APOV
I regard myself in the mirror with scrutiny. My hair, as disagreeable as usual, has been beaten into some semblance of order by Katherine Kavanagh's industrial strength hair straightener, and tied back into a low pony. My pale skin is free of make-up, my ears unadorned with jewelry. Watery, overlarge blue eyes look back at me as I nod.
I am wearing my tan slacks with my fitted aqua blouse and navy blazer. I slip on my tennis shoes before grabbing my bag and walking out of my bedroom door.
"You're not wearing those," Kate whines at me. Her voice is scratchy and pathetic because of the flu. She is the head editor of the student newspaper at WSU and has had an interview lined up with Mr. Grey forever. I have been drafted to take her place since she has the flu and no one else could make it.
I look down at myself, "What?" I reply. I thought I looked decent.
"Your tennis shoes. Go in my room and grab that pair of nude heels with the peek-a-boo toe." She chastises me about my choice of footwear. I go to her room and grab the heels. I will carry them to the interview. Heels, stairs, and I are not a good mix.
"Are you sure that you're going to be okay?" I asked Kate, my best friend and longtime roommate, once more before I leave.
"Yeah, go on, I don't want you to be late."
"Okay, there is soup on the fridge, just heat it up for lunch. You should go back to bed, do you want some NyQuil or something?" I offer.
"Yeah, that would be nice." I walk to the cabinet and grab two for her before I leave.
Only for Kate would I agree to do an interview with anyone. I typically avoid places with too many or too few people.
I drive the 50 mile trip in Kate's car because my old VW, Wanda, has broken down once more. I don't want to get rid of her, but Kate says I've put more money into my car than I have for my classes, but that can't be true.
My destination is the headquarters of Mr. Grey's global enterprise. It's a huge twenty-story office building, all curved glass and steel, an architect's utilitarian fantasy, with Grey House written discreetly in steel over the glass front doors. It's a quarter to two when I arrive, fifteen minutes early.
I park in the visitor's section and am glad that I did not arrive late. I quickly switch my tennis shoes for Kate's heels, grab my bag and Kate's questions from the car, then walk inside to the front desk. The interior of the building is all white sandstone. As I enter, I see an immaculate blonde sitting behind the desk.
"Anastasia Steele for Katherine Kavanagh, I'm here to see Mr. Grey."
"One moment," she purrs. She arches her eyebrow as I stand self-consciously in front of her. "Miss Kavanagh is expected. Please sign here, Miss Steele, you'll want the far right elevator." She hands me a visitor pass that I attempt to pin to my shirt as I stride to the elevator. As I look down to make sure it is securely attached, I run smack into this man, sending both himself and I flailing to the ground.
"I'm so sorry," I attempt to say as I look into his face. "Mr. Grey." My voice falters on the last word. Recognizing him from the multitude of times Kate has googled this man.
He looks miffed as he quickly stands up and straightens his suit out before offering his hand to help me. I am sure my face is beet red with how much I am blushing.
I reach out. "Again, I'm so sorry, Mr. Grey. I should've been watching where I was going." I simper. This is not how I wanted my first impression to go.
"Then I suggest you pay more attention to your surroundings." He says before turning away to catch the elevator. I follow behind him, and he looks slightly annoyed to see that I am going to be taking the same elevator as him.
"Floor?" He asks, expecting me to be going somewhere else.
"Twenty," I reply trying to keep my face stoic.
He pushes the button for the twentieth floor and I feel a strange buzz as we ride up together. When he gets off, I wait for a moment to regain my equilibrium, before approaching yet another desk.
"Wait here please, Miss Steele." Another immaculate blonde says. I turn to the leather chairs and sit near the window. The view is amazing. I gather Kate's questions and review them. It doesn't take long because I have an eidetic memory, so I won't forget anything I read.
"Miss Steele?" A man in a suit with a buzz cut says to get my attention.
"Yes"
"Please come with me. We normally do not honor last minute cancellations, but reception downstairs has already let you up." He abruptly turns on his heel, expecting me to follow. I stand, gathering my bag and putting Kate's questions away as I follow him.
