Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian

Chapter 17

Her expression lightens, with her fond smile. “He was good. Thorough. I think I’m going to enjoy my

sessions with him.”

“I look forward to sparring with you.”

“I thought we did that already, Christian.”

I laugh. Ah, touché, Anastasia…touché.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

The morning sun is streaming through my office window as Ros enters, and we sit down at my small

conference table. “How are you feeling?” I ask.

“Good, thanks, Christian. I think I’ve fully recovered from last week’s crash-landing helicopter

escapade.”

“Your feet?”

She laughs. “Yes. Blisters are under control. You?”

“Yes, thanks. I think so. Though knowing it’s sabotage is a bitch.”

“Who would do such a thing?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“Have you considered a disgruntled employee?”

“Welch’s team is scrutinizing all the employee and ex-employee files to see if they can turn up any

likely suspects. We’ve only identified Jack Hyde, the guy I fired at SIP.”

“The book editor?” Ros’s disbelief is obvious from her high-pitched exclamation. Her shocked

expression almost makes me laugh.

“Yes.”

“Seems unlikely.”

“It does. Welch is trying to track him down, as it appears he’s not been to his apartment since I fired

him. He’s following up on that.”

“Woods?” she offers, as if suddenly inspired.

“He’s definitely a suspect. Again, Welch is investigating.”

“Whoever it is, I hope you catch the bastard.”

“I hope so, too.” Sooner rather than later. “What’s first on your agenda this morning?” RêAd lat𝙚St chapters at Novel(D)ra/ma.Org Only

“Kavanagh Media. We need to crack on with this deal. Have you approved the costs?”

“I know. I know. I have a couple of queries, which I’ll discuss with Fred. But once I’ve done that, our

final proposal can go. If their people approve the cost per foot, we can start on the fiber optic surveys.”

“Okay. I’ll hold off until you’ve checked with Fred.”

“I’m seeing him later. I’ll discuss it then. He’s showing me his latest iteration of the tablet. I think we’re

ready for the next prototype.”

“That’s good news. Have you thought about the next step with Taiwan?”

“I read the reports. They’re interesting. It’s obvious their shipyard is thriving, and I understand why they

want to expand. But what I can’t get a handle on is why they’re looking to the U.S. for investment.”

“Uncle Sam is on our side,” Ros asserts.

“True. I’m sure there will be tax advantages, but it’s a big step to move some of our construction effort

out of Seattle. I need to know they’re solid, and that it works for GEH.”

“Christian, it’ll be cheaper in the long run. You know this.”

“Undoubtedly, and with the price of steel climbing as it is right now, it might be the only way to keep the

GEH shipyard open long term and retain jobs here.”

“I think we should do a full impact assessment on what this will mean for our shipyard and the

workforce.”

“Yes.” I respond. “That’s a smart idea.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to Marco and get his team on it. But I don’t think we can stall for too long. They’ll go

elsewhere.”

“I get it. What’s next?”

“The plant. Detroit. Bill has identified three potential brownfield sites and we’re waiting for you to make

a decision.” She gives me a pointed look; she knows I’ve been procrastinating.

Why the fuck does it have to be Detroit?

I sigh. “Okay. I know Detroit is offering the best incentives. Let’s do a comparative cost analysis, then

talk through the pros and cons of each site. Let’s try and get that done by next week.”

“Okay. Good.”

We move on to discuss Woods once more, and what legal recourse we’re going to take, if any, for his

disregard of our NDA.

“I think he’s hung himself,” I mutter with disdain. “The press has not been kind to him.”

“I’ve drafted a letter and threatened legal action.”

“And expressed our disappointment?”

She laughs. “Yes.”

“Let’s see if that shuts him up. Asshole,” I mumble under my breath, but Ros frowns in disapproval at

my epithet.

“He is an asshole,” I exclaim in my defense. “And he’s a suspect.”

Ever the professional, Ros ignores my rudeness. “On a personal note—we’re on track for your house

purchase. You’ll need to put the money in escrow. I’ll send you the details and we can proceed with the

surveys.”

“I told my contractor that we’ll start them next week, though I’m not sure I need them. I’ll be making

changes to the house.”

“It can’t do any harm. It would be good for your contractor to know what they’re up against.”

I nod. “You’re right.”

Her brows knit together once more. “You know, I’ve been thinking.” She pauses.

“What?”

“Given the threat to your life, have you thought about installing a panic room in your apartment?”

I’m taken aback. “No, it’s never occurred to me. I live in a penthouse. But you’re right, maybe I should

now.”

Her smile is grim. “My work here is done.”

“Not quite.” From under the table I grab the Nordstrom bag that Taylor delivered earlier this morning.

“These are for you. As promised.”

“What?” Ros frowns, puzzled, as she takes the bag and peeks inside.

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