Post by glasschmetterling on May 24, 2015 15:38:29 GMT
Okay, as I've mentioned in the other thread, a few months back, I started writing a Fifty Shades of Grey fanfiction. I got the inspiration from reading Jenny's (and a few other people's) review, and while I did that, I thought that it was just so sad that what could have been a good and entertaining piece of fiction was just so... bad. So I'm trying to write a retelling of Fifty Shades of Grey that fixes at least some of the things that are wrong with the story, to make it a bearable read. So far, it's been a lot of fun, I adore Ana, I love Kate, and even Christian's a lot less of a pain in the posterior. And I hope that I can share a bit of that fun with you, so I'll post the first chapter here and see what you think about it. Feel free to point out typos, grammar mistakes or stuff that sounds just plain stupid.
Also, I've decided to keep Ana's subconscious in because those internal dialogues are just too much fun to write, but if any of you could come up with an equally catchy but less illogical name for her, I'd be very happy. The inner goddess stays, too!
And kudos obviously go to Jenny, because without her, I'd never written this, and her reviews plus comments are something like my general outline for the story... they tell me what to fix!
Fifty Shades Revisited – Chapter 1: Which shall get a proper title in the very distant future
The knock at my bedroom door makes me groan and pull the blanket over my head, and I turn around, hoping that it had just been a mistake, that nobody really wants something from me at this godforsaken hour of the morning... another knock. Damn it.
“Ana!”
Kate's voice, sounding muffled and weak – and weak is not an adjective I usually associate with her. I sigh, pushing myself up as worry bubbles inside me. What's the matter with her? “Yeah? Come!”
The door opens and I squint, then brush my unruly brown hair out of my face as Kate enters, still clad in her pink comfy pajamas with a fluffy robe thrown over them. Now I know something's seriously wrong with her – Kate has an important interview on her schedule today, and she should be sitting at her desk right now, already dressed and groomed, going through her questions for the last time. “Kate? Are you okay?”
Only then I notice her runny eyes, the red tinge of her nose, and the box of Kleenex she's clinging to like it's going to safe her life. “Are you ill?”
Kate nods miserably, and I get the distinct feeling that a less tenacious woman would be lying in her bed right now, and probably doing a fair amount of sobbing over the complete and utter unfairness of the universe. And I agree – Kate has worked for nine months to get this interview, badgering dozens of PR people at Grey Whatever-the-name-of-his-company-is Inc. into submission so they would find a spot on Christian Grey's schedule for her. And now that she got that spot, she is ill. Life really isn't fair.
“It's only the flu,” she rasps, then swallows roughly and grabs a Kleenex to blow her nose. “I'll be right as rain in a few days... it's just the timing that's so fucking inconvenient.”
She shrugs with a good measure of desperation, and I scramble out of bed to hug her, germs be damned. She's my friend, and she needs my support right now! Catching a bug a few weeks before graduation is bad enough, but having to miss that interview she's been preparing for weeks now... and it's crystal clear that Kate'll miss the interview. I can feel her swaying and shaking as I hold her, and when I touch her forehead, she's clearly feverish. “Sorry to break the news to you, hon, but you're not going anywhere today.”
“I know.” Kate sounds miserable, but I'm actually rather relieved. The thought of watching her like a guard dog for the whole day so she doesn't slip out and drive to Seattle, because her unlimited stubbornness tells her that of course, she has to, is not very appealing, not when I have to finish my essay – my very last essay! – and then cram for my finals.
“So who's going instead of you?” I ask, and Kate miserably lays her head on my shoulder.
“Nobody's going. That's the problem! Nine months of scheduling, and nobody's going. I called all of them! Olivia, Angel, Jacob, Patricia, Levi and Robert. They're all busy.” Her tone makes it clear what she thinks of their “business”, and I pat her back. “I mean, I get it, Robert has to take his kid, and you can't exactly take a two-year-old on that drive, but the others? It's not that those essays and the finals jumped at them cold, saying Hi, I'm here, you didn't expect me, did you? And Jacob isn't even studying – he posted a pic of his oh-so-well-toned-body just coming out of the gym on Facebook after I called him.”
“What a jerk,” I answer, because it is about the only thing I can think of to say. “Can you, like, reschedule the interview?”
Kate pulls away, her anger now overruling her misery, and furiously waves her hands. “Oh, I called them to see if I could. And I could. I'd get a slot in, about, six months or so? Give or take. But that's after our graduation, so it won't do us any good.”
“Anyone else you could think of?”
Kate whips around and stares at me angrily. “Do you really think I'd let this opportunity pass if there was anyone...” She abruptly comes to a halt and stares at me, and I feel a wave of dread hit me right in the gut. No. No. No no no! Bad idea, Kate! Really bad idea!
