Post by muskratthemink on Jan 2, 2016 16:44:32 GMT
Okay, I know I already said I'd created my last thread, but Glasschmetterling suggested I create a new one for my FSoG fic, so it's easier for people to read them both. 
Now, I don't have very much of it yet, and I'm pretty sure it'll stay a slow-moving project, but it's here for anyone who wants to check it out!
Oh, and before I forget, this color is for Ana's point of view and this one is for Christian's. I was originally planning to use this color for Christian's POV, because the hex code's 343434 (if you get the joke), but I feel like it's too close to the forum's normal black text. So 696969 will have to do. It's not as funny a pun, but it works.
And just in case anyone's curious, the code for Ana's POV is a0522d. No joke there, I just liked the color.
So, anyway, on to the fic!
*Cough, cough, cough!*
Oh, no, not again!
I close the laptop and rush to Kate's room. It started with a cold almost a month ago, but now it's pretty much full-blown pneumonia. When I get to her door she's bent over her trash can, hacking up both lungs and I-don't-want-to-know what else.
“Kate!” I’m almost panicking. She’s been sick like this too much already, there were even a couple times we thought we’d lose her. She finishes her fit then looks up at me, panting raggedly. Her strawberry blonde hair is a greasy mess, her green eyes tearing up and bloodshot.
“A-Ana…” she rasps helplessly. It’s all I need. I head to the kitchen, grabbing her meds and a big glass of water. I was so wrapped up in studying I forgot to give them to her earlier. She’s so weak I have to help her hold the cup, and even then it shakes so much water ends up spilling down her pajama shirt. I bought her the set for Easter last year; they’re pale pink and covered in adorable little chibi bunnies. She loves wearing them when she’s not feeling well, saying they’re usually all she needs to feel better. Oh, if only that were true now!
“Why won’t you let me take you to the hospital?” I ask for probably the hundredth time that week. She glares at me, just like she always does when I bring it up.
“I’m not going back again,” she states angrily. We had a huge fight when I made her go to the doctor a couple weeks ago, just so I could get her the prescriptions she needed! “I hate it there!”
Her shout results in another coughing fit; I hold back her hair as she spits into the bucket. I look when she’s finished, relieved to see it’s not tinged with blood, at least not yet.
“Kate, please,” I braid her hair and use a tie from my wrist to keep it in place. “What if it just keeps getting worse like last time?”
“I don’t care,” she’s panting again. “The only way I’ll go is if you drag me in when I’m unconscious!”
I groan, heading back to the kitchen. Kate and I have been best friends since sixth grade, but the one thing I’ve always hated about her is how freaking stubborn she is about hospitals. She could be bleeding out and she’d still fight to keep from going in. I put a pot of water on the stove and grab a jar of chicken bullion cubes from the cupboard. It’s pretty much all Kate’s been able to eat lately without puking it back up. I unwrap the last three and drop them in, adding them to my shopping list before going back to my room for the laptop.
Mine died a while ago, so Kate and I are sharing hers until I can save up enough to get it fixed, or a new one, whichever turns out to be cheaper. I pull up the essay I’d been working on earlier, about to start on it again when a reminder pops up on the screen. It’s for an interview Kate’s supposed to be doing later today, one she obviously won’t be able to make. I swallow hard when I see who it’s supposed to be, knowing she’s going to ask me to do it in her place. It’s not that I don’t have the time, I have the day off from work and my essay’s almost finished, it’s just who she’s supposed to be interviewing. Someone I’ve had trouble with in the past, that I’m not sure I want to be involved with again.
She spent nine months getting this all lined up, I tell myself. And no one else will be able to do it on such short notice. Besides, you owe her.
We live in a duplex Kate’s parents bought for her and she’s never made me pay any rent. She paid to have my old bug basically rebuilt the last time it broke down, even if it did end up getting totaled when our ex-roommate decided to take it out for a spin while she was high on ecstasy. And that doesn’t include the times she bailed my ass out when we were in high school. Looking back on it all I realize I owe her way more than just doing this interview, but I have to start somewhere, right?