We walk into a small conference room where there is yet another man in a suit. "Miss Steele, for security reasons you will need to empty your bag and pockets. We will then need to pat you down you make sure you have no weapons on your person." Buzzcut states matter-of-factly.
I turn to the other guy and look to see that they are both expecting me to comply right away. I start emptying my purse onto the table.
It contains all the normal things; lip gloss, mascara, wallet, extra tampons, breath mints, receipts that need to be thrown away, my cell phone, carry-on sized lotion, two pens, car keys, a few bandaids, sunglasses, hair ties, and finally I dump it out and shake, revealing all the loose change and crumbs at the bottom.
I then set the empty bag down and turn around with my hands easily visible.
"And your pockets ma'am," the second guy states.
"These are women's pants. They have no pockets bigger than a quarter. What would I put in those?" I reply, recognizing that had a bit too much sass.
Buzzcut walks over to me, pats me down, and finds nothing, just as I expected.
"So why did you need to give me this security check," I ask when he's finished. I start to refill my purse so the contents aren't laying haphazardly on the table.
"Well.. Umm.. " He replies nervously. "We thought you had a gun because of the way you were walking."
"Oh, you could've just asked." I flip my wallet out, showing my badge and ID from the FBI. "My firearm is currently locked inside a case in my car. I was probably walking that way because I have had a gun on my hip for the past two years." I look at the other guy, "And you need to get better at hiding your piece." I say I as walk out of the conference room.
"Mr. Grey will see you now. May I take your coat?" The immaculate blonde asks when I get back to reception.
"Umm. sure." I reply, automatically taking off my blazer and handing it to her. I turn to my right and face Mr. Grey's ominous door. I take a calming breath and walk towards my doom.
When I enter the office, I quickly scan the room. Blank, white, no personality, it's like he doesn't want to humanize himself. Maybe this makes it easier for him to ruthlessly run his company.
"Hello, I'm Anastasia Steele. Miss Kavanagh is indisposed, so she sent me." I reach my hand out to Mr. Grey, remembering our first encounter.
"Christian Grey, nice to meet you, Miss Steele. I see our little run into has left you uninjured." He says as he takes in my outfit.
"Indeed it has." I turn to look at his office again, feeling uncomfortable with his scrutiny. I come across a mosaic of small paintings, thirty six in total.
"Trouton's 'Looking at the Overlooked,' right?" I look for his confirmation. "Pity you don't have space for all 300 frames. I love how she raises the ordinary to the extraordinary."
Mr. Grey looks like he was stopped dead in his tracks. As if he didn't expect me to know anything that wasn't about him.
"Would you like to sit?" He offers and we both walk to the grand white couches in the middle of the office.
CPOV
I scowl at the skyline. The only reason I agreed to this stupid interview was because of Miss Kavanagh's tenacity and I might be able to milk a favor out of her father for this. And instead, she can't show and sends some nobody in her place. Since I had my ass kicked by Bastille this morning, I am definitely in a bad mood.
Then, when I was coming back up to my office today, some brunette ran me over and tossed me to the floor. She then proceeded to enter my elevator to the twentieth floor. What business does she have? Once I finally got situated in my office, Taylor calls and says that he needs to search one named Miss Steele before our interview. This day is getting worse and worse considering my security team thinks someone is packing and planning to shoot me.
I know this will take a while, and go to stand next to my windows, looking down at the people below.
I turn around when I hear my office door open and see the girl with pale skin and chestnut hair that tripped me in the main lobby. She scans my office, obviously looking for something about me.
"Hello, I'm Anastasia Steele. Miss Kavanagh is indisposed, so she sent me." I meet her eyes and they are the most extraordinary color, powder blue, and for one awful moment I think she can see right through me and I'm left… exposed. I jerk my eyes from hers and hold out my hand.
"Christian Grey, nice to meet you, Miss Steele. I see our little run into has left you uninjured." I say as I take in her clothing. Her aqua shirt brings out her eyes.
