Hi Everyone! Like any story, this idea started with a series of "What ifs?" What if Christian's mother hadn't died? What if he'd never been adopted, and he'd never met Mrs. Robinson? What if he'd never known love….?

This is my first attempt at FanFic, and I'd love to hear your thoughts!

xoxo,

Sophie

Chat with me on Facebook: sophienightauthor

Inspiration

Songs: "Renegades" by X Ambassadors and "Heathens" by Suicide Squad

CHAPTER ONE

"Miss Steele."

My boss's voice cuts through my concentration, and I'm forced to look up from the countless depositions I'd been sifting through. He walks up to my cubicle and drops a thick manila file on my desk.

Nathan Emery most beautiful attorney in the Seattle area. He's also the best. For those two reasons alone, every student studying criminal justice at Washington State would kill for a position here. My degree is in english lit, but I have something the others don't. A connection to one of the most powerful media tycoons in the Seattle area. One word and the job was mine.

"I need you to handle the discovery on this case." He points at the file. "I need this for tomorrow's meeting."

"I'm just an assistant. I really don't think-"

He cuts me off-something he does frequently—by holding his hand up. "I just need you to go to the King County Correctional Facility and get the initial interview from Mr. Grey."

I shake my head. "I haven't even had time to read his file."

"No need. In the folder, you'll see I've drawn up a list of questions. It's pretty straight forward." He glances at his Rolex. "You should leave now. Visiting hours are over in two hours." He turns to walk away, but stops himself. "Oh, and this is a huge case, so don't fuck it up," he adds.

I blink up at him, my heart pounding. If the case is such a big deal, then why the hell is he sending me? But I can't say that, so I just nod and smile. "Got it."

Standing, I grab the file and gather it against my chest with one arm while straightening my faded black pencil skirt with the other. I teeter a little, and my ankle twists, but I catch myself before I fall. Even in borrowed kitten heels, I'm hopeless. If only I could wear jeans and tennies to the office, I'd be golden.

As soon as Mr. Emery is back in his office and out of earshot, my co-worker, Jamie, pops her head up over the cubicle partition. "Holy shit, tell me he didn't just give you the Grey case. I've been begging him all week for that one."

I smile at her. She has beautiful golden brown hair, olive skin and bright green eyes. In the two weeks I've been here, she's the only person who's said more than three words to me.

I laugh. "God, why?"

She lifts a perfectly manicured brow. "Are you kidding me? Christian Grey? The guy is gorgeous. Like, underwear model gorgeous. Don't you ever read the gossip sites?"

Out of nowhere, I suddenly remember my car, Wanda, is out of commision. "Shit, I don't have a car. I just remembered, the Beetle blew up on my way home last night." Flames are not what you want to see shooting out of an engine. I glance at the clock on the wall. "Maybe if I hurry I can catch the metro."

"Hey, why don't I take you?" Jamie smiles. "You'll get there faster."

"That would be awesome." I pause, and narrow my eyes at her. "Wait, is this about the guy I'm about to go interview?"

"Oh, come on! You aren't seriously going to keep him all to yourself! Think of it this way: you need a ride, and I need something to get me through yet another lonely night with my cat."

"You do make a strong case," I tease.

"Sweet." She jumps up and claps her hands. "Let me just go tell Mr. Emery I'm leaving. I'll meet you downstairs."

I grab my purse and sling it over my shoulder. Five minutes later, we're climbing into Jamie's silver Lexus, peeling out of the parking structure with lightning speed. I grip the door handle and struggle to hold down my breakfast.

"Remind me to take the bus next time," I groan. "I think I'm going to be sick."

Jamie laughs. "It's just nerves."

"Yeah, you know, right before I left Mr. Emery said-and I quote-'don't fuck up.' So, of course, that's all I can think about now. No pressure at all."

"Girl, you've got this. Mr. Emery has the questions all written out. Just stick to the script." She lifts a finger. "But I will give you one piece of advice. Try not to spontaneously orgasm in Grey's presence. Failing that, you'll be fine."