I turn off the stove and ladle the broth into a bowl, being careful not to trip on my own feet as I take it to Kate’s room. I make it without spilling more than a few drops, nudging the door open with my knee. Kate’s sitting almost exactly as I left her, curled up in a vertical fetal position. Except now she’s surrounded by open books and a rainbow of highlighters. I resist the urge to shake my head; even when she’s like this all she cares about is studying and being at the top of the class. I’m pretty sure it’s part of the reason she hates hospitals so much, she’d never be able to get away with it if she were admitted. I set the bowl on her nightstand and sit on the little stool by the bed. I’ve had to stay up with her more than once by now, 9-1-1 already dialed in case I need it. I haven’t yet, thank God, but I’m not about to take any chances.
I wait until Kate looks up, her eyes even redder than before. In fact her whole face is red, like she just spent a week in Cancún with no sunscreen. I put a hand on her forehead, gasping when I realize her fever’s even worse than it was earlier this morning.
“Kate, you have to stop pushing yourself like this,” I clear the books off her bed, marking her spot in each with an index card she’d been scribbling notes on. I set them and the highlighters on the floor on the other side of the room, where I know she won’t be able to get to them. Not without help. “Are you trying to make yourself worse?”
“I need to do this, Ana,” she looks at me without really seeing me, her eyes glazed. I don’t give her a chance to finish, pushing her back against the pillows and tucking her in so she can hardly move. The next thing I do is grab one of the ice packs from my mini-fridge, which I brought in here just for that reason. I don’t bother wrapping it before putting it on her forehead, all while wondering how she can be so careless.
“Kate, if you don’t rest like you’re supposed to, then I won’t have a choice. I’ll have to take you to the hospital. Is that what you want?”
She tries to focus on me, then shakes her head. Once she’s settled I start spooning her the broth, which for once she takes without a complaint. She falls asleep when she’s done, meaning I have about an hour to get things in order. I grab my phone and text José and Elliot, asking if either of them can make it over to watch Kate; I don’t want her pulling any stunts while I’m gone. As usual, José texts back right away, saying he’s just finished a shoot in the park and can be here in thirty minutes. I’ve just finished getting ready when the doorbell rings, José waiting restlessly on the porch.
“Thanks so much for doing this,” I say. He’s a head and a half taller than me, dark-haired and tan with broad shoulders and ripped muscles. I’ll admit, he’s pretty sexy, but I’ve never felt more than friendship for him, something I wish he’d realize. He looks at me with those burning dark eyes of his, giving me a handsome smile.
“Ana, you know I’d do anything for you,” he says. His voice is just as attractive as he is, soft and deep with an easy Spanish accent. I grin uneasily, relieved when my phone goes off again. It’s Elliot, letting me know he’s on his way. I give a small sigh of relief; there’s no way Kate could get herself in trouble with both of them here. At least, I hope not. A couple minutes later, his low rider sports car purrs into the parking lot, gliding to a stop next to José’s jeep. Elliot’s a bit more lanky than José, but just as attractive, with dirty blonde hair and green eyes even brighter than Kate’s. They’ve been together since our senior year of high school.
“Ana, José,” he stuffs his crowded keychain in his pocket. “How’s Kate?”
“She’s asleep, but she should wake up in a half-hour or so,” I tuck a stray bit of mouse-brown hair behind my ear. “Her fever’s gone up again, but she won’t go to the hospital.”
“Of course,” Elliot rolls his eyes. “Anything else we should know?”
“I caught her trying to study a little while before she fell asleep, just make sure she gets her rest. Oh, and José?” I turn to him. “Keep your hands off my guacamole.”
He blushes.
“C’mon, Ana, I only did that once…” he starts to protest, while Elliot just snickers. I shake my head, showing I don’t have time.
“I have to go across town for an interview,” I say. “I don’t know when I’ll be back, but text me if she causes any trouble, okay?”
“You got it,” Elliot heads inside. José strays a moment, then follows him and shuts the door. I sigh, wishing there was a way I could finally get him to listen when I say I’m not interested. Oh, well. I pull Kate’s spare key out of my purse, heading to her mercedes. It’s the only vehicle we have now that my bug’s on the scrap heap. I start the engine, tune in to my favorite station and take off, still wishing it was anyone else I was going to meet. Why, freaking why did it have to be Christian Grey?