"Indeed it has." She responds and looks at my office once more. "Trouton's 'Looking at the Overlooked,' right?" I nod at her unasked question. "Pity you don't have space for all 300 frames. I love how she raises the ordinary to the extraordinary."
I'm surprised. I expected her to be ogling me as all other women do. She skipped right over me. I feel offended that she isn't fawning, but it's a nice change.
"Would you like to sit?" I offer as we walk towards the couches in my office.
"Please. Do you mind if I record your answers?" She asks, her blue eyes meeting mine again.
"No." I reply coldly. I loathe interviews—inane questions from ill-informed envious people intent on probing my private life. She's all thumbs as she sets up her recorder. Hasn't she ever done this before?
"Did Kate, I mean, Miss Kavanagh, explain what this interview was for?"
"Yes to appear in the graduation issue of the student newspaper as I shall be conferring the degrees at this year's graduation ceremony." I reply automatically. Miss Kavanagh said this was the whole reason of the interview and that was why she'd be out of here in thirty minutes.
"Okay. Question one: To be twenty-seven and having amassed such an empire, that takes a great deal of effort. What, or who, do you owe your success?" Typical. The first question everyone asks to see if they can get a different answer. I give my standard response.
"Business is all about people, Miss Steele, and I'm very good at judging people. I know what makes them tick, what makes them flourish, what inspires them, and how to incentivize them. I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well." Blah, blah, blah. I blather on a bit just get my point across. I fucking good at what I do.
"Maybe you're just lucky," she says quietly.
Lucky? Annoyance streams through me. Lucky? How dare she? She looks unassuming and quiet, but this question? No one has ever suggested that I was lucky. Hard work, bringing people with me, keeping a close watch on them, and second-guessing them if I need to, and if they aren't up to the task, ditching them. That's what I do, and I do it well. It's nothing to do with luck! Flaunting my erudition, I quote the words of Andrew Carnegie, my favorite industrialist. "The growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership."
"That's it? No method, no trick, no wise words to inspire the next generation of entrepreneurs? You're simply that good, and all this is just you assuming your rightful place?" She states as if this was her original question.
Not wanting to sound gaudy, but yes."Wise words." I contemplate something I can throw in to satisfy her "Dreams don't work unless you do."
"You sound like a control freak," she states.
What the hell? Maybe she can see through me. 'Control' is my middle name.
I glare, hoping to intimidate her. "Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Steele." And I'd like to exercise it over you right now. She looks down. There are no notes in her hand I realize, just a pen and a blank piece of paper. She came unprepared to an interview with the topshot CEO.
"Well, I suppose immense power is acquired by assuring yourself you were born to control things," she says offhandedly. I almost gape at her when I realize she's not done. "Is that why you haven't taken GEH public?"
"That's right," I answer before I catch myself. Damn, I shouldn't have said that. A few of my deals are made by promising legal stock to the people in charge, expertly phrased by Ros and legal so it doesn't bit me in the ass when I stay private. I narrow my eyes. Somehow, she shocked me on purpose, so she could sneak that out of me.
"Do you have any interests outside of work?" she moves on, back to banal question that I now suspect ate to get my guard down.
I have varied interests, Miss Steele. Very varied." Images of her all over my playroom flood through my mind: shackled on the cross, spread-eagled on the four poster, splayed over the whipping bench. And behold—there's that blush again. I remember when she ran into me and fell in the main lobby. She had a baby pink blush, like now, and it's captivating.
"Everyone has to decompress sometime. How does the billionaire enjoy leisure time, Mr. Grey? How do you chill out?"
"Chill out?" I ask incredulously. Such an odd phrase to come out of such a smart mouth. Besides, my free time is in short supply. But she's waiting for an answer, those eyes peering straight into whatever passes for my soul, and I find myself answering. "I sail, I fly, I indulge in various physical pursuits."
"Expensive hobbies. No surprise there."