"Ha. Funny. Felons don't really do it for me, so I think I'm in the clear."

"He hasn't been tried yet, so he isn't a felon. And as soon as his bail is set, he's going to bond out anyway. The guy is stupid rich."

"Rich, how?"

She shrugs. "He owns a club downtown, and a bunch of other stuff. I guess he grew up really poor or something, then came into some money. I'm not exactly sure."

"Came into some money. That doesn't sound suspicious at all." I sigh. "Doesn't matter, anyway. Bad boys aren't really my thing. I'm more into the emo, artsy type."

"Wow, no bad boys in your squeaky clean past? Girl, you have no idea what you're missing."

We both laugh, and the topic shifts to how insanely hot Mr. Emery is and whether or not he's dating anyone. We tick three women off as possibilities, including one pretty little intern at the office.

Our destination is only a fifteen-minute drive from downtown, and in the Lexus, we make it there in record time. Jamie pulls up to the curb, and I open the door to get out.

"I'll meet you inside," I say.

"Hey, Ana." Her tone is heavy and it draws my full attention.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"I'm serious, keep those panties on. Grey is mine."

I laugh. I'm always laughing with her. "You have nothing to worry about. Grey is not my type."

Outside, it's a typical Seattle morning. Heavy gray clouds drift over the city, and I lament not bringing a jacket. My thin white blouse and black pencil skirt aren't much against the biting cold, but I decide it doesn't matter. I'll be inside soon anyway.

The King County Correctional Facility is a tall white building, and I make my way around to the front entrance. As I walk in, my heels click on the smooth linoleum tiles. I stand in the visitor line and when it's my turn, I step up to the window.

"I'm here to see Christian Grey."

The female corrections officer types his name into the system, then looks up at me. "No visitors. He's on restriction."

I swallow. "I'm on his legal team."

Her gaze drifts down to my borrowed, ill-fitting outfit. She lifts a brow. "Are you on the list?"

Oh, shit. I have no clue.

"Of course I'm on the list," I say with all the confidence I don't have. "Miss Anastasia Steele."

More clicking as she checks the system for my name. I pray she'll find me on the list. I need to get this interview. If I show up at the office empty-handed, I'm not sure how Mr. Emery will react. And I don't want to find out.

She looks up at me, her lips pursed in annoyance. "Identification."

I pull out my driver's license and hand it to her.

She glances at it, then hands it back to me. "Go on through."

Yes. Thank God. Relief washes through me. Someone from the office must have called ahead and added me to the list.

"Thank you," I say, then walk through to the adjoining room. There's an officer waiting for me there. She searches me, my files, my purse. When she's satisfied I'm not carrying any drugs or weapons, she waves me through to a smaller waiting area.

I sit there until a male officer comes to collect me. He leads me down a long, white hallway and through a series of metal doors. Screams echo from somewhere deeper inside the jail, and it sets me on edge. I clutch the folder tighter to my chest.

He stops in front of a door and turns to face me. He's tall, muscular, and there's a harshness in his face that unnerves me a little. The name on his tag reads Sergeant Sullivan.

"Before we go in, a few important safety tips," he says. "No item exchanges. No touching. And it would be best not to look him directly in the eyes."

That last sentence takes a second to sink in.

"I'm sorry." I blink. "Don't look him in the eyes?"

"Grey can spot vulnerability a mile away."

I laugh. "Let me guess; he can also smell fear."

"Yes," he says, completely serious.

"Oh." I sober. "Okay. Thanks for the advice."

"Listen, you look sweet." He smiles tightly. Was it an attempt to set me at ease? If it is, it fails. "But you need to know, Grey is a dangerous man. In the two days he's been here, he's already sent three inmates to the hospital."

I nod and try to look unaffected. But suddenly I feel like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole. Completely out of my depth. "Is that why he's on restriction?"

"No, he's on visitation restriction for refusing to eat. He's in segregation for the fighting."

