A/N- PLEASE READ BEFORE CHAPTER!
Hi readers(:
So you may realize the first chapter is very similar to the actual book – don't freak out, I just liked the way Christian and Ana originally met and wanted to keep it that way. The story will be different in many ways from then on, and you'll notice some major contrasts in this FF from the original. (:
See my pinterest - lilylilac1 – to see pictures of outfits I describe in this story. Every outfit Ana wears will be posted there, so I recommend you check it out!
I hope you enjoy this story! When finished, this will be a 100k+ word story.
ANA AND CHRISTIAN - STOLE MY HEART
CHAPTER 1 -
ANA'S POV – Thursday, May 2
"Oh my goodness, Ana, I am so sorry."
"It's fine, Mandy, don't worry about it."
"Here, let me get you some paper towel."
I smile at my assistant. I would continue to try and tell her it's fine, but it's in her nature to make a fuss over a mistake she's made. So, I let her clean up the coffee she spilled down my front as best she can before picking my bag up again.
"I feel so bad, Ana. I'm so sorry. If that doesn't wash out, I'll pay for new clothing," she flusters.
"It's alright, Mandy. Everyone makes mistakes." I laugh and place my hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry about it. I'll see you tomorrow."
She smiles at me and breathes out. "Bye, thanks Ana."
I shrug my bag up onto my shoulder and wave at her as I get into the elevator and head down to the lobby, looking at my now – coffee –stained clothes and sighing. The truth is it's pretty inconvenient that she spilled coffee on me now. This is one of my only business – acceptable outfits, and even though it's five o ' clock and work is over for today, Kate is making me do this interview for her in an hour because she has the flu.
I get in the taxi, pay the driver and tell him where my apartment is. I have to go home and get the questions from Kate, which I'm completely unprepared for, and now I suppose I have to change. I don't know what I'm going to wear now.
I arrive at my apartment building and go up to the fifth floor, headed to our apartment. When I open the door, Kate is lying on the couch, pale as a ghost and her hair a tangled mess. She's watching a rerun of Friends. I walk over to the couch and sit next to her, touching her forehead and she smiles at me.
"How are you feeling?" I ask.
"The same. Don't worry about me though, Ana banana. You're too nurturing for your own good." I laugh and get up, and she gasps when she sees my coffee – stained outfit.
"Oh no Ana, what happened?" she asks, horrified at the sight of it as if it's blood.
"Just typical Mandy," I say with a small smile as I walk over to the counter. "Are these the questions?" I pick up a small notepad with a pen, and a separate piece of paper that has ten or so questions written on it.
"Yes. The interview should only take five to ten minutes at most. Take the tape recorder too," Kate replies. "Thanks for doing this, Ana. You really are the best." I nod and smile at her before retreating to my room to change. I should be leaving in ten minutes.
I didn't hesitate when Kate called me at work today and told me she was still sick. I'd do anything for my best friend. Apparently this interview is with a very well – known businessman - Christian Grey is his name. She has been telling me it's extremely hard to get an interview with him, all week, and even though she's sick, she can't postpone it. She tried calling her colleagues, but no one could do it. So I, being the loyal person I am, stepped in and volunteered to do the interview for her.
I'd be lying if I said this wasn't inconvenient for me. She just told me today, so I haven't even read over the questions. On top of that, I'm a translator, not a journalist. This isn't what I do. Nevertheless, it's up to me now, and I should try to at least look presentable. I open my small closet and look at the outfits I have. I finally decide on the most business –like outfit I have besides the one that is now ruined by coffee. It's a white button – up long sleeved blouse and a beige coloured skirt. I also wear my beige cardigan, and cuff my white sleeves over the end of the cardigan. There, that looks presentable. I put my hair into a long side braid – my go-to style when I'm in a rush. This style tends to make it look look like I've put more effort into it when I really haven't, because my hair's natural waves compliment the braid.
I'm running perfectly on time, so I call a cab and say bye to Kate before hurrying down to the street. It's not a long drive at all – the driver says it'll only be five minutes. As I'm almost there, I take out the questions to look them over, but only get through the first four before we arrive and I get out. The interview is starting in three minutes, so I hurry in and go to the front desk. The lobby of GEH is grand and busy, very impressive. A tall, blonde, statuesque woman who looks like the epitome of female perfection stands there, along with several other women, alike in appearance. That's strange. I feel tiny and insecure.
"Hi," I say with a smile to the lady at the front desk, and she looks up at me, expressionless. Ok then. She looks at me expectantly, and I fluster.
"I – I'm here to interview Christian Grey," I stutter, unsure of what I should say to her. She looks down for a moment and then up again.
"Katherine Kavanaugh?"
"Oh, um, she's, um-"
"Right this way," another blond statue interrupts, touching my arm and willing me to follow her, so I do so in my usual clumsy manner. I'm so awkward. Well, they think I'm Kate. Whatever.