I guess since you’re going to have to sit through this interview with me, I should probably tell you who Christian is. Ask anyone else and they’ll say he’s a young entrepreneur who may or may not be gay and may or may not be into some weird shit behind closed doors. He gives craploads of money to USW, the school where Kate, Elliot, José and I all go. Asking me will get you a bit more info. He’s a Harvard dropout who could use more than a few lessons in common sense and self-preservation, but then what guy doesn’t? He’s also more than a bit screwed up in the head, though I don’t have the first clue what caused that. Maybe he was just born that way.
I haven’t seen much of him since I was in high school, but from what I remember he was pretty full of himself. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s still like that, if not worse. Dark clouds start gathering as I pull into the packed parking lot of Grey Enterprises, which Christian inherited from his father. He’s stuck his finger in just about every company pie you can think of, from agriculture to publishing and everything in between. Like most buildings downtown, it's tall and imposing, a tower that looks like it’s made of nothing but mirrored windows. Just behind a stretch of grass and white flowers is a flagpole, the US and state flags struggling to fly proudly in the weak breeze. ‘Grey’ sits just above the entrance, the steel letters polished to a perfect shine. I swallow as the automatic, frosted glass doors slide open, revealing an elegant, but surprisingly welcoming lobby.
The floor is cut granite, the different shapes and colors separated by thin black lines. There’s a large fireplace across from the windows, but at this time of year it’s not lit. In front of it are a large area rug, a dark leather couch and armchair and a glossy wooden table. Cherry, I think, or it might be mahogany. Either way, it’s gorgeous. Mirrors and paintings of varying sizes hang on the white walls, making the space feel even bigger than it really is.
“Um, excuse me,” I go up to the receptionist’s desk, stately and black with gold accents. She doesn’t look much older than I am, her face questioning and maybe the tiniest bit irked as she looks up from the thick book in front of her.
“May I help you?” she asks. Yep, she’s definitely ticked at me, but I’ll give her points for trying to hide it.
“My name is Anastasia Steele,” I say. Of course, she smirks, pretty much everyone who hears my full name does. “And I’m covering for Katherine Kavanagh. I, I mean she has an interview with Mr. Grey this afternoon.”
Without another word she turns to her computer, typing faster than I could ever hope to. After a minute or two she stops, motioning to a bank of elevators on the far wall.
“Go right up,” her eyes are already back on her book. “Mr. grey’s office is on the twenty-eighth floor.”
“Thank you.”
I hurry over, feeling her eyes on me until the doors close. Geeze, even the walls of this thing are mirrored. I think this is the first time I’ve worn this skirt suit since I bought it for my job interview. My hair’s messy, as usual, so I quickly sweep it into a bun, tying it in place with one of maybe a thousand hairbands I have floating around in my purse. I finish just as the doors open, striding out with a lot more confidence than I feel. This lobby is maybe a third of the main one, with a row of chairs on either side of a pair of tall wooden doors. The woman who bustles up to me is a bit older than the first one, but she has a kind smile that helps settle my nerves a little.
“May I take your jacket, or offer you a refreshment?” she asks me. I shiver, suddenly noticing the AC is set too high.
“May I have some hot tea, please?” I ask in return. She nods, motioning to the chairs.
“I’ll bring it right out to you,” she says. “In the meantime, please have a seat, I’m afraid Mr. Grey will be another fifteen minutes.”
I nod, taking a folded sheet of paper and a pen from my purse after I sit. I didn’t have time to read the questions before I got here, so this gives me plenty of time to give them a look-over. One of the first is ‘Are you gay?’. I cross it out, pretty sure Christian would rather keep his sexuality out of this. Come to think of it, I could probably skip most of these questions, since I already know most of those things about him, but that wouldn’t be doing Kate any favors. She doesn’t know too much about my history with him, thankfully.
The receptionist returns with my tea, setting it on the small table next to my chair. I thank her, the words barely leaving my throat before she’s bustling off again, answering the phone almost before it starts ringing. The tea’s in a plain cup on a small saucer, a little silver spoon sitting next to it. I pluck a couple pint-sized sugar cubes from a tiny bowl, dropping them in the tea and watching them dissolve before I stir it. It’s a weird habit I’ve had since I started drinking the stuff, not that I could tell you where I got it from.
