This fanfiction starts where EL James left off with the short story at the end of Fifty Shades Free. I recommend you go back and read that first before beginning to read my fanfiction. I am very excited about writing this. I have often wondered what this all must have been like in Christian's eyes. It's a daunting task to write from this man's perspective, but I'm going to give it a shot.

Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: All the dialogue belongs to EL James.

Saturday, May 14, 2011

I've just hung up the phone, after an informative conversation with Ros and am scrolling through my emails on my laptop—which I've had Taylor deliver, along with a change of clothes. I am sitting in the living room of the largest suite at the Heathman, distracting myself with work, waiting for word from Anastasia, regarding the photo shoot for the article she's interviewed me for a few days prior.

At my elbow, my Blackberry buzzes and up on the screen pops an unfamiliar number.

It buzzes a second time, and I pick up.

"Grey."

"Er… Mr. Grey?" a female says after a hesitant moment. Her tone is soft and meek. "It's Anastasia Steele."

"Miss Steele," I say, pleasantly surprised, "How nice to hear from you."

"Um—we'd like to go ahead with the photo shoot for the article." She's nervous, I can hear her draw a hasty breath, and the thought makes me smirk. Even over the phone, I affect her. "Tomorrow," she continues, "if that's okay. Where would be convenient for you, sir?"

There that word is again: Sir. Oh, how I love to hear her say it. It does things to me…

"I'm staying at the Heathman in Portland. Shall we say nine thirty tomorrow morning?" I suggest. That will give me enough time to get a workout in. I'm going to need to blow some steam off before I see Anastasia Steele again.

"Okay," she agrees, "We'll see you there." Her voice sounds high and breathless.

"I look forward to it, Miss Steele."

And I do, really I do.

.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

It is ten after nine when I return from my workout in the Heathman's gym.

Upon entering my suite, I pull my Blackberry from my pocket and press "1" for speed dial. As I wait for Taylor to answer, I head into the bathroom to turn on the shower.

"Mr. Grey," he greets me.

"Taylor, call the receptionist and let me know where my photo shoot with Anastasia Steele will be taking place, please."

"Will do, Sir," he answers, and I hang up.

Under the cascade of hot water in the shower, images of the last time I saw her, at Claytons, in those ass-hugging jeans, and that form-fitting t-shirt return to me, and I can feel my body responding… Lord, I need to fuck this girl.

First things, first, Grey… She may not even be interested.

Something like dread threatens to open up in my belly, but I stifle the feeling. The only thing to do is wait and see… So much waiting I've been doing in this past week.

Quickly, I soap off and wash my hair, aware that I don't have long before I need to be where I need to be.

As I'm drying off, my phone, which I've set on the counter, begins to ring.

"Grey," I snap into it, rubbing the towel over my head, hastily drying my hair.

"Mr. Grey, Miss Steele, Miss Kavanagh, Mr. Rodriguez and his assistant are waiting for you in Suite 218."

"Thank you, Taylor. I'll meet you in the hallway."

.

A few minutes later, I step into Suite 218, where immediately, my eyes are zeroing in on Miss Steele. She looks as appealing as ever, dressed in a smart pair of jeans and a white t-shirt; a dark blue cardigan pulled over it makes her eyes look absolutely depthless.

Her dark hair is once again pulled back, those blue eyes piercing through me. Again, I get that unnerving feeling that she can see right through me.

"Miss Steele, we meet again," I greet her, extending my hand toward her, eager, as ever, to touch her once more.

She blinks up at me rapidly, those luscious lashes fluttering, as she takes my hand. Her skin is so soft. I imagine what it would feel like. I imagine the skin hidden beneath her clothes is much softer… the swell, the valley of her breasts, her thighs…

"Mr. Grey, this is Katherine Kavanagh." Anastasia's voice interrupts my reverie, and I force myself to turn my eyes toward the woman standing next to her, who does not bat an eye as she steps forward.

"The tenacious Miss Kavanagh. How do you do?" I smile at her politely. "I trust you're feeling better? Anastasia said you were unwell last week."

"I'm fine, thank you, Mr. Grey," she tells me as she shakes my hand—her handshake is firm and confident. This woman very much-so personifies the personality of a journalist. "Thank you for taking the time to do this."

"It's a pleasure," I tell her, and almost involuntarily, my gaze turns back to Anastasia, because really, it's not Miss Kavanagh I'm doing this for; it's all Miss Steele. I watch her face flush that delicious pink color.

"This is Jose Rodriguez, our photographer," Anastasia tells me, who grins at the boy—about her age—standing near her. He grins back, and I wonder if there's something between them. Something about the way he looks at her bothers me. He's obviously very taken by her, and suddenly I feel very possessive.

When his gaze turns to me, I note the way his expression cools. "Mr. Grey." He nods at me.

"Mr. Rodriguez," I return, equally glacial. "Where would you like me?" I try and make my tone authoritative, though I know I'll be taking orders from the photographer. I don't like it one bit. Who is he to boss me around?

"Mr. Grey," the blond—Miss Kavanagh—interjects, "If you could sit here, please?" She directs me to a chair that sits against the wall, positioned in front of numerous lighting instruments, "And then we'll do a few standing, too."

Some fucking idiot Anastasia hasn't introduced me to switches on the lights, and they glare in my eyes, blinding me. He mumbles an apology and it takes everything in me not to snap at him. I am, after all, in the presence of a lady.

The photographer starts snapping. I gaze into the lens impassively, acutely aware that Anastasia is watching me. It's nerve wracking for some reason.

"If you could turn and look toward the door," The photographer directs, and then, "If you could move your arm like so," and "You can put it down again."

Twenty minutes pass, and I feel a hole burning in my profile from the way Miss Steele is watching me. A couple times I cannot resist, and I turn my gaze toward her, our eyes locking. When this happens, she quickly glances away, flushing pink each time.

The color of her skin is distracting…

Finally, Miss Kavanagh interrupts. It is clear that she is running the show here.

"Enough sitting," she says, "Standing, Mr. Grey?"

I stand, and the idiot takes away the chair. The photographer's camera starts clicking away once again. Five minutes later, he announces that we're finished.

A bubble of disappointment rises inside me. This means that, once again, I'm going to be leaving Miss Steele's presence. And once again, this will all be for naught, and I will have not initiated a thing between us. Inspiration hits me. I'm hungry after my workout, and there's a café just down the street. I passed it during my run this morning.

"Great," Miss Kavanagh enthuses, "Thank you again, Mr. Grey." She shakes my hand once more. Her grip is firm and confident, but then I could tell that much from the way she holds herself—tall, shoulders back. She is so sure of herself, unlike Anastasia, who is meek and mild and easily embarrassed. Submissive. That's what I like about her.

"I look forward to reading the article, Miss Kavanagh," I tell her, and then I turn to Anastasia, who is standing by the door. "Will you walk with me, Miss Steele?"

"Sure," she answers, and glances nervously at her friend, confused I'm sure.

I wish everyone a good day, and open the door for Anastasia, gesturing that she should step out first. I follow her into the corridor, and Taylor follows me.

"I'll call you, Taylor."

He doesn't say a word; but obediently heads down the hall, back toward his room to wait for word. I turn my gaze back to Anastasia's face, finding her wide blue eyes fixed on me, cautious and nervous.

"I wondered if you would join me for coffee this morning." And as I say the words, anxiety rises in my chest. Why would she say yes? And if not, if she says 'no', then I will be on my way, and I will try my best to forget about the prospect, of her and me.

"I have to drive everyone home," she mumbles, gazing at her hands, twisting her fingers together.

"Taylor," I call, not taking my eyes from her. I know he'll stop. He does, making his way back to us—I can hear his footfalls coming up the corridor. "Are they based at the university?" I ask her. She nods. "Taylor can take them. He's my driver" among other things "We have a large 4x4 here, so he'll be able to take the equipment, too."

What lengths I'm going to, just to share a cup of coffee with this gorgeous young woman.

"Mr. Grey?" Taylor asks upon reaching us.

"Please, can you drive the photographer, his assistant, and Miss Kavanagh back home?

"Certainly, sir."

"There," I confirm, "Now can you join me for coffee?" I smile. A done deal. No more obstacles.

I watch as her lips turn down into a frown. "Um—Mr. Grey, er—this really…" she stammers, "Look, Taylor doesn't have to drive them home. I'll swap vehicles with Kate, if you give me a moment."

I can't help but smile, really smile. She's said yes. I open the door to the suite for her once more, and she disappears inside momentarily.

I lean against the wall to wait.

She emerges a few minutes later.

"Okay, let's do coffee." And she flushes once more.

I grin again. If she's open to having coffee with me, what else could she be open to? "After you, Miss Steele," And we make our way down the hall toward the elevators.