Fifty Shades Forgotten

by MD.KBP

**COMPLETE** Anastasia Steele was always at the top of her game in her medical career. But the surgeon's entire world turned upside down when she meets the wealthy mogul, Christian Grey. Although advanced for her age and unbeknownst to her, she was going to make the dumbest decision of her life. Or was it actually life-changing? (An AU rewrite of Fifty Shades of Grey)

2. Chapter 2

A/N: Here's my second chapter; it may be a little dreary, but it fills in the blanks a little more and sheds some additional needed background information about Anastasia. Also, sorry if the story isn't linear…I'm trying to fix that so we can be on track and the same page. Writing this took a bit longer than expected; sorry about that, too! Hang in there, and let me know if you all enjoy it!~

DISCLAIMER: I'd like to reiterate and remind everyone reading that these characters are not mine. I may change up the dialogue, but the story and what they say will be recognizable in some ways; however, the way the story is told with a world of medicine clashing in—that will be mine.

---

"I… will consider it."

Christian's eyes fractionally widened, "Will you?" He reached down and laced his fingers through hers.

Anastasia smiled at the shocked look on his face, "I never said 'no' to be fair. And if you want to get technical, I have been considering it."

"What can I do to show you otherwise?" He pulled his hand away and caressed her cheek, rubbing the cheekbone with his thumb.

She chewed on her lip, "Just give me time. There is a lot to think about, and to an extent, I do trust you, Christian. I just want to make sure that I am happy, but also happy with making you happy."

"I was a virgin when I met you," the young doctor said as she turned her face and gaze toward his ceiling, "and you showed me a whole new world I've never seen before. You are the first person I have ever been intimate with, Christian, but considering to be… what you want me to be is…"

She frowned, dismissing words that came her way. Wrong. Dangerous. Frightening. Morbid. Dark.

"Unexpected?" Christian chimed. The tone of his voice caused her to sense his mood beginning to turn as he frowned.

"Unexpected." She nodded her head. Turning back to him, she saw the frown on the gorgeous man beside her. She leaned forward and kissed his lip gently, holding his face before moving up to kiss his nose, then his forehead, and back at his lips again.

He grinned against her lips, growling lowly as he deepened his kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he moved himself on top of her, propping himself up with his forearms as each arm were beside her head.

Murmuring contently, she said to him with her repeated reason, "Time. And have a little faith in me, too. Trust goes both ways, remember?"

Their blissful moment was then interrupted by a low growl from Anastasia's abdomen. She opened her mouth to say something, but out of nervous and awkward uncomfortableness she let out a laugh, causing him to grin and smile with her.

As she laughed, Christian kissed the corner of her lips with a chuckling grin, "What a remarkable sound to hear so bright and early this morning." He stood up after getting off the bed and lent out his hand, "Shower or food first? I've never had someone wake up earlier than me. Another first."

"Whom? Me?" Anastasia asked innocently with a grin as she took her hand, content by his comment. "Food first, please, if that is alright with you, Mr. Grey," she quickly answered right after.

Christian pulled the naked girl into his arms, embracing her body against his as he answered both of what she asked and had said, "Of course, Miss Steele." He couldn't help but have her in his arms all the time, unable to show his restraint even if he wanted to. He kissed her head, murmuring into hair, "What the hell are you doing to me?..."

His words repeated and echoed in her mind, playing on loop like a broken record as she, too, was wondering the same thing about her.

The naked man soon slipped on a pair of his gray sweats and then handed the naked girl the shirt he tossed from their earlier sexual rendezvous. She slipped it onto her body immediately while getting out of Christian's bedroom with his hand in hers.

Anastasia sighed happily as she headed towards the island table again, taking a seat with hands folded, "So, what're we having for breakfast today, Mr. Grey?"

Christian paused in place, nervous and shy all at once, but he didn't speak.

Feeling as though she had been speaking to herself, the brunette turned around and stared at him in wonderment. She questioned him with a silent lifting brow.

"I was going to ask you that question."

Her brow remained lifted, forcing itself to lift higher from his comment. Not comprehending from his vague thoughts and expression, she shrugged and asked, "So? I asked first? I'll just have what you're having. It's not a problem, Christian."

Christian's mouth twisted, narrowing his eyes, "I don't usually cook."

Anastasia made a face, before narrowing her eyes back. She stated in question, "You don't cook."

She though, Of course, you wouldn't when your staff could deliver or cook the food for you. But after a few moments, it dawned on her—like clockwork, the gears in her head began shifting as she came to the realization, repeating herself again, "You don't cook." Why bother learning? You never needed to. The young doctor stifled back a smile and laugh, chewing on her lip to prevent her amusement and humor from showing.

He narrowed her eyes at her and smirked, moving towards her, "Something amusing to you, Miss Steele?"

"Nope. None at all, Mr. Grey," she shook gently as she tried repressing her giggle, looking away. It was cute to her.

"Liar," Christian stated, smirking down before wrapping his arms around, "make me food, wench."

Anastasia gasped at his teasing and sexist comment, watching the man chuckle under his breath from his humor. It sounded different than his usual stern self. This side of him made her join him in his amusement. Shaking her head, she headed toward the fridge to rummage through his food while being rewarded seconds later with a smack on her rear. She jumped from the motion, but ignored it.

Eggs, bacon, and toast; simple and easy enough, Anastasia nodded to herself.

Setting the food on the counter beside the stove top, the brunette reached up for a skillet along a metal hanging rack of cookware. She turned the stove on and set the skillet on top to heat up.

Weaving through her dark locks with her fingers, she began getting to work. After buttering the skillet carefully, letting the aroma fill the kitchen and her nose, she began cracking the eggs one by one carefully to avoid little eggshells—two for him and two for her. Unsure of how he liked his eggs, she decided he would eat whatever she cooked, considering she was the only one in the room that knew how.

Sensing a pair of eyes observing her closely, Anastasia broke the void of silence with small talk, "I can't believe it's been a week since I've been in Seattle. I almost feel like I can't remember how I got here with everything that has happened so far."

"Time goes by quickly when you occupy yourself," he replied in agreement, as he smiled to himself.

"Very quickly," she nodded, drifting into her thoughts as she concentrated on the eggs, "but then I also remember everything that has happened as well."

The chair squeaked lightly as Christian swiveled out of his seat toward Anastasia, placing his arms around her waist. Curious to what was on her mind, he asked quietly, murmuring in her hair as he inhaled her scent, "And how are you enjoying Seattle so far?"

Unintentionally ignoring the words spoken from the gorgeous dominant, her mind drifted elsewhere.

---

More than a week ago … Monday, April 30, 2018

Anastasia Steele hated flying. Just sitting and waiting around made her too anxious as she waited for her flight to end, and the turbulence was no help either—like waiting at the doctor's office as ironic as it was. Shaking the thoughts of her limited flying experiences away, as well as her flight earlier, she luckily headed into an unused awaiting taxicab, leaving Seattle-Tacoma International Airport as she told the driver her destination to her apartment. It was nice being on the ground. It was nice just walking.

"You ever been to Seattle, miss?" the driver called out from his seat as he headed onto the freeway.

Staring at him in the rear-view mirror, she shook her head and responded, "Never. It's my first time here."

"Ah. Well, welcome to Washington!" He exclaimed gruffly. Scratching his beard loudly, he asked, "Where did you just fly from?"

"California. The Bay Area." I'm going to miss the food. Not so much the air, or the smell of weed, however... She thought to herself.

"I heard it's a nice place there," the driver commented.

"Are you here for family or just traveling for yourself?" He asked again, after minutes of silence.

The young doctor sighed, recalling the most recent events of traveling minutes ago, "Neither. I'm not much of a traveler. I'm here for a job."

"Job?!" He asked in shock. "Aren't you a little too young to be doing something like that?"

