Sorry for any grammar mistakes. Enjoy!
"Please Bella? I'll owe you for forever, I know it's an hour long drive to Seattle, but the doctor said I have to stay in bed and not to put too much stress on my body. Please Bella, I cannot call out on this interview, no one will ever take me as serious journalist if I ditch this and-…"
"Yes, okay fine Angela, but you so owe me, whatever I want and whenever I say. And you know I'm not good with people so why would you ask me? I'm a getting my Master's in music and dance, so you can't blame me if this turns out terrible, you know how awkward I am when I'm shy." I say rolling over in bed so I can check the time, 4:30am. I slept in for thirty minutes, oh well.
"Oh thank you thank you Bella, I will not forget this, you are the best. Just think of this as practice for when you get all famous, except then you would be getting the interview not giving it. Anyway you'll do fine, just ask the questions that I have written down, ask your own questions if you think of any, and make sure you record the entire interview AND write them down. Oh, and try to take notes of how his office looks, if you can't that's okay." She rushes out, excited that I've agreed to do this.
"Angela, the only reason I'm doing this is because I have seven appointments to see the apartments your father pick out for us so I'll be in Seattle all weekend. And I'm not in music and dance to get famous, I don't want to be famous, I told you this already. Now what time is this interview?" I respond walking the kitchen for a glass of water. I still don't have an appetite, I haven't had one since my dad was murdered by Victoria. Thinking of Victoria makes me shudder and grab the scar on my neck where she bit me. She bit me and didn't suck out the venom, but I didn't change into a vampire. This all happened a month ago, Jake and the pack destroyed her after she bit me. I had to run from them as they turned on me. I think their attempt to kill me as weak because I got away. I haven't been back to Forks in a month and I do not plan on going back. I have a theory about why I didn't change. I think it's because I still had a little bit of Edward's venom running through my blood, before Victoria bit me, causing me to become immune to venom. I also think there is venom still running through me blood. I heal quicker and I'm slightly faster, but not noticeably faster by other people. Sadly I'm still clumsy and shy and utterly human. But I'm okay with that now.
It has been two years since my disastrous seventeenth birthday and since Edward left me. After he left, I through myself into my studies, graduating high school a year early with Angela my best friend. We both decided to stick together and so to the same college, we both decided on University of Puget Sound, a privet Liberal Arts College located in the north end of Tacoma, Washington. We are also graduating a year early from there, Angela in journalism and me in Music and Dance.
"The interview is at 9:00am, His Name is Christian Grey, multibillionaire and self-renowned, entrepreneur of Grey Enterprises Holding Inc. Oh, and I have the directions written down because I knew you would say yes to do the interview." She smiles innocently at me and I glare playfully back at her. Then she loses a little bit of her smile. "Can I make you something to eat? You've only eaten five times in the past week and only six times last week. You need to eat or you'll get sick. You can't tell but I know that you've lost weight, it may not be noticeable but I know that you have." All my humor disappears and tears prickle in my eyes.
"I'll eat after I shower, I promise." I say and her face brightens.
"Toast and yogurt?" she says because that's the only thing she can put together without burning down the apartment.
"How about a protein shake? It's easy, full of vitamins and you won't burn anything down." She nods, knowing it's the best she'll get from me. "Great, I'm going to take a shower." I turn on my heels and head for the bathroom.
SPACE
After my shower I put on my lace panties, my favorite simple black fitted jeans, I forgo my black bra and slip on my flared white tank top and then my black leather boots. I curl my lashes but I don't put on any make up and I leave my long hair in soft natural smooth and shiny waves, my hair reaches all the way down to the middle of my butt. I pack a few pairs of clothes and underwear along with my running clothes and my running shoes. I turn to the clock and it reads 5:30am.
"Alright Ang, I'm heading out I want to beat the work traffic." I say I walk into the kitchen, snatching up my protein shake.
"Bella, you are aware that this is a profession interview, right?" she says looking at the simplicity of my clothing.