I follow the lady into the elevator. This place must be really fancy – I was expecting them to tell me a floor and a room, but this lady is escorting me. We arrive on the top business floor and Ms. Statue leads me out. She walks into the nearest office, which strangely has glass walls, and opens the door a bit.
"Ms. Kavanaugh is here for her interview with Mr. Grey," Ms. Statue recites to yet another young, tall, well – dressed blonde woman. I'm sensing a pattern. Ms. Statue 2 gets up and thanks Ms. Statue 1, who leaves. This is all so new to me, and I feel extremely out of place.
"I'll take you to Mr. Grey's main office," Ms. Statue 2 says, smiling at me. She seems friendly enough I suppose. I smile back and follow her out of her office and down one of the many hallways. This place really is… big. And nice; very nice. Well, I guess from what I've heard about Christian Grey – and that's only from Kate – he's a very established man in the business world.
We reach what is presumably Mr. Grey's office, and I start my tape recorder just as Ms. Statue 2 opens the door for me. She turns and walks briskly back down the hallway. She seems very efficient. Hesitant but trying not to seem so, I walk in the door.
And I trip and fall.
I'm mortified – totally embarrassed, but I'm fine physically. Well, I might have a heart attack just from the rate my heart's currently racing at, but other than that I'm fine from the fall. I'm about to scramble to my feet when I see a hand extended down to me. I look up and my eyes connect with his.
CHRISTIAN'S POV
I pace in front of my desk in my office, mostly out of boredom but partly out of frustration. Why I agreed to do this interview is beyond me. I'm asked to do hundreds of interviews every day. Hell, I've been asked to do interviews for People magazine every year and decline, but here I am – doing an interview for the fucking Seattle Times. I don't know if I was in an unusually good mood or I was just not myself the day I agreed to it, but I did. I wish I didn't – this is going to be a waste of my time, and it's not like anything good will come out of it for me.
On top of it all, it's Eamon Kavanugh's daughter who is the journalist interviewing me. He's a wealthy businessman and I've worked with him before, although his wife is a handful to say the least. I can't imagine his daughter will be any less materialistic.
My thoughts are interrupted by the door opening. I turn just in time to see a petite figure trip and fall to the floor. By some sort of instinct, I hurry over to help her up. She's obviously embarrassed; her face is flushed and she's regaining her composure as she brings herself to her knees. I reach down and help her up, and when she looks up at me, my whole being goes still.
I'm looking into the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. They're an amazing shade– a light, bright blue color. They're somehow intense and feminine at the same time as she looks back at me. She has soft features otherwise – a delicate nose and full lips, and her braided hair is a rich dark brunette color that contrasts against her fair skin. She's breathtaking.
My attention is drawn back to her eyes as she looks up at me and takes my hand, saying something about how clumsy she is and blushing again. Her eyes are big, bright and fierce– but they still emit this feminine, innocent feel to them. I think it's because they're complimented by gorgeous eyelashes that fan out across her cheeks as she looks down and breaks eye contact with me. She seems shy – quiet, like she doesn't want to draw any more attention to herself. Well that hasn't worked, because my breath has been taken away.
I don't know if we're really frozen or if that's just me, but she stands up, thanking me for helping her. I don't even respond. This is so unlike me, but I've never been this awestruck by someone's beauty, and I'm a man with many acquaintances. I think I try to say something, but I fail. What is happening to me?
I finally find my words as she stands up straight in front of me. She's extremely petite. I can tell even in her very conservative choice of clothing that she has a beautiful body to match her features. She smiles nervously. She has a beautiful smile. I suddenly remember this is Katherine Kavanaugh. Is it really? It can't be. Who would have thought? She's not blonde, tall, or seemingly outgoing at all like her parents are.
"I apologize again for my clumsiness," she repeats. Her voice is sweet and has a pleasant tone to it. I realize I've been silent for a millisecond too long because she's looking at me, tilting her head nervously.
"Are you alright, Ms. Kavanaugh?" I ask dumbly, and she nods, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Then she shakes her head, confusing me.
"Oh, um, I'm Anastasia Steele. Kate – Katherine is my roommate. She has the flu, so I'm doing the interview for her." That makes so much sense.
"Are you working for the Seattle Times as well?" I ask, studying her. She really is beautiful. I can't take my eyes off of her, but she is looking everywhere but me.
"No, I'm actually a translator. In literature. I, um, translate scripts, novels, legal documents. Things like that." She seems nervous, but then her attention seems to be drawn to the two largest paintings on my wall- Autumn at Argenteuil and Bridge at Argenteuil, both by Claude Monet. She walks over to them, surprising me, and studies them. I walk over to her and watch her rather than the paintings.
"Do you like them?" I ask, and she nods, smiling beautifully.