I take a few sips before setting it aside. It's stronger than I usually like, but at least it warms me up a bit. Another ten minutes pass before one of the doors open, a tall, handsome older black man laughing as he walks out.
“I expect to see you on the course,” he turns back into the office. “And we’ll see if I can’t make you eat those words!”
Another laugh, a bit higher than his, answers him.
“You’re welcome to try, old man!”
The black man laughs again, shaking his head as he strolls past the reception desk. He flashes a charming smile at the secretary, and I’m not surprised to see her blush slightly in return. I think any woman would if that man smiled at them. Then she turns to me, nodding once.
“Mr. Grey will see you now, Ms. Steele.”
I nod, setting my tea aside. I grip the question sheet tightly as I get to my feet; I’m suddenly even more nervous than I was earlier.
Chill out, girl, I tell myself. It’s not like you’re meeting the President of the US!
I’m so busy trying to calm myself down, I don’t notice a fold in the rug until I’ve tripped on it, and the next thing I know, I’m spilling my ass through the office doors of one of the most important men in Washington.
“Oh, shit,” I mutter. I look up to see a pair of polished black shoes in front of me, my gaze following the crisp lines of an expensive gray suit, over a strong jaw, until I’m staring into a pair of eyes as dark and stormy as the sky outside. They’re smiling at me, his full lips spread in a grin as he kneels.
“Nice to see you haven’t changed,” he says. He takes my hand, bringing us both back to our feet. He drops it quickly, his hands vanishing into his pockets. “It’s great to see you again, Anastasia.”
I cringe when he says my full name. Even a voice as musical and sweet as his can’t make it sound right to me.
“It’s great to see you too, Christian,” I tell him. I tuck a loose bit of hair behind my ear again. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten my way with this stupid mop. “But I’ve told you before, call me Ana.”
He’s already walking back to his desk when I voice the complaint, the overhead lights glinting off the reddish highlights in his copper hair. Even now, when he’s the owner of a probably multi-billion dollar company, he leaves it messy. Doesn’t he know he has an image to keep up?
“I was told to expect Kate,” he says, sitting down. He motions to one of the plush chairs across from him. “And I’m sorry to have to cut to the chase, but I’m afraid my day’s packed.”
“O-Of course,” I hurry over, taking out Kate’s tape recorder on the way. She wants to be a big-time reporter like her uncle, going so far as using what he’d always claimed was his luckiest piece of hardware. “I promise this won’t take long, Christian.”
I launch into the questions, asking about his interests, his relationships with his family and why he’s expanded the business as much as he has. His answers are just as brisk, but even so, I can tell he’s trying to hide something. It’s just a feeling I get with some people. I glance down at the sheet again, picking one near the bottom of the list.
“And what would you say you owe to your success?”
At this, he stops, laughing a bit.
“Well, besides the fact my father basically handed all this to me,” he says jokingly. “I guess it could be because I’m not afraid to take risks. In this life, that can make you lose everything.”
“Yes, but so could taking too many risks,” I tell him. “How do you know when you’ve gone far enough?”
He laughs again, a bit embarrassed this time.
“It usually falls on my board of trustees to pull me back,” he explains. “They’re probably more responsible for keeping this ship afloat than I am.”
I look over the list again, wondering if I should ask one of the questions I’d crossed out when the intercom on his desk buzzes.
“I apologize for the interruption, Mr. Grey,” his secretary says. “But your ten-thirty is waiting for you in the west conference room.”
He presses a button on the panel.
“Of course, Anita, I’ll be right there.”
He turns to me, flashing an apologetic smile.
“Looks like our time is up, Ana,” he pushes back from the desk, getting to his feet. “I hope you got everything you needed?”
“Yes, thank you,” I turn off the tape recorder, tucking my things back in my purse. “And it really was nice to see you again, Christian.”
He nods, going to the door. He pauses by the rug, smoothing down the fold I’d tripped over with his foot. I follow him, blushing when I catch him smirking at me. I mutter a rushed goodbye, hurrying out before my face has a chance to get any redder. I almost slap the elevator button, glancing back to see him already heading toward what I assume is the conference room. A minute later, the bell sounds and I almost trip on my own feet in my rush to leave the spacious lobby behind. I hit the button for the ground floor, pressing my back to the mirrored wall.