The way she says it, like she's censuring me, drives me insane. I'm in the fucking 99th percentile of the 99th percentile. Am I supposed to be some average Joe? Still, I find myself searching for something 'ordinary' I do, something to throw in her face to prove her wrong.
"I also play piano," I finally say, only to wish I hadn't. That's personal. Music is the only way I can cope with my damn nightmares. I don't want that fact available to anyone that picks up a fucking college newspaper.
Surprisingly, she doesn't take the easy opening. "You invest in manufacturing. Why, specifically?"
"I like to build things." I elaborate while puzzling why she didn't seize the opening."I also have a love of ships. What can I say?"
"What can you say? Why do you love ships? Why invest money earned by logic and facts on something that has to do with your heart?"
She's trying to goad me, to get another answer out of me. I deflect. "There are people who'd say I don't have a heart."
"Maybe you shouldn't spend time with those people, then." She says placidly. I have to stop my jaw from dropping. She's interviewing me, where does she get off giving me life advice? And the person who says that most often is Elena, and I can hardly stop spending time with her. She's the closest thing to a friend I have.
"You're a very private person, Mr. Grey. Why did you agree to this interview?"
"I'm a benefactor of the university, and for all intents and purposes, I couldn't get Miss Kavanagh off my back. She badgered and badgered my PR team, and I admire that kind of tenacity." But I'm glad it's you who showed up and not her.
"You also invest in farming technologies. Why are you interested in the area?"
"We can't eat money Miss Steele, and there are too many people on this planet that don't have enough to eat."
She narrows her eyes. "I suppose that's shrewd business. Think of all those starving children in Sudan. If they could feed themselves, they wouldn't die, and then there'd be that many more consumers on the market."
What the fuck is she saying? I meant to come off as uninterested, but now she's painting my as some heartless bastard. I ignore the part of me that reminds myself I was trying to give that very impression not five minutes ago. I'm fifty shades of fucked up, I'm allowed to be contradictory. "To say nothing of that much less suffering in the world as well," I counter, thinking fast.
She smiles then, fucking beams at me like I've impressed her. I forget how to breathe. My God, she's stunning. It's like the whole world just got brighter. Those dimples should come with a government health warning. I imagine that smile shining up at me as I fuck her mouth and I need to shift to hide my growing erection.
"Do you have a philosophy, if so, what?" she rattles off by rote, back to business. I try to keep from pouting like a child. I want the smile back. It was easily the highlight of my day, hell, my whole month.
"Not as such. Maybe a guiding principle—Carnegie's: 'A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his mind may take possession of anything else he is justly entitled.' I'm very singular, driven. I like control… of myself and those around me." I'd love to control you, in fact, Miss Steele.
"Is that how you view the companies you buy? Things you're entitled to, things you deserve to possess?"
I frown. "Bottom line, yes," I say, but I'm hesitant. She'd phrased it wrong. Like I'm some spoiled rich kid grabbing up all the toys. It's more that I see a problem and I want to fix it, and then keep it as a trophy. The fact I make ludicrous amounts of money off it is just a nice bonus.
"Perhaps you should have adopted Caesar's philosophy instead," she pauses, "Veni, vidi, vici. I came, I saw, I conquered."
Thinking about it, the phrase does suit me. I eye Miss Steele appreciatively. Brains and beauty. I look at her outfit again, tennis shoes I question. Maybe she can't afford nice shoes. I could give you money, baby. Say the word and you'll be covered in diamonds.
Shit, where the fucking hell did that thought come from? I'll admit, she's easy on the eyes, oh fuck it, who am I kidding, she almost has me drooling. But there's no way she could ever be my sub, not with that teasing, challenging mouth and eyes that manage to look down on me when I'm on top of the fucking world.
I really need to get laid. It's been only what, two months, since Susannah, but that's clearly too long if I'm having thoughts like this.
"You were adopted. How far do you think that's shaped the way you are?"
I scowl. What the fuck does that have to do with my second quarter? It's a ridiculous question anyway; if I'd stayed with the crack whore, I'd be dead by now. "I have no way of knowing," I blow her off.