"I love Monet," she replies absent - mindedly. "His paintings are unique. He took scenery – nature, and made it look and feel even more amazing. Raising the ordinary to the extraordinary," she adds with a smile. I stare at her, caught by her words. I was thinking the same thing, but not about the paintings.
She blinks, coming out of her trance, and I lead her over to sit in the chair across from my desk. I sit in my desk chair but try not to seem formal like I always am. I am being so unlike myself – and I'm surprising myself by wanting to be.
"So, Anastasia," I start. I would call her Ms. Steele, but I like the way her first name sounds – it's elegant, like her. "I'm assuming that Kate gave you questions?" She nods, shuffling through her papers and clearly unprepared.
"Go ahead when you're ready," I say. She's clearly been put on the spot by her friend, and a feeling of understanding going through me. Understanding? When the fuck did I become understanding?
"Okay," she says, sitting up a little straighter and tucking her hair behind her ear again. It must be a nervous habit – it's endearing.
"It's no secret that you're a very successful businessman." And with that she launches into a list of typical questions that I'm asked in the few interviews I do. I have a simple but well – thought out answer to every one. I realize if this were anyone else sitting across from me, I would be flippant and snap my answers to the quite obvious questions. Kavanaugh couldn't come up with more interesting questions? After the eighth question or so, I've been staring at her too long and she looks up, sensing it. I gather my wits and blurt out what I am wondering.
"What about you?" You're stupid, Grey, stupid.
"Me?" she questions, tucking her hair again.
"Tell me about yourself." I really do want to know, but now she must think I'm a creep.
She looks down. "Um, I don't know. I'm a very simple person." I doubt that.
"Where are you from?" She looks up, like she's surprised I want to know.
"I was born in Georgia, if that's what you mean. Montesano." She looks uncomfortable talking about that part. "But I've lived all over America and Canada. I came to Seattle to go to Washington State."
"And you graduated how long ago?" I inquire. Am I being creepy? I genuinely want to know.
"I'm twenty three, so just last year."
"And you're already a literary translator?" I'm impressed.
She simply nods, shrugging adorably. "I've known several languages my entire life, so that wasn't a problem. I just needed my undergrad and then my post – grad. I only needed a year to complete the latter, so here I am."
I'm impressed. Translation requires intelligence and hard work. I want to ask her more but don't want to sound too intruding, so I offer for her to ask the rest of her questions. She looks down and shuffles her papers, clearly flustered. She finds the right page and looks up, blurting the question out.
"Are you gay?" she looks shocked at herself as she looks back down at the papers, embarrassed, and I smile a little at her ill – preparedness. She's very endearing; blushing and covering her mouth.
"I apologize. I didn't have time to read over these questions," she stutters, clearly embarrassed.
"Not a problem, Ms. Steele," I reply easily, leaning back in my chair.
She gathers her papers and puts them in a folder, indicating she's done. She stands up abruptly, seeming uncomfortable.
"Thank you for the interview," I surprise myself by saying. Thank you for the interview? I was dreading this interview!
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Grey," she says, still blushing, and she gives me a smile that isn't so nervous this time. She has a gorgeous smile – it lights her whole face up. I stand up with her and follow her to the door, in front of which she stops.
"I apologize again for my clumsiness. And the question. The press can be very forward," she flusters, looking down. So endearing. That word keeps running through my head.
"It's alright, Ms. Steele. You shouldn't feel the need to apologize," I reply, smiling. I smile at her. Willingly.
"Thank you," she says, turning towards the door. I take the opportunity to open it for her, and she walks out, turning one more time towards me and nodding in parting. Wait, I find myself thinking. Don't go yet.
"Anastasia," I say, making her turn again in the doorway. No employees are in the hallway, so no one will see this extremely rare interaction. Ha – not even rare. I doubt anyone's ever seen me so unlike myself. Anastasia looks at me expectantly, her eyes bright.
"Where are you working? As a translator?" I swear I see a hint of a small smile play on her lips and in her eyes.
"SIP," she replies. "Thank you for your time, Christian." And with that she turns and leaves.
I shut the door and walk back to my desk, dropping into my chair and running my hand through my hair. She's breathtakingly beautiful and clearly intelligent. There's something about her that made me feel like I could… connect with her or something. What the fuck is happening to me?
A mix of emotions is flooding through my normally indifferent brain. Never, have I ever felt this way about a woman, especially first meeting her. And that makes me scared - it makes me want to push the thought away. It goes against everything I believe.
I completely ignored the fact that she just called me by my first name instead of Mr. Grey. It does not bother me, and I don't know why. This is all so unsettling – I don't like change, and I'm used to what I've been taught.
I convince myself I'm just physically attracted to her. That's all it is. She's gorgeous, so I'm attracted to her. I'm a straight male; it's normal.
I own SIP, where she works, so I'm glad that there's at least that. I want to see her again. And I will, because I'm used to getting what I want.
A/N-
I hope you enjoyed chapter 1! Follow, favourite and review (:
-lilylilac1
