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“Go to work, Mrs. Grey.”

“You, too, Mr. Grey.”

Sawyer opens the door. I squeeze Christian’s hand once more before I climb out onto the sidewalk. As I head into the building, I give him a little wave. Sawyer holds open the door and follows me in.

“Hi, Ana.” Claire smiles from behind the reception desk.

“Claire, hello.” I smile back.

“You look wonderful. Good honeymoon?”

“The best, thank you. How’s it been here?”

“Old man Roach is the same, but security has been stepped up and our server room is being overhauled. But Hannah will tell you.” Sure she will. I give Claire a friendly smile and head to my office.

Hannah is my assistant. She is tall, slim, and ruthlessly efficient to the point that sometimes I find her a little intimidating. But she’s sweet to me, in spite of the fact that she’s a couple of years older. She has my latte waiting—the only coffee I let her get for me.

“Hi, Hannah,” I say warmly.

“Ana, how was your honeymoon?”

“Fantastic. Here—for you.” I pop the small bottle of perfume I bought for her onto her desk, and she claps her hands with glee.

“Oh, thank you!” she says enthusiastically. “Your urgent correspondence is on your desk, and Roach would like to see you at ten. That’s all I have to report for now.”

“Good. Thank you. And thanks for the coffee.” Wandering into my office, I rest my briefcase on my desk and gaze at the piled up letters. Jeez, I have a lot to do.

Just before ten there’s a timid tap on my door.

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“Come in.”

Elizabeth looks around the door. “Hi, Ana. I just wanted to say welcome back.”

“Hey. I have to say, reading through all this correspondence, I wish I was back in the South of France.”

Elizabeth laughs, but her laughter is off, forced, and I cock my head to one side and gaze at her like Christian does to me.

“Glad you’re back safely,” she says. “I’ll see you in a few minutes at the meeting with Roach.”

“Okay,” I murmur, and she shuts the door behind her. I frown at the closed door. What was that about ? I shrug it off. My e-mail pings—it’s a message from Christian.

From:Christian Grey

Subject:Errant Wives

Date:August 22, 2011 09:56

To:Anastasia Steele

Wife

I sent the e-mail below and it bounced.

And it’s because you haven’t changed your name.

Something you want to tell me?

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Attachment:

From:Christian Grey

FW Subject:Bubble

Date:August 22, 2011 09:32

To:Anastasia Grey

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Mrs. Grey

Love covering all the bases with you.

Have a great first day back.

Miss our bubble already.

x

Christian Grey

Back in the Real World CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Shit. I hit reply immediately.

From:Anastasia Steele

Subject:Don’t Burst the Bubble

Date:August 22, 2011 09:58

To:Christian Grey

Husband

I am all for a baseball metaphor with you, Mr. Grey.

I want to keep my name here.

I’ll explain this evening.

I am going in to a meeting now.

Miss our bubble, too . . .

PS: Thought I had to use my BlackBerry?

Anastasia Steele

Commissioning Editor, SIP

This is going to be such a fight. I can feel it. Sighing, I gather up my papers for the meeting.

The meeting lasts for two hours. All the commissioning editors are there, plus Roach and Elizabeth. We discuss personnel, strategy, marketing, security, and year-end. As the meeting progresses, I grow more and more uncomfortable.

There’s a subtle change in how my colleagues are treating me—a distance and 142/551

deference that wasn’t there before I left for my honeymoon. And from Courtney, who heads up the non-fiction division, there’s downright hostility. Maybe I’m just being paranoid but it goes some way to explaining Elizabeth’s odd greeting this morning.

My mind drifts back to the yacht, then to the playroom, then to the R8 speeding away from the mystery Dodge on I-5. Perhaps Christian’s right . . . perhaps I can’t do this anymore. The thought is depressing—this is all I’ve ever wanted to do. If I can’t do this, what will I do? As I walk back to my office, I try to dismiss these dark thoughts.

When I sit down at my desk, I quickly check my e-mails. Nothing from Christian. I check my BlackBerry . . . Still nothing. Good. At least there’s been no adverse reaction to my e-mail. Perhaps we’ll discuss this tonight as per my request. I find that hard to believe, but ignoring my uneasy feeling, I open the marketing plan I was given at the meeting.

As is our ritual on a Monday, Hannah comes into my office with a plate for my packed lunch courtesy of Mrs. Jones, and we sit and eat our lunches together, discussing what we want to achieve during the week. She brings me up to date with the office gossip, too, which—considering I’ve been away for three weeks—is pretty thin on the ground. As we’re chatting, there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Roach opens the door, and standing beside him is Christian. I’m momentarily struck dumb. Christian shoots me a blazing look and stalks in, before smiling politely at Hannah.

“Hello, you must be Hannah. I’m Christian Grey,” he says. Hannah scrambles to her feet and holds out her hand.

“Mr. Grey. H-how nice to meet you,” she stutters as they shake hands. “Can I fetch you a coffee?”

“Please,” he says warmly. With a quick puzzled glance at me, she scuttles out of the office past Roach, who stands as dumbstruck as me on the threshold of my office.

“If you’ll excuse me, Roach, I’d like a word with Ms. Steele.” Christian hisses the S sibilantly . . . sarcastically.

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This is why he’s here . . . Oh shit.

“Of course, Mr. Grey. Ana,” Roach mutters, shutting the door to my office as he departs. I recover my power of speech.

“Mr. Grey, how nice to see you.” I smile, far too sweetly.

“ Ms. Steele, may I sit down?”

“It’s your company.” I wave at the chair Hannah vacated.

“Yes, it is.” He smiles wolfishly at me, the smile not reaching his eyes. His tone is clipped. He’s bristling with tension—I can feel it all around me. Fuck . My heart sinks.

“Your office is very small,” he says as he sits down facing my desk.

“It suits me.”

He regards me neutrally, but I know he’s mad. I take a deep breath. This is not going to be fun.

“So what can I do for you, Christian?”

“I’m just looking over my assets.”

“Your assets? All of them?”

“All of them. Some of them need rebranding.”

“Rebranding? In what way?”

“I think you know.” His voice is menacingly quiet.

“Please—don’t tell me you have interrupted your day after three weeks away to come over here and fight with me about my name.” I am not a freaking asset!