“What about you?” Damn. “I mean, I know you're shy and all, but it won't be so bad. You only have to drive to Seattle, read the questions from a sheet, and then record the answers. Just follow the script and you'll be fine!”
I remember that cursed “Just follow the script!” line from the more-than-just-dreadful play in fifth grade, when I made a total laughing stock of myself in front of my classmates and their parents, with their vicious comments following me all the way through high school. “Kate, you know I'd do just about everything for you, but... I can't do that. I'm sorry. I have to work the afternoon shift, and even if I went, I'd make a complete and utter fool of myself, and how would that reflect on you? I mean, you arranged that interview, and if you send a bumbling idiot...”
“Stop that, Ana. Stop that right now.” Kate puts her hands on her hips and shoots me her best Katherine-Kavanagh-no-nonsense-look. How she pulls it off with watery eyes and a runny nose? I have not the faintest idea. “You are not a bumbling idiot! You are just shy. That's a difference! And it's not like he's going to flirt with you or something. It'll be a purely professional interview, and I know that you can handle talking to people in a professional context. I mean, you survive at Clayton's, right?” Her firm tone melts when she sees my discomfort, and her eyes soften. “Please, Ana? It'll look good on your CV, too!”
I sigh and rake my fingers through my mangy hair, fighting my guilt over the fact that the interview should rightfully be on Kate's CV, then resign myself to my fate. I can't let Kate down on this. “Fine. I'll have to call Mr Clayton though – if they need me at the store...”
Kate nods, even though there is a hint of fear in her eyes. “Of course.”
Unfortunately, it turns out that Mr Clayton, the owner of the hardware store where I work, is still an awesome boss, letting me shuffle my shifts even at such late notice. Today, part of me wishes that he wouldn't be as lenient, but I try to muster my courage to face the upcoming interview. At least all the work Kate put into arranging it won't be in vain.
When I tell her that I'm good to go, she squeals and hugs me, then immediately holds her head because it hurts, and I push her at arm's length. “So now that your interview is saved, off to bed with you! Have you taken anything?”
She has, but she can't go to bed – of course she can't. Before she can, she has to walk me through the interview, and brief me on the man I'm going to talk to... which, I admit, is a sensible move. I can't go and interview a guy I know nothing about, except the odd bit of information Kate has mentioned in the last nine months while dealing with his PR people. Now that would be a sure way to screw up!
So while I stand in the kitchen, whipping together some kind of vegetable broth for Kate's sore throat, something she can warm up later while I'm gone, she tells me about Christian Grey, CEO of Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc (Yeah, right. That was the name!). Aged 27, extremely handsome (or at least Kate claims he is, because the pictures she whips up on her phone to prove it all seem a bit unflattering to me), entrepreneur and self-made man, and major benefactor of our university. So, no pressure at all! We have nothing to lose if I screw up this interview! The cherry on top of my pie is, of course, that he'll hand out the degrees at our graduation ceremony. So if I make a fool of myself, I can't even tell myself that I'll probably never see him again and that it therefore doesn't matter what he thinks about me. Wonderful!
Kate, being my roommate of four years, immediately notices my discomfort, and puts the cup of tea she's clinging to aside to hug me. “Please, Ana, don't worry. You'll do just fine! You know the questions, you know your equipment, you know Mr Grey's background. Just record everything, and I'll do my utmost to make you sound smart and professional when I type the interview. Not that there will be much to do, because you will sound smart and professional!”
She smiles at me and I grin back before she hands me the keys to her Mercedes. Wanda, my old Beetle, probably wouldn't make it to Seattle in one piece. “Good luck, Ana.”
“Thanks!” I only add “I'll need it!” when I'm safely out of the apartment and the door has closed behind me so Kate can't hear me.
Thankfully, the roads are clear as I set off from Vancouver towards Seattle. Being late to an appointment like this is one of my personal nightmares, the one thing – well, no, let's be honest here, one of the many, many things – that would make me even more nervous than I already am, and it feels good to see both the car and the traffic cooperating. I can't always count on Wanda doing that, even though she has served me faithfully in the past, timing her breakdowns conveniently. I can count on her taking me to campus when I'm late to hand in my essays, and she's protected me from more than one dentist's appointment.