She purses her lips. "Let me rephrase. How much of your success would you credit to your family's affluence and networking?"
That gets a reaction out of me. I pride myself on having earned all I have. I find myself ranting before I can stop myself. What the fuck is with this girl? It's like she pushes all my buttons and I don't even notice until it's too late. "None at all. I started this company in my bedroom with a loan. Two years later, I had over a million in the bank. I didn't take one cent from my parents, didn't use any of my father's contacts or advice, and I paid for my brother's services when I needed them. Grey Enterprises is where it is because of my team and I and nothing more."
She nods, taking the brunt of my anger and not so much as blinking. She gets points for that. Only Ros, Taylor, and Flynn can take one of my tantrums without flinching. "Do you spend much time with your family?" She asks.
"I have two loving parents, a brother, and a sister. I see them enough."
She cocks her head at that. She spends a full ten seconds regarding me with those beautiful blue eyes, and she almost has me squirming. What power does this woman have? "You're a lonely person," she finally says.
What the fuck?!
"That's not a question," I bark. Shit, what the hell was that? I'm not lonely. I'm surrounded by people all the time.
"No, it's not."She doesn't seem fazed at all. I'm beginning to hate that calm look on that pretty face. The smile, the blush, that damn bitten lip, those make her disarming. This look here makes her seem like a robot.
She seems to pause and skip through her thoughts. It's like she's gone and back in just a few seconds. "Your one of the most eligible bachelors in Seattle. Why is it you're never seen with a girlfriend? Or boyfriend?" she tacks on, her eyes glinting with mischief.
I have to resist the overpowering urge to bend her over my knee and spank the living shit out of her. How dare she? My own family doesn't have the nerve to ask me if I'm gay. Not that she really did, but the quirk of her lips tells me different. She's amused by it. I should fuck her right over this couch, that would answer her question.
I take a deep breath to gather myself. Control, Grey. "My personal life is just that, Miss Steele: personal. And I wonder at your audacity for implying what you have, Anastasia." Hmm, Anastasia, such a nice name. I like the way it rolls off my tongue.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Grey. But it was on the paper Kate gave me." She tries to explain. Suddenly, she's dragging her bag up and rummaging through for something. She pulls out a paper with at least forty-five questions.
"For the record, however, I'm not gay Miss Steele."
"I'm sorry but Kate would've asked you straight out, it's right here," she says, digging into her purse for a paper. Wait, these aren't her questions?!
"What kind of news do you intend to write about?" I ask, genuinely interested. If she's half as effective at weaseling into out of other people as she is with me, she could win the Pulitzer in five years.
She blinks at me, her eyes guileless, but the corner of her mouth is twitching. "I'm not a journalism major."
What. The. Fuck.
My jaw didn't drop. I know it didn't, because billionaire CEO's don't drop their jaws at college girls. How the hell did she pull all those responses out of me if she wasn't trained, not even interested in writing? But she's smiling again, and I find I don't really care. Well, I do, but I'm burning with curiosity instead of rage at getting played, which is quite out of character for me.
Then fucking Andrea opens the door. "Mr. Grey, forgive me for interrupting but your next meeting is in two minutes,"
"Cancel it. We're not finished here." I don't even think about it. I'm Christian fucking Grey. Whoever it is, they'll reschedule.
Andrea gapes at me, and I give her 'the look' as I hear it called around the office. She gets the message quick. "Very well, Mr. Grey." She turns on her heel, leaving me with the now much more interesting Anastasia Steele.
"Don't trouble yourself on my account," she states, her smile replaced with a trace of a frown. What, did she time that so she'd have the last word?
I smirk. "I can hardly let you leave after that little surprise, Miss Steele. If you're not a journalism major, why are you here doing this interview?"
She takes a breath and seems to settle in to weather her own inquisition. "As I said, Miss Kavanagh is indisposed. I elected to take her place."
Something in the way she said it makes me suspect that it was more involuntary than she let on. But I'm too curious about what she is studying. She's missed her calling, unless she's even better at what she actually cares about.
