Title: Winning His Heart (Working Title)
Disclaimer: I don't own bleach. I disclaim all rights. I don't own the characters, either. I'm merely borrowing them for my fan-fiction.
Fanfic Author: xancrish
Rating: PG-13 (for now).
Pairing: Ichigo/Grimmjow
Genre: AU, Slash, Romance
Warnings:A little blood, possible dark themes, cheating.
Summary: Kurosaki Ichigo is the young CEO of one of the leading conglomerates in Japan. He is smart, talented and spirited, leading a contented life and surrounded by love of his family and friends. Engaged at twenty-two, to the very much sought after doctor, Inoue Orihime, he was a man envied by many. So what happens when the seemingly clean sheet life of the young Kurosaki is ransacked by the appearance of a blue-haired foreigner, one Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez?

Chapter 1:

Hanatarou Yamada was having a pleasant day, as usual. Even since his arrival at the Seireitei Corporation, at the recommendation of one of his college seniors, his life had taken a turn for good. He had three meals a day, a night out to his favorite bar every week and a two-day vacation to the beach in the city outskirts every month. More over, he had enough stock to pay his aged mother's medical bills. A day didn't go by without him feeling grateful for the kind woman who had picked him up from what had been a disastrous lifestyle and shown him a better path. Now, the head receptionist in the Seireitei Headquarters, surrounded by nice colleagues in a cozy environment, life was bright, sunny and simple for him. All he had to do was attend calls, direct them to the right people, fix appointments and follow through with the visitors, accordingly. In his forth months of work experience in the headquarters, Hanatarou had not once come across a single hitch in the system. Everything ran smoothly and according to schedule.

That is, until now.

A loud bang echoed through out the spacious lobby, and every head, including the janitor's, who had been cleaning one of the rare paintings that decorated the room, turned in the direction of the said noise. The dark mahogany door that leads to the outside lobby had been opened none too gently, and had hit the wall on the side. A tall man, with an unusual hair color stood in the middle of the entrance, his body heaving with each breathe he took. Silence fell on everyone. Was it because of surprise, or was it intimidation – it was not clear, but the silence was only broken by the noise emanating from the air conditioner, and the collective breathe of the people inside the lobby.

Each pair of eyes followed the towering figure of the teal haired foreigner, as he strode towards the reception desk. His strange blue eyes lit with something so sinister, that it was beyond their comprehension. Hanatarou, who had been silently praying, that the stranger would just vanish into thin air, like every other monster in his dreams, became wide-eyed; his breathe caught in his throat, body freezing in pure fear. For, not a second later, a classy looking knife was thrust in his direction, skillfully placed under his neck, the sharp tip brushing against the thin layer of his skin. What did people say about things being skin deep? Now he was going to test that theory first hand.

A middle-aged woman, who had been waiting for her eleven o'clock appointment, sitting on the cozy looking sofa, let out a small wail like sound. None of the others noticed her. Not a single person dared move.

"Where is he?" was uttered with much contempt in the stranger's voice. It did little to help the receptionist's mind function properly. "Where is that bastard?" the man demanded again, leaning over the helpless receptionist.

Hanatarou suddenly felt claustrophobic; the man was invading too much of his space and not in a good way. The knife tip was starting make his skin itch.

"Bring him out, bring him. Or I will kill you." The man looked around in a frenzied fashion, "I will kill every one of you." His tone suggested he very much meant it.

"W-who?," Hanatarou managed to stammer out. The alternative was a split throat; it was far from appealing to him.

That response seemed to only anger the man even more, because he grabbed Hanatarou's hair in a tight grip, pulled his head back and pressed the blade closer, slicing a thin layer of his skin. A pearl of red shone in the silver. "Him," hissed the man. He spoke as if it should obvious who that 'he' was and that the receptionist was risking his life by asking stupid questions. "Your fucking boss. Ku-ro-sa-ki-I-chi-go," each syllable was spelt with an unwarranted stress, and a harsh jab in the receptionist's ribs, "I want him here. Right now."

