Fifty shades and the Real Girl

by amgomer

Fifty Shades alternative universe - Christian Grey finds Anastasia Steele's looks, innocence, clumsiness, and periods of selective mutism enchanting, but he gets more than he bargained for when he shows her his NDA and Playroom... perhaps there is more to Ms. Steele than he imagined.

1. Chapter 1: And So It Began

Hello readers! This is a multi-chapter, alternative universe, short (somewhere between 5 and 10 chapters) of when Ana met Christian. In some ways it follows the books, but in the most important ways, it doesn't. It's meant to be amusing. Remember people – fictional characters, fictional characters (said in my best Ben Affleck voice with appropriate finger inflections from Jay & Silent Bob Strike Back) …

Chapter 1 – And So It Began

Journal of Ana Steele, May 2011 (part 1)

In your life, people will come and go. Few remain forever. My friend Maggie from high school – gone off to Oxford, married a Brit at 20, and never to be heard from again. My friend Jose from college – forever. My friend, okay quasi-sister Kate, also from college – forever and ever. She's the ying to my yang, the peanut butter to my jelly, the teeter to my totter, and the extrovert to my introvert. Did I mention she's the vinegar to my water? Yes, when we are together we can be douchy.

When she was afflicted with the flu and begged me to interview billionaire Christian Grey in her stead for the college paper, reluctantly I agreed. I knew she must have been desperate for her to ask me to do this. I'm shy, and when I say I'm shy, I mean shy to the point where people think I'm a mute at first meeting. I don't meet new people well, especially one-on-one. In groups, I'm a scraggly wallflower. If the one-on-on is with someone of the male persuasion, I'm even worse. After step-father number two, or mom's husband number three if we're keeping score, my shyness became more severe, almost like a defensive weapon. The thought of interviewing a reclusive billionaire made me wonder if Kate shouldn't have dug up the late, great, Harpo Marx and sent him to interview Grey with horn in hand. I mean really? Me? Kate must be delirious with fever.

Kate woke up feeling miserable that morning. Normally she wakes up looking like a model from Vogue magazine, yet looking at her this morning she actually looked quite like a normal, average human. Her hair was messy, which looked really odd as she never, and I mean NEVER, had a blonde hair out of place. Her nose was read, cheeks flushed, green eyes bloodshot, and if I had to guess, her whole body ached as she was walking at a snail's pace toward the couch.

I was nervous as all hell as she handed me the recorder and her list of questions. She was coughing too much to give me any real details regarding this Grey character, so I grabbed my keys to my ancient beetle Wanda and was about to leave when she scolded me and threw her car keys my way. Yes, my Wanda was old, but she'd been reliable in the past three years; though I had to admit the long drive to Seattle without a functioning radio would have been awful. Driving Kate's Benz was a pleasure. I, the law abiding Ana Steele, even got a speeding ticket on my way for traveling ten miles per hour over the speed limit. That never would have happened with my Wanda. After all, Wanda didn't go more than fifty-five miles per hour on her best days. What can I say – I had the need for speed today and the vehicle to achieve it. No regrets.

So my dear journal, let me tell you about this Gray character. I expected a crotchety old man in his fifties; sue me, I'm twenty-two and fifty feels old to me. Yes, I know I'll feel differently when I'm approaching fifty, but I'm living in the now. I think I would have done okay if he was some old guy, but what did I find when I arrived at the twentieth floor of Grey House? The hottest guy I'd ever seen and he was only twenty-seven years old. Instantly I felt myself go into shy, mute Ana mode. I won't even describe how idiotic I felt when I fell through his doorway and landed on my hands and knees before him like I was bowing to an Egyptian pharaoh. I was greeted by his crotch first, face later. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die right then and there because it took every ounce of self-control I had to avoid returning my glance to his well-fitted pants.

Have you ever seen a romantic comedy where a girl is tongue-tied when she meets a hot guy? Take that to the tenth power and you've got yourself little Anastasia Steele at the beginning of the interview. Couple that with the hot guy being a complete arrogant, controlling, douche, and I couldn't wait to get my sorry ass out of there. This was the most humiliating experience of my life. I swear he got off humiliating me during the interview, but then again, I probably deserved it because I asked him if he was gay. But you know what kills me the most? In some twisted way, I found him in some ways alluring. Yes he's attractive. Yes, when he shook my hand we shared a static shock. I guess it's from static build up when I did the nosedive onto his office carpet. He's handsome but there's something not right with him. What the hell is wrong with me that I find him fascinating on some level? Maybe Kate's right, I've been rocking my v-card way too long.

Journal of Ana Steele, May 2011 (Part 2)

Studying for finals while working for Claytons is killing me. I feel like all I do is work and study. Kate and Jose are feeling the same way too. Kate and I can't wait to graduate and start our true, adult lives. I didn't want to work this weekend, but Mrs. Clayton needed me today, Saturday, as summer projects are continuing, so business has been booming and as she likes to say 'all hands on deck.'

The morning was crazy, but business slowed a bit during the lunch hour. Who do you think walked into Clayton's? Christian fricken Grey. I couldn't help but take a line from the late great Humphrey Bogart and adapt it to this situation: 'Of all the hardware stores, in all the places, he had to wander into mine.' Why? 'Mr. Sulu, selective mutism button engage! Warp factor nine!' Get me the heck out of here!

I know it's a coincidence that he's here at Claytons. Well, that is unless he somehow figured out that I worked that and the sadist needed someone to emotionally hurt and humiliate. I'll never live the 'Are you gay?' question down. Then to find out Kate never wanted me to ask it, rather it was more a note to herself wondering if she could somehow ask a question to make the determination if he were in fact a practicing homosexual. I mean, really, who cares? As long as whomever Grey engages with under the sheets is of age and human, who gives a flying French fry? God I wish I could swear like a sailor, as Kate does. Ray drilled it into my head to always be respectful. Sometimes it's difficult. No one in my life has made me want to swear at them more than Christian fricken Grey or CFG for short. Like I don't have enough self-esteem problems for him to pile them on with his mind games and double entendre.

Why would a billionaire need masking tape, cable ties, and rope? I mean, duct tape I could understand – everyone needs duct tape, after all, it fixes everything. I myself have used it in an emergency to do many things: emergency hem on my pants until I could buy a needle and thread, to put the handle back on a pot, to stop a link under the sink until the plumber can get there, to keep the binding on a beloved textbook – I mean, you name it and I've used duct tape for it – even keeping Wanda's bumper on until Jose can fix it. I have a collection of duct tape in every color it comes in. All I could think was this guy was either: (1) a kidnapper; (2) a hunter perhaps; or (3) just kinky as all hell. Even though all Ray is an avid hunter, he'd never bought cable ties or masking tape for a hunting trip, so all the way around CFG creeps me the heck out. I couldn't get him out of Clayton's fast enough. Now all I have to do it go home, take a shower with a kitchen scrubber sponge to get the CFG creepiness off me, and studying can resume.

What I can't figure out is how someone so ridiculously hot can be so unsettling. Kate thinks he's hot and that I find him attractive. Physically, yes the man is attractive. You'd have to be blind to miss it. His voice is smooth and seductive when it suits him, but sometimes the words don't quite match the tone. This is when I ended up feeling humiliated. Again, self-esteem issues here. I don't need anyone's help to doubt myself. Thanks CFG, yeah, thanks. I can't believe the man agreed to do a photo shoot for the college paper. Just about every ounce of my being was screaming inside my head for him to say no, but he said yes. More humiliation coming my way tomorrow courtesy of CFH – crap.

Journal of Ana Steele, May 2011 (Part 3)

I'm back my dearest journal! The photo shoot went well, though I don't believe CFG liked Jose or his assistant. I have to admit when the lights were shined in Grey's eyes by accident, I had to turn away so he didn't see me smirk. His bodyguard, Taylor, caught my smirk and just looked down at his too shiny shoes. I swear even he thought it was funny.

If you had told me that I would wish for an on switch to my selective mutism malfunction a week ago I would have said you were insane. Grey asked me to join him for coffee, but rather than remaining quiet, or saying no, which was what I wanted to say, I said: Okay. Like what the heck is wrong with me? I mean YES, ABSOLUTELY, he's HOT. The coffee outing just confirmed that while in the business world his lights are on and everyone's home, in the real world the lights are dim and no one is ever coming home. It almost felt like an interrogation – is Jose my boyfriend? Is Paul Clayton my boyfriend? Questions about my family. All that was missing was Jose's assistant and his shiny light to make the interrogation feel complete.

On the walk back to the hotel, Grey pulled me out of the path of a cyclist and into his arms. Looking up at him all I thought was – God you're hot and for a brief moment, I wanted this unsettling man to kiss me. He didn't and I actually had mixed feelings about that. What is wrong with me? I'm beginning to wonder if I'm slowly going mad. Needless to say, once I got into the parking lot and out of sight from humanity, I sat on the curb and cried. I hate PMS. I was also grateful that studying for the remainder of the day helped me avoid Kate's inquisition once I returned home.

Journal of Ana Steele, May 2011 (Part 4)

Dearest Journal: The lessons that I, Ana Steele learned today are: (1) don't sign for expensive gifts from billionaires even if they are first edition Tess books; and (2) don't drink while having PMS and access to your cell phone or you wake up in a billionaire's bed wearing his shirt while in his hotel - virginity intact, while your roommate bangs his brother. At least I got to puke on CFG's shoes – my humiliating consolation prize.