What do you mean? Anastasia cocked her head as she furrowed her brows, "I don't think I am. I'm twenty-two, old enough to work."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to offend you, miss. The people I drive aren't usually coming to Seattle for job offers, not that I know of" he chuckled to himself. "I got a lot of crazy stories that would last you a whole week. But anyway, what job?"

Excited, but also shocked to even mention it, the young doctor said, "I was a medical resident at Stanford Medical Center before I was relocated to Grey-Sloan Memorial Hospital." Once Anastasia received the news of her acceptance into Grey-Sloan's surgical residency program, she knew she couldn't pass it up. After all, she would be working amongst award-winning surgical gods and goddesses. Daydreaming about the future of her time there made the young doctor melt in her seat.

"The fancy, sh-mancy hospital?! And you're only twenty-two. Holy shit. How did that happen?" He shouted and asked, dumbfounded in his seat.

Long story. She thought as she smiled through his astonished flattery. She explained shortly, "I would just say, hard work."

The driver whistled through his teeth, shaking his head with a smile as he pulled the cab onto the curb of their destination, "Well, we're here. The ride is $13.50, miss."

Rummaging through her bag, Anastasia pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to her driver. She stated simply with a smile, "Thank you for the ride, sir. Keep the change."

He smiled and nodded with thanks, "Let me help you with your things." Before she could oppose, the driver was already out the door and grabbing her bags for her. She left the car and smiled, grabbing her bags from him after thanking him.

The man brought out his hand, "Percy Goldman."

She grinned, grasping her hand into his before flipping her hair out of Seattle's winds way, "Dr. Anastasia Steele. Thank you for the ride, Mr. Goldman."

"It was a pleasure," Percy smiled before heading back into his cab. As she was heading up the stairs to enter through the front desk, he quickly rolled down his window and called out, "Hey!"

The brunette turned around, widening her eyes and waved at him, smiling curiously. He continued shouting due to the distance, "If I ever end up in your hospital, I'll know who to call!" He winked.

Such a common typical doctor joke, her thoughts mused. And with her typical response, she replied back loudly enough for him to hear, "Let's hope you don't end up in mine, though!" Anastasia giggled, waved good-bye again, and then entered the building.

The woman working at the front desk was not in a happy mood that day. Janice, a perm-haired, mid-thirties lady with two lip piercings and a chin piercing ignored and avoided to acknowledge Anastasia's existence for a couple minutes after the doctor had greeted her. The curly haired woman followed the protocol new tenants usually had, asking for verification and paperwork. After signing a couple other papers, Janice gave her the key and simply said "202"—the room to the place she will be staying at for the remainder of her surgical career.

After getting some help from nearby neighbors—seeing the doctor trying to budge the door open—they taught her how to use it. Twist the doorknob off the doorway, and then kick the door down. It was the ritual all incoming residents of the apartment complex had to take in order to really fit in with everyone else. Mortified but humored at the same time, the brunette laughed nervously at the unfamiliar security and trust of her new home, questioning her own safety and sanity for making the choice to live there. Picking up the door carefully, she pushed it back into place before locking it, wondering if locks were even necessary while living there.

In short, the apartment was small—perfect enough for what she needed; a secluded haven for rest and peace. Walking in, she instantly spotted muddy-brown walls, with a dim light peeking through the old greenish-grey curtains of a nearby closed window. She set her items down before approaching the window to open it. It was incredibly stuffy, but with enough ventilation, things should be fine. Her small kitchen was adjacent to the small living space in the middle. Her place was empty and vacant with only a refrigerator and stove-top accompanying her. Walking through both connected rooms led a doorway to a smaller bedroom big enough for a queen-sized bed to fit (but nothing bigger), and beside that room was a small door-less bathroom.

It's no castle, obviously, but this place is only meant for sleep, she optimistically convinced herself. Anastasia went over to her bag to grab her phone, the last time she checked her device was right before her scheduled flight around 6 a.m. Turning on her phone, the screen revealed it to be 9:47 a.m.

Shit. I need to leave now. I don't want my boss to be pissed at me for being late when she hasn't even officially met me. It wouldn't make a good impression for Dr. Miranda Bailey, as well. She immediately shoved her phone into her jeans along with her wallet and keys before rushing out her apartment, making sure she hid her belongings in the door-less bathroom before leaving.

Luckily for the young doctor, her workplace wasn't too far away. The hospital was beautiful—it was a Catherine Fox Hospital, would anyone expect less? The Catherine Fox Foundation, formerly known as the Harper Avery Foundation and Hospitals, was the multi-million dollar foundation that advocated and awarded surgeons and researchers for surgical innovation; finding newer, safer, and better ways to save lives in many ways and forms as well as educating other doctors to do the same. To even work at a hospital like that required a pristine résumé, hard work (if it wasn't already clear), and networking. No one can really just apply (without expecting rejection) at such a prestigious, well-funded hospital with new technology, equipment, and benefits for their employees. Dr. Steele had to thank her former boss at Stanford for the opportunity she was given.

There was a lot to look around, but time was of the essence, and it should not be wasted until she had her meeting with her new chief-of-surgery. After rushing to the desk and asking the female receptionist at the front for directions, Anastasia was instructed to use the elevator to reach the third floor of the surgical wing and to walk down the bridge to find the chief's office. Shuffling past people and ignoring the shiny distractions in every corner of her eye, she reached Dr. Bailey's office, panting with three minutes to spare.

Giving herself a minute to slow down her heart rate, which was already anxious for her meeting with the boss, Anastasia combed her hair with her fingers to tame her unruly mane before finding the courage to knock on the door.

"Come in!" The bellowing voice yelled. As Anastasia entered, Bailey followed up with a question and a widened gaze as she stopped her administrative work, "And what can I do for you?"

Dr. Bailey was short, shorter than Anastasia by being almost a foot smaller than what the young doctor had expected. Her polished, copper-honey hair was curled away from her face, revealing her round face and intimidating stare. For someone as small as Bailey, she had a domineering presence and aura that almost made Anastasia feel smaller.

Finding her voice, Anastasia spoke, "Good morning, Dr. Bailey. My name is Anastasia Steele, and I believe I have a meeting with you right now at 10."

The chief's eyes widened, and she stood up, quickly making her way around her desk to shake the young brunette's hand, "Of course, Dr. Steele. I'm glad we can finally meet!" She peered at Anastasia up and down, making little comments to herself, as the small doctor shook the nervous resident's hand.

"The pleasure really is all mine. Thank you for meeting me and having me here. Your hospital is beautiful," Anastasia said as she tucked her hair behind her ear. She took her seat after being ushered by the chief to sit, watching the little woman snake her way back behind the desk.

Dr. Bailey cleared her throat, opening her drawers on the side and rummaging through files before picking out one with Anastasia's name on it, "Got it," she muttered. She opened Anastasia's file and paperwork, skimming through everything before asking questions, "Dr. Steele, how far along were at Stanford's residency program?"

"I was in my final year of my residency before getting transferred to Grey-Sloan. I still am." Anastasia replied.

Taking a few minutes to read over the paperwork, she looked back up at the young doctor and smiled, "Dr. Hawn spoke very highly of your progress and skills. It says that you worked with her for six years?"

The resident smiled, recalling her time with her former boss, "Yes, ma'am. When I was earning my Ph. D and MD, I applied to work as her administrative assistant throughout my time in medical school. It wasn't until then that I also got accepted into the surgical residency at Stanford there as well. I like to joke around that she was tired of me and wanted to get rid of me." Anastasia chuckled, causing her boss to humor with her.

"She spoke only good things of you. Have you applied to Grey-Sloan before? I tried checking your application and the history of your files, but the database only showed your name appearing this following year," Bailey inquired curiously.