"Yes, I'm well aware, I'm going in comfy clothes, it's not like I'm trying to impress anyone. Anyway, I should get to Seattle around 6:30am and my first appointment is at 6:45am and then another one at 7:20am then one at 8:20am. I'll make it to the Interview at 8:50am and then I have another appointment at 10:00am. Then I'll have the rest of the day to myself because the other four appointments are tomorrow and I'll make sure to face time you at each house so we can make the judgment call together. And then-…"
"Okay, okay, I get it, you'll be busy. You're talking so fast I didn't catch most of that." Ang says cutting me off.
"Sorry, can you tell I'm nervous?" I smile softly as she takes my hands.
"You'll be perfect. You're perfect. Now hurry or you'll be late." She says pushing me out the door.
SPACE
"Hello Miss Swan, My name is Gia Matteo and I am the realtor for this beautiful home. Would you like to look around on you own or would you like me to give you a tour of the house?" Ms. Matteo asks, looking overly attentive.
"Well I'd like to look around on my own and then point out any errors I see, if that is okay with you. Miss Weber is unable to make it and has asked me to make all the decisions. And I'm on a bit of a schedule at the moment." I smile at her
"Yes of course Miss Swan, let me know if you need anything." I nod to her and walk into the house, yes it's a house not an apartment and it's a very large house. But as soon as I walk in I'm in love with it. I immediately know this is a very expensive home, no this isn't a home it's a mansion. Before I tuck tale and run I call Angela, there is no way I can walk through this mansion in forty minutes.
"Bella Swan I thought I told you to make all the decisions on your own." Angela answer.
"I know, I know Ang, but this place is HUGE, I mean it's a damn mansion." I say a little too loudly, scaring myself as my voice echo's off the walls. "Did you hear that? My damn voice echo's throughout the house.
"I'm sure you exaggerating Bella-…" she begins but I cut her off.
"Exaggerating? I think not! There is a damn brochure to the damn house. Let me read it to you and you can tell me if I'm exaggerating: This beautiful home is perfectly designed, consisting of: Solid Cherry French doors that lead to dramatic two-story entrance boasting exquisite marble, granite and Onyx all gleaming from floor to pillar. Indoor pool/spa with awe-inspiring mosaic walls. Outdoor entertainment space with Nano doors and gorgeous east facing views. Distinctive Italian fountains amongst two acres of completely private and hedged manicured grounds. 6 Fireplaces, attached garage, central air conditioning, radiant, forced air heating system. Second kitchen, bath off master, hot tub/spa, sauna, security system, vaulted ceilings, walk-in closet, wet bar, wired for generator, second master, French doors, and jetted/soaking tub. Angela this house has five bed rooms and seven damn bathrooms. What do we need seven bathrooms for?" I half yell at her.
"Oh, that sounds lovely. Where is it located?" I tell her the address and send her some pictures. "Oh it's beautiful Bella. I'll tell daddy that's the one we want."
"What?!"
"Calm down Bella bear, just tell the nice lady we'll take it. Daddy said whatever house I choose will be my future home, why do you think all the house you've seen so far have three to four bedrooms." I immediately sag in relief. This is her future family home.
"You should have told me Ang. I'll tell Ms. Matteo we'll take it." I smile and shake my head at her.
"Okay, now let me sleep." With that she hangs up on me. Not even looking around the house, I walk back outside. I wasn't even in there for fifteen minutes. As I step out the door Ms. Matteo looks panicked.
"You didn't like it? You were only in there for ten minutes. Did you see that there was a home theater? A game room? An indoor pool? A-…"
"We'll take it." I cut her off and her eyes widen and then a smile stretches across her slightly aging face. "Let's make an appointment for later this week so that Ms. Weber will be able to sign all the document as this will be her home." I say as she walks me to my Motorcycle.
"That will not be necessary, Mr. Weber has already signed, if you had refused the home, I would have been required to shred the documents." Oh well that was easy.
"Oh, well it was very nice doing business you Ms. Matteo." I shake her hand and straddle my bike my beautiful Harley Davidson Iron 883.