"What is your major then, Miss Steele?"
She seems to debate whether to answer. Technically, her time's used up. If she's not afraid to be rude, she could up and leave right now. But she relents. It occurs to me that she might be humoring me, but that idea doesn't frustrate me like it should.
"Right now, my major is in Philosophy."
Right now? What does she mean right now? She graduates in two weeks, she can't possibly switch majors. Instead of questioning this further, I elect to get to know this mystifying woman better.
"What are your plans after you graduate?" I ask.
"I will be applying for a membership in the BAU" She answers.
"The BAU?" I don't recognize the acronym.
"Behavioral Analysis Unit, FBI" She responds.
"And if you don't get in?" I question. With a major in philosophy, it probably wouldn't do much.
"I don't know. Probably move here with Kate."
"We run an excellent internship program here." Fuck, I'm really breaking every rule here. I never, ever, fuck the staff. Then she bites her lip again, and I find I don't care. Damn, but that's arousing.
"I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Grey." She says, but I think that it's just to please me. She starts putting her things back in her bag. Shit, she's going to leave. I mentally go through my schedule, and nothing outranks more time with Miss Steele.
"Would you like me to show you around?" I ask.
"I'm sure you're far too busy, Mr. Grey, and I do have a long drive."
"You're driving back to Vancouver?" I glance out the window. It's one hell of a drive, and it's raining. She shouldn't be driving in this weather, but I can't forbid her. The thought irritates me. "Well, you'd better drive carefully." My voice is sterner than I intend. She wants out of my office, and to my surprise, I don't want her to go.
"Did you get everything you need?" I ask in a transparent effort to prolong her stay.
"Yes, sir," she says quietly. Her response floors me—the way those words sound, coming out of that smart mouth—and briefly, I imagine that mouth at my beck and call.
"Thank you for the interview, Mr. Grey."
"The pleasure is all mine," I respond—truthfully, because I haven't been this fascinated by anyone for a thought is unsettling. She stands and I extend my hand, eager to touch her.
"Until we meet again, Miss Steele." My voice is low as she places her hand in mine. Yes, I want to flog and fuck this girl in my playroom. Have her bound and waiting . . . needing me, trusting me, I swallow.
It ain't going to happen, Grey.
"Mr. Grey." She nods and withdraws her hand quickly, too quickly.
I can't let her go like this. It's obvious she's desperate to leave, it's irritating. I hold the door open as I follow her out of my office. Both Andrea and Olivia look up in shock. Yeah, yeah. I'm just seeing the girl out.
"Did you have a coat?"
"A jacket."
I give Olivia a pointed look and she immediately leaps up to retrieve a navy blazer, passing it to me with her usual simpering expression. Christ, Olivia is annoying—mooning over me all the time.
Hmm. The blazer is cheap. Miss Anastasia Steele should be better dressed. I hold it up to her, and as I pull it over her slim shoulders, I touch the skin at the base of her neck. She stills at the contact and pales.
Yes! She's affected by me. The knowledge is immensely pleasing. Strolling over to the elevator, I press the call button while she stands fidgeting beside me.
Oh, I could stop your fidgeting, baby.
The doors open and she scurries in, then turns to face me. She's more than attractive. I would go as far as to say she's beautiful.
"Anastasia," I say in goodbye, liking the way her name rolls off my tongue.
"Christian," she answers, her voice soft. And the elevators close, leaving my name hanging in the air between us, sounding odd and unfamiliar, but sexy as hell.
I need to know more about this girl.
"Andrea," I bark as I turn back to return to my office. "Get Welch on the line, now."
As I sit at my desk and wait for the call, I look at the paintings on the wall of my office, and Miss Steele's words drift back to me. "Raising the ordinary to the extraordinary." She could so easily been describing herself.
My phone buzzes. "I have Mr. Welch on the line for you."
"Put him through."
"Yes, sir." I hear Andrea.
"Welch, I need a background check."
9