Chapter 118 (1/2)

“Why the sudden interest in Georgia, Christian?”

“It’s personal.”

She huffs down the phone. “Since when have you let your personal life interfere with business?”

Since I met Anastasia Steele.

“I don’t like Detroit,” I snap.

“Okay.” She backs off.

“I might meet the Savannah Brownfield liaison for a drink later,” I add, attempting to placate her.

“Whatever, Christian. There are a few other things we need to talk about. The aid has arrived in Rotterdam. Do you still want to go ahead?”

“Yes. Let’s get it done. I made a commitment at the End Global Hunger launch. This needs to happen before I can face that committee again.”

“Okay. Any further thoughts on the publishing acquisition?”

“I’m still undecided.”

“I think SIP has some potential.”

“Yeah. Maybe. Let me think about it for a while longer.”

“I’m seeing Marco to discuss the Lucas Woods situation.”

“Okay, let me know how that goes. Call me later.”

“Will do. Bye for now.”

I’m avoiding the inevitable. I know this. But I decide it would be better to tackle Miss Steele—via e-mail or phone, I’ve yet to decide which—on a full stomach, so I order dinner. While I’m waiting there’s a text from Andrea letting me know my drinks appointment is off. I’m fine with that. I’ll see them tomorrow morning, provided I’m not soaring with Ana.

Before room service arrives, Taylor calls.

“Mr. Grey.”

“Taylor. Are you checked in?”

“Yes, sir. Your luggage will be on its way up in a moment.”

“Great.”

“The Brunswick Soaring Association has a glider free. I’ve asked Andrea to fax through your flying credentials to them. Once the paperwork’s signed, we’re good to go.”

“Great.”

“They’ll do anytime from six a.m.”

“Even better. Have them ready from then. Send me the address.”

“Will do.”

There’s a knock on the door—my luggage and room service have arrived simultaneously. The food smells delicious: fried green tomatoes and shrimp and grits. Well, I’m in the South.

While I eat I contemplate my strategy with Ana. I could pay a visit to her mom’s tomorrow at breakfast. Bring bagels. Then take her soaring. That’s probably the best plan. She hasn’t been in touch all day, so I guess she’s mad. I reread her last message once I’ve finished dinner.

What the hell has she got against Elena? She knows nothing about our relationship. What we had happened a long time ago and now we’re just friends. What right does Ana have to be mad?

And if it wasn’t for Elena, God knows what would have happened to me.

There’s a knock on the door. It’s Taylor.