"It's any doctor's dream to work at a hospital like this—this hospital specifically. I was intimidated, so I figured to never really fill out anything nor apply because I didn't think I would make it in. Dr. Hawn convinced me otherwise one day, and kept pushing me. Later on, I realized I didn't have much to lose but receive a rejection," the resident spoke happily, speaking highly of her mentor as she was recalling such wonderful memories of Dr. Hawn's encouragement and boosting self-confidence. The moment Anastasia was having with Dr. Miranda Bailey was all due to Dr. Susan Hawn.

"If you don't mind me asking, how old are you, Dr. Steele," the chief asked with furrowing brows. "The paperwork on here states you entered Stanford's residency program at twenty. This must've been an error. Can you give me a timeline to make some of the changes on this paperwork because it's not making any sense?"

Anastasia blinked, embarrassed at her question and assumption as she flushed pink, "Twenty-two, chief."

Bailey eyes bulged from her sockets in shock, "Twenty-two?" She shook her head in disbelief, "You gotta explain this to me, Dr. Anastasia Steele."

She opened her mouth, "It's the truth, Dr. Bailey!"

"You're telling me you are a twenty-two-year-old senior resident?" Bailey continued, shaking her head before folding her hands together.

"Yes, ma'am. I graduated early from my university with my MD at twenty," Anastasia nodded.

"And you are now a senior resident within two years of experience at your former residency," the chief stated as a question. The resident responded silently with a single nod, getting more nervous by each passing and prejudice second, while her hand got hotter and clammier.

The young brunette stared at her soon-to-be boss in terror. Am I already out the door? Is this ageism? Does ageism exist? Is that even a word? What will I do? I already moved in. Do I just fly home? Anastasia's thoughts were running her around in her head chaotically as the two of them sat in silence, listening to Bailey's fingers strum against her wooden desk.

Her voice boomed again, "A woman has gone into labor! And she wants to naturally give birth to her beautiful baby…"

Wait, what? What is this?... Anastasia thought, staring blankly at her boss as she began speaking.

Continuing, Bailey said, "How many centimeters does a woman's cervix need to be in order to start the transitional stage of labor?"

You're testing me, Anastasia realized. She sat up straight, answering, "10 centimeters."

Nodding, the chief went on, "Ready to finally give birth, you reach into the mother's cervix and feel the baby's head. How long does the process of giving birth at this point take on average?"

The process of giving birth on average? Wait, unless that is a trick question, her story is wrong. Shaking her head, the oral test-taker responded right after, "Dr. Bailey, the woman can't push if the baby's head is in the cervix. I'd have to rotate the baby."

"Good, that was a trick question. But then, you suddenly realize you cannot rotate the baby without risking the lives of the mom and the baby."

"Then a caesarean section needs to be done on the mother."

"Correct. The surgery goes well, and you start to close the mother up. Every incision and every cut is now sutured when you suddenly see that she is bleeding."

"Bleeding?"

"Yes. And it's not from her uterus," Bailey firmly stated with arms folded together again.

Not a uterine rupture? Internal bleeding? "Did the woman have a fall? Was she injured before she went into labor?" Anastasia asked, as her nerves began getting to her.

Bailey shrugged, "I don't know. Sometimes we, surgeons, are called into surgeries not knowing what the hell happened to the patient. We don't ask questions on how it happened; we just fix them. Now, how are you going to fix this mother?"

Intimidation began setting in, Don't let her get to you. Stand your ground. Relax and concentrate, Ana.

She repeated herself again as she challenged the resident, "All you know is that there is a bleeder, and it's not from her uterus. What're you going to do, Steele? She's going into hypotension now."

Panicking as if Anastasia was in the actual operating room, she quickly asked, "How's her fluids? Her I.V.?"

"Fluids are fine. But there's blood coming out from around her I.V.," Bailey explained, continuing to stare down the resident.

Like a drop of blood falling into an open sea of water—the sound echoing her mind—the brunette's eyes lit, declaring, "She's in D.I.C. She needs platelets, packed red blood cells, and FFP. If she isn't bleeding from a uterine rupture than it must be something else from within."

"Good. Now what?"

Damn it. I thought I was done. Anastasia sighed to herself, thinking she might break a sweat. She chewed on her lip and smiled weakly, "Call an attending?"

"HA!" Bailey bent her head back as she yelled before chuckling with an entertained smile, "There's no time. Very good answer, though; I wasn't expecting that."

Smiling proudly, the challenged resident relaxed a bit, moving on to answer, "I would have no choice but to open up her abdomen and find the source of the bleed."

The boss nodded, "Guide me through your procedure, doctor."

"I need to open her up through a midline laparotomy. After the cut, I need to pack the four quadrants, and find the source of the bleed to prevent her from bleeding out."

"You found your treasure. The spleen is the source of the bleeding."

You got this. Keep going. The doctor kept encouraging herself through reassuring comfort. Continuing, Anastasia explained, "I have to mobilize the spleen by dividing it by its ligamentous attachments, assess the injury, and stop the hemorrhage."

Bailey smiled more widely, nodding her head with approval, "She won't stop hemorrhaging, though, even after that."

"If it's that massive of a splenic bleed then I'd have to perform a complete splenectomy," the resident shrugged tiredly, out of her wits, "But in fairness, I'd have to be in that operating room to see the damage myself before making that decision."

"I had to be sure, Dr. Steele," the chief explained with a smirk, "but you passed."

Anastasia grinned widely with excitement, getting the approval she wanted from her superior, but that didn't stop Bailey from continuing, "I'm impressed. To be honest, I only expected you to find the bleed, but you went on without me having to ask. That's when I knew you officially passed in my book. I mean, I'm still incredibly surprised by your knowledge and lack of experience with your age to top that all off, but at least what you said shows that I can trust you if I needed you to perform and act efficiently. But, Dr. Hawn was right for sending you to us; you just performed a solo-surgery without your attending or chief-of-surgery."

In awe by the reward of Chief Bailey's kind words after acing her "test", the resident nodded her head and smiled with a flush.

Bailey stood and lent out her hand again as Anastasia did the same towards her, speaking again, "You're good, but know that I don't need smart doctors. I need surgeons that I can trust to make the right judgments, calls, and work effectively as well as efficiently just as you proved to me just now. Actions speak louder than words in this case, and if you can prove you can do it like you did just now, then I look forward to seeing you grow and working with you, Dr. Steele."

"Thank you, Chief Bailey, for the opportunity and for having me. I won't let you down," Anastasia promised, firmly taking her hand before stepping away.

"You can pick up your pager and name badge in HR. Expect an email before the day ends; I'll see you tomorrow," the chief added before dismissing her with a wave and smile.

Giddy and happy that their meeting went better than expected as the resident left the chief's office, she hurried to gather her items in human resources. Bubbly by such the meeting, she hissed to herself with glee, "Yes!"

…

The young doctor's day had been more eventful than she predicted for herself. She took her time to explore the enormous facilities of Grey-Sloan Memorial Hospital. Renovations and remodelings with modern designing and furnishing were instituted into the hospital with better security systems due to a recent fiery explosion that had erupted months back in one of their labs. Besides being a Catherine Fox Hospital and employing award-winning surgeons, Grey-Sloan was a level-one trauma unit, serving many and most of their surgical cases from emergency traumas, which their reputation prided themselves with. It was a loud commotion passing by their trauma center, also known as The Pit, as many of the hospital workers code-named.

At least Anastasia was aware that she'd never be bored at Grey-Sloan, one of her fears was doing nothing—being nothing.

Leaving the hospital grounds, the brunette decided to explore the city; she had a couple errands to run she could do as she went sightseeing. Buy a bed, grab a bite, and buy some food for her vacant fridge. Packages of her other items—clothing, appliances, and other furniture—should be sent to her apartment sometime that week, so there wasn't much to buy besides a mattress.

