Fifty Shades Freed (Christian & Ana)(72)

"Christian, when I took this job, I'd only just met you," I say patiently, struggling to find the right words. "I didn't know you were going to buy the company—"

What can I say about that event in our brief history? His deranged reasons for doing so—his control freakery, his stalker tendencies gone mad, given completely free rein because he is so wealthy. I know he wants to keep me safe, but it's his ownership of SIP that is the fundamental problem here. If he'd never interfered, I could continue as normal and not have to face the disgruntled and whispered re-criminations of my colleagues. I put my head in my hands just to break eye contact with him.

"Why is it so important to you?" I ask, desperately trying to hold on to my fraying temper. I look up at his impassive stare, his eyes luminous, giving nothing away, his earlier hurt now hidden. But even as I ask the question, deep down I know the answer before he says it.

"I want everyone to know that you're mine."

"I am yours—look." I hold up my left hand, showing my wedding and engagement rings.

"It's not enough."

"Not enough that I married you?" My voice is barely a whisper.

He blinks, registering the horror on my face. Where can I go from here?

What else can I do?

"That's not what I mean," he snaps and runs a hand through his overlong hair so that it flops onto his forehead.

"What do you mean?"

He swallows. "I want your world to begin and end with me," he says, his expression raw. His comment completely derails me. It's like he's punched me hard in the stomach, winding and wounding me. And the vision comes to mind of a small, frightened, copper-haired gray-eyed boy in dirty, mismatched, ill-fitting clothes.

"It does," I say without guile, because it's the truth. "I'm just trying to establish a career, and I don't want to trade on your name. I have to do something, Christian. I can't stay imprisoned at Escala or the new house with nothing to do.

I'll go crazy. I'll suffocate. I've always worked, and I enjoy this. This is my dream job; it's all I've ever wanted. But doing this doesn't mean I love you less.

You are the world to me." My throat swells and tears prick the back of my eyes. I must not cry, not here. I repeat it over and over in my head. I must not cry. I must not cry.

He stares at me, saying nothing. Then a frown crosses his face as if he's considering what I've said.

"I suffocate you?" His voice is bleak, and it's an echo of a question he's asked me before.

"No . . . yes . . . no." This is such an exasperating conversation—not one that I want to have now, here. I close my eyes and rub my forehead, trying to fathom how we got to this.

"Look, we were talking about my name. I want to keep my name here because I want to put some distance between you and me . . . but only here, that's all. You know everyone thinks I got the job because of you, when the reality is—"

I stop, when his eyes widen. Oh no . . . it is because of him?

"Do you want to know why you got the job, Anastasia?"

Anastasia? Shit. "What? What do you mean?"

He shifts in his chair as if steeling himself. Do I want to know?

"The management here gave you Hyde's job to babysit. They didn't want the expense of hiring a senior executive when the company was mid-sale. They had no idea what the new owner would do with it once it passed into his ownership, and wisely, they didn't want an expensive redundancy. So they gave you Hyde's job to caretake until the new owner" —he pauses, and his lips twitch in an ironic smile—"namely me, took over."