Linotte Reads Fifty Shades: Fifty Shades Freed, Chapter Seven

Oh, my goodness! It’s time for another recap of Fifty Shades Freed. This time we’re on Chapter Seven. I certainly hope Wednesday — or Hump Day — has become your favorite day of the week because of this, or that I at least make your week a little more bearable.

“You seem to have studied your ex-boss in some detail, Mrs. Grey,” he murmurs, sounding none too pleased. I scowl at him, but I’m saved by Barney.

“It’s a 2006 Camaro. I’ll send the license details to Welch, too,” Barney says excitedly from the phone.

Oh, so now we know that David Hasselhoff and KITT were chasing them in the last chapter. Okay, then, so this is now a cheesy episode of Knight Rider.

I like the idea of cooking for Christian on the weekends. Mrs. Jones is more than welcome to do it during the week—the last thing I’ll want to do when I come home from work is cook. Hmm . . . a bit like Christian’s routine with his submissives. I shake my head. I mustn’t overthink this.

 No, of course you mustn’t think about it. As a matter of fact, don’t do any thinking at all. Let Christian do it for you. *GAGS!*

He regards me steadily. “I want this house to be the way you want. Whatever you want. It’s yours.”
“I want you to like it, too. To be happy in it, too.”
“I’ll be happy wherever you are. It’s that simple, Ana.” His gaze holds mine. He is utterly, utterly sincere. I blink at him as my heart expands. Holy cow, he really does love me.

And holy cow, I think what was left of my heart just became utterly, utterly cold and dead. And shrank to the size of the Grinch’s before he stole Christmas.

“We do that all the time. When was the last time you made out in front of the TV?” I ask, shy and teasing at the same time.
He shrugs and shakes his head. Pressing the remote again, he flicks through another few channels before settling on an old episode of The X-Files.
“Christian?”
“I’ve never done that,” he says quietly.
“Never?”
“No.”
“Not even with Mrs. Robinson?”
He snorts. “Baby, I did a lot of things with Mrs. Robinson. Making out was not one of them.” He smirks at me and then narrows his eyes with amused curiosity. “Have you?”
I flush. “Of course.” Well kind of . . .
“What! Who with?”
Oh no. I do not want to have this discussion.
“Tell me,” he persists.
I gaze down at my knotted fingers. He gently covers my hands with one of his. When I glance up at him, he’s smiling at me.
“I want to know. So I can beat whoever it was to a pulp.”
I giggle. “Well, the first time . . .”

Wait…I thought she’d had no previous sexual experience at all, not even making out. Plot hole! And also, he wants to beat up the guys she kissed and made out with in high school because, you know, he’s sensitive *sniffle, sniffle*. Sounds more like he has an entitlement complex to me.

“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!

You know, it’s not too late to get an annulment, Ana.

“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 fuck 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?

“Oh, baby, I’m madder than a March hare!” Seriously, if you’re questioning your husband’s mental state, and if he doesn’t see the need to get help of any kind, is this the best situation for you?

“Oh, stop with the Ms. Steele!” I snap and thump the desk, startling us both. “For heaven’s sake, Christian. If it means so much to you, I’ll change my name!”
His mouth pops open as he inhales sharply. And then he grins, a radiant, all-teeth-showing, joyous grin. Wow . . .
“Good.” He claps his hands, and all of a sudden he stands.
What now?
“Mission accomplished. Now, I have work to do. If you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Grey.”

And that’s it for this week!