Pull yourself together Steele, I tell myself. My heart is racing. Galloping. I'm sure he can hear it. I have never had this reaction to anyone, ever. What is happening to me? Why can't I stop staring into his eyes? His brilliant, stormy gray eyes. They're beautiful. They're so deeply beautiful.

"Umm… How can I help you Mr. Grey?" I ask. My voice is timid, squeaky, like a little mouse. I ama mouse, and he… he is a lion. An apex predator. I can feel it in my bones, and it terrifies me, but it also thrills me a little.

"I am looking for information on a person," he says.

"What kind of information?" I ask.

"Any you can give me."

"There are a lot of laws regarding confidentiality, Mr. Grey, I'm not sure how much I can help you with" I say, and I see irritation gathering on his face. This is a man used to people jumping as soon as he says. He doesn't appreciate bureaucracy, I can tell.

"I am looking for information on my birth parents," he says. "I was adopted."

"Oh, I see," I swallow.

I pull up the computer program with the adoption data and type in the name "Christian Grey". Almost immediately, I get a response. No results found. I frown and bite my lower lip. Did he just groan? No, of course not. I must be hearing things. I type in "Christian Gray". No results found.

"Mr. Grey, I can't find any records of you. How do you spell your name?" I ask.

He sighs audibly.

"I was born and adopted in Detroit, Ms. Steele. My records would not be in your system."

"But – "

"The cra… My birth mother, Ella Smith, I have learned that she was born in Seattle. I would like copies of any records you have on her. Births, marriages, anything. I was told official copies could only be released to immediate family members."

"Okay," I say, typing "Ella Smith" into the search records. 151 records found.

"Do you have any other information on her? Her date of birth? Her social security number?"

He turns to Muscles McMuscles. "Taylor," he says.

Taylor steps to the counter and hands me a manila folder. In it is a single page. A death certificate for Ella Smith issued in Detroit. There's not much information on it. Date of birth, unknown. Place of birth, unknown. It lists an approximate date and time of death, and the cause of death. Myocardial infarction precipitated by cocaine overdose. Under family it lists: one known. A son. Approximately four years old. I look up at Mr. Grey. Christian. The sadness I feel for him must show in my eyes, for his face hardens.

"That's all the information we have on her," he says.

"There's nothing on this death certificate I can use to narrow down the list," I say. "I'm sorry."

"Never mind then," his voice is short, and he turns to leave. Suddenly, I have an idea. His birth mother died in Detroit. I can eliminate everyone whose death was recorded in Washington State.

"Mr. Grey, wait," I say. I tell him my plan, and he gives me a smile. A genuine one. It lights up the room. I smile back and then I turn to the computer and type in my new search. 81 records found. I filter the results by date of birth and look at him – he can't be older than thirty. I filter out everyone who would be older than seventy. 16 records found. I filter out everyone who would be younger than forty. 3 records found. Much more manageable. One of the three has a marriage record attached to her file.

"Was your birth mother ever married, Mr. Grey?" I ask.

"I highly doubt it," he says.

That eliminates one. I pull up the long form birth certificate of the next Ella Smith on the list. She would be fifty years old, if she was still alive. This could be her. Oh wait. Under race, it lists African American. He doesn't look mixed race at all. But who am I to know? Genetics are weird.

"She wasn't African American, was she?" I ask.

"No. I remember her. She was white. Like me."

Well, that just leaves one. Ella Marie Smith. Born in Seattle to Vivian Jane Smith and Brian Elwood Smith. I scroll down the page. There is a DCYF record associated with her. I can't access it without Mr. Herd's authorization. Further down the page, I see a notation. "Endangered Missing Person".

"I think this is her," I say, looking up at him. The expression on his face is undecipherable.

"Can I have a copy of the record?" He asks in a gruff voice.

Technically, I'm supposed to see proof of relationship before giving him any information. But he had said all he had was the death certificate, and that didn't actually have his name on it.

"Mr. Grey, I'm so sorry for the red tape and everything, but do you have anything showing she is your birth mother? Anything at all?" I ask.

"No. It might be in the adoption papers, but my parents have those."

Screw it. No one will know anyway. Mr. Herd is probably gone by now. I'll have to use my code for the printer, but I doubt anyone will be taking a close look at the printer records. I hit "Print" on Ella's records, then decide to print Vivian and Brian Smith's as well.

"I'm not supposed to give you these records Mr. Grey, so please keep that in mind," I say to him with a smile.

"It'll be our little secret," he smiles back.

"There's a DCYF notation in her file. I can't access that." I tell him.

"What does that mean?"

"It means that social services had to intervene in the family situation. She may have been in foster care for a while. And she's also listed as an endangered missing person. I'm sorry Mr. Grey."

"You have nothing to apologize for," he tells me.

The papers are done printing. I walk to the printer and staple them together before handing them to him. He immediately passes them to Muscles McMuscles… Taylor, who puts them in the manila folder alongside Ella's death certificate.

"How long do you need to be here?" he asked me.

"We close at eight," I say.

"It's not safe for you to be here all alone." He tells me.

It's sweet that he's concerned, but I've been working here for a month now and nothing has ever made me feel unsafe.

"Taylor, who is still at GEH?" he asks McMuscles.

"Ryan is, sir." Taylor answers.

"Tell him to get over here and keep Ms. Steele company until she is ready to leave,"

"Yes sir," Taylor says, and pulls out a phone.

"I'm sorry who-what now is keeping me company?" I ask.

"Ryan is one of my CPOs, Ms. Steele," he says.

"CPO?" I'm so confused.

"Personal protection," he explains curtly.

What? I don't need personal protection. Who is this man? Why does he need personal protection? And why does he think I need it too? I've made my way in the world just fine without a bodyguard, I mean I am clumsy, god knows I can't tell my left foot from my right, but that's no reason for a "CPO".

"I don't need a bodyguard, Mr. Grey," I tell him, and the confusion is evident in my voice, and the look I give him.

"It's no trouble at all, he's two minutes away, and you won't even know he's here!"

He turns to leave. I'm about to argue with him some more, but someone else enters the office. I look at the clock on the wall. Six fifteen. My next appointment is here, and Mr. Grey is gone. Why do I feel so bereft? Get it together Steele. You've got a job to do. I turn to the man who has just entered the office. He has piercing dark blue eyes. His hair is red and worn in a long ponytail. He's wearing studs in both ears.

"Hi," I say in my brightest cheeriest voice, plastering a friendly smile on my face.

"Hi," he says. "I'm Jack Hyde."

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews and follows. I'm going to try to update maybe once a week - more often if I can but I got school and work this summer so it might not happen more than once a week.