Not much more to say on this topic other than I'm getting shallow and allowing CFG's good looks to over-ride my sense of foreboding when it comes to his personality. Stupid hormones and the way he looks after working out. On top of that I agreed to join him for dinner tonight as he wanted to explain something to me. It took every ounce of self-control I had not to ask him if he was going to explain why he was so weird. I swear, where is an ax murderer when you need him? It's probably Grey with my luck. Why did he have to be cute? Couldn't he have had a few big warts or moles on his face? Anything to make the man less attractive.

There is nothing worse than realizing you have become a weak, adult woman who is quickly becoming a slave to her hormones. Crap!

Kate spent two hours playing primp the virgin for my evening with Christian Grey. I don't feel like me anymore. I feel like a brunette version of Kate, even though I'm wearing my best set of work clothes. As I step outside of Claytons at the end of my shift, I see the Audi SUV waiting for me, with Taylor at the door awaiting my arrival. Hormonal Ana is ready to just sigh breathlessly at him, while real Ana, who is generally tucked away in the recesses of my shy mind is bordering on an adrenaline rush prepared for just about any eventuality. I even have the pepper spray Ray gave me at the ready in my pants pocket.

When I step into the car, Grey compliments me on my hair in his oh so suave voice, one of the many he has in his arsenal of inflections. The dark suit and crisp white shirt he's wearing are worth more than Wanda and my bank account combined even when multiplied by ten. Yes, without saying a word, I already feel like an undeserving charity case.

After a short drive we end up parked in the underground lot of a small, three-story building. I can't help but clutch my purse and check my back pocket that holds my pepper spray. He must see my alarm because he explains the building has a helipad on the roof and his helicopter is there. He called it Charlie Tango. Adrenaline coursed through my body as the worst nightmares about him felt like they were upon me. All the while he was explaining that Charlie Tango was a Eurosomething – eurotrash maybe, model whatever that was the safest in its class. Did that mean its escape-proof I wondered? What did I get myself into?

"Where are we going?" I couldn't help but ask with a shaky voice.

"What I have to show you is in Seattle," he replied as we took the elevator.

Not surprisingly, I can't find any words and I allow him to strap me into Charlie Tango. I feel like I'm on death row and being strapped into the electric chair by the best looking executioner I've ever seen. I'm now officially terrified of what he's going to show me, but exhilarated as soon as the helicopter takes flight in the evening sky. The trip was serene and beautiful. Though I have mixed feelings about Grey, he's an excellent pilot. I'm shocked when we land on the top of a Seattle high rise.

"This is Escala," he announces as he unstraps me from my chair.

"Escala?"

"It's where I live," he explains as he takes my hand and pulls me toward the elevator. I can't help but wonder if I picked up static from Charlie Tango because when Grey touches my hand, I feel the same tingle I felt in his office. All I can hope is that it is just static.

His apartment is huge and gorgeous, but sterile. It feels like it's been staged for a magazine shoot but no one really lives there. After serving us each a glass of white wine, he escorts me to the formal living room. Once I'm comfortable on the couch, he excuses himself and heads deeper into the apartment, returning a minute later with a manila file folder in his hand.

"What's that?" I ask curiously.

He looks uncomfortable for a moment before he replies, "It's an NDA. My lawyers insist."

"NDA?"

"I'm a public figure Anastasia. I need to protect my privacy," he explains with a hint of harshness in his tone of voice.

"Again, what exactly is an NDA?" I can't help but ask.

This time the look he gives me is one that makes me feel stupid. "It's a non-disclosure agreement. It basically states anything you know or hear when you are with me will not be discussed with anyone."

"And if I don't sign it?" I whisper nervously taking a rather large sip of my wine, as I try to find my courage and my big girl voice in the fermented grapes.

"Then our evening is over and I'll fly you back to Portland," he states flatly, but I hear the hint of anxiousness in his voice.

After another large sip of wine I begin to find my big girl voice. "I've never been in a relationship before, but even I realize this isn't normal. You know that right?"

"Again, I must protect my privacy. I'm a public figure. I can't have my friends selling me out to the tabloids," he explained.

I can't help but stare into his grey eyes as he speaks to me. He might be in his late twenties, but there's something harsh about him, which I knew, but also something quite vulnerable. "So what you are saying is that even though in your interview you claimed to be a good judge of character with regard to business, in your personal life you aren't the almighty CEO?"

He's too quiet.

"Life is about taking risk Mr. Grey," I continue taking the pen from him. "I've read enough books to know that if you don't put the real you out there, you get exactly what you deserve; either a bad relationship or a loneliness so profound you bury it beneath layers of dysfunction. Where do I sign?"

My words shock him, but he points to the last page and I immediately sign. "Aren't you going to read it first?"

"Why? I value my privacy as much as you do, so if you think for one minute I'm going to discuss our conversations with anyone you are mistaken. It doesn't take a signed legal document for me to act like an adult." I will admit to sounding like a petulant child while throwing out the latter part of that phrase, but sue me, I enjoy irony. For example, The Random of Red Chief is one of my favorite stories of all time. Luckily he doesn't do more than glance at the signature on the document as I signed Anastasia Sevastova, the tennis professional, rather than Steele quite messily. I may be naïve; I may be innocent, but I'm not stupid. I fold up my copy of the document and place it in my purse.

As he brings a tray of cheese, crackers and fruit from the kitchen, I ask him, "So now will you explain why you don't do the standard heart and flowers relationship thing?"

His posture changes. He's feels taller and more menacing and intimidating; yet his voice is very matter of fact and commanding. "The only relationships I have are contracted dominate/submissive ones? I don't do hearts and flowers – I fuck hard."

I know I'm looking at him as if I'm lost, but I whisper, "Dominate/submissive? I don't understand. I've never heard of it." I try to ignore his fuck hard statement.

"Come, let me show you my playroom and you will understand," he explains as he takes my hand and pulls me up the steps.

The only thing I can imagine is your typical upscale playroom – one that has a massive screen for Xbox and PlayStation, and also includes a bar, pool table, and a poker table. To say I was wrong was an understatement. He takes me to a locked room, pulls the key from his pocket and opens the door. I know he's going to be watching my reaction. Once the soft lights are turned on, I see red walls, a massive bed with assorted restraint devices on each post, and mounted on the walls look like mid-evil torture devices. Holy fuck! I swore in my head and I don't care. The room however smells enticingly of citrus and leather. I walk past trunks and chests of drawers as I look around the room. I'm speechless. I stop at a cross with shackles mounted on the far corner wall and just stare at it. All I can imagine is being strapped up there completely vulnerable while Grey and his friends get in line to violate me any way they chose.

"We've been in here for five minutes Anastasia, say something," he states.

I can't turn to look at him. I can feel my breathing becoming sharper as a panic attack takes hold. I feel like I'm trapped in my worst nightmare as I'm losing the struggle to breathe. The second I sink to my knees, he's at my side. When he touches my shoulder, the panic attack ceases and I shimmy away from him. "Don't touch me!"

After a few minutes of leaning against the bed, I find my calmer, analytical voice. "Why me?"

"You've intrigued me since you fell into my office. You would be surprised at how many woman are into this."

For the first time since I've met him, my shyness is gone. "Explain to me how this works."

"In a nutshell, we sign a contract outlining what we are willing and not willing not do; I run a background check and if they meet my standards, they surrender in every way to me and I dominate them in any way I please," he explains.

"So you ran a background check on me?" I'm stunned when he nods. "That's invasion of privacy."

"It's public information Anastasia."

"And you want this with me why?"

"I just do. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you."

"And women really line up for this?"

"I've never had a problem finding one."

"What did I do that would ever make you believe I would want to submit to and be humiliated by you? Or for that matter even have sex with you?" I can feel my anger consuming me as I yell: "Or did you smell a virgin and want something untouched so only you can have the privilege of defiling me? Because if you think for one minute I'd ever allow you to chain me up in here like a sex slave and fuck me hard as you say, then you are sorely mistaken."

"Virgin?" he mutters in disbelief.

I nod.

"If I had known, I would never have brought you down here," he sighs nervously. "Why did you agree to come here then?"

"I agreed to go to dinner with you because you confound me. I didn't think I was coming here to the red room of pain to be tied up, beaten, and fucked," I yell at him as I quickly head toward the door, I add, "I'd say it was nice knowing you Mr. Grey, but I'd be lying."

He grabs my arm as I approach the door and turns me toward him. I panic. Ray's training kicks in and I calm myself before shooting the pepper spray into his eyes, kneeing him in the groin, punch him in his nose, before kicking him in the sternum. He may be handsome and built, but he goes down like Humpty Dumpty. As he falls, he hits his head on some metal, wheel, fetish device causing a laceration at his hairline and the blood to flow freely. I run from the room, grab my purse, and get the hell out of Escala. I'll find my own way back to Portland.

The elevator ride feels like it takes forever, but as I briskly walk through the Escala lobby and to the street, I wave down the first cab I see. It stops in front of Escala. When the rear passenger door opens, I'm shocked to see Taylor climbing out. "Hello and goodbye Taylor." I don't wait for him to answer. I know what he will find in the red room of pain. I decide that I'll worry about the consequences of assaulting Seattle's second richest citizens, behind Bill Gates, tomorrow.