"Let me know if there is any construction work that Miss Weber would like done, I have a great Architect that works on all the house I list." She hands me a set of many keys, all of them are labeled, and she steps back as my bike roars to life. She eyes it warily. "Do be careful Miss Swan, you are only nineteen, in my opinion, far to you to ride a deathtrap such as that." I giggle at her, put my helmet on and speed down the long driveway.
SPACE
I stare, wide eyes up at the extremely tall building that reads Grey house. I hand my keys to the valet as he stares wide eyes, between me and my bike. Nervously, with my interview materials in hand, I pull open the entrance door, go through security and walk up to reception.
"Hi how may I help you Miss?" a sweet pretty blonde women, who looks to be in her late twenty's asks politely as she surveys my attire, taking in the helmet that I currently have tucked under my arm.
"Hi, I have an appointment with Mr. Grey at 9:00am, under Weber." Her eyes widen at the name Weber.
"Right this way Miss Weber. Mr. Grey has been expecting you." She check the time, 8:50, and she personal hushes me to the empty elevator behind her. I wonder why there is an elevator behind her desk. Seeing my confused look, she smiles and explains that the elevator is Mr. Grey's personal elevator that only he and very important clients use. "27th floor Miss Weber."
"Thank you." I say as the elevator doors close and I push the button for the right floor. I nervously tuck a strand of hair behind me ear as the elevator doors open.
"Miss Weber, right this way, would you like me to take you coat and you helmet?" another pretty older blonde say reaching for my riding jacket, I stiffen and jerk away from her as her hand brushes the risen scarred bit mark. "I'm so sorry Miss Weber." Her eyes are wide as she retracts her arms.
"I think I'll keep my helmet." I whisper shaken. That's never happened before, I've never froze up like that before, then again no one has ever tried to touch my disgusting scar. Slowly I hand her my jacket and she hands it to and other blonde. She leads the way to the very back of the large office, we pass many doors, but I'm not paying attention as I'm stuck in my rotating thoughts.
"Mr. Grey will see you now." I hear her mumble as she opens the door. As I take a step into the room, my boot hits the corner of the door and I'm falling. I land on my hands and knees, a stinging pain shoots up my left arm. I know it's not broken, I can't afford for it to be broken, but it will be very sensitive and sore tomorrow. Shit now I can't ride my damn bike.
"I'm so sorry." I say gathering my things as quickly as possible. A dark shadow is cast over me as I hear Mr. Grey move closer.
"Miss Weber? Are you alright?" A deep, sexy commanding voice says and the blonde lady hurry's away. A hand appears in front of me, slowly I look up, my eyes traveling up his legs, over his muscled torso, my eyes move to his hand, up his muscular arm, across his broad shoulders, along his neck, and settling on his face. His hair is a longish, unruly and a dark brown color, his cheeks are smooth, and slightly round, he has a baby face and a strong manly squared chin. His nose is perfectly straight and his lips are lusciously full and I want to suckle on that bottom lip. But it's his eyes that seem to capture my attention. A smothering, very intense brilliant gray. Oh my, Mr. Grey is handsome, and very young.
I take his warm outstretched hand. Wow, he has big hands. They nearly swallow my petite hand.
"Christian Grey." We shake hand, his voice shakes me out of my thoughts. As our fingers touch, I feel an odd exhilarating shiver run through me. I withdraw my hand hastily, embarrassed. Must be static. I blink rapidly, my eyelids matching my heart rate.
"Miss Weber is indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don't mind, Mr. Grey." I say nervously swallowing.
"And you are?" His voice is warm, possibly amused, but it's difficult to tell from his impassive expression. He looks mildly interested, but above all, polite.
"I'm Isabella Swan I'm studying music with Ang, um… Angela… um… Miss Weber at University of Puget Sound." I say tripping over my words, making me want to hit myself.
"I see," he says simply. I think I see the ghost of a smile in his expression, but I'm not sure.