If this were a normal day, and the person standing before Hanatarou, a normal man, the receptionist would have laughed at his demand. Kurosaki Ichigo, the heart and soul of the Seireitei Inc. was one of the busiest men in the entire world. Not only did he own seven brand names across the country, each of them holding more than half of the market share, but he was also the owner of two multi-national companies – with one company based in California and the other in Germany.

When his father had died in a plane crash, at the age of twenty, the soul heir to the Seireitei Inc., Kurosaki had become the youngest, richest man in all of Japan. And that was only talking about his inheritance. The man himself had gone to expand the Seireitei from being the fourth largest conglomerate in the country to the second place. He was as much a hardworking man, as he was rich. He was known for his straight-forward, spontaneous, and righteous attitude. He never slacked, never let a single opportunity slip by, and more importantly, never wasted time. Appointments made with the CEO were rare and went through a lot of formalities and planning, before approval from higher authorities. The process took from a few weeks to several months.

But, ofcourse, this was not a normal day, and the blue haired foreigner was not your everyday businessman, or reporter, or even a lawyer. It took only half a second for Hanatarou to realize what was going to happen next. It was pretty obvious; he was going to die. After all the dead ends he had come past in his short life, he was going to die in the hands of a random psycho, on a pleasant morning, in his cozy office.

'What an irony' his mind was working on its own,' I need to thank Kuchiki-senpai. I wonder what she might think of me, passing away like this. She'd sure make some arrangements for my mother….I don't need to worry.'

He mustered a weak smile, and met the unstable eyes of his assaulter, "I'm sorry, but I cannot do that, Sir. Do you have an appointment? An I.D.?"

He was in for yet another turn of events when the knife slipped from his neck and the stranger moved away from him, only to clutch his own middle and let out a deep, resounding laughter. The man's entire body shook, and when he raised his head to look at the receptionist, his face was dominated by a maniacal grin. No one else found the situation funny.

"You got guts," he declared, still continuing to giggle madly, "Despite how much you look like a puny ass, you have something under that skin of yours. Ichigo knows how to choose his men well." His grin dropped, and it twisted into yet another ugly expression."Brave, yeah. But stupid, too. Very, very stupid. Just like him, huh? Did he teach you? Did he rub off on you?" His eyes gleamed, again and this time Hanatarou recognized the hidden truth behind them – lust, lust for destruction. "Wrong answer, kiddo."

And then, the knife was back in its place, this time positioned over his jugular. A small little jerk and his life was gone for good. 'Here it comes' thought Hanatarou.

"You are going to die."

Hanatarou closed his eyes. It wasn't really something he planned on. He had always thought he would die a brave man, and died while fighting for his life with every last breath left in him. But, theory and practice were two different things. So he was digging his nails into the desk before him, silently screaming, and already waiting for the pain to end. The knife traced his skin, pressure increasing against his skin. He was going to die.

Neither pain, nor death came.

Instead, a sudden thudding noise, followed by similar ones, rhythmic and familiar, pierced through the lethal atmosphere. The metal Hanatarou had felt a fraction of a second ago went flying out from the strangers hand and hit the wall across the room. Men covered in full black, holding enormous guns, all pointing towards one man stood scattered about the entire room. The woman, who had been screaming till now, had gone finally silent.

"I think not, Grimmjow," came a strong, confident voice from the direction of the elevator, that was strictly meant for high ranking officials.

Hanatarou sagged into his chair, and promptly fell unconscious.

Ichigo Kurosaki rapped his long fingers on the glass surface of the meeting table. He wasn't used to sitting put, and his body needed action of some sort or the other. Most might find the behavior as 'restlessness,' but actually, it was more of an 'impatience' to get something done. Currently, the little let out of energy was very much helping him. If it were not for the tapping, he would be across the table, swinging punches after another, breaking every bone on the cocky face in front of him. Instead, he was able to limit his frustration to just a glare. Although, that it in itself was making the two Black Cats, the highly skilled, top-notch guards of his company, who were standing guard beside the closed door, squirm in anticipation.

