Fifty Shades Freed (Fifty Shades #3)(27)
Author: E.L. James

"Yes, sir. I heard Mrs. Grey. I’m running face recognition software on all the digitized CCTV footage right now. See where else this ass**le – I’m sorry ma’am – this man has been within the organization."

I glance anxiously at Christian, who ignores Barney’s expletive. He’s studying the CCTV picture closely.

"Why would he do this?" I ask Christian.

He shrugs. "Revenge, perhaps. I don’t know. You can’t fathom why some people behave the way they do. I’m just angry that you ever worked so closely with him." Christian’s mouth presses into a hard, thin line and his arm encircles my waist protectively.

"We have the contents of his hard drive, too, sir," Barney adds. What?

"Yes, I remember. Do you have an address for Mr. Hyde?"

Christian says sharply.

"Yes, sir, I do."

"Alert Welch."

"Sure will. I’m also going to scan the city CCTV and see if I can track his movements."

"Check what vehicle he owns."

"Sir."

"Barney can do all this?" I whisper.

Christian nods and gives me a smug smile.

"What was on his hard drive?" I whisper.

Christian’s face hardens and he shakes his head. "Nothing much,"

he says, tight-lipped, his smile forgotten.

"Tell me."

"No."

"Was it about you, or me?"

"Me." He sighs.

"What sort of things? About your lifestyle?"

Christian shakes his head and puts his index finger against my lips to silence me. I scowl at him. But he narrows his eyes, and it’s a clear warning that I should hold my tongue.

"It’s a 2006 Camaro. I’ll send the license details to Welch, too,"

Barney says excitedly from the phone.

"Good. Let me know where else that f**ker has been in my building. And check this image against the one from his SIP personnel file." Christian gazes at me skeptically. "I want to be sure we have a match."

"Already done, sir, and Mrs. Grey is correct. This is Jack Hyde."

I grin. See? I can be useful. Christian rubs his hand down my back.

"Well done, Mrs. Grey." He smiles and his earlier rancor forgotten. To Barney he says, "Let me know when you’ve tracked all his movements at HQ. Also check out any other GEH property he may have had access to, and let the security teams know so they can make another sweep of all those buildings."

"Sir."

"Thanks, Barney." Christian hangs up.

"Well, Mrs. Grey, it seems that you are not only decorative, but useful, too." Christian’s eyes light up with wicked amusement. I know he’s teasing.

"Decorative?" I scoff, teasing him back.

"Very," he says quietly, pressing a soft, sweet kiss on my lips.

"You’re much more decorative than I am, Mr. Grey."

He grins and kisses me more forcefully, winding my braid around his wrist and wrapping his arms around me. When we come up for air, we are both breathless.

"Hungry?" he asks.

"No."

"I am."

"What for?"

He blinks down at me. "Well – food actually, Mrs. Grey."

"I’ll make you something." I giggle.

"I love that sound."

"Of me offering you food?"

"You giggling." He kisses my hair then I stand.

"So what would you like to eat, Sir?" I ask sweetly. He narrows his eyes. "Are you being cute, Mrs. Grey?"

"Always, Mr. Grey . . . Sir."

He smiles a sphinxlike smile. "I can still put you over my knee," he murmurs seductively.

"I know." I grin down at him. Placing my hands on the arms of his office chair, I lean down and kiss him. "That’s one of the things I love about you. But stow your twitching palm – you’re hungry."

He smiles his shy smile and my heart clenches. "Oh, Mrs. Grey, what am I going to do with you?"

"You’re going to answer my question. What would you like to eat?"

"Something light. Surprise me," he says, mirroring my words from the playroom earlier.

"I’ll see what I can do." I sashay out of his study and into the kitchen. My heart sinks when I see Mrs. Jones is there.

"Hello, Mrs. Jones."

"Mrs. Grey. Are you ready for something to eat?"

"Um . . ."

She is stirring something in a pot on the stove that smells delicious.

"I was going to make subs for Mr. Grey and me."

She pauses for a heartbeat. "Sure," she says. "Mr. Grey likes French bread – there is some in the freezer cut to sub length. I’d be happy to make it for you, ma’am."

"I know. But I’d like to do this."

"I understand. I’ll give you some room."

"What are you cooking?"

"This is a bolognaise sauce. It can be eaten anytime. I’ll freeze it."

She smiles warmly and turns the heat right down.

"Um – so what does Christian like in a, um . . . sub?" I frown, struck by what I’ve just said. Does Mrs. Jones understand the inference?

"Mrs. Grey, you could put just about anything in a sandwich, and as long as it’s in French bread, he’ll eat it." We grin at each other.

"Okay, thank you." I skip to the fridge. In the freezer compartment I find the French bread cut to size in Ziplock bags. Taking out two, I place them on a plate, pop them into the microwave and set it to defrost.

Mrs. Jones has disappeared. I frown as I return to the fridge to search for ingredients. I suppose it will be up to me to set the parameters by which Mrs. Jones and I will work together. I like the idea of cooking for Christian on the weekends. Mrs. Jones is more than welcome to do it during the week – the last thing I’ll want to do when I come home from work is cook. Hmm . . . a bit like Christian’s routine with his submissives. I shake my head. I mustn’t overthink this. I find some ham in the fridge, and in the crisper a perfectly ripe avocado. As I am adding a touch of salt and lemon to the mashed avocado, Christian emerges from his study with the plans for the new house in his hands. He puts them on the breakfast bar, saunters toward me, and wraps his arms around me, kissing my neck.

"Barefoot and in the kitchen," he murmurs.

"Shouldn’t that be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen?" I smirk. He stills, his whole body tensing against me. "Not yet," he declares, apprehension clear in his voice.

"No! Not yet!"

He relaxes. "On that we can agree, Mrs. Grey."

"You do want kids though, don’t you?"

"Sure, yes. Eventually. But I’m not ready to share you yet." He kisses my neck again.

Oh . . . share?

"What are you making? Looks good." He kisses me behind my ear, and I know it’s to distract me. A delicious tingle travels down my spine.

"Subs." I smirk, recovering my sense of humor.

He smiles against my neck and nips my earlobe. "My favorite."

I poke him with my elbow.

"Mrs. Grey, you wound me." He clutches his side as if in pain.

"Wimp," I mutter disapprovingly.

"Wimp?" he utters in disbelief. He slaps my behind, making me yelp. "Hurry up with my food, wench. And later I’ll show you how wimpy I can be." He slaps me playfully once more and goes to the fridge.

"Would you like a glass of wine?" he asks.

"Please."

Christian spreads Gia’s plans out over the breakfast bar. She really has some spectacular ideas.

"I love her proposal to make the entire downstairs back wall glass, but . . ."

"But?" Christian prompts.

I sigh. "I don’t want to take all the character out of the house."

"Character?"

"Yes. What Gia is proposing is quite radical, but . . . well . . . I fell in love with the house as it is . . . warts and all."

Christian’s brow furrows as if this is anathema to him.

"I kind of like it the way it is," I whisper. Is this going to make him mad?

He regards me steadily. "I want this house to be the way you want. Whatever you want. It’s yours."

"I want you to like it, too. To be happy in it, too."

"I’ll be happy wherever you are. It’s that simple, Ana." His gaze holds mine. He is utterly, utterly sincere. I blink at him as my heart expands. Holy cow, he really does love me.

"Well" – I swallow, fighting the small knot of emotion that catches in my throat – "I like the glass wall. Maybe we could ask her to incorporate it into the house a little more sympathetically."