I feel a bit disloyal towards Wanda as I floor it, enjoying the very much improved experience of driving the CLK up the I-5 towards Seattle, humming along to the tunes in the radio and accelerating sharply just for the thrill of it on the empty road. Only when I reach the outskirts of the city and I have to turn on the satnav to find my way to Grey House, the building where the headquarters of Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. (and I am quite proud that I remembered that mouthful!) are situated, my anxiety returns. At least it is still early when I arrive there, parking in the lot across the street, and I try to busy myself by going over the questions Kate's printed out for me again. They all sound smart and sensible, like the things you'd ask the CEO of a company with what, forty thousand employees – not that I know what CEO usually gets asked, mind, but I think that talking about their business is pretty standard for them. Other topics include his childhood, his hobbies and the decided lack of information available about his private life, but those questions are respectfully phrased and Kate has told me to skip them if Mr Grey gets uncomfortable. And in addition to all of that, she has even added follow-ups to anticipate different ways of Mr Grey answering, so I can't put my foot into my mouth. I love her!
My phone chimes and I pull it out of my pocket, seeing a text from her. “You're my heroine. You can do this!”
I smile and get out of the CLK's driver's seat, then cross the street and allow myself a moment of awe as I stare up at the modern twenty-story office building. Frankly, it's impressive as hell, but then again, I'm pretty sure that it's supposed to be. You can do this!
It's still only a quarter to two when I enter the glass and steel lobby (also, modern, of course!) and approach the receptionist's desk, where a young blonde smiles pleasantly at me. “What can I do for you?”
My fingers nervously ghost over the white, smooth stone in front of me and I force them to still. “I'm here to see Mr Grey. Anastasia Steele for Katherine Kavanagh. She's indisposed and I'm her replacement.”
“Excuse me one moment, Ms Steele.” She turns to her computer screen, and I try to reign in my pangs of self-consciousness and fear at her calm and professional demeanor and understated elegance. You look good, Ana. And I really think I do... or at least I thought so when Kate sent me on my way to Seattle. I've made an effort, I'm wearing heels, my one and only skirt, and one of Kate's formal blazers. Only my hair is escaping any kind of control as it's wont to do. Shouldn't have gone to bed right after that shower! But yesterday, after an evening of studying until after midnight, I was just too tired to blow-dry it (Kate'd have killed me, she went to bed early in preparation for her interview. And in all fairness to myself, I didn't know back then that I had a super important trip ahead of me! The customers at Clayton's somehow seem to expect that a girl working in a hardware store looks a bit tousled.), and today, a pony tail was the only option I could go for. Unfortunately, it's not even a particularly tidy pony tail, nothing compared to the receptionist's smooth, groomed style.
“Ms Kavanagh is expected. Please sign here.” She hands me a visitor's pass – as if it wasn't obvious enough that I'm visiting, by the way I stand out like a sore thumb – and gestures towards the elevators with a smile. “Last to the right, I'll send you right up to the twentieth floor.”
“Thank you.” Pinning the pass to my borrowed blazer, I walk past two security men – who are better dressed than I am, and look more comfortable in their suits to boot – to take the indicated elevator. Its doors open as soon as I approach, and the button for the twentieth floor is already pressed. Of course the CEO is working on the top floor.
I'm not sure if it's my fear or the elevator that makes my stomach drop, and I'm relieved when I see the doors open, only to find myself in another lobby. Of course it's another lobby, silly! Did you really think this elevator would lead right into his office?
“Ms Steele?” Another young woman, also blonde, I notice distractedly, steps forward from her desk, and I smile at her.
“Yes?”
“Mr Grey will see you in a moment.” Good God! Her words trigger another round of nerves, reminding me that I'm not done with surviving this intimidating, nightmarish maze of glass and steel, but that I'll have to talk to the owner of it in a few moments! I barely hear that she offers me something to drink and wants to take my coat, and only nod and hand it over so I can get a minute of peace to compose myself.
The young woman – about my age, maybe a new graduate from college – seems to sense my discomfort and ushers me over to a waiting area with white leather chairs, where I can sit, clutch the water she's handed me and go through my questions again like they're my lifeline. Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. has heavily invested in green energy. What are your reasons for this decision that came as a surprise to the business community? and Unlike many other companies, you have kept your manufacturing division in the United States themselves rather than moving them abroad. Have you any plans to change that? and Even though the telecommunications business has undoubtedly a bright future ahead, the staggering pace of innovation on that front has left a number of companies behind. How does Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. plan to avoid that fate? are my mantras, and I repeat them over and over again in my head until I've reached at least a semblance of calm.
But that semblance quickly shatters when another blonde appears from a large door to the right. Grey's office? She smiles and greets me, then returns to the desk, where she takes up her place next to the other receptionist, and I frown. What is it with blondes here? Has Grey like, a thing for them? How unprofessional would that be? Surely not. A man hiring and making business decisions with, erm, that part of his body, can't be that successful! Or at least I hope he can't...
I turn back to my questions and smile at the thought of my roommate. If I had ever entertained that stupid stereotype about blondes and their intelligence, fifteen minutes in Kate's company would have cured me from that, and it seems to be the same with the women I've met here at Grey House. They seem to be the professional and efficient sort... the total opposite of myself. Damn it Ana, don't you start dressing yourself down right now! The voice in my head sounds suspiciously like Kate, and I take a deep breath.
The large door opens again just as I want to exhale, and a tall Asian man steps out, closely followed by an extremely short brunette. Thank God, I'm not the only one around here!
“Golf, this week, Mr Grey! With Claude!” he says through the open door, and his colleague looks up at him with laughter in her eyes and a grin that seems to be ready to burst into a full-blown laugh any second.
“You don't even like golf! And neither does Mr Grey!”
He turns towards her with mock gravity. “I? An executive? Not like golf? That can't be! I have appearances to keep up, after all!” He gestures at the receptionists, who are both grinning at the exchange, and, surprisingly, at me. “And how odd would it sound to say Airfield, this week, Grey!”
The brunette only laughs and good-naturedly shakes her head, having obviously decided that her colleague is a hopeless case, and they depart with two “Good afternoons” into the elevator.
“Mr Grey will see you now. Do go through.” I jump up, startled by the receptionist's voice, and very nearly splay my notes all over the seated area, but manage to catch them in time and put them back into my satchel.
“Thank you.”
I nod at her and make my way towards the large door that becomes more and more intimidating with every step, and I try to calm myself. They have survived his office. So you can survive too! Breathe, Ana. Breathe. Fortunately, the breathing part works just fine – but the walking part is much more trouble. My heels and knees suddenly feel like jelly and when I cross the threshold, I twist my ankle and fall through the door, flailing.
Shit shit shit. I've tripped right in the entrance of Mr Grey's office, and as close as those black, polished shoes I'm facing now are, I've barely avoided taking him down with me! I can feel my face flame – I'm probably beet-red, damn my pale complexion – and take a deep breath, but before I can look up at him, I feel gentle hands on my arms. “Ms Steele? May I help you?”
I nod mutely, and he pulls me up so I can stand and look him in the eye. “Thank...” The words die in my throat as I look up at his face. The pictures really didn't do him justice! He's... gorgeous, with intense gray eyes and unruly copper-colored hair, and those eyes are trained at me and only me, full of concern. I swallow. “Thank you.”
He lets go of me, and I carefully test out my throbbing ankle. It hurts, but I can put my weight on it, so I should be fine in a few minutes. Well, there's a reason I wear heels only rarely.
“Are you all right? Can I get you anything? An ice pack, maybe?”
“No... no, thanks,” I mutter, still trying to get a grip on my embarrassment. Hell, could that have gone any worse? Well, he could have been even hotter... my subconscious replies smugly, and I shut her up with a nasty, No, he couldn't!
I take a deep breath and muster my courage to look him in the eye, and he finally extends a slender, long-fingered hand (Heaven help, even his hands are hot!). “Ms Steele.”
I shake it, and I don't know if it's because of him or because of me, but the touch lasts a moment longer than is strictly necessary, and I feel my blush intensify as I wrangle with those unexpected and uninvited emotions that shoot through me like electric currents. Get a grip, Steele! You're here for the interview! Kate relies on you!
“Mr Grey.” I try to muster my best professional smile and am dismayed when I feel it grow broader and warmer than I had intended. Damn. “Thank you for your time... and... and your patience. It's a pleasure meeting you.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” he replies in that rich, dark voice that could make the phone book an interesting read, and I wonder if I'll ever get rid of this damned blush. “Would you like to sit?”
He waves me towards a white couch with a coffee table, both situated so Mr Grey's visitors can be sufficiently impressed by the wonderful view of the Seattle skyline and the sound. And I am impressed, but my ankle painfully reminds me that it's not feeling too cooperative right now, so I limp over, trying to ignore the ache and trying not to fall again. “Thank you.”
His gray eyes have darkened again. “Are you sure you don't want an ice pack? I think your ankle is sprained.”
I wave him off with a smile. Now that I'm in a sitting position, I'm pretty sure that I can stave off any other injury, at least until the interview is over. “No, thanks. I'll be fine in a few minutes.”
He nods, but I can see that he doesn't believe me. Normally I should be flushing again, but I seem to have become desensitized to the humiliation by now. Time to get to business. I pull my notes and my phone that will double as a recorder today out of my satchel and place them on the coffee table. “Right. Erm... yes.” I feel like a fool and look down at the script Kate's given me. “First, I'd like to ask you if I may record this interview?”
“Of course.” The concern in his eyes has made way to amusement, but I refuse to accept the bait. I will get through this, and I will do so as coolly and professionally as possible!
“Thank you. Then I wanted to apologize. I'm only here as a replacement for Ms Kavanagh, the lead editor of the student newspaper – she has fallen ill suddenly – and so I might not be as qualified to answer any of your questions about our newspaper and the reasons for arranging this interview as she is.”