Crossing his arms, Ichigo shifted into a more comfortable position in his swirling chair.

He let out a measured breathed.

"You truly are the man of your reputation, aren't you? Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez?"

The said man snorted uncaringly, leaned back on his chair and casually rested his legs on top of the glass table.

"You are one unthankful bastard."

That got the blue-haired man's attention. He dropped his legs and leaned forward. Leering dangerously, he said in a mocking voice, "Ohhhh…Now that you have saved me and stuff, should I bow down to you? Yeah? Pray your very existence, like you are my god or somethin'? Spread my legs for you like that slut of yours, maybe?" He laughed madly as if he had just cracked the funniest joke on earth.

Ichigo pinched the tip of is nose and counted one to ten.

"You assaulted and threatened my employee, Grimmjow. That was not very funny," said Ichigo, standing up and slowly walking around the table to the other man's side. He leaned down, his face directly above the others. Noting the growing displeasure on the man's face, he said, "If you were someone else, Grimmjow, your ass would've been handed over to you in a silver platter."

"Whatever," replied Grimmjow through clenched teeth, "Get away from me, motherfucker."

Satisfied with rousing some kind of serious response in the blue-haired man, Ichigo pulled a nearby chair, and sat himself in it. He didn't bother to honor the other's request.

"What are you doing here, Grimmjow? I thought we had agreement. One that said you wouldn't leave my apartment until I said otherwise."

This earned the orange-head a severe glare and a push. Grimmjow stood up, all pretense of calmness gone. He phased the room back and forth, very much looking like an angered panther, ready to strike its enemy at the smallest of provoking. The Black Cat's eyes followed Grimmjow's every move. Though they had gotten strict orders from their boss, not to harm a single hair on the blue haired psycho's body, they were unimaginably wary of him. And if it came between protecting their boss and harming the crazy stranger, it was obvious which course they would choose.

"I ain't your fucking bitch, Shinigami," came the words, finally. Grimmjow stood in the middle of the room, his whole body shaking with uncontainable fury. The air cracked between the two and it was almost as if the foreigner's whole essence was finding ways to attack Ichigo."I don't have to put up with all your shit. I will do what I want, when I want. You can't hold me in your shackles."

The two guards, who were watching the on-goings with rapt attention, were truly impressed with the unfazed expression on their young CEO's face. This man was truly something. Barely out of his teenage years, he still exuded the characters of a wise, learned man. The outrageous display of anger was having little effect on him.

For the umpteenth time they couldn't help but wonder, just what kind of relationship these two had.

"You are not really answering my question, Grimmjow," said Ichigo, his tone calm and collected, but feeling anything but that on the inside. He didn't bother correcting the blue-haired man on using his 'nick name' for him. "Let me try this, again. What exactly are you doing here?"

To the spectator's surprise, the steam visibly left the tall man. He let out a huff and his expression took a less fearsome edge as he fell into one of the many swirling chairs, facing away from the CEO.

If anyone could have seen his face then, they would have been able to see the striking, handsome man behind the rough exterior. He was by no means ordinary in the 'looks' department. With hair that shone like they were fluorescent, clean cut face and a well toned body, he would have been a heart-breaker. Till then, his psychotic attitude more than compensated for it. But, now that for some unknown reason the craziness had disappeared, the foreigner resembled a super model sitting exhausted after a busy day's work.

The young CEO, who was now donning a worried expression, was beside the taller man in an instant. The two guards were more confused than ever.

"What is it, Grimmjow?"

"Nothing."

"Grimmjow."

The atmosphere was really weird. One of the guards shuffled uncomfortably, the other averted his eyes to the far off wall on the other side.

"She came. Your….you fiancée. She…I…I left", and something about that seemed to very much pain the man, because his face constricted in an uncharacteristic display of agony. He turned his face away from the other and spoke no more.

Ichigo, of course, understood everything.