Chapter 118


    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 nt 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 youe 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.


    Belongs to (N)?vel/Drama.Org.


    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 ncing toward the door to


    see if Ana is on her way. ording to my watch, it’s 5:35, precisely. She’s five minuteste. We have a


    meeting with Giater; 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 ying 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.


    “Hi,” she says, avoiding eye contact.


    “Hi.”


    “Disrupt anyone else’s work today?” Her tone is frostier than an arctic night.


    “Only Flynn’s.”


    Her eyes flick to me in surprise, but she looks ahead. “Next time you go to see him, I’ll give you a list of


    topics I want covered.” She’s bristling like a feral kitten beside me.


    She’s still mad.


    I clear my throat. “You seem out of sorts, Mrs. Grey.”


    She doesn’t answer. She just stares ahead, ignoring me. I shuffle a little closer and reach for her hand.


    “Hey,” I whisper. But she snatches her hand out of mine. “You’re mad at me?”


    “Yes,” she spits, and folds her arms, turning away from me and staring through the window.


    Damn.


    Seattle streams past my window, and I stare out, unseeing, feeling miserable and out of my depth. I


    thought we’d resolved this.


    Sawyer stops outside Esc, and Ana grabs her briefcase and is out of the car before any of us are


    ready.


    “Ana!” I call.


    “I’ve got this,” Ryan says, and scoots out in pursuit.


    Not waiting for Sawyer to open my door, I scramble out after them, in time to watch Ana stomp into the


    building with Ryan at her heels.


    I’m right behind them when he dashes ahead to reach the elevator before her, to press the call button.


    “What?” she snaps at him.


    He flushes, shocked, I think, by her tone. “Apologies, ma’am,” he says. He steps back when I join them.


    “So, it’s not just me you’re mad at?” I observe, wryly.


    “Are youughing at me?” she seethes, her eyes narrowing.


    “I wouldn’t dare.” I hold my hands up in surrender. I am no match for my wife’s bad mood.


    “You need a haircut.” She scowls as she steps into the elevator.


    “Do I?” Taking my life in my hands and brushing my hair off my forehead, I follow her in.


    “Yes.” She stabs the code for our floor into the keypad.


    “So, you’re talking to me now?”


    “Just.”


    “What exactly are you mad about? I need an indication.” So I’m sure.


    She stares at me, horrified. “Do you really have no idea? Surely, for someone so bright, you must have


    an inkling? I can’t believe you’re that obtuse.”


    Wow.


    I take a step back. “You really are mad. I thought we had sorted all this in your office.”


    “Christian, I just capitted to your petnt demands. That’s all.”


    I have no answer to that.


    The elevator doors open and Ana storms out. “Hi, Taylor,” I hear her say.


    I follow her into the foyer. “Mrs. Grey,” Taylor says, and nces at me with raised eyebrows. She


    dumps her briefcase in the hallway.


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