Checking the first box off Dr. Steele's to-do list was easier than she expected. It was either her lucky day or life was getting easier for her, but naturally, she went with the former option between the two. The closest furniture store to her was located by a nearby mall, and she bought a bed to be sent to her apartment that same day. It was around noon at this point, and her stomach told her that lunch was needed.

Seattle's city was extravagantly modernized and well-established compared to San Francisco's lively and "well-loved" (for lack of a better word) buildings. Each building looked and felt new and polished like at Grey-Sloan's hospital. Anastasia was in a new city, so she didn't expect much from the new foreign civilization she began inhabiting. Spotting a local coffee shop, unofficially marking this place to herself as a new spot for a quick cup, she ordered herself a bagel with cream cheese and Twinnings English Breakfast Tea with the request to have the bag out the pot. She enjoyed her tea weak and black.

Once receiving her food and drink from the barista, she carried it over to an empty table for two, taking her seat as she dipped her tea quickly into the pot. She took a tentative sip to test the temperature of her beverage before she enjoyed her tea.

"Blueberry muffin and black coffee for…Grey!" The barista yelled out from behind the counter, grabbing Anastasia's attention. She watched a well-dressed man in a navy suit briskly grab his sweet treat and cup of Joe before heading out the door, unable to catch a glimpse of his face and unreadable expression.

Hmm… It's been a while since I've had one of those treats, The doctor quietly remembered, crossing her legs as she took another bite of her bagel.

Minutes after the brunette finished her little meal, she began holding her tea with both hands, taking generous sips and gulps as she was content with how her life was during that moment—a fresh start in life and a clean slate was what it had felt like: with a new place to explore, new people to meet, and a new exciting job she couldn't wait to commit to.

Interrupting her blissful moment, a loud crash from outside the streets frightened her senses, causing her to choke and sputter her tea onto herself. Hearing yelps and screams, the commotion outside turned other customers' heads to the direction of the noise. Quickly dabbing her clothes and mouth dry with her napkin, she cleaned herself before tossing it onto her empty plate. Walking to the glass window, the curious girl watched other passing pedestrians form a crowded group beside a smoking car. There was a black, sports Audi in the middle of the intersection, T-boned from a black Dodge truck.

As the realization of the accident dawned onto her, Anastasia gasped, urgently rushing out the door and running into the street of the accident after checking it was safe to make a quick bolt.

A man with a badly-styled, blond Mohawk exited his Dodge truck with both hands pressed against either side of his head. In astonishment, he whined "Shit, my car!"

Ugh. No. Rolling her eyes, the doctor checked to see that the culprit that caused the motor vehicle incident was fine with no injuries. She examined him with her eyes, stating and asking with stern determination "I'm a doctor. What happened?" She leaned in closer to check for any hidden injuries. There were none.

He shuddered, widening his eyes even more as he viewed the damage of the black Audi sports car. "Shit…" he cursed in a drifted dark tone. Continuing with a stutter, he began trying to explain himself, "I-I…The light…I didn't see… and then he…"

Anastasia's eyes enlarged with responsibility and concern. Holding the strange man by the face, she declared with a more serious tone, "Hey. I need you to call the 9-1-1, right now. DO IT." Expect the unexpected. It was better to be safe than sorry.

Fumbling into his ripped jeans with panic from the resident's command, he grabbed his phone and began dialing the urgent call.

While the blond male was calling for paramedics and explaining the situation (as best as he could stutter), the doctor rushed over to the damaged black vehicle, carefully opening the door. It creaked open to reveal an unconscious man, slightly bleeding from the side of his forehead. His body was leaned forward against his steering wheel with arms dragged by his side.

For a man that was incapacitated, he was a looker. His face was sculpted and chiseled with a jawline that was accentuated by the cleaned and groomed stubble on his face. His mouth was open while unconscious, but the mystery man was breathtaking.

Now's not the time to drool. Stop it, Steele. The doctor's mind subconsciously smacked herself of her thoughts. Speaking loudly and urgently enough while shaking his shoulder gently, "Sir, are you okay? Wake up. Can you hear me? Sir?"

Anastasia patted his cheek gently, trying to wake him as she checked his pulse. He was breathing and his pulse was steady, for now anyway. But he still remained still after a minute of trying to get him to wake. She whipped her head back to the culprit of the incident, yelling, "What they say?!"

The blond called out back at her, "They said they'll be coming in fifteen minutes and to wait!"

Hurry… The doctor turned back to the gorgeously unconscious man, repeating herself, "Sir! Wake up! Can you hear me? My name is Dr. Steele. You've been in a car accident."

The man made a low growl. As relief slowly etched into her more and more with every passing second, the resident saw his eyes squint more tightly while still being closed, and his lips twitched into a small curling scowl.

"Can you hear me, sir?" Anastasia repeated once more with a more softening tone, patting his face gently awake throughout.

Gray eyes opened and met with her hazel, fluttering open gradually as the doctor watched his dark lashes sway open to reveal his dark irises. She felt as though she could fall into darkness of his eyes, letting it envelope her entirely down that abyss.

"Hey," she spoke carefully, "sir, you've been in an accident. My name is Dr. Anastasia Steele, are you alright?" She lifted her hand off his cheek and rested it on his arm.

He flinched from the doctor's caring touch, moving away from her and looking away. Speaking sternly with aggravation, "Don't touch me; I'm fine. What happened?"

Hesitating from his cold response, Anastasia pressed on to examine him, "You were in a broadside collision. What is your name, sir?"

"Christian. Christian Grey," the man spoke and repeated his name as if expecting a reaction out of the doctor.

"And how are you feeling, Mr. Grey? What do you remember?"

"The light turned green. When it was my turn to go, I made a right turn, and then the random fucker came out of nowhere. That's why my head is aching," the gray-eyed man growled, exasperated and evidently irritated from talking. He narrowed his eyes as his head turned back to the young girl, eyeing with judgment, "You're a doctor?"

"Yes, Mr. Grey. Now, if you'll let me, may I examine you?" Anastasia replied calmly, trying to dissipate the reflecting annoyance the patient was sharing towards her.

He lifted his brow, before turning his body towards the doctor's direction. With reluctance, the man decided to cooperate and said, "Just tell me what you're going to do before you do it."

She nodded, happy enough that she was complying, "I need to check your motor functions. Can you move your fingers and hand for me first? And then swings your legs before you rotate your feet."

Following the young doctor's directions, he aced his first examination. No spinal cord damage. Motor functions are intact. Check for pupil restrictions. Her thoughts urged. The brunette pulled out a pen, thankful that the writing utensil had a light on its cap (it was always a fifty-fifty chance in those situations), "I need to check your eyes now brain activity and function. Follow the light."

Anastasia turned the light on and watched his gray eyes follow the glaring light. His pupils constricted and followed the movement of the light pen. She smiled at him as she commented, while he wondrously gazed into her eyes intensely, "Your brain seems to be just fine. If I may, I'll need to check under your shirt for any underlying injuries if any."

Her hands reached in for the buttons of his shirt, but promptly before her hands would went to that destination, he grasped both her prying hands into the clutches of his fingers. Her eyes widened and brows furrowed slightly with curiosity as he pushed her hands away in an immediate explanation, "I'll undo them."

Don't touch me, his words echoed in her mind as she remembered his declaration.

He first loosened and pulled the tie over his head, before placing it in his coat pocket and taking off his outerwear. Button by button, Anastasia watched him undo his shirt before blushing and looking away, realizing she was gawking at him like an animal. Peripherally checking with her vision to see if he had finished, she turned back to his naked muscled body.

Jesus Christ, this is illegal. Her thoughts and his naked presentation made her eyes roll quietly to herself. Christian was a gorgeous face on top of a gorgeous body to match with such a "gorgeous" personality—typical. He was the guy her mom and dad would disapprove of and tell her to avoid; well, if she had any parents.

He eyes narrowed as she examined Christian's chest closely, asking before thinking about how personal her question was going to be, "Those scars—were they there before or after this incident, Mr. Grey?"