That was not how things were supposed to go, I tell myself. I thought I was done with having that man affect me this way, but as cliche as it sounds, it looks like this is just the beginning.
Now, I don't have very much of it yet, and I'm pretty sure it'll stay a slow-moving project, but it's here for anyone who wants to check it out!Oh, and before I forget, this color is for Ana's point of view and this one is for Christian's. I was originally planning to use this color for Christian's POV, because the hex code's 343434 (if you get the joke), but I feel like it's too close to the forum's normal black text. So 696969 will have to do. It's not as funny a pun, but it works.
And just in case anyone's curious, the code for Ana's POV is a0522d. No joke there, I just liked the color.
So, anyway, on to the fic!
*Cough, cough, cough!*
Oh, no, not again!
I close the laptop and rush to Kate's room. It started with a cold almost a month ago, but now it's pretty much full-blown pneumonia. When I get to her door she's bent over her trash can, hacking up both lungs and I-don't-want-to-know what else.
“Kate!” I’m almost panicking. She’s been sick like this too much already, there were even a couple times we thought we’d lose her. She finishes her fit then looks up at me, panting raggedly. Her strawberry blonde hair is a greasy mess, her green eyes tearing up and bloodshot.
“A-Ana…” she rasps helplessly. It’s all I need. I head to the kitchen, grabbing her meds and a big glass of water. I was so wrapped up in studying I forgot to give them to her earlier. She’s so weak I have to help her hold the cup, and even then it shakes so much water ends up spilling down her pajama shirt. I bought her the set for Easter last year; they’re pale pink and covered in adorable little chibi bunnies. She loves wearing them when she’s not feeling well, saying they’re usually all she needs to feel better. Oh, if only that were true now!
“Why won’t you let me take you to the hospital?” I ask for probably the hundredth time that week. She glares at me, just like she always does when I bring it up.
“I’m not going back again,” she states angrily. We had a huge fight when I made her go to the doctor a couple weeks ago, just so I could get her the prescriptions she needed! “I hate it there!”
Her shout results in another coughing fit; I hold back her hair as she spits into the bucket. I look when she’s finished, relieved to see it’s not tinged with blood, at least not yet.
“Kate, please,” I braid her hair and use a tie from my wrist to keep it in place. “What if it just keeps getting worse like last time?”
“I don’t care,” she’s panting again. “The only way I’ll go is if you drag me in when I’m unconscious!”
I groan, heading back to the kitchen. Kate and I have been best friends since sixth grade, but the one thing I’ve always hated about her is how freaking stubborn she is about hospitals. She could be bleeding out and she’d still fight to keep from going in. I put a pot of water on the stove and grab a jar of chicken bullion cubes from the cupboard. It’s pretty much all Kate’s been able to eat lately without puking it back up. I unwrap the last three and drop them in, adding them to my shopping list before going back to my room for the laptop.
Mine died a while ago, so Kate and I are sharing hers until I can save up enough to get it fixed, or a new one, whichever turns out to be cheaper. I pull up the essay I’d been working on earlier, about to start on it again when a reminder pops up on the screen. It’s for an interview Kate’s supposed to be doing later today, one she obviously won’t be able to make. I swallow hard when I see who it’s supposed to be, knowing she’s going to ask me to do it in her place. It’s not that I don’t have the time, I have the day off from work and my essay’s almost finished, it’s just who she’s supposed to be interviewing. Someone I’ve had trouble with in the past, that I’m not sure I want to be involved with again.
She spent nine months getting this all lined up, I tell myself. And no one else will be able to do it on such short notice. Besides, you owe her.
We live in a duplex Kate’s parents bought for her and she’s never made me pay any rent. She paid to have my old bug basically rebuilt the last time it broke down, even if it did end up getting totaled when our ex-roommate decided to take it out for a spin while she was high on ecstasy. And that doesn’t include the times she bailed my ass out when we were in high school. Looking back on it all I realize I owe her way more than just doing this interview, but I have to start somewhere, right?
