Chapter Eight
Gia Matteo is a good-looking woman—a tall, good-looking woman. She
wears her short, salon-blond, perfectly layered and coiffed hair like a
sophisticated crown. She’s dressed in a pale gray pantsuit; the slacks and
fitted jacket hug her lush curves. Her clothes look expensive. At the base of
her throat, a solitary diamond glints, matching the singlecarat studs in her
ears. She is well groomed—one of those women who grew up with money
and breeding, though her breeding seems to be lacking this evening; her
pale blue blouse is undone too far. Like mine. I flush.
“Christian. Ana.” She beams, showing perfect white teeth, and holds out a
manicured hand to shake first Christian’s, then my hand. It means I ha一ve to
release Christian’s hand to reciprocate. She’s a fraction shorter than
Christian, but then she’s in killer heels.
“Gia,” Christian says politely. I smile coolly.
“You both look so well after your honeymoon,” she says smoothly, her brown
eyes gazing at Christian through long mascaraed lashes. Christian puts his
arm around me, holding me close.
“We had a wonderful time, thank you.” He brushes his lips against my temple,
taking me by surprise.
See . . . he’s mine. Annoying—infuriating, even—but mine. I grin up at him.
Right now I really love you, Christian Grey. I slip my hand around his waist
then into his rear pocket of his pants and squeeze his behind. Gia gives us a
thin smile.
“Ha一ve you managed to look over the plans?”
“We ha一ve,” I murmur. I gaze up at Christian, who grins down at me, one
eyebrow raised in wry amusement. Amused at what? My reaction to Gia or
me squeezing his butt?
“Please,” Christian says. “The plans are here.” He gestures toward the dining
table. Taking my hand, he leads me to it, Gia following in our wake. I finally
remember my manners.
“Would you like something to drink?” I ask. “A glass of wine?”
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Fifty Shades Freed
“That would be lovely,” Gia says. “Dry white if you ha一ve it.”
Shit! Sauvignon blanc—that’s a dry
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