked but also amused. “Laughing at your
husband? That will never do. And you’re biting your lip.” His eyes darken . . .
in that way. Oh no—I know that look. Sultry, seductive, salacious . . . No, no,
no! Not here.
137 | P a g e
Fifty Shades Freed
“Don’t even think about it,” I warn, alarm clear in my voice.
“Think about what, Anastasia?”
“I know that look. We’re at work.”
He leans forward, his eyes glued to mine, molten gray and hungry. Holy shit! I
swallow instinctively. “We’re in a small, reasonably soundproofed office with
a lockable door.”
“Gross moral turpitude.” I enunciate each word carefully.
“Not with your husband.”
“With my boss’s boss’s boss,” I hiss.
“You’re my wife.”
“Christian, no. I mean it. You can fuck me seven shades of Sunday this
evening. But not now. Not here!”
He blinks and narrows his eyes once more. Then unexpectedly he laughs.
“Seven shades of Sunday?” He arches an eyebrow, intrigued. “I may hold
you to that, Ms. Steele.”
“Oh, stop with the Ms. Steele!” I snap and thump the desk, startling us both.
“For hea一ven’s sake, Christian. If it means so much to you, I’ll change my
name!”
His mouth pops open as he inhales sharply. And then he grin
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