Fifty Shades Freed (Christian & Ana)(73)

Holy crap! "What are you saying?" So it was because of him. Fuck! I'm horrified.

He smiles and shakes his head at my alarm. "Relax. You've more than risen to the challenge. You've done very well." There's the tiniest hint of pride in his voice, and it's almost my undoing.

"Oh," I murmur incoherently, reeling from this news. I sit right back in my chair, open-mouthed, staring at him. He shifts again.

"I don't want to suffocate you, Ana. I don't want to put you in a gilded cage.

Well . . ." He pauses, his face darkening. "Well, the rational part of me doesn't."

He strokes his chin thoughtfully as his mind concocts some plan.

Oh, where is he going with this? Christian looks up suddenly, as if he's had a eureka moment. "So one of the reasons I'm here—apart from dealing with my errant wife," he says, narrowing his eyes, "is to discuss what I am going to do with this company."

Errant wife! I am not errant, and I'm not an asset! I scowl at Christian again and the threat of tears subsides.

"So what are your plans?" I incline my head to one side, mirroring him, and I can't help my sarcastic tone. His lips twitch with the hint of a smile.

Jeez—change of mood, again! How can I ever keep up with Mr. Mercurial?

"I'm renaming the company—to Grey Publishing."

Holy shit.

"And in a year's time, it will be yours."

My mouth drops open once more—wider this time.

"This is my wedding present to you."

I shut my mouth then open it, trying to articulate something—but there's nothing there. My mind is blank.

"So, do I need to change the name to Steele Publishing?"

He's serious. Holy f*ck.

"Christian," I whisper when my brain finally reconnects with my mouth.

"You gave me a watch . . . I can't run a business."

He tilts his head to one side again and gives me a censorious frown. "I ran my own business from the age of twenty-one."

"But you're . . . you. Control freak and whiz-kid extraordinaire. Jeez Christian, you majored in economics at Harvard before you dropped out. At least you have some idea. I sold paint and cable ties for three years on a part-time basis, for heaven's sake. I've seen so little of the world, and I know next to nothing!" My voice rises, growing louder and higher, as I complete my tirade.

"You're also the most well-read person I know," he counters earnestly. "You love a good book. You couldn't leave your job while we were on our honeymoon.

You read how many manuscripts? Four?"

"Five," I whisper.

"And you wrote full reports 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.

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 f*ck 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 have been through a wringer. Is he crazy?

And from somewhere dark and deep inside I have the sudden, inappropriate need to laugh. When I look up at him again, his eyes widen.

"Something amusing you, Ms. Steele?"