"Would you like to sit?" He waves me toward a comfy looking white couch. I gaze around his office. His office is way too big for just one man. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, there's a huge modern dark-wood desk that six people could comfortably eat around. It matches the coffee table by the couch. Everything else is white – ceiling, floors, and walls except, on the wall by the door, where a mosaic of small paintings hang, thirty-six of them arranged in a square. They are exquisite – a series of mundane, forgotten objects painted in such precise detail they look like photographs. Displayed together, they are breathtaking.
"A local artist. Trouton," says Mr. Grey when he catches my gaze.
"They're lovely. Raising the ordinary to extraordinary," I murmur, distracted both by him and the paintings. He cocks his head to one side and regards me intently.
"I couldn't agree more, Miss Swan," he replies, his voice soft and for some inexplicable reason I find myself blushing. Apart from the paintings, the rest of the office is cold, clean, and clinical. I wonder if it reflects the personality of the man who sinks gracefully into one of the white leather chairs opposite me. I shake my head, disturbed at the direction of my thoughts, and retrieve Ang's questions from beside me. Next, I set up the mini-disc recorder and I'm all fingers and thumbs, dropping it twice on the coffee table in front of me. Mr. Grey says nothing, waiting patiently – I hope – as I become increasingly embarrassed and flustered. When I pluck up the courage to look at him, he's watching me, one hand relaxed in his lap and the other cupping his chin and trailing his long index finger across his lips. I think he's trying to suppress a smile.
"Sorry," I breathe. "I'm not used to this."
"Take all the time you need, Miss Swan," he says.
"Do you mind if I record this interview Sir?" I say holding up the recorded with a shaky hand. His eyes darken with an emotion I've never seen before.
"After you've taken so much trouble to set up the recorder – you ask me now?" I flush and bit my lip. He's teasing me? I hope. I blink at him, unsure what to say, and he takes pity on me because he relents. "No, I don't mind." There's that look in his eyes again.
"Did Ang, I mean, Miss Weber, explain what the interview was for?" I ask, because I have no Idea.
"Yes. To appear in the graduation issue of the student newspaper as I shall be conferring the degrees at this year's graduation ceremony."
Oh! This is news to me, and I'm temporarily pre-occupied by the thought that someone not much older than me – okay, maybe 8 years or so, and okay, mega successful, but still – is going to present me with my degree. I frown, dragging my wayward attention back to the task at hand.
"Good," I swallow nervously. "I have some questions, Mr. Grey." I nervously smooth a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
"I thought you might," he says, deadpan. He's laughing at me. My cheeks heat at the realization, god why am I so nervous, he's just a man.
"You're very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?" What a boring question. I glance up at him. His smile is rueful, but he looks vaguely disappointed.
"Business is all about people, Miss Swan, and I'm very good at judging people. I know how they tick, what makes them flourish, what doesn't, what inspires them, and how to incentivize them. I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well." He pauses and fixes me with his gray stare. "My belief is to achieve success in any scheme one has to make oneself master of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail. I work hard, very hard to do that. I make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a good solid idea and good people. The bottom line is, it's always down to good people."
"Maybe, it's just luck." I tell him, his eye glint in surprise.
"I don't believe in luck or chance, Miss Swan. The harder I work the more "luck" I seem to have. It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing their energies accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said 'the growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership.'"
"You sound like a control freak." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
"Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Swan," he says without a trace of humor in his smile. I look at him, and he holds my gaze steadily, impassive. My heartbeat quickens, and my face flushes again.
Why does he have such an unnerving effect on me? His overwhelming good-looks maybe? The way his eyes blaze at me? The way he strokes his index finger against his lower lip? I wish he'd stop doing that. I quickly look down at the questions. We go through most of the question, with lots of blushing (from me of course) and dark sexy gazes (from Mr. Grey). Most of Mr. Grey's answers come back to the same conclusion: working hard.
"And what are your interests outside your work?"
"I have varied interests, Miss Swan." A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Very varied." and for some reason, I'm confounded and heated by his steady gaze. His eyes are alight with some wicked thought, Dangerous even, reminding me of Victoria. Shuddering, I make sure my hair is smoothed out over my scar.
