I've really enjoyed reading all your comments! I didn't really expect anyone to read what I wrote; I just did it for fun. But I am so glad that you all have liked it! Been too long since I put the last chapter up, so without further delay, here it is! I hope you enjoy :)

I turn my unusual piece of mail over and over in my hands. Expensive cardstock, embossed lettering, vellum in the middle. There is even a wax seal on the envelope! A lovely invitation to a gala celebrating the opening of the new gallery at the Seattle Art Museum has arrived for me, which I couldn't be more excited about. I've been looking forward to the grand opening for some time, but I fully expected to pay general admission and climb around busloads of bored school children in order to see the new pieces.

I reexamine the invitation. It isn't that surprising that I received an invitation to the formal event. I've been a member of the museum for a few years now. It's my favorite place in the city to be, surrounded by so much beauty and talent. What is surprising is that inside of the envelope is a ticket to the event, which I know carries a hefty pricetag in the name of supporting the arts, as well as a gift card to Neiman Marcus that doesn't have a monetary value on it anywhere that I can see. I assume this is so I can purchase something suitable to wear. I have several dresses courtesy of my most recent ex, but I don't own any formals except for a purple bridesmaid dress that I somehow don't think would be appropriate for this particular occasion. This is what bothers me. I could believe that the museum may have given me a ticket to the event as the staff is familiar with me and my love of the place. But the gift card? That's just too strange. I idly wonder if Jake had something to do with this. I didn't think he could afford something like this. Most of the dresses he put me in were of a JCPenny caliber.

I'm not going. No way. If this is Jake's doing, well, I told him no already. I have to stand my ground now, while it's easy. If I find myself face to face with him again, I know I will cave. If it's from someone else… I don't know what to think.

I locate the number to RSVP to the event on the bottom of the invite. I ought to call and decline, especially since they will already be counting me as I have a ticket. The woman who answers my call is polite and accepts my sincerest regrets without questioning me. I feel a twang of sadness; I really would have loved to go. It would have been wonderful. But, I know, it's for the best. The art will be just as lovely in the company of elementary kids as with decked out rich folks. It's not worth the drama of dealing with whoever feels they have the right to send me such an expensive gift without speaking to me.

Time to get ready for class. I dig in the bottom of my closet for a pair of jeans. Jeans! My long lost friends! I shimmy into them, loving the feel of denim on my skin, loving the feel of having my legs covered down to the ankle. I haven't worn a skirt in just over a week, but I still get a little giddy getting into a pair of pants. How I have missed this! It's nice to be able to wear what I want again. Maybe I won't go looking for another Dom anytime soon.

Classes were the same as always, with the exception that I could get in and out of desks without concern for modesty. I've been appreciating that all day. I know, I've been on that for a while. Try wearing nothing but skirts for five months, and then go back to jeans. You'll understand.

My phone buzzes with an incoming call as soon as I am outside the building. I don't recognize the number, so I ignore it. My phone pings that I have voicemail, but before I have a chance to check it, my phone rings again. It's the same number. Guess it's important. I answer. "Hello?"

"Good afternoon, Miss Williams. I hope I have reached you at a convenient time?"

"Convenient enough. May I ask who is calling?"

"Andrea Parker calling for Mr. Christian Grey. Please hold while I transfer you."

Christian Grey? I don't know that name. The phone rings once before it is answered by a male voice. "Miss Leila Williams. How very nice to have the chance to speak with you. I trust you have had a pleasant day thus far?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, but I don't believe I know you."

"Hmm." A quiet little sound that seems intrigued and pleased at once. "A situation I would like to correct, soon. You received my invitation in the mail?"

Ah. And the mystery deepens. "Yes, I did."

"Why did you decline, Miss Williams? I had hoped to meet you there, and I was under the impression that you are a fan of the SAM."

"Yes, sir, I am. I was confused by what came with the invitation. And, I'm sorry, but I still don't know who you are."

His voice frowns. "I am Christian Grey. I thought that had been communicated to you already."

He says that as if he was introducing himself as Johnny Depp and I ought to know who he is. "Are you with the museum?" This is the best thing I can think of to say without outright telling him that his name means nothing to me. That would just be rude.

He's silent for a moment. "No, Ms. Williams. I'm quite a successful businessman. Philanthropist. Supporter of the arts. Google me later." He's definitely irritated.

Unbelievable. Who does this joker think he is anyway? I don't have time for this. By now I've made my way to the bus stop. It's due in five minutes, and I'm headed straight to work. Let's cut to the chase, shall we? "Alright, I will. Listen, I really don't mean to be rude or ungrateful, but I really am confused. Why would you send me something like this?"

"Because I wanted to meet you." As if that is a perfectly good reason and I should be flattered.

"You're looking for a date? Surely you have your choice of companions." Women you wouldn't have to buy a dress for.

"I do, Ms. Williams. I do. And I'm not looking for a date. I will meet with you at the gala. There is something rather interesting I wish to discuss with you."

I'm so lost. Is this some kind of a scam? I'm running out of patience with this mystery. "I'm just about to leave for work. I'm not really interested in meeting a stranger who sends me expensive gifts and won't tell me what he wants. Thanks, but no thanks. Have a nice day, Mr. Grey."

"I realize you have no reason to trust me at this time. I want to change that. What I want to ask you about is not something I like to discuss on the phone, but I think you will find it mutually beneficial. And I don't accept rejection easily, Ms. Williams. Do consider my offer, and I will be in touch. I'll let you go, for now. Wouldn't want you to miss your bus." And the call ends.

I'm floored and speechless. How did he know I take the bus? Lucky guess, that's all. Lots of people take the bus. But I'm not convinced. He had my cell number, my address, knows my favorite museum, managed to call right after my last class, why wouldn't he know I take the bus? I should definitely stay away from this stalker.

I swipe my ORCA card for my fare and take my seat as near the front of the bus I can find. My ride to work is about fifteen minutes, so I decide to make use of them and Google my strange stalker. Know thy enemy. The photos capture my attention immediately. What I see is a young, good looking guy with an odd, but strangely appealing, shade of red hair. Wow. At least I have a hot stalker. He can't be much older than I am. I tap my phone to pull up a full size image for a better look. His eyes are very light, blue? No, there's really no color to them. Gray eyes. Alright. Well, I know I would recognize him if I saw him. He's pretty unforgettable. Next, I see Christian Grey in the news. I tap a recent article and scan over it, catching bits here and there about his generosity to third world countries and his enormous wealth.

I'll look more in depth later. For now, I have a vague idea who Christian Grey is. Assuming that whoever is bothering me is really Christian Grey.

I have just a bit of a walk from the bus stop by Northgate Mall to the sushi place I work in. It's misting outside, but it's not too bad. Just a bit chilly. I'm glad that my manager lets me keep my uniform at work so I can change in the bathroom when I get there. I actually have about half an hour before my shift starts, and a while after that before the restaurant opens.

I'm friendly enough with my coworkers, but I'm not really close to anyone here. It's a shame, too, because maybe I could share a ride with someone to get here otherwise. I really hate taking the bus. Kym is probably the girl I'm closest too, but even that only goes so far.

Work goes as per usual. I'm a pretty good waitress, actually. I get good tips, and I enjoy my work. I like making people happy, and I love moving around and being busy.

Kym tells me I have a new table-of-one. Not my favorite type of table, but oh-well. I put on my "sweet, quirky" waitress smile and go to introduce myself. I stop just short of my table, so glad that my customer is facing the other way. I can't help but notice that he has a strange shade of red hair. If this is who I think it is… No way. It's gotta be a coincidence. But, really, who else has that color hair?

I walk back to Kym and beg her to take my table. But she turns me down pretty quickly. I know she has a full load, and like I said, we're not that close.

Suck it up, Leila. He'll be here for an hour, tops. Just treat him like any other customer. You can do this. It may not even be him. I walk around the other way so I can see him before I introduce myself.

But it is him. Damn. I am officially freaked out. I take a breath. I can do this. It seems like I'm not going to get away from this guy, so I need to face him and figure out what it's going to take to get him to leave me alone. "Game face on, big smiles!" I hear my manager in my head, reciting what I swear he tells all of us every day. I'll just pretend I don't know who he is. Let him make the first move. Sure, that's a great plan.

"Good evening to you. My name is Leila…" I continue my speech habitually, trying to mean the smile I have plastered on my face. I wonder if he can tell how nervous I am. As a side note, I realize that he is much better looking in person, as if that were possible. He's in a white shirt that is tailored nicely and emphasizes his lovely physique.

He flashes me a stunning smile. I swear this man would stop traffic. "Good evening to you as well, Leila." He lingers on my name. Creepy, but hot. I struggle to keep on track and offer him some wine or sake. He picks a crisp white. A great choice, really. One of the most expensive ones on the wine list. Of course.

I leave to get his wine. He'll probably want a glass of ice water, so I grab one of those as well. On my way back to him I realize I forgot to check on my other tables while I was passing by. Why did this guy have to come bother me at work? Ugg. I am thrown completely off my game.

I pour his wine without my usual flourish and place his water on a napkin. He frowns. "I didn't ask for water."

Oh boy, here we go. "I'm sorry, sir. People usually end up asking for water, so I thought you might want it later. I can get it out of your way."

He's quiet for a moment, his head slightly to the side as he appraises me. He lets out a low, sensual "hmm" and smiles at me. I'm imprisoned by his gaze. I wish I knew what he was thinking. I know I should be more afraid than I am, but he's just so damn beautiful.

"That's alright, Leila. It was very thoughtful. Thank you."

I don't know why, but there's something about his tone and his words that make my insides purr with satisfaction. I find myself thinking of a dark room and the smell of leather… I would enjoy pleasing this man. No Leila! He's a stalker, remember! Keep it together! I force the thought away, but the feeling stubbornly lingers on.

I find myself making an extra effort for him throughout the meal. I pour a bit more wine in each glass than I should, smile more, check on him more, and even snag a piece of sashimi for him to try with his roll. I think I do it for that smile that I get when he is pleased about something. I really need to watch myself. I really need to let him know that I know who he is and ask him why he came to my job. Waiting for him isn't working.

He's eaten every single thing I've put on the table. Time to sell dessert. I pick up the dessert tray and carry it to his table. Deep breath. Here we go. "Manage to save any room for dessert, Mr. Grey?"

He smirks at me. "I thought you would never ask, Ms. Williams."

"Why are you here?"

He ignores my question. "Nice to see you did Google me, as I told you to."

"I needed to know who was stalking me."

He frowns. "Stalking? I suppose you would think that. I had a feeling I wasn't going to convince you to come to the gala next weekend, so I decided to come to you. I did tell you I don't take rejection well."

I set down the dessert tray. "I would love it if you would tell me what you want from me."

He flashes a mischievous little grin at me. "I would love to tell you what I want."

Why is he having so much fun bugging me? "Why don't you, then?" I'm getting mad, and not making much attempt to hide it.

He sighs. "All joking aside. There is some paperwork to complete. Do you have to close tonight?"

"Not tonight. I'm off at ten-thirty."

"Will you allow me to take you for a drink after work?"

I sigh. "I really just want you to leave me alone."

"I want you to hear what I have to offer you first. Then, if that's still what you want, I will."

"Fine," I concede. "I'll meet you at Ram at about ten forty-five."

"Good. Now, how about some dessert?"