"Before," his nose flared with his ice-cold answer.

Walking and moving in closer, his harsh warning came out instinctively with a matching dead-eye, cold stare, "Don't."

Sighing in exasperation, Anastasia explained apologetically, "I know you don't want me to touch you, Mr. Grey, I understand. But I need to check your abdomen. I would ask you to do it, but you don't know what you're checking for. Please, Mr. Grey. Let me help you." Her voice spoke urgently with compassion and care.

Christian hesitated, looking away even more irritably. Peeking in the corner of his eye was a gaze of shame she caught. Wishing to respect his needs, she insisted convincingly, "It'll just be for a second. I just need to check for tenderness and make sure all your other organs are okay, and I'll be out of your skin." She smiled weakly, hoping the pun would amuse him.

The corner of his lip twitched from the doctor's joke, and Anastasia prided herself that even he was susceptible and able to be hindered from the humor of her quick wit. His gray eyes followed back into her golden irises, nodding once to allow her to do her job.

Inching in closer, Anastasia lifted up her hand, showing him what she was going to do. His eyes widened, remaining eye contact as his body tensed and froze. Watching him made her heart swell; he looked younger with such vulnerability. She placed her hand onto his stomach, hearing him let out a low growl before pushing gently to check. He was okay.

All clear, Christian, She smiled and stepped away.

Dr. Steele nodded before putting her hands behind her back, "You passed your examination, Mr. Grey. Your brain activity shows to be stable and responsive as well as your motor functions, showing no signs of spinal damage, which is good! However, I recommend that you will still need to go to the hospital when the paramedics arrive. I could only do so much without equipment, but I think you'll be just fine."

Adamant with seriousness again, he replied back, buttoning up his shirt, "No. I don't have time for that. I need to get going."

"I don't think so, Mr. Grey. You need to go and get yourself checked," Anastasia crossed her arms and rolled her eyes.

Christian glared at her silently, and she lifted her eyebrow with amusement. We are debating about you going to the hospital after you've just been in an accident. And you're saying no? Don't be a child, she scolded him to herself.

Exhaling out gently, she decided to go for an understanding tone of voice, "I get that you're busy; everyone is nowadays—too busy to care for themselves just like yourself, but you need to get yourself checked. You have a little head laceration that needs to be patched up, which doesn't look so serious if it makes you feel any better. You should consider yourself very lucky to even be conscious with a side-impact crash you just experienced. So, don't push your luck."

Stubbornness and childish behavior began coming in as he argued back in a disgruntled tone, "No, I'm fine now. I feel fine."

This man-child. "Nope. You can never be too careful. You need a head CT scan to check what's underneath that hard head of yours," The doctor sighed; unamused that she was having an argument with a man acting and sounding like a child.

Entertained by the bantering, he smirked with insistence, "I'm fine. Plus, my mom's a doctor."

The young resident opened her mouth in shock, running her fingers through her hair as she combed her hair back with her fingers, "As if that were a good excuse for you to get out of getting checked out. She's the all-the-more reason to go to the hospital! Your mother would probably advocate for that CT scan, then!" Unbelievable.

Christian's smirk disappeared as he contemplated what she had said from his backfired excuse. With the ambulance coming in right on time, he stood up crossing his arms, "Looks like you might be getting what you want, Dr. Steele."

The lights of the ambulance began flashing on as the paramedics exited their vehicle, heading over to cater to the blond man first. Anastasia's head turned from the arrival of the emergency team, and then back at Christian, as she replied back to his comment, "The funny thing is that you should want to get helped and checked out. And even if you really wanted to run off and make an escape, where would you go? You don't have a functioning car, or one that is viable enough for safe transportation, currently, Mr. Grey."

"Fair point, Anastasia Steele," He smiled, enunciating and feeling the name roll off his tongue for the first time with emphasized articulation.

Disarmed from the sound of her name coming off his lips, she blushed shyly, looking away and clearing her throat, "Okay, well… this is where I go."

Christian leaned in towards her, frowning, "Go?"

The paramedics walked towards the doctor, and she smiled at them, "He's all yours."

"Where are you going?" He inquired, moving his head around and away from the blocking heads of the EMTs. He was trying to take the young doctor back into his sights before she left, while avoiding to answer all the questions he was already asked.

Anastasia giggled, yelling back to him with an ironic answer as distance grew between each of her passing step, "I have a life to live, Mr. Grey! Believe it or not, people can be really busy nowadays." She teased him, turning around to smile at a grinning man, "Get that CT!"

The victim of his crashed Audi was irritably lost in a sea of EMTs as they badgered him with their repeating questions, fending himself from the help of prying hands as he memorized the echoing giggles and last words of Dr. Anastasia Steele—memorizing the sound of his name coming off her lips—, which repeated his ears and head over and over, "See you around, Christian."

After that, the mysteriously sexy man of Christian Grey was out of her sights.

Now, where was I? The young doctor thought to herself, smiling at the current events of what happened earlier. She was optimistic of her future and the events coming after to follow with her. That day was a sign for the young doctor, in which showed that there wouldn't be a dull day for her with her time in Seattle.

Groceries.

…

Three days later … Thursday, May 02, 2018

"Go home, Steele."

Anastasia jumped from her seat from the same booming voice she recognized the day she landed in Seattle to meet her. Leaning away from the nearby gurney and opening her eyes, she sat up straight, fumbling to pick up her phone to check the time.

"It's 5:45 p.m. Go home. Ya look nasty," Dr. Bailey commented, making a face before walking down the hall.

The young resident followed her boss through the hallway leading to The Pit—traumas upon traumas in this emergency unit kept flooding in at this time of hour. Briskly following the short doctor, she explained, "Chief, I don't leave for another fifteen minutes." She was trying to recover from the embarrassment of her boss catching her sleeping.

"I can't have sleeping surgeons in my hospital who are supposed to be working. You making me sad just looking at you," Dr. Bailey responded as a nurse handed her a clipboard. "How long since you've been here, Steele?" She asked with an occupied eye on some charts.

"5 a.m.," The brunette answered, turning away from her boss as she yawned quietly.

"Of which day?" The chief's voice hummed, making eye-contact with the young doctor as she looked up at her speculatively from her clipboard.

Anastasia cleared her throat, stumbling through her confession, "Uh… Y-Yesterday…"

"Mhm," Dr. Bailey gaze followed up and down disapprovingly with a matching tone of disapproval. She continued, "That's the thing with you surgical ducklings. You, interns, always know when to go in and swim but never know when to stop before you drown. You should look at yourself. You look awful."

Abruptly stopping in her place, she suddenly felt self-conscious, trying to fix her appearance any way she can as she stared at her reflection on a metal surgical tray. Bailey called out again, "Go home, Steele. I won't say it again." She began following the protocol of examining the next patient in the trauma center before continuing to speak to the young resident, "Work will still be here the when you come back, so enjoy your night. Not many of us get that privilege, currently, so take advantage of it. Take it from me; your boss, telling you to go home. Rest." She was insistent and assertive as she pointed out every spoken word.

"Yes, Dr. Bailey," Anastasia sighed, giving in, "Thank you."

The chief waved her off before putting on her stethoscope to check the patient's heartrate, "See you tomorrow."

Taking off her light blue scrubs, she began changing out into her street clothes, slipping on her trusty black jeans and an oversized knitted coat on top of her white tank top. She kicked off her sneakers and replaced them with thigh-high boots, the only boots she had that were outrageously and ostentatiously bolder than her contrastingly meek personality; nevertheless, she enjoyed how they great they accentuated her legs. She pulled the hair band out of the pony and placed it around her wrist, setting free her dark locks before combing her hair with her fingers.

Throwing her light blue scrubs into the waste basket near the door, she tried leaving the residents' lounge before bumping into another resident. Caught by surprise, she exclaimed, "Oh! I'm sorry about that, I didn't see you there!"