“Fair enough.” He nods, and I'm relieved that he's not angry at me for not being Kate. Now you only have to try to erase that bumbling-idiot-impression he surely must have got of you, and everything will be great. I inwardly roll my eyes at my subconscious. Yeah, right. That'll surely work.
“Well, then... I... I think we can begin.”
Also, I've decided to keep Ana's subconscious in because those internal dialogues are just too much fun to write, but if any of you could come up with an equally catchy but less illogical name for her, I'd be very happy. The inner goddess stays, too!
And kudos obviously go to Jenny, because without her, I'd never written this, and her reviews plus comments are something like my general outline for the story... they tell me what to fix!
Fifty Shades Revisited – Chapter 1: Which shall get a proper title in the very distant future
The knock at my bedroom door makes me groan and pull the blanket over my head, and I turn around, hoping that it had just been a mistake, that nobody really wants something from me at this godforsaken hour of the morning... another knock. Damn it.
“Ana!”
Kate's voice, sounding muffled and weak – and weak is not an adjective I usually associate with her. I sigh, pushing myself up as worry bubbles inside me. What's the matter with her? “Yeah? Come!”
The door opens and I squint, then brush my unruly brown hair out of my face as Kate enters, still clad in her pink comfy pajamas with a fluffy robe thrown over them. Now I know something's seriously wrong with her – Kate has an important interview on her schedule today, and she should be sitting at her desk right now, already dressed and groomed, going through her questions for the last time. “Kate? Are you okay?”
Only then I notice her runny eyes, the red tinge of her nose, and the box of Kleenex she's clinging to like it's going to safe her life. “Are you ill?”
Kate nods miserably, and I get the distinct feeling that a less tenacious woman would be lying in her bed right now, and probably doing a fair amount of sobbing over the complete and utter unfairness of the universe. And I agree – Kate has worked for nine months to get this interview, badgering dozens of PR people at Grey Whatever-the-name-of-his-company-is Inc. into submission so they would find a spot on Christian Grey's schedule for her. And now that she got that spot, she is ill. Life really isn't fair.
“It's only the flu,” she rasps, then swallows roughly and grabs a Kleenex to blow her nose. “I'll be right as rain in a few days... it's just the timing that's so fucking inconvenient.”
She shrugs with a good measure of desperation, and I scramble out of bed to hug her, germs be damned. She's my friend, and she needs my support right now! Catching a bug a few weeks before graduation is bad enough, but having to miss that interview she's been preparing for weeks now... and it's crystal clear that Kate'll miss the interview. I can feel her swaying and shaking as I hold her, and when I touch her forehead, she's clearly feverish. “Sorry to break the news to you, hon, but you're not going anywhere today.”
“I know.” Kate sounds miserable, but I'm actually rather relieved. The thought of watching her like a guard dog for the whole day so she doesn't slip out and drive to Seattle, because her unlimited stubbornness tells her that of course, she has to, is not very appealing, not when I have to finish my essay – my very last essay! – and then cram for my finals.
“So who's going instead of you?” I ask, and Kate miserably lays her head on my shoulder.
“Nobody's going. That's the problem! Nine months of scheduling, and nobody's going. I called all of them! Olivia, Angel, Jacob, Patricia, Levi and Robert. They're all busy.” Her tone makes it clear what she thinks of their “business”, and I pat her back. “I mean, I get it, Robert has to take his kid, and you can't exactly take a two-year-old on that drive, but the others? It's not that those essays and the finals jumped at them cold, saying Hi, I'm here, you didn't expect me, did you? And Jacob isn't even studying – he posted a pic of his oh-so-well-toned-body just coming out of the gym on Facebook after I called him.”
“What a jerk,” I answer, because it is about the only thing I can think of to say. “Can you, like, reschedule the interview?”
Kate pulls away, her anger now overruling her misery, and furiously waves her hands. “Oh, I called them to see if I could. And I could. I'd get a slot in, about, six months or so? Give or take. But that's after our graduation, so it won't do us any good.”
“Anyone else you could think of?”
Kate whips around and stares at me angrily. “Do you really think I'd let this opportunity pass if there was anyone...” She abruptly comes to a halt and stares at me, and I feel a wave of dread hit me right in the gut. No. No. No no no! Bad idea, Kate! Really bad idea!
“What about you?” Damn. “I mean, I know you're shy and all, but it won't be so bad. You only have to drive to Seattle, read the questions from a sheet, and then record the answers. Just follow the script and you'll be fine!”
I remember that cursed “Just follow the script!” line from the more-than-just-dreadful play in fifth grade, when I made a total laughing stock of myself in front of my classmates and their parents, with their vicious comments following me all the way through high school. “Kate, you know I'd do just about everything for you, but... I can't do that. I'm sorry. I have to work the afternoon shift, and even if I went, I'd make a complete and utter fool of myself, and how would that reflect on you? I mean, you arranged that interview, and if you send a bumbling idiot...”
“Stop that, Ana. Stop that right now.” Kate puts her hands on her hips and shoots me her best Katherine-Kavanagh-no-nonsense-look. How she pulls it off with watery eyes and a runny nose? I have not the faintest idea. “You are not a bumbling idiot! You are just shy. That's a difference! And it's not like he's going to flirt with you or something. It'll be a purely professional interview, and I know that you can handle talking to people in a professional context. I mean, you survive at Clayton's, right?” Her firm tone melts when she sees my discomfort, and her eyes soften. “Please, Ana? It'll look good on your CV, too!”
I sigh and rake my fingers through my mangy hair, fighting my guilt over the fact that the interview should rightfully be on Kate's CV, then resign myself to my fate. I can't let Kate down on this. “Fine. I'll have to call Mr Clayton though – if they need me at the store...”
Kate nods, even though there is a hint of fear in her eyes. “Of course.”
Unfortunately, it turns out that Mr Clayton, the owner of the hardware store where I work, is still an awesome boss, letting me shuffle my shifts even at such late notice. Today, part of me wishes that he wouldn't be as lenient, but I try to muster my courage to face the upcoming interview. At least all the work Kate put into arranging it won't be in vain.
When I tell her that I'm good to go, she squeals and hugs me, then immediately holds her head because it hurts, and I push her at arm's length. “So now that your interview is saved, off to bed with you! Have you taken anything?”
She has, but she can't go to bed – of course she can't. Before she can, she has to walk me through the interview, and brief me on the man I'm going to talk to... which, I admit, is a sensible move. I can't go and interview a guy I know nothing about, except the odd bit of information Kate has mentioned in the last nine months while dealing with his PR people. Now that would be a sure way to screw up!
So while I stand in the kitchen, whipping together some kind of vegetable broth for Kate's sore throat, something she can warm up later while I'm gone, she tells me about Christian Grey, CEO of Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc (Yeah, right. That was the name!). Aged 27, extremely handsome (or at least Kate claims he is, because the pictures she whips up on her phone to prove it all seem a bit unflattering to me), entrepreneur and self-made man, and major benefactor of our university. So, no pressure at all! We have nothing to lose if I screw up this interview! The cherry on top of my pie is, of course, that he'll hand out the degrees at our graduation ceremony. So if I make a fool of myself, I can't even tell myself that I'll probably never see him again and that it therefore doesn't matter what he thinks about me. Wonderful!
Kate, being my roommate of four years, immediately notices my discomfort, and puts the cup of tea she's clinging to aside to hug me. “Please, Ana, don't worry. You'll do just fine! You know the questions, you know your equipment, you know Mr Grey's background. Just record everything, and I'll do my utmost to make you sound smart and professional when I type the interview. Not that there will be much to do, because you will sound smart and professional!”
She smiles at me and I grin back before she hands me the keys to her Mercedes. Wanda, my old Beetle, probably wouldn't make it to Seattle in one piece. “Good luck, Ana.”
“Thanks!” I only add “I'll need it!” when I'm safely out of the apartment and the door has closed behind me so Kate can't hear me.
Thankfully, the roads are clear as I set off from Vancouver towards Seattle. Being late to an appointment like this is one of my personal nightmares, the one thing – well, no, let's be honest here, one of the many, many things – that would make me even more nervous than I already am, and it feels good to see both the car and the traffic cooperating. I can't always count on Wanda doing that, even though she has served me faithfully in the past, timing her breakdowns conveniently. I can count on her taking me to campus when I'm late to hand in my essays, and she's protected me from more than one dentist's appointment.
I feel a bit disloyal towards Wanda as I floor it, enjoying the very much improved experience of driving the CLK up the I-5 towards Seattle, humming along to the tunes in the radio and accelerating sharply just for the thrill of it on the empty road. Only when I reach the outskirts of the city and I have to turn on the satnav to find my way to Grey House, the building where the headquarters of Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. (and I am quite proud that I remembered that mouthful!) are situated, my anxiety returns. At least it is still early when I arrive there, parking in the lot across the street, and I try to busy myself by going over the questions Kate's printed out for me again. They all sound smart and sensible, like the things you'd ask the CEO of a company with what, forty thousand employees – not that I know what CEO usually gets asked, mind, but I think that talking about their business is pretty standard for them. Other topics include his childhood, his hobbies and the decided lack of information available about his private life, but those questions are respectfully phrased and Kate has told me to skip them if Mr Grey gets uncomfortable. And in addition to all of that, she has even added follow-ups to anticipate different ways of Mr Grey answering, so I can't put my foot into my mouth. I love her!
My phone chimes and I pull it out of my pocket, seeing a text from her. “You're my heroine. You can do this!”
I smile and get out of the CLK's driver's seat, then cross the street and allow myself a moment of awe as I stare up at the modern twenty-story office building. Frankly, it's impressive as hell, but then again, I'm pretty sure that it's supposed to be. You can do this!
It's still only a quarter to two when I enter the glass and steel lobby (also, modern, of course!) and approach the receptionist's desk, where a young blonde smiles pleasantly at me. “What can I do for you?”
My fingers nervously ghost over the white, smooth stone in front of me and I force them to still. “I'm here to see Mr Grey. Anastasia Steele for Katherine Kavanagh. She's indisposed and I'm her replacement.”
“Excuse me one moment, Ms Steele.” She turns to her computer screen, and I try to reign in my pangs of self-consciousness and fear at her calm and professional demeanor and understated elegance. You look good, Ana. And I really think I do... or at least I thought so when Kate sent me on my way to Seattle. I've made an effort, I'm wearing heels, my one and only skirt, and one of Kate's formal blazers. Only my hair is escaping any kind of control as it's wont to do. Shouldn't have gone to bed right after that shower! But yesterday, after an evening of studying until after midnight, I was just too tired to blow-dry it (Kate'd have killed me, she went to bed early in preparation for her interview. And in all fairness to myself, I didn't know back then that I had a super important trip ahead of me! The customers at Clayton's somehow seem to expect that a girl working in a hardware store looks a bit tousled.), and today, a pony tail was the only option I could go for. Unfortunately, it's not even a particularly tidy pony tail, nothing compared to the receptionist's smooth, groomed style.
“Ms Kavanagh is expected. Please sign here.” She hands me a visitor's pass – as if it wasn't obvious enough that I'm visiting, by the way I stand out like a sore thumb – and gestures towards the elevators with a smile. “Last to the right, I'll send you right up to the twentieth floor.”
“Thank you.” Pinning the pass to my borrowed blazer, I walk past two security men – who are better dressed than I am, and look more comfortable in their suits to boot – to take the indicated elevator. Its doors open as soon as I approach, and the button for the twentieth floor is already pressed. Of course the CEO is working on the top floor.
I'm not sure if it's my fear or the elevator that makes my stomach drop, and I'm relieved when I see the doors open, only to find myself in another lobby. Of course it's another lobby, silly! Did you really think this elevator would lead right into his office?
“Ms Steele?” Another young woman, also blonde, I notice distractedly, steps forward from her desk, and I smile at her.
“Yes?”
“Mr Grey will see you in a moment.” Good God! Her words trigger another round of nerves, reminding me that I'm not done with surviving this intimidating, nightmarish maze of glass and steel, but that I'll have to talk to the owner of it in a few moments! I barely hear that she offers me something to drink and wants to take my coat, and only nod and hand it over so I can get a minute of peace to compose myself.
The young woman – about my age, maybe a new graduate from college – seems to sense my discomfort and ushers me over to a waiting area with white leather chairs, where I can sit, clutch the water she's handed me and go through my questions again like they're my lifeline. Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. has heavily invested in green energy. What are your reasons for this decision that came as a surprise to the business community? and Unlike many other companies, you have kept your manufacturing division in the United States themselves rather than moving them abroad. Have you any plans to change that? and Even though the telecommunications business has undoubtedly a bright future ahead, the staggering pace of innovation on that front has left a number of companies behind. How does Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. plan to avoid that fate? are my mantras, and I repeat them over and over again in my head until I've reached at least a semblance of calm.
But that semblance quickly shatters when another blonde appears from a large door to the right. Grey's office? She smiles and greets me, then returns to the desk, where she takes up her place next to the other receptionist, and I frown. What is it with blondes here? Has Grey like, a thing for them? How unprofessional would that be? Surely not. A man hiring and making business decisions with, erm, that part of his body, can't be that successful! Or at least I hope he can't...
I turn back to my questions and smile at the thought of my roommate. If I had ever entertained that stupid stereotype about blondes and their intelligence, fifteen minutes in Kate's company would have cured me from that, and it seems to be the same with the women I've met here at Grey House. They seem to be the professional and efficient sort... the total opposite of myself. Damn it Ana, don't you start dressing yourself down right now! The voice in my head sounds suspiciously like Kate, and I take a deep breath.
The large door opens again just as I want to exhale, and a tall Asian man steps out, closely followed by an extremely short brunette. Thank God, I'm not the only one around here!
“Golf, this week, Mr Grey! With Claude!” he says through the open door, and his colleague looks up at him with laughter in her eyes and a grin that seems to be ready to burst into a full-blown laugh any second.
“You don't even like golf! And neither does Mr Grey!”
He turns towards her with mock gravity. “I? An executive? Not like golf? That can't be! I have appearances to keep up, after all!” He gestures at the receptionists, who are both grinning at the exchange, and, surprisingly, at me. “And how odd would it sound to say Airfield, this week, Grey!”
The brunette only laughs and good-naturedly shakes her head, having obviously decided that her colleague is a hopeless case, and they depart with two “Good afternoons” into the elevator.
“Mr Grey will see you now. Do go through.” I jump up, startled by the receptionist's voice, and very nearly splay my notes all over the seated area, but manage to catch them in time and put them back into my satchel.
“Thank you.”
I nod at her and make my way towards the large door that becomes more and more intimidating with every step, and I try to calm myself. They have survived his office. So you can survive too! Breathe, Ana. Breathe. Fortunately, the breathing part works just fine – but the walking part is much more trouble. My heels and knees suddenly feel like jelly and when I cross the threshold, I twist my ankle and fall through the door, flailing.
Shit shit shit. I've tripped right in the entrance of Mr Grey's office, and as close as those black, polished shoes I'm facing now are, I've barely avoided taking him down with me! I can feel my face flame – I'm probably beet-red, damn my pale complexion – and take a deep breath, but before I can look up at him, I feel gentle hands on my arms. “Ms Steele? May I help you?”
I nod mutely, and he pulls me up so I can stand and look him in the eye. “Thank...” The words die in my throat as I look up at his face. The pictures really didn't do him justice! He's... gorgeous, with intense gray eyes and unruly copper-colored hair, and those eyes are trained at me and only me, full of concern. I swallow. “Thank you.”
He lets go of me, and I carefully test out my throbbing ankle. It hurts, but I can put my weight on it, so I should be fine in a few minutes. Well, there's a reason I wear heels only rarely.
“Are you all right? Can I get you anything? An ice pack, maybe?”
“No... no, thanks,” I mutter, still trying to get a grip on my embarrassment. Hell, could that have gone any worse? Well, he could have been even hotter... my subconscious replies smugly, and I shut her up with a nasty, No, he couldn't!
I take a deep breath and muster my courage to look him in the eye, and he finally extends a slender, long-fingered hand (Heaven help, even his hands are hot!). “Ms Steele.”
I shake it, and I don't know if it's because of him or because of me, but the touch lasts a moment longer than is strictly necessary, and I feel my blush intensify as I wrangle with those unexpected and uninvited emotions that shoot through me like electric currents. Get a grip, Steele! You're here for the interview! Kate relies on you!
“Mr Grey.” I try to muster my best professional smile and am dismayed when I feel it grow broader and warmer than I had intended. Damn. “Thank you for your time... and... and your patience. It's a pleasure meeting you.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” he replies in that rich, dark voice that could make the phone book an interesting read, and I wonder if I'll ever get rid of this damned blush. “Would you like to sit?”
He waves me towards a white couch with a coffee table, both situated so Mr Grey's visitors can be sufficiently impressed by the wonderful view of the Seattle skyline and the sound. And I am impressed, but my ankle painfully reminds me that it's not feeling too cooperative right now, so I limp over, trying to ignore the ache and trying not to fall again. “Thank you.”
His gray eyes have darkened again. “Are you sure you don't want an ice pack? I think your ankle is sprained.”
I wave him off with a smile. Now that I'm in a sitting position, I'm pretty sure that I can stave off any other injury, at least until the interview is over. “No, thanks. I'll be fine in a few minutes.”
He nods, but I can see that he doesn't believe me. Normally I should be flushing again, but I seem to have become desensitized to the humiliation by now. Time to get to business. I pull my notes and my phone that will double as a recorder today out of my satchel and place them on the coffee table. “Right. Erm... yes.” I feel like a fool and look down at the script Kate's given me. “First, I'd like to ask you if I may record this interview?”
“Of course.” The concern in his eyes has made way to amusement, but I refuse to accept the bait. I will get through this, and I will do so as coolly and professionally as possible!
“Thank you. Then I wanted to apologize. I'm only here as a replacement for Ms Kavanagh, the lead editor of the student newspaper – she has fallen ill suddenly – and so I might not be as qualified to answer any of your questions about our newspaper and the reasons for arranging this interview as she is.”
“Fair enough.” He nods, and I'm relieved that he's not angry at me for not being Kate. Now you only have to try to erase that bumbling-idiot-impression he surely must have got of you, and everything will be great. I inwardly roll my eyes at my subconscious. Yeah, right. That'll surely work.
“Well, then... I... I think we can begin.”