I clear my throat. "Is it necessary to keep him segregated?" I've read up on isolation in jails and the results were universally negative. Inmates were kept in single cells for twenty-three hours a day with only one hour out for recreation. Many of them either went crazy or lashed out violently. Often both.

"It's for the safety of the general population."

My heart is beating so fast, it feels like it's going to burst out of my chest. "I see. I'm actually just here to ask him a few questions, so..."

Sullivan tips his head in a curt nod and slides a key into the lock, swinging the door wide so I can enter. I step over the metal threshold but my heel catches on the lip, and I stumble over my own stupid feet. I lurch forward and fall hard on my knees. The files in my arms go airborne, then scatter across the cement floor like the debris of a hurricane.

Holy fuck. That hurts.

Pain pierces through my right knee and for a second, I fear I may have done some real damage. But as the sergeant helps me up, the pain ebbs and all that's left is the hot sting of humiliation.

"Thank you," I say as I hurriedly gather up my files. I tuck them haphazardly back into the manila file folder, then slip into the chair across from Mr. Grey.

The papers inside the file are a jumble now, and as I search for that stupid list, I catch the image of an orange jumpsuit in my periphery. Aha, here's the file. I grab a pen from my purse, then set my purse on the floor by my feet. "Mr. Grey, I'm Anastasia Steele, and I'm here to ask you a few questions about your case."

I look up, almost unconsciously, and suck in a shocked breath of air. The man sitting in front of me is gorgeous. He's young, probably not much older than me, unshaven, with disheveled copper colored hair and gray eyes that are flecked with gold.

I blink at him, frozen, as Sullivan's warnings whip around inside my head.

He's dangerous.

Yeah, I can see why. Grey is masculine in a way that instantly awakens the most feminine parts of me. It's a crazy, unfamiliar feeling, and I struggle hard to push it away.

He's leaning back in his chair, all quiet, unaffected confidence, his hands resting on the table in front of him. Thick cuffs encircle his wrists, connected by a short chain that's padlocked to the table.

He's already sent three inmates to the hospital.

How is that even possible? There isn't a scratch on him.

His gaze lingers on me a little too long and I can't help but feel self-conscious. "Can you-" I clear my throat and shift in the plastic chair. "Can you tell me where you were on Friday, February 10th?"

He's looking at me with those enigmatic gray eyes. Under the sharp fluorescent lights, his features are harsh and beautiful. Almost otherworldly. It's surreal.

Several uncomfortable seconds tick by and I'm met only with silence. I glance back down at my paper to avoid the intensity in his eyes. It's not working. I can feel his gaze like a physical touch, brushing across my face and down my neck, over my breasts…

I clear my throat again, and glance around for a bottle of water. I should have brought some with me.

Seconds tick by. When it's obvious he has no intention of answering me, I flick a nervous glance at Sergeant Sullivan.

"He doesn't talk," he says by way of explanation.

"What do you mean he doesn't talk?"

Sullivan shrugs. "He hasn't said a word since he's been here."

"To anyone?"

"Nope."

I turn back to Grey. He's regarding me passively. Though he's chained up, I can't help but feel like he's the one in control. His gaze flicks to the sergeant, his jaw clenched tight. Tension is practically dripping off him in sheets.

I turn back to Sullivan. "Can you give us a few minutes alone?"

His gaze slides to Grey.

"He's chained up," I say before she can refuse. "He can't hurt me. We just need a few minutes."

He purses his lips and I can tell he's not thrilled with the idea. But in the end, he gives in. "Twenty minutes. I'll be right outside."

I smile tightly. "Thanks."

As she leaves, I turn back to Grey. He's staring at me, a faint, barely-there smile touching the edges of his lips. He finds this amusing.

Pulling in a deep breath, I force myself to stare back. It's harder than it should be. It turns out, staring at someone so intensely beautiful isn't my favorite thing-not when that someone is staring back at me, mentally cataloging my every flaw.

"Mr. Grey," I begin. "I was sent here by Mr. Emery to ask you some questions. I'm here to help you. I can't really do that if you're just going to sit there and stare at me."