The male resident chuckled warmly, "No, it's okay."

Moving past him and only making it a few steps out the door, Anastasia was stopped again by the resident's calling voice, "You're the new girl, right? I haven't seen you around before." He peeked his head through the door as one arm hugged on side.

Stopping in place and making a 180 degree turn, the young resident smiled and shrugged, "I guess that would be me. Anastasia Steele." She offered her hand to him.

"Andrew Deluca," he greeted politely with a grin, firmly shaking her hand. "It's nice to finally put a face to the child prodigy."

Amused and embarrassed, she asked with a curiously nervous laugh, "Is that what people are saying about me around here?"

"That. Or a child genius. Or both," Andrew grinned more widely, but she was unsure if he was teasing or joking. Or both.

"I'd hate to break it to you, but you may have some misguided information," Anastasia humbly dismissed.

Dr. Deluca shrugged, "You're too hard on yourself. Don't worry about it. You're working with other surgical geniuses and brilliant surgeons. You'll fit right in." He winked, but frowned momentarily after, "I would've introduced myself to you earlier this week, but you were gone half the time. I would've found a chance to say 'hi' or introduce myself if I could."

"It's not your fault. Bailey has had me under her wing all week to show me around and help me adjust to my new surroundings. You'll see me more, eventually," The young resident smiled. She joked as she corrected herself with a chuckle, "Unfortunately, maybe."

Andrew rolled his eyes, holding onto his big smile as he spoke in a singsong tone, "It was nice meeting you, Dr. Steele."

"It was nice meeting you, as well, Dr. Deluca," Anastasia laughed with a wave good-bye, heading to the elevators.

As the elevator doors opened, a familiar face had shown as the sliding doors revealed its occupant, "Dr. Steele," the man greeted politely, "how nice to see you. You going down?"

"Dr. Webber!" the young resident exclaimed. Richard Webber, the first person of color doctor to be accepted into Grey-Sloan Memorial's residency program and the first African-American chief-of-surgery before Dr. Bailey, was the current director of the residency program. All applicants go to this man, and he is the man that shaped the future of Seattle's successful, innovative surgeons currently. He molded the brilliant surgeons today, including Bailey. Anastasia got accepted because he said "yes" to her application; much of her journey from then on would be because of what he saw in her, mostly from the help of Dr. Hawn, of course.

Stepping into the elevator and standing beside him, she nodded, "Yes, sir. I'm going to the lobby floor, too."

"Ah, perfect. We can share this together," he mused. He looked down at her, inquiring, "How's your stay been at Seattle? Not too cold for you, I hope?"

"More eventful than you know. And not at all, I live for the cold weather."

"That's good to hear. Maybe it's because I'm an old man, but I can't bear the cold like I used to in this body," he stated with slight melancholy. The young resident merely nodded in agreement with a humming, shy smile, unsure of how to respond to her director.

With the elevator doors dinging open, the two surgeons stepped out of its doors and headed to the front of the hospital's entrance together. With an amused tone, his voice rang into her ears again suddenly, "Is that Christian Grey?"

Anastasia stopped in her steps from the sound of the familiar name, watching Dr. Webber with her. "It is him," he said with marveling verification, "I wonder what a guy like is doing in a place like this? It's amazing whom you would run into these days, huh, Dr. Steele?"

Christian Grey was in her sights again, dressed in a white shirt and jeans from across the entrance doors of the hospital. His hair was tousled in a messy way, but not as disorganized as she remembered from the car accident. His beautifully sculpted face was still intact and remained the same from what she remembered. There was no more blood, and his cut looked like it was patched up and healing more quickly than she expected it to be.

A hypnotizing set of stern gray eyes ultimately found her tranced golden gaze, paralyzing her from the neck down as she was in shock. As his eyes met hers, his lips curled into a small smile, carefully approaching the two doctors as Anastasia watched him tread with every step, hands placed in the pockets of his jacket. There was an intense look in his eyes, like a wolf stalking his prey—his lamb.

How was he here again? Strange coincidence, maybe? For some particular reason, the young resident wasn't complaining about the unexpected circumstance; though, in the back of her head, she was wondering if she was supposed to.

Noticing Dr. Webber's eyes on her, Anastasia snapped out of her daze and turned to her director. She nodded, repeating his comment with concurrence, "Yeah, it's amazing whom you run into…" The young doctor stared into his dark eyes and questioned, "Just out of curiosity, do you know him, Dr. Webber? Have you met with him before?"

"No, but I read about him! In Forbes!" Dr. Webber exclaimed.

"Forbes? The magazine?" Her eyes widened.

"Oh, yeah. You never heard of him, Anastasia? He's one of the top ten wealthiest men in the world. His company is worth millions! Billions, I wouldn't doubt," he muttered with amazement as Mr. Grey came closer with each step he took.

What? This guy coming this way? Since when? Where was I? Wait, where am I right now? Anastasia began to panic and become nervous, and her body urged her to turn and speed away, but her body stayed frozen as her eyes locked into his drawing gaze.

"Miss Steele," Christian's voice was soothing in the alluringly smooth tone he used, "it's a slightly pleasure to see you, again."

In an accusatory tone, slightly offended for being prodded a question when the director should have asked first, Dr. Webber asked in a low mutter, "You know him, Steele?"

She whispered, contritely, "In a way of sorts…"

"It's a funny thing how life works; I was just reading about you the other day in a magazine, Mr. Grey," her superior started, lending out his hand, "My name is Dr. Richard Webber, I am the surgical residency director here at this hospital. Is there something we can help you with?"

Courteously, the billionaire took her boss's hand into his, "I am glad I ran into Miss Steele here, and I thought maybe she could assist me, privately."

Richard exchanged glances from the wealthy man to the young resident in question, causing Christian to explain himself, "You see, Dr. Webber, I was in an accident a couple days before today, and if it weren't for Anastasia, I don't know what would have happened to me."

Dr. Webber's eyes widened, grinning as he patted her shoulder, "Well, I guess Grey-Sloan made the smart decision on hiring, Dr. Steele. Or I did."

Finding the courage to speak, Anastasia commented defensively at his slightly flattering and exaggerated statement, "I shouldn't take all the credit. When I came out and saw the accident had already happened, I checked on Mr. Grey, later on only to find him unconscious. When I woke him, he was breathing and his vitals were fortunately in good shape, besides suffering a small head lac."

"Oh, nonsense. You're being too modest, Dr. Steele; take pride in what you accomplished!" Dr. Webber exclaimed. He continued with a prideful grin, "You know, I was the one that decided Anastasia to join our surgical residency program. She showed great promise and dedication from all the hard work, so it's safe to say we are incredibly proud and happy to have her." It was strange for Anastasia to experience being in that predicament; barely knowing her director, he was already boasting about her like he would with his children.

Anastasia smiled timidly, wary of Christian's reaction about this conversation, but he only grinned politely with her boss, "I never got to thank you, Miss Steele. You have my gratitude."

Richard nodded, beginning to make his way to the entrance, "Well, I better get going, or my wife will never let me hear the end of it. Of course, she's a surgeon as well, so I'm sure I will manage." He joked with a chuckle before lifting his hand to bid farewell, "Have a good evening, you two. And it was nice meeting you, Mr. Grey."

"Likewise," Christian stated curtly, waving good-bye with the young doctor beside him. Turning to her, alone by her side, he smiled to himself looking down at her, "Where were we?"

Anastasia chewed on her lip, pondering on moments that have passed before returning his gaze in recollection, "You needed my help?"

"Yes," He nodded, continuing, "I got myself checked-in like you suggested, and got my head scanned, but the waiting was far too long for me to sit around and do nothing. There were just way too many people in line waiting for scans, so I had to leave abruptly with other engagements to attend to." He sighed with impatience, recalling his memory, before staring at Anastasia again, "I was hoping you could guide me to where to find them and check my scans."