I turn off the stove and ladle the broth into a bowl, being careful not to trip on my own feet as I take it to Kate’s room. I make it without spilling more than a few drops, nudging the door open with my knee. Kate’s sitting almost exactly as I left her, curled up in a vertical fetal position. Except now she’s surrounded by open books and a rainbow of highlighters. I resist the urge to shake my head; even when she’s like this all she cares about is studying and being at the top of the class. I’m pretty sure it’s part of the reason she hates hospitals so much, she’d never be able to get away with it if she were admitted. I set the bowl on her nightstand and sit on the little stool by the bed. I’ve had to stay up with her more than once by now, 9-1-1 already dialed in case I need it. I haven’t yet, thank God, but I’m not about to take any chances.
I wait until Kate looks up, her eyes even redder than before. In fact her whole face is red, like she just spent a week in Cancún with no sunscreen. I put a hand on her forehead, gasping when I realize her fever’s even worse than it was earlier this morning.
“Kate, you have to stop pushing yourself like this,” I clear the books off her bed, marking her spot in each with an index card she’d been scribbling notes on. I set them and the highlighters on the floor on the other side of the room, where I know she won’t be able to get to them. Not without help. “Are you trying to make yourself worse?”
“I need to do this, Ana,” she looks at me without really seeing me, her eyes glazed. I don’t give her a chance to finish, pushing her back against the pillows and tucking her in so she can hardly move. The next thing I do is grab one of the ice packs from my mini-fridge, which I brought in here just for that reason. I don’t bother wrapping it before putting it on her forehead, all while wondering how she can be so careless.
“Kate, if you don’t rest like you’re supposed to, then I won’t have a choice. I’ll have to take you to the hospital. Is that what you want?”
She tries to focus on me, then shakes her head. Once she’s settled I start spooning her the broth, which for once she takes without a complaint. She falls asleep when she’s done, meaning I have about an hour to get things in order. I grab my phone and text José and Elliot, asking if either of them can make it over to watch Kate; I don’t want her pulling any stunts while I’m gone. As usual, José texts back right away, saying he’s just finished a shoot in the park and can be here in thirty minutes. I’ve just finished getting ready when the doorbell rings, José waiting restlessly on the porch.
“Thanks so much for doing this,” I say. He’s a head and a half taller than me, dark-haired and tan with broad shoulders and ripped muscles. I’ll admit, he’s pretty sexy, but I’ve never felt more than friendship for him, something I wish he’d realize. He looks at me with those burning dark eyes of his, giving me a handsome smile.
“Ana, you know I’d do anything for you,” he says. His voice is just as attractive as he is, soft and deep with an easy Spanish accent. I grin uneasily, relieved when my phone goes off again. It’s Elliot, letting me know he’s on his way. I give a small sigh of relief; there’s no way Kate could get herself in trouble with both of them here. At least, I hope not. A couple minutes later, his low rider sports car purrs into the parking lot, gliding to a stop next to José’s jeep. Elliot’s a bit more lanky than José, but just as attractive, with dirty blonde hair and green eyes even brighter than Kate’s. They’ve been together since our senior year of high school.
“Ana, José,” he stuffs his crowded keychain in his pocket. “How’s Kate?”
“She’s asleep, but she should wake up in a half-hour or so,” I tuck a stray bit of mouse-brown hair behind my ear. “Her fever’s gone up again, but she won’t go to the hospital.”
“Of course,” Elliot rolls his eyes. “Anything else we should know?”
“I caught her trying to study a little while before she fell asleep, just make sure she gets her rest. Oh, and José?” I turn to him. “Keep your hands off my guacamole.”
He blushes.
“C’mon, Ana, I only did that once…” he starts to protest, while Elliot just snickers. I shake my head, showing I don’t have time.
“I have to go across town for an interview,” I say. “I don’t know when I’ll be back, but text me if she causes any trouble, okay?”
“You got it,” Elliot heads inside. José strays a moment, then follows him and shuts the door. I sigh, wishing there was a way I could finally get him to listen when I say I’m not interested. Oh, well. I pull Kate’s spare key out of my purse, heading to her mercedes. It’s the only vehicle we have now that my bug’s on the scrap heap. I start the engine, tune in to my favorite station and take off, still wishing it was anyone else I was going to meet. Why, freaking why did it have to be Christian Grey?
I guess since you’re going to have to sit through this interview with me, I should probably tell you who Christian is. Ask anyone else and they’ll say he’s a young entrepreneur who may or may not be gay and may or may not be into some weird shit behind closed doors. He gives craploads of money to USW, the school where Kate, Elliot, José and I all go. Asking me will get you a bit more info. He’s a Harvard dropout who could use more than a few lessons in common sense and self-preservation, but then what guy doesn’t? He’s also more than a bit screwed up in the head, though I don’t have the first clue what caused that. Maybe he was just born that way.
I haven’t seen much of him since I was in high school, but from what I remember he was pretty full of himself. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s still like that, if not worse. Dark clouds start gathering as I pull into the packed parking lot of Grey Enterprises, which Christian inherited from his father. He’s stuck his finger in just about every company pie you can think of, from agriculture to publishing and everything in between. Like most buildings downtown, it's tall and imposing, a tower that looks like it’s made of nothing but mirrored windows. Just behind a stretch of grass and white flowers is a flagpole, the US and state flags struggling to fly proudly in the weak breeze. ‘Grey’ sits just above the entrance, the steel letters polished to a perfect shine. I swallow as the automatic, frosted glass doors slide open, revealing an elegant, but surprisingly welcoming lobby.
The floor is cut granite, the different shapes and colors separated by thin black lines. There’s a large fireplace across from the windows, but at this time of year it’s not lit. In front of it are a large area rug, a dark leather couch and armchair and a glossy wooden table. Cherry, I think, or it might be mahogany. Either way, it’s gorgeous. Mirrors and paintings of varying sizes hang on the white walls, making the space feel even bigger than it really is.
“Um, excuse me,” I go up to the receptionist’s desk, stately and black with gold accents. She doesn’t look much older than I am, her face questioning and maybe the tiniest bit irked as she looks up from the thick book in front of her.
“May I help you?” she asks. Yep, she’s definitely ticked at me, but I’ll give her points for trying to hide it.
“My name is Anastasia Steele,” I say. Of course, she smirks, pretty much everyone who hears my full name does. “And I’m covering for Katherine Kavanagh. I, I mean she has an interview with Mr. Grey this afternoon.”
Without another word she turns to her computer, typing faster than I could ever hope to. After a minute or two she stops, motioning to a bank of elevators on the far wall.
“Go right up,” her eyes are already back on her book. “Mr. grey’s office is on the twenty-eighth floor.”
“Thank you.”
I hurry over, feeling her eyes on me until the doors close. Geeze, even the walls of this thing are mirrored. I think this is the first time I’ve worn this skirt suit since I bought it for my job interview. My hair’s messy, as usual, so I quickly sweep it into a bun, tying it in place with one of maybe a thousand hairbands I have floating around in my purse. I finish just as the doors open, striding out with a lot more confidence than I feel. This lobby is maybe a third of the main one, with a row of chairs on either side of a pair of tall wooden doors. The woman who bustles up to me is a bit older than the first one, but she has a kind smile that helps settle my nerves a little.
“May I take your jacket, or offer you a refreshment?” she asks me. I shiver, suddenly noticing the AC is set too high.
“May I have some hot tea, please?” I ask in return. She nods, motioning to the chairs.
“I’ll bring it right out to you,” she says. “In the meantime, please have a seat, I’m afraid Mr. Grey will be another fifteen minutes.”
I nod, taking a folded sheet of paper and a pen from my purse after I sit. I didn’t have time to read the questions before I got here, so this gives me plenty of time to give them a look-over. One of the first is ‘Are you gay?’. I cross it out, pretty sure Christian would rather keep his sexuality out of this. Come to think of it, I could probably skip most of these questions, since I already know most of those things about him, but that wouldn’t be doing Kate any favors. She doesn’t know too much about my history with him, thankfully.
The receptionist returns with my tea, setting it on the small table next to my chair. I thank her, the words barely leaving my throat before she’s bustling off again, answering the phone almost before it starts ringing. The tea’s in a plain cup on a small saucer, a little silver spoon sitting next to it. I pluck a couple pint-sized sugar cubes from a tiny bowl, dropping them in the tea and watching them dissolve before I stir it. It’s a weird habit I’ve had since I started drinking the stuff, not that I could tell you where I got it from.
I take a few sips before setting it aside. It's stronger than I usually like, but at least it warms me up a bit. Another ten minutes pass before one of the doors open, a tall, handsome older black man laughing as he walks out.
“I expect to see you on the course,” he turns back into the office. “And we’ll see if I can’t make you eat those words!”
Another laugh, a bit higher than his, answers him.
“You’re welcome to try, old man!”
The black man laughs again, shaking his head as he strolls past the reception desk. He flashes a charming smile at the secretary, and I’m not surprised to see her blush slightly in return. I think any woman would if that man smiled at them. Then she turns to me, nodding once.
“Mr. Grey will see you now, Ms. Steele.”
I nod, setting my tea aside. I grip the question sheet tightly as I get to my feet; I’m suddenly even more nervous than I was earlier.
Chill out, girl, I tell myself. It’s not like you’re meeting the President of the US!
I’m so busy trying to calm myself down, I don’t notice a fold in the rug until I’ve tripped on it, and the next thing I know, I’m spilling my ass through the office doors of one of the most important men in Washington.
“Oh, shit,” I mutter. I look up to see a pair of polished black shoes in front of me, my gaze following the crisp lines of an expensive gray suit, over a strong jaw, until I’m staring into a pair of eyes as dark and stormy as the sky outside. They’re smiling at me, his full lips spread in a grin as he kneels.
“Nice to see you haven’t changed,” he says. He takes my hand, bringing us both back to our feet. He drops it quickly, his hands vanishing into his pockets. “It’s great to see you again, Anastasia.”
I cringe when he says my full name. Even a voice as musical and sweet as his can’t make it sound right to me.
“It’s great to see you too, Christian,” I tell him. I tuck a loose bit of hair behind my ear again. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten my way with this stupid mop. “But I’ve told you before, call me Ana.”
He’s already walking back to his desk when I voice the complaint, the overhead lights glinting off the reddish highlights in his copper hair. Even now, when he’s the owner of a probably multi-billion dollar company, he leaves it messy. Doesn’t he know he has an image to keep up?
“I was told to expect Kate,” he says, sitting down. He motions to one of the plush chairs across from him. “And I’m sorry to have to cut to the chase, but I’m afraid my day’s packed.”
“O-Of course,” I hurry over, taking out Kate’s tape recorder on the way. She wants to be a big-time reporter like her uncle, going so far as using what he’d always claimed was his luckiest piece of hardware. “I promise this won’t take long, Christian.”
I launch into the questions, asking about his interests, his relationships with his family and why he’s expanded the business as much as he has. His answers are just as brisk, but even so, I can tell he’s trying to hide something. It’s just a feeling I get with some people. I glance down at the sheet again, picking one near the bottom of the list.
“And what would you say you owe to your success?”
At this, he stops, laughing a bit.
“Well, besides the fact my father basically handed all this to me,” he says jokingly. “I guess it could be because I’m not afraid to take risks. In this life, that can make you lose everything.”
“Yes, but so could taking too many risks,” I tell him. “How do you know when you’ve gone far enough?”
He laughs again, a bit embarrassed this time.
“It usually falls on my board of trustees to pull me back,” he explains. “They’re probably more responsible for keeping this ship afloat than I am.”
I look over the list again, wondering if I should ask one of the questions I’d crossed out when the intercom on his desk buzzes.
“I apologize for the interruption, Mr. Grey,” his secretary says. “But your ten-thirty is waiting for you in the west conference room.”
He presses a button on the panel.
“Of course, Anita, I’ll be right there.”
He turns to me, flashing an apologetic smile.
“Looks like our time is up, Ana,” he pushes back from the desk, getting to his feet. “I hope you got everything you needed?”
“Yes, thank you,” I turn off the tape recorder, tucking my things back in my purse. “And it really was nice to see you again, Christian.”
He nods, going to the door. He pauses by the rug, smoothing down the fold I’d tripped over with his foot. I follow him, blushing when I catch him smirking at me. I mutter a rushed goodbye, hurrying out before my face has a chance to get any redder. I almost slap the elevator button, glancing back to see him already heading toward what I assume is the conference room. A minute later, the bell sounds and I almost trip on my own feet in my rush to leave the spacious lobby behind. I hit the button for the ground floor, pressing my back to the mirrored wall.
That was not how things were supposed to go, I tell myself. I thought I was done with having that man affect me this way, but as cliche as it sounds, it looks like this is just the beginning.