"But if you work so hard, what do you do to chill out?"
"Chill out?" The words sound weird coming from him, too casual. He smiles, revealing perfect white teeth. I stop breathing. He really is beautiful. No one should be this good-looking.
"Well, to 'chill out' as you put it – I sail, I fly, I indulge in various physical pursuits." He shifts in his chair. "I'm a very wealthy man, Miss Swan, and I have expensive and absorbing hobbies." I blush under his gaze and shift in my seat.
"Oh, you were adopted. How far do you think that's shaped the way you are?" Oh, this is personal. I stare at him, hoping he's not offended. His brow furrows.
"I have no way of knowing."
"How old were you when you were adopted?" I ask, interested.
"That's a matter of public record, Miss Swan." His tone is stern. I flush, again. Crap. Yes of course, if I'd known I was doing this interview, I would have done some research.
I move on quickly.
"You've had to sacrifice a family life for your work."
"That's not a question." He's terse.
"Sorry." I squirm, and he's made me feel like an errant child. I try again. "Have you had to sacrifice a family life for your work?" What does Ang mean? Like a wife and kids?
"I have a family. I have a brother and a sister and two loving parents. I'm not interested in extending my family beyond that." Oh, well then.
"Are you gay, Mr. Grey?"
He inhales sharply, and I cringe, mortified. Crap. Why didn't I employ some kind of filter before I read this straight out? How can I tell him I'm just reading the questions? Damn Ang and her curiosity!
"No Isabella, I'm not gay." He raises his eyebrows, a cool gleam in his eyes. He does not look pleased.
"I apologize Mr. Grey. I- it's written here." It's the first time he's said my name. My heartbeat has accelerated, and my cheeks are heating up again. Nervously, I tuck my loosened hair behind my ear.
He cocks his head to one side. "These aren't your own questions?"
"Err… no. Ang – Miss Weber – she compiled the questions."
"Are you colleagues on the student paper?" Oh crap. I have nothing to do with the student paper. It's her extra-curricular activity, not mine. My face is aflame.
"No. She's my roommate."
He rubs his chin in quiet deliberation, his gray eyes appraising me. "Did you volunteer to do this interview?" he asks, his voice deadly quiet.
Hang on, who's supposed to be interviewing whom? His eyes burn into me, and I'm compelled to answer with the truth.
"I was drafted. She's not well." My voice is weak and apologetic.
"That explains a great deal." There's a knock at the door, and the blonde that touched my scar enters and I shudder then stiffen moving slightly away from her and closer to Christian. He notice but says nothing as he looks between the two of us. She looks guilt and apologetic.
"Mr. Grey, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes." She says waiting for his reply. I smooth my hand down my hair again making sure I'm still covered.
"We're not finished here, Andrea. Please cancel my next meeting." Christian says, and Andrea looks shocked, but does as he says and leaves the room quickly. Even though the blonde left and the door is closed, I can't stop staring at the place she was just standing in. Seeing her reminds me of ugly feelings that I felt when she touched my scar. I start shaking slightly, I feel a panic attack coming on. I've had a lot of them since Charlie was murdered. There was so much blood, I was cover in blood, and Charlie was drenched in his own blood. The police had found me curled up on his chest, sobbing and hugging his dead body.
"Oh." I gasp as the images flicker through my head.
"Miss Swan? Miss Swan. Isabella!" I snap my wide green eyes to his intense gray eyes. I know he's seeing the lost little girl I am.
"I- I- I'm s-sorry Mr. Grey." I whisper and I hastily turn off the recorder and fold the questions around it. "Please don't let me keep you from anything."
"I want to know about you. I think that's only fair." His gray eyes are alight with curiosity. Where's he going with this? He places his elbows on the arms of the chair and steeples his fingers in front of his mouth. His mouth is very… distracting, distracting me from my nasty blood filled thoughts. I swallow.
"There's not much to know," I say, flushing again.
"What are your plans after you graduate?" He asks, I shrug, thrown by his interest. Come to Seattle with Ang, find a job. I haven't really thought beyond my finals.
"I haven't made any plans, Mr. Grey. I just need to get through my final exams." I finally reply. Which I should be studying for now rather than sitting in your palatial, swanky, sterile office, feeling uncomfortable under your penetrating gaze.
"We run an excellent internship program here," he says quietly. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Is he offering me a job?
"Oh. I'll bear that in mind," I murmur, completely confounded. "Though I'm not sure I'd fit in here." Oh no. I'm musing out loud again.
"Why do you say that?" He cocks his head to one side, intrigued, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
"It's obvious, isn't it?" I'm uncoordinated, scruffy, and I'm not blonde.
"Not to me," he murmurs. His gaze is intense, all humor gone, and strange muscles deep in my belly clench suddenly. I tear my eyes away from his scrutiny and stare blindly down at my knotted fingers.
"I mean… look at me." I gesture down at the front of my body.
"I am Miss Swan." His eyes travel down my body, I feel my nipples harden under his dark gaze and I know he notices as his gaze lingers there for a second too long. I bit my lip and squeeze my thighs together, drawing his eyes to my mouth. "Would you like me to show you around?" he asks with and unrecognizable tone in his voice, my head cocks to the side in curiosity.
"I'm sure you're far too busy, Mr. Grey and I need to get home.
"You're driving back to University of Puget Sound, Tacoma today?" He sounds surprised, anxious even. He glances out of the window. "Well, you'd better drive carefully." His tone is stern, authoritative. Why should he care? "Did you get everything you need?" he adds.
"Yes sir," I reply, packing the recorder into my satchel. His eyes narrow, speculatively. "Thank you for the interview, Mr. Grey."
"The pleasure's been all mine," he says, polite as ever. As I rise, he stands and holds out his hand. I shake his hand and then I look out the window and I see that it's raining.
"Shit!" I say causing his eyes to widen slightly
"What is it? Do you have a coat?" Grey asks. He says looking at the rain.
"Yes I do, but I can't ride my motorcycle in that weather, it's raining to hard." I say, not seeing his reaction as I'm picking up my bag only to immediately drop it with a hiss. "Son of Bitch. Can anything go my way today?" I mutter cradling my arm that I thought wasn't broken.
"Are you alright Miss Swan?" he looks truly concerned.
"No, I think I broke my wrist when I tripped. My professor isn't going to be happy about this." I tell him, bending to pick up my things with my good arm.
"Broken? Here, let me get that for you." He picks them up, then grabs his phone and hitting speed dial. "Taylor, I need you to bring the car around. Good." He then snaps his phone shut. "Let's go."
"Go? Go where?" ask as he ushers me out of the door.
"To the hospital of course." He says as if it the most obvious thing in the world.
"No, no, no, no, no. that is not necessary, Sir."
"I need Miss Swan's coat." Mr. Grey demands
"Yes." Olivia leaps up and retrieves my jacket, which Mr. Grey takes from her before she can hand it to me. He holds it up and, feeling ridiculously self-conscious, I shrug it on. Christian places his hands for a moment on my shoulders. I gasp and stiffen at the contact, too close to the scar. If he notices my reaction, he gives nothing away. His long index finger presses the button summoning the elevator, and we stand waiting – awkwardly on my part, coolly self-possessed on his. The doors open, and I hurry in before him. He presses the button for the first floor and the elevator glades down swift and smooth.
"You really don't need to do this." I say looking up at him, wow, he's really tall at least 6 foot 2 to my 5 foot 4.
"I know, now, get it the car." He snaps.
"Yes Sir Mr. Bossy Pants." I reply seriously.
He looks down at me and his lips twitch as if he wants to laugh.
"Hi, you must be Taylor. I'm sorry to be an inconvenience."
"It's no trouble at all." He nod. Christian gazes at me with an unreadable expression. God, I really hate hospitals.
Well? What did you all think? Should I continue? Should I stop? I did use parts of the interview from this book in my story. There will be arts of the book throughout the story, if you want me to continue, but not very many. Let me know your thoughts. Review please.