After reading FSOG, I thought it needed some revision. This WILL NOT be like the original, so if you love FSOG as it is, go away right now. This is all just what I want to happen. There will be a lot of fluff, a lot of drama, and probably a lot of lemons. Reviews and constructive criticism are very much welcome. Happy reading!
I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror. Damn my hair - it just won't behave, and damn Katherine Kavanagh for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be studying for my final exams, which are next week, yet here I am trying to brush my hair into submission. I must not sleep with it wet. I must not sleep with it wet. Reciting this mantra several times, I attempt, once more, to bring it under control with the brush. I roll my eyes in exasperation and gaze at the pale, brown-haired girl with blue eyes too big for her face staring back at me, and give up. My only option is to restrain my wayward hair in a ponytail and hope that I look semi presentable.
Kate, my roommate, has chosen today of all days to succumb to the flu.
Why is this a problem? one might ask. It is a problem because she has fought to arrange an interview for the student newspaper with some rich bastard I don't care about. She has waited months for the date set to finally arrive. Alas, she caught the GODDAMN FLU, so I must fill in for her.
Never mind that I have final exams to cram for, one essay to finish, and I'm supposed to be working this afternoon. Today I am driving one hundred and sixty-five miles to downtown Seattle in order to meet the hot-shot CEO of Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. Yes, he is a respectable man, as he has made a name for himself, and he is a major benefactor of our University, therefore his time is extraordinarily precious – exceedingly more precious than mine, apparently. Damn Kate's journalist nature.
Exiting the bathroom, I find my roommate curled up on the sofa in the living room, clutching a box of tissues.
"Ana, I'm sorry." she says for the hundredth time. She better be damn sorry. She gives me big puppy eyes, to which I respond by scowling.
I can't help noticing how, even sickly, she is still not unattractive. Her strawberry blonde hair is secured in a bun and her green eyes are bright, although now red-rimmed and runny.
"I know, Kate." I say with a small sigh. "Here are the questions and my mini-disc recorder. Just press record here. Make notes, I'll transcribe it all." she says, her voice hoarse.
"I know nothing about him," I mutter, placing the items she handed me in my messenger bag. "You'll do wonderfully. Thank you so much, Ana." "You're welcome. Now get back to bed." I order.
Leaving with a small smile, I think again about how I cannot believe I have let Kate talk me into this.
The roads are clear as I set off from Vancouver toward Portland. It's early, and I don't have to be in Seattle until two this afternoon. Fortunately, Kate's offered her Mercedes CLK to help me make the trip.
My destination is the headquarters of Mr. Christian Grey's global enterprise. The building is a huge twenty-story structure, an architect's wet dream, with Grey House written boldly in steel over the glass front doors.
One forty-five the clock reads when I arrive, joyous that I'm not late as I walk into the enormous glass, steel, and white sandstone lobby.
Behind the gargantuan stone desk, a heavily made-up young blonde smiles pleasantly at me. She's wearing an unnaturally sharp suit. "I'm here to see Mr. Grey. Anastasia Steele for Katherine Kavanagh."
"One moment, Miss Steele." She arches her eyebrow, gazing at me with... oh my, is that disdain I see? Tut tut, Miss Five-pound-face. A smile goes a mile. I giggle internally at my sarcasm. "Please sign in here, Miss Steele. Take the last elevator on the right, twentieth floor." Her smile is sickly sweet. After signing, she hands me a pass with VISITOR stamped on it in obnoxious letters.
A brief thanks, and I walk to the bank of elevators. A speedy and smooth elevator ride later, the doors slide open to reveal, guess what? GLASS, STEEL, AND WHITE SANDSTONE. The interior decorator who was paid to do this needs to learn the meaning of "color".
Another desk, another black and white dressed blonde. She smiles, but seems more sincere than the last. "Miss Steele, have a seat, please." She gestures to a gathering of white leather chairs. I smile, thank her, and sit where directed.
Being as uneducated as I am about this guy, I decide to prepare myself as best as possible. I retrieve the questions from my bag and go through them once to familiarize myself.
To the right, another immaculately dressed blonde enters. This guy has some weird things for blondes, doesn't he?
"Miss Steele?" the new blonde - Is this number two or number three, including the one from downstairs? Eh, I'll go with three. - "Yes." I stand, mustering up a smile. "Mr. Grey will see you in a moment. May I take your coat?" she offers. "Yes, thank you." I remove the black coat from my body, hand it over to her, and straighten my navy blue blouse.
"Have you been offered a refreshment?" Number 3 asks. "No, I haven't." Number 3 frowns at Number 2. "Would you like tea, coffee, water?" "Glass of iced water, please." "Olivia, a glass of iced for Miss Steele." Number 3 orders sternly. Number 2, Olivia, jumps and hurries away. "My apologies, Miss Steele. Olivia is our new intern. Please have a seat." Number 3 says, smiling sincerely.
Olivia returns a second later. "Your iced water, Miss Steele." "Thank you." I say, taking the glass.
Both blondes return the desk, heels clicking on the sandstone floor.
I'm pondering if it's legal to insist that all of one's employees be blonde when another door opens. A tall, elegantly dressed African-American man with short dreadlocks exits. Turning, he says into the room he just exited, "Golf, this week, Grey."
Olivia jumps again - She's like a Chihuahua with that jumping and scurrying. - and goes to summon the elevator. The man departs into the elevator.
"Mr. Grey will see you now, Miss Steele." Number 3 says, motioning to the door. I take my bag and approach the door. "Go on in." Number 3 says, smiling.
I open the door, and step inside. "Miss Kavanagh." a tall, young man greets, offering me a slender hand. "My apologies, Mr. Grey, but Miss Kavanagh is unavailable. I have come in her stead. Anastasia Steele, it's a pleasure to meet you." I say, accepting and firmly shaking his hand. "Miss Steele, I am Christian Grey." So this is him. I must admit, he is attractive - dressed in a fine gray suit with a white shirt and black tie, looking at me with curious gray eyes, and a head a insane copper hair. Mr. "Gray" indeed.
His office is much too big for just one man. Before the farthest wall, which is made completely of windows , there's a monstrous, modern, dark wood desk that six people could easily sit 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 collection of paintings hangs, thirty-six of them arranged in a square. They are lovely representations of usual household objects painted in such precise detail they appear to be photographs. Placed together, they are exquisite.
"A local artist. Trouton," Grey says when he catches my gaze.
"They're beautiful. Raising ordinary to extraordinary," I murmur, distracted by the paintings. He cocks his head to one side and regards me intently.
"I couldn't agree more, Miss Steele," he replies, his voice soft.
"Would you like to sit?" he offers, gesturing to the L-shaped couch in the sitting area. "Certainly." I reply, walking to the far side of the coffee table. Smoothing my black skirt, I sit and place my bag next to me. I retrieve the recorder and questions.
"Did Miss Kavanagh explain the purpose of the interview?" I ask, crossing my legs and placing the questions on my lap. "Yes. To appear in the graduation issue of the student newspaper as I shall be conferring the degrees at this year's graduation ceremony." he answers. Oh, he'll be there? Interesting. "Wonderful. Shall we begin?" I ask, pressing the start button on the recorder. He grins.
"You're very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?" I look up at him. He looks vaguely disappointed.
"Business is all about people, Miss Steele, and I'm very good at judging people. I know how they tick, what makes them flourish, what doesn't, what inspires 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 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 you're just lucky." I suggest, raising an eyebrow.
"I don't subscribe to luck or chance, Miss Steele. 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." I scoff.
"Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Steele," he says without a trace of humor in his smile. I look at him, and he holds my gaze steadily. Our expressions display matching impassivity.
"Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you were born to control things." he continues, his voice soft.
"Do you feel that you have immense power?"
"I employ over forty thousand people, Miss Steele. That gives me a certain sense of responsibility - power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in the telecommunications businessand sell up, twenty thousand people would struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month or so."
"Do you not have a board to answer to?" I tilting my head to the side. "I own my company, Miss Steele. I answer to no one." I can't help the small smile on my face. Arrogance like his can only lead to an immense downfall. I've seen it before, and I have no doubt that I'll see it again.
"And do you have any interests outside your work?"
"I have varied interests, Miss Steele." A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Extremely varied." His eyes are alight with some wicked thought that sends a chill down my spine - and it's not a good chill.
"Care to elaborate on your 'varied interests'?"
He smiles fully, revealing perfect white teeth. "Well, I sail, I fly, and I indulge in other physical pursuits." He sits forward a little in his chair. "I'm a very wealthy man, Miss Steele, and I have expensive and absorbing hobbies."
His heated gaze is making my heart beat faster in a disturbing manner.
I look back at the questions, searching for a subject change.
"You invest in manufacturing. Why, specifically?" I ask.
"I like to build things. I like to know how things work, how to construct and deconstruct. And I have a love of ships."
"That sounds like your heart talking rather than logic and facts." I comment.
His mouth quirks up, and he stares at me with an appraising look.
"Possibly. Though there are people who'd say I don't have a heart."
"Why would they say that?"
"Because they know me well." His lip curls in a wry smile.
"Would your friends say you're easy to get to know?"
"I'm a very private person, Miss Steele. I go a long way to protect my privacy. I don't often give interviews," he trails off.
"Then why did you agree to do this one?"
"Because I'm a benefactor of the University, and for all intents and purposes, I couldn't get Miss Kavanagh off my back. She endlessly badgered my PR people, and I admire that kind of tenacity."
I know how tenacious Kate can be. That's why I'm sitting here when I should be studying for my exams.
"You also invest in farming technologies. Why are you interested in this area?"
"We can't eat money, Miss Steele, and there are too many people on this planet who don't have enough to eat."
"That sounds very philanthropic. Is feeding the world's poor something you are passionate about?"
He shrugs, very non-committal.
"It's shrewd business," he murmurs, though I think he's being disingenuous. I raise my eyebrow, but let it pass and move to the next question.
"Do you have a philosophy? If so, what is it?"
"I don't have a philosophy as such, maybe a guiding principle - Carnegie's: 'A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind may take possession of anything else to which he is justly entitled.' I'm very singular, driven. I like control - of myself and those around me."
"So you want to possess things." It's not a question.
"I want to deserve to possess them, but yes, bottom line, I do."
"You sound like the ultimate consumer."
"I am." He smiles, but the smile doesn't touch his eyes. Again this is at odds with someone who wants to feed the world, so I can't help thinking that we're talking about something else, but I'm absolutely mystified as to what it is.
Glancing at the next question, I scowl at the paper. This is rather personal, but it's not really my question, so here it goes. "You were adopted. How far do you think that's shaped the way you are?" I stare at him, hoping he's not offended. His brow furrows. "I have no way of knowing." he murmurs.
"How old were you when you were adopted?"
"That's a matter of public record, Miss Steele." His tone is stern. "My apologies, Sir." I reply sharply. "I am not as prepared as I'd like to be for this interview, so forgive me." I let the sarcasm sit there and continue.
"You've had to sacrifice a family life for your work." I say, my tone empty. I want this stupid affair to be over and done with.
"That's not a question." He's terse.
"Sorry." I nearly hiss. "Have you had to sacrifice a family life for your work?"
"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."
I look at the next question, and I gasp. "Damn you, Katherine." I mutter to myself.
"What was that?" Grey asks.
"Nothing, Mr. Grey." I say, loud enough for him to hear me. "Just reminding myself to have a chat with Miss Kavanagh about her curiosity." "Is there a problem with curiosity?" he asks, cocking his head to the side. "When it goes to far, yes. And hers has certainly gone to far." I answer.
I flip through the questions, searching for the next appropriate question. "A moment please, Mr. Grey." I murmur.
"Do you have a problem, Miss Steele?" I sigh, looking down at my lap. "If you must know, Mr. Grey, I have a problem with this entire interview, but it is not your problem, so I will not bother you with it." He raises his eyebrows, silently questioning me.
There's a knock at the door, and Blonde Number 3 enters.
"Mr. Grey, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes."
"We're not finished here, Andrea. Please cancel my next meeting."
Andrea hesitates, gaping at him. She's appears lost. He turns his head slowly and meets her gaze.
"Very well, Mr. Grey," she mutters, then exits. He frowns, and turns his attention back to me.
"Where were we, Miss Steele?"
"Don't let me keep you from anything."
"No, I want to know about you. I think that's only fair." His gray eyes are alight with curiosity. I narrow my eyes at him, but sit back silently. He places his elbows on the arms of the chair and steeples his fingers in front of his mouth.
"There's not much to know," I say blankly.
"What are your plans after you graduate?"
I shrug. Come to Seattle with Kate, find a place, find a job. I haven't really thought beyond my finals.
"I have yet to cement any plans, Mr. Grey. I am currently focusing on getting through my final exams." Which I should be studying for now rather than sitting in your cold, sterile office.
"We run an excellent internship program here," he says quietly. I raise my eyebrows ever so slightly.
"I'll bear that in mind," I deadpan. "Though I'm not sure I'd fit in here."
"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 answer his question with a question.
"Not to me," he murmurs. His gaze is intense, all humor gone. That mysterious wickedness, sending more shivers up and down my spine. That's it. I'm done. I lean forward to retrieve the recorder.
"Would you like me to show you around?" he asks.
"I'm certain you're far too busy, Mr. Grey, and I do have a long drive."
"You're driving back to WSU in Vancouver?" He sounds surprised, anxious even. He glances out of the window. It's begun to rain. "Well, you'd better drive carefully." His toneis stern, authoritative. "Did you get everything you need?" he adds.
"Yes, Mr. Grey." I reply, a bit exasperated. I pack the recorder into my bag.
"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.
"Until we meet again, Miss Steele." And it sounds like a challenge, or a threat, I'm not sure which. I frown, but shake his hand.
"Mr. Grey." I nod at him. Moving with athletic grace to the door, he opens it wide.
I walk into the foyer, surprised when he follows me out. Andrea and Olivia both look up, equally surprised.
"Did you have a coat?" Grey asks.
"Yes." Olivia leaps up and retrieves my coat, which Grey takes from her before she can hand it to me. He holds it up as if he expects me let him help me put my coat on. I do not want his hands or anyone's hands on me. I just take it from his hands and slip it on myself.
Grey escorts me to the elevator and presses the button, summoning the elevator. The doors open, and I hurry in desperate to escape. I really need to get out of here. When I turn to look at him, he's leaning against the doorway beside the elevator with one hand on the wall. His burning gray eyes gaze at me.
"Anastasia," he says as a farewell.
"Christian,"