That garnered a response, at least. He laughed under his breath and shook his head-as though, what, I was lying to him? This guy must have some serious trust issues.

More silence.

"Fine," I say, snapping his case folder closed. "If you won't talk, then I guess I'll be on my way. There are people out there who actually want our help."

My cheeks are flushed hot and I have to force myself not to throw my pen at his too-beautiful face. Now I have to convince Mr. Emery-somehow-that it's not my fault he has to clear his schedule and come back here to interview this guy. That's if he doesn't fire me first.

I move to stand up and Grey flinches. "Wait." He glances down briefly and I can see the war playing out across his face. "What do you want to know?"

His voice is deep, rough, and slides through my veins like hot whiskey. Of course it does. Damn it.

"So you do speak, after all." I relax back into my chair and open the file. "What happened on February 10th?"

"The guy came at me and I put him down. Simple as that."

Simple as that. Wow. Okay.

"It says here that Mr. Hyde had a skull fracture and punctured lung when he was transported to the hospital. And you sustained…" I glance through the file. "No injuries?"

"He had a gun pointed to my head and I reacted."

I scribble that down. "How did the argument start?"

He smoothly dodges my question. "How did you come to work for Mr. Emery?"

I put my pen down and sit back. "Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Answer the question," he commands.

I can't imagine why it matters to him. I'm no one. I'm just the girl taking down his answers to a few very basic questions. But we only have twenty minutes, and I can't waste time arguing.

"My best friend, Kate, got me the job. Mr. Emery is her father's lawyer, and he mentioned he needed an assistant."

His hands clench into fists. "How long have you worked for him?"

I shake my head. "You haven't answered my question. How did the argument start?"

"He showed up at my club, pissed off because I have something he wants. He thought shoving a gun in my face might persuade me to hand it over."

I swallow, trying to envision that moment. "What did he want?"

He lifts a brow, but says nothing. It's an unspoken ultimatum. If I answer his questions and he'll answer mine.

"I've been working at the firm for two weeks," I answer.

"He shouldn't have sent you here."

I stiffen, stung by the razor sharp edge in his voice. "What makes you say that?"

"This is no place for a woman like you."

"A woman like me? You don't even know me."

"I have a talent for reading people." He leans forward, the chains around his wrists dragging across the surface of the table. His scent surrounds me—soap and something else I can't quite pinpoint. I draw in a deep breath. "You're young, naïve. And you've never broken the rules a day in your life. You don't belong in this world, Miss Steele. It's so fucking obvious."

I draw back a little, stung by his harsh appraisal. Naïve. Is that how he sees me? It shouldn't bother me, but for some insane reason it does. "Are you always this concerned about your lawyer's assistants?"

His eyes darken. "No," he says. "Just you."

He's dangerous.

I grip my pen tighter and return my attention to the list of questions in front of me. "What—" I clear my throat again. "What's your history with Mr. Hyde?"

"We were in foster care together."

I'm surprised by that. "So, you've been friends since you were kids?"

"I don't have friends, Miss Steele. I have employees, and I have people who want me dead. There's no in between."

What a horrible way to live. I can't imagine my life without friends or family. I think I'd go crazy. Maybe he has. "What about family?"

He tilts his head down and a muscle begins to tick in his jaw. His hands are balled into fists again, and I can see he's trying to reign in his temper. "I'm done answering questions."

I sit back. What, like I'm questioning him for fun? This is my job. These questions are for his benefit. I'm about to say exactly that when the door opens and Sergeant Sullivan steps into the room. "Time's up."

He walks over and unlocks the chain connecting Grey's wrist restraints to the table. Grey stands, unfurling every delicious inch of his six-foot frame. He owns the space, fills every nook and corner with his quiet presence.

It's clear now how he was able to beat down those men. He's huge and beneath that orange jumper, I suspect he's got some serious muscles.

I shove the file into my purse and stand, smoothing one hand down my skirt. My hand is shaking. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Grey."

His gaze rakes down my body, and I catch something like curiosity in his eyes. "Good day, Miss Steele."

At that point, I turn and practically run from the room.