Fifty Shades Freed

the scent of the coming fall is in the breeze. I glance around, looking for the Audi SUV and Taylor. No sign. Christian’s hand tightens around mine, and I look up at

him. He seems anxious.

“What is it?”

He shrugs. The hum of an approaching car engine distracts me. It’s throaty . . . familiar. As I turn to find the source of the noise, it stops suddenly. Taylor is

climbing out of a sleek white sports car parked in front of us.

Oh shit! It’s an R8. I whip my head back to Christian, who’s watching me warily. “You can buy me one for my birthday . . . a white one, I think.”

“Happy birthday,” he says, and I know he’s gauging my reaction. I gape at him because that’s all I can do. He holds out a key.

“You are completely over the top,” I whisper. He’s bought me a fucking Audi R8! Holy shit. Just like I asked! My face splits in a huge grin, and my i

goddess does a backflip off the high dive. I jump up and down on the spot in a moment of unguarded and unbridled overexcitement. Christian’s expression mirrors

mine, and I dance forward into his waiting arms. He swings me around.

“You have more money than sense!” I whoop. “I love it! Thank you.” He stops and dips me low suddenly, startling me, so that I have to grasp his upper arms.

“Anything for you, Mrs. Grey.” He grins down at me. Oh my. What a very public display of affection. He bends and kisses me. “Come. Let’s go see your dad.”

“Yes. And I get to drive?”

He grins down at me. “Of course. It’s yours.” He stands me up and releases me, and I hurry around to the driver’s door.

Taylor opens it for me, smiling broadly. “Happy birthday, Mrs. Grey.”

“Thank you, Taylor.” I startle him by giving him a swift hug, which he returns awkwardly. He’s still blushing when I climb into the car, and he closes the door

promptly once I’m inside.

“Drive safe, Mrs. Grey,” he says gruffly. I beam up at him, barely able to contain my excitement.

“Will do.” I promise, putting the key in the ignition as Christian stretches out beside me.

“Take it easy. Nobody chasing us now,” he warns. When I turn the key, the engine thunders to life. I check the rearview and side mirrors, and spotting a rare

moment of clear traffic, execute a huge perfect U-turn and roar off in the direction of OSHU.

“Whoa!” Christian exclaims, alarmed.

“What?”

“I don’t want you in the ICU beside your father. Slow down,” he growls, not to be argued with. I ease off the accelerator and grin at him.

“Better?”

“Much,” he mutters, trying hard to look stern—and failing miserably.

Ray’s condition is the same. Seeing him grounds me after the heady road trip here. I really should drive more carefully. You can’t legislate for every drunk driver in

this world. I must ask Christian what’s become of the asshole who hit Ray—I’m sure he knows. In spite of the tubes, my father looks comfortable, and I think he

has a little more color in his cheeks. While I tell him about my morning, Christian wanders off to the waiting room to make phone calls.

Nurse Kellie hovers, checking Ray’s lines and making notes on his chart. “All his signs are good, Mrs. Grey.” She smiles kindly at me.

“That’s very encouraging.”

A little later Dr. Crowe appears with two nursing assistants and says warmly, “Mrs. Grey, time to take your father up to radiology. We’re giving him a CT scan.

To see how his brain is doing.”

“Will you be long?”

“Up to an hour.”

“Up to an hour.”

“I’ll wait. I’d like to know.”

“Sure thing, Mrs. Grey.”

I wander into the thankfully empty waiting room where Christian is talking on the phone, pacing. As he speaks, he gazes out of the window at the panoramic

view of Portland. He turns to me when I shut the door, and he looks angry.

“How far above the limit? . . . I see . . . All charges, everything. Ana’s father is in the ICU—I want you to throw the fucking book at him, Dad . . . Good. Keep

me informed.” He hangs up.

“The other driver?”

He nods. “Some drunken trailer trash from Southeast Portland.” He sneers, and I’m shocked by his terminology and his derisory tone. He walks over to me, and

his tone softens.

“Finished with Ray? Do you want to go?”

“Um . . . no.” I peer up at him, still reeling at his display of contempt.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Ray’s being taken to radiology for a CT scan to check the swelling in his brain. I’d like to wait for the results.”

“Okay. We’ll wait.” He sits down and holds out his arms. As we’re alone, I go willingly and curl up in his lap.

“This is not how I envisaged spending today,” Christian murmurs into my hair.

“Me neither, but I’m feeling more positive now. Your mom was very reassuring. It was kind of her to come last night.”

Christian strokes my back and rests his chin on my head. “My mom is an amazing woman.”

“She is. You’re very lucky to have her.”

Christian nods.

“I should call my mom. Tell her about Ray,” I murmur and Christian stiffens. “I’m surprised she hasn’t called me.” I frown in a moment of realization. In fact, I

feel hurt. It’s my birthday after all, and she was there when I was born. Why hasn’t she called?

“Maybe she did,” Christian says. I fish my BlackBerry out of my pocket. It shows no missed calls, but quite a few texts: happy birthdays from Kate, José, Mia,

and Ethan. Nothing from my mother. I shake my head despondently.

“Call her now,” he says softly. I do, but there’s no reply, just the answering machine. I don’t leave a message. How can my own mother forget my birthday?

“She’s not there. I’ll call later when I know the results of the brain scan.”

Christian tightens his arms around me, nuzzling my hair once more, and wisely makes no comment on my mother’s lack of maternal concern. I feel rather than

hear the buzz of his BlackBerry. He doesn’t let me stand up but fishes it awkwardly out of his pocket.

“Andrea,” he snaps, businesslike again. I make another move to stand and he stops me, frowning and holding me tightly around my waist. I nestle back against

his chest and listen to the one-sided conversation.

“Good . . . ETA is what time? . . . And the other, um . . . packages?” Christian glances at his watch. “Does the Heathman have all the details? . . . Good . . . Yes.

It can hold until Monday morning, but e-mail it just in case—I’ll print, sign, and scan it back to you . . . They can wait. Go home, Andrea . . . No, we’re good,

thank you.” He hangs up.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes.”

“Is this your Taiwan thing?”

“Yes.” He shifts beneath me.

“Am I too heavy?”

He snorts. “No, baby.”

“Are you worried about the Taiwan thing?”

“No.”

“I thought it was important.”

“It is. The shipyard here depends on it. There are lots of jobs at stake.”

Oh!

“We just have to sell it to the unions. That’s Sam and Ros’s job. But the way the economy’s heading, none of us have a lot of choice.”

I yawn.

“Am I boring you, Mrs. Grey?” He nuzzles my hair again, amused.

“No! Never . . . I’m just very comfortable on your lap. I like hearing about your business.”

“You do?” He sounds surprised.

“Of course.” I lean back to gaze directly at him. “I like hearing any bit of information you deign to share with me.” I smirk, and he regards me with amusement

and shakes his head.

“Always hungry for more information, Mrs. Grey.”

“Tell me.” I urge him as I snuggle up against his chest again.

“Tell you what?”

“Why you do it.”

“Do what?”

“Work the way you do.”

“A guy’s got to earn a living.” He’s amused.

“Christian, you earn more than a living.” My voice is full of irony. He frowns and is quiet for a moment. I think he’s not going to divulge any secrets, but he