Blinking at him in perplexity, she lifted her brow in thought before she asked, "You said your mother was a doctor. Why didn't you just have the hospital send her your scans, Mr. Grey? Even if there was a long wait, CT scans don't take that long to process."

He stood there silently, disarmed by Anastasia's habit of having an answer or question to everything. Logic was always going to be on her side, and he was beginning to see that as well. He smirked, replying pleasantly as he was preoccupied in his thoughts, "I do recall you saying that people can be really busy nowadays, am I wrong? As for my mother, I didn't want her to worry for me. You said so yourself, I was lucky to be okay."

With no hidden agenda or ulterior motive of hoping Christian would come to see her, she frowned at her optimistic self, scolding her silently and answering, "I was just getting off work, but I'm sure I could do you one more favor—being my first patient since I've been here, after all. We can pick up your CT scans on the third floor. I'll take you."

"After you, Miss Steele," he teased with a smile. The two of them headed into the elevators after pushing the call button, once everyone exited through the doors.

Filling the empty space, Anastasia pressed the button to the third floor, waiting patiently.

After a few moments, a rippling wave of tension made Anastasia realize something felt off. It was strange for her, and curious to see what was in her first patient's mind, she gazed up at him. She bit her lip, drawn to his desirably eye-candy features. He stared down watching her intently before closing his eyes and inhaling slowly. Looking away immediately, she blushed. Crossing one leg over the other and folding her arms together—feeling her breasts bulge from the tight pressure she was hugging herself with—she felt a heated rush over her body in a confused state of nervousness and intensity. For a big empty elevator with simply two bodies, one possibly more heated than the other, the void of the empty room was filled with something else besides the man and the resident.

Desire?

Stop. Anastasia told herself.

The young doctor was wondering why the elevator felt smaller. Why did it feel hotter? And somehow she realized that the distance between their two bodies was inching closer.

No. She resisted and admonished herself. When is this elevator ride going to end?

The sounds of their respiratory filled her ears. Paying attention only to the way he breathed, she started thinking about his lips-imagining the shape, the way they moved, the feel for them (against and on her), the taste.

Yes. Her thoughts moaned. As her body warmed to her provocative thoughts, her stomach reacted to those thoughts. Anastasia turned body in his direction, watching his body do the same. She looked up at him to open to say something, and he watched with an open mouth.

DING! The elevator doors rang. Beaming up at him, radiating her aura and glow, she locked herself into the gray of his eyes as he looked down at her golden-brown. Raising a finger, she pointed out in a murmur, "We're here."

Somehow both aroused and enchanted, Christian muttered under his breath, following the scent of her hair as her hair swayed out of the room, "What is it about elevators?"

Anastasia smiled to herself, and Christian smirked, witnessing her enjoyment spread across her face with curling lips. Lips he wanted, and lips she wanted to give away.

Coming up to the counter, she spoke briefly, showing her hospital badge, "Dr. Steele, here to pick up the head CT scans for Mr. Christian Grey, please."

"One moment, doctor," the man said, fetching the scans.

Seconds passed and Christian mused, "I didn't believe you when you said you were a doctor back at the accident that day. I just thought you were being nice."

"I endeavor to be and am glad I came off that way. Looks can be deceiving, Mr. Grey."

"You can say that again, Miss Steele," His mood and tone went for a turn before he drifted back to his normal, formal self, "By the way, would you prefer if I called you doctor or miss, Anastasia?"

Usually, doctor, considering how hard I earned that title but… The young resident thought honestly before flirtatiously and audaciously speaking slowly with a creeping secretive smile, "Whatever you want, Mr. Grey."

He gasped, eyes darkening from her little comment, "Be careful now, Miss Steele."

But as the man came back with the manila envelope to Anastasia, she repressed the memory of his words and reaction, turning off her fun switch and turning back on her work mode. Carefully opening the envelope, she skimmed her eyes cautiously at the scans for any irregularities. There were none, so she declared, "You're good to go, Mr. Grey. I'd be surprised if the scans showed otherwise with your condition like this." She handed the file back to man behind the counter, sending her gratitude with a silent smile as he hurried with it back into hospital records and files.

"That's good to hear. It's a good thing you were there when I needed you," Christian smiled graciously, charming her attention back into his alluring aura. With his hands in his pockets, he dipped his head down, slowly leaning forward to match her head level, "Are you free this evening, Miss Steele? I thought maybe you and I could grab dinner."

The doctor smiled, "Like a date?"

His mouth twisted to her idea, disregarding her idea with a better self-accommodating excuse, "I was thinking more so…celebrating my health or thanking you for your help with dinner."

Not a date, but a "thank you" dinner? No, thanks. Rolling her eyes at the idea, Anastasia frowned before softening her expression to keep up with polite appearances and hide her disappointment with a smirk, "That's kind of you, Mr. Grey. Even though I am glad you are in superb condition, I was just doing my job, so I'll have to decline. Nevertheless, thank you for your generous offer."

"But…" Christian opened his mouth, shocked from the rejection. This hasn't happened to him before.

Swiftly turning, Anastasia made her way back to the elevator doors.

Unable and unsure of what to do next, he grasped his hand into hers, gently tugging her arm, "Please, Anastasia." Caught off guard from his action, the brunette stopped in her tracks, turning to a slightly grimaced man with an impassively intense stare. He stated, "I insist."

A glimmer in his gray eyes reflected into her hazel eyes, and Anastasia found herself lost in them as he was disarmingly lost in hers. She sighed and shrugged, "Okay, sure. Thank you." But the one warming feeling she couldn't shake was his hand amongst her cold delicate fingers, the action that persuaded her to follow him.

Upset by her cold hands, he squeezed his hand into hers tightly, leading her into the elevator to head out the hospital.

Finally, her unspoken thoughts breathed, taking in the cool air of the restricting hospital after exiting its doors. For the first time, Anastasia wanted to leave the facility, and she blamed Christian for that provoked feeling, considering this had never happened until he showed up. Striding to the parking lot as she followed his pull, she asked him, "Where to for dinner?"

"Actually, I was rethinking about bringing you back to my place to have dinner, if that would be alright with you?" Christian asked with a wary look.

The brunette nodded her head, uncertain about the situation. But with a straightforward answer, she let herself trust him, "Okay."

Walking together, hand-in-hand into the parking lot, Anastasia spotted the same black Audi without a dent, scratch, or evidence of damage like it had on the day of the accident. She observed it, catching a glance at Christian's face, "You fixed your car."

"I did," he responded. He smirked down at her. He mocked her, repeating what he remembered the doctor telling him that day, "How else am I supposed to run away or escape any situation without a safe and viable source of transportation?"

Anastasia giggled, releasing a feeling of content with him, "Of course. What was I thinking?"

"And what are you thinking about right now, Miss Steele?" He asked, opening the car door on its passenger side for her.

Sheepish to reveal her truthful thoughts, she came up with a quick lie, "Nice car."

"It is," he grinned, shutting her door.

Coming back around the driver's side, Christian entered his car, turned on the car's ignition, and drove out the parking lot, heading to his place. The car drove smoothly and speedily, but not so fast that would have the doctor concerned for her health.

"Would you like some music?" He asked momentarily, breaking a lull of silence.

I'd like to poke at your brain, she thought. "Sure," she answered.

The driver pressed a button and classical music began to play out the speakers of his car.

"Where do you live?" Anastasia wondered. The music playing in the car helped lift the tension and weight off her shoulders, making it easier for her to speak more comfortably and bravely.

"It's my penthouse apartment at the Escala Tower. It's where I live most of the time unless I am traveling."

Right. The mysterious mogul is a billionaire that I just found about, she mused to herself. "Does your job force you to do a lot of traveling?" The doctor asked, wanting to learn more about him.

"Not all the time, but it is part of the job."

"And your job is?"

He muttered bitterly, "I'm the CEO of my company—Grey Holdings Enterprises."

"I knew that, Mr. Grey," she sighed. A couple minutes ago, at least. She continued, "What does your job entail? What does your company do?"

"My company specializes in telecommunications technologies, sustainable energies, and intelligent systems developments. We also do mergers and acquisitions, helping under-performing businesses and companies by whipping them into shape," Christian smirked, amused by his own joke.

Taking in the information, she sharply exhaled, "That sounds like a lot of work. Who do you answer to?"

"I don't answer to anybody," he snapped, "I told you. I own my company."

"Right. I'm sorry; I'm just not familiar with the business world, or your line of work for that matter," Anastasia muttered with an apology.

Entering an underground garage, he parked his car into its spot along a row of other costly, luxury cars, abruptly answering, "We're here."

The doctor was out of place, and she felt like she didn't belong, doubting if she made the right judgment to be entering a stranger's home. Opening the car for herself, unaware that Christian was coming to open door for her, the brunette closed the car door, seeing and hesitating at an open hand waiting for hers.

Staring up into his eyes, he offered a small smile, giving her the reluctant reassurance to take his warm hand into her cold grasp. Following him, he led her away from the parking garage, revealing another elevator lit in its place.

Again? Expectant and somehow aware of the situation, the two hand-holding acquaintances walked in together. Letting go of the mogul's hand, she walked into a corner and leaned her head back against the wall, staring at him.

Making a face and lifting his brow, Christian smirked, pushing in a code before being closely at her side. His intimidatingly powerful presence forced her to cower, causing her to purposely stand up straight from the elevator wall and purposely look anywhere but into his gaze, avoiding eye-contact. Much to her dismay, Anastasia could still feel the pulling tension he attracted towards him.

He smiled amusingly, watching the brunette's head rotate back and forth as she stared at the elevator's walls and ceilings. Christian lifted his hand, reaching into Anastasia's face and holding her cheek. She could feel the heat of his hand spread warmly on her face, sending shivers down her spine.

He murmured, "Almost there." His body turned to her side, and she felt her body push into the corner of the elevator.

Escala's elevator was slightly bigger than the hospital's, and yet she could still feel herself wilting from his nearby stance. Her head bent back against the walls of the elevator, feeling his breath tickle her lip. He spoke again, this time in a whisper, "I won't touch you. Not until I have your consent, Miss Steele."

You are touching me. You already have my consent.

Saved by the bell of the transporting machine, the tension and air of the room was escaping as its doors opened, but Christian remained at her side, staring into her golden irises. He pondered their beauty as he felt himself melt, watching her pupils enlarge—a gratifying sight that invoked a sharp gasp.

"Let's go," Christian muttered, stroking Anastasia's cheek with his thumb. He slowly snaked his hand down her arm and grasped her fingers into his, leading her out of the sex trap.

The doctor gasped to herself, taking in the sights of his penthouse apartment. It was big; and even describing the size of its space that way wouldn't have sufficed. Marbled, polished, and stylishly-modern like Christian's mysterious persona, his place was a well-presented representation of how he appeared to others with an enormous glass wall that showcased the city lights and evening setting of Seattle. Behind the glassed window was a large black piano and an accompanying large U-shaped sofa. Modern paintings were displayed from across the place, and a single vase of white lilies were placed on top of a black, glass coffee table. A curling staircase led to the upstairs, leaving the marveling young doctor what was up there.

Making a turn into the grand entrance of his apartment, Christian led Anastasia's hand into the kitchen with a blond woman cooking at the kitchen stove.

The blond-haired woman turned around, surprised by the company and smiled kindly at the two, greeting the man first, "Good evening, Mr. Grey."

"Good evening, Gail. Miss Steele this is Mrs. Jones; she works for me as my housekeeper and chef. It's why it smells good in here and why the place always looks nice," he complimented kindly with a polite smile. Turning to his blond employee, he introduced his accompanying woman, "Mrs. Jones, this is Dr. Anastasia Steele."

Stunned, the young doctor pulled her hair behind her ear, lending out her hand to the housekeeper, "Calling me Ana is just fine; it's nice to meet you, Mrs. Jones."

Gently grasping her hand, Mrs. Jones smiled, "It's nice to meet you, Ana." Her eyes went on Christian with her continuing warm smile, "I just finished preparing the food. Would you like me to start dinner?"

"Please, Gail. And would you prepare a meal for Miss Steele as well?" Christian asked, taking off his coat while loosening his tie and unbuttoning one button.

"Yes, Mr. Grey," Mrs. Jones obediently answered, already placing the dinnerware on another mat beside an accompanying set of utensils and a plate.

Anastasia blankly stared, as Christian strolled to his wine rack while Mrs. Jones got busy with her domesticated duties. Life looked ordinary and simple for someone as extraordinary ambiguous as Christian.

"Can I offer you a drink, Miss Steele?" He lifted both glossy wine glasses in one hand, making a clink sound, while the other hand was occupied and holding a bottle.

"Oh," She blurted from her distraction, shaking her head and erasing her thoughts away like an Etch-A-Sketch. I don't really drink, but… "Please." It might help with her nerves, "Call me, Ana. After an intimate moment of saving your life, I think it is appropriate for you to be on first name bases with me."

Christian smiled, setting down the glasses before pouring the red wine into his glasses. She observed the red liquid rush into the glass, being handed the glasses moments after.

Knowing nothing about wine, the doctor was given the pretentious impulse to smell it. It smelled like wine. Answering the girl's question, he responded, "Cabernet Sauvignon, Chateau Lafite. It'll go great with the meat Mrs. Jones would be cooking for us."

Anastasia raised her glass, politely cheering with a smile, "To your life and your good health, may it stay that way for longer than we hope."

Christian chuckled, pausing a second to think and responding, "To your move to Seattle."

Both taking a sip, she nodded at the drink, Yup, that's wine. Anastasia didn't want to appear or seem inconsiderate, uncultured, or bland; however, little things like this didn't give her much interest. To her, a wine in a bottle was the same as wine from a bag or a box, but out of respect, she would never mention that.

"Why did you change your mind?" The doctor began to converse.

"I don't understand what you mean, Anastasia," He responded, expressing a perturbed expression.

"Having dinner here instead of going somewhere." The brunette felt bad for springing herself into Mrs. Jones's plans. Apprehending how ungrateful she was appearing to come off, the young doctor quickly countered with a confessional explanation, "Not that I don't appreciate this invitation. Your place is lovely."

Christian nodded with a smile, "I figured you might've wanted a home-cooked meal after a long day at work, and I remembered Mrs. Jones had already started cooking."

"Thank you, Mr. Grey," She sighed happily from his hospitable offer.

"How long have you been here in Seattle? If I recall from your boss, he said you had just been joined his program."

Anastasia placed her glass down, smiling at the coincidence, "The day I met you, Christian, was the day I landed, honestly. The day of the accident was the day I settled in, and I am still settling in as my items come in one by one."

"I see. How long do you plan on staying? Until the program ends?" He began his interrogation, getting to know her as he took his seat beside her.

Sitting up more straightly in her seat, her honey-brown eyes met with his, warming to the conversation, "I don't have a definite answer. I might find work somewhere else, or I might apply for an attending job at Grey-Sloan if they'll have me. I'd have to see and apply to other places as well, hopefully they'd have me; or even better, maybe they'd recruit me."

His eyes showed no emotion she could pick up, and she was unable to read his impassive gaze. Earnestly, he offered in a serious tone, "You could always work for me."

Anastasia shook her head with a widened eye, "No, I couldn't."

Furrowing his brows, he challenged, "Why not?"

Unable to come up with an answer, she chuckled as she joked, "You wouldn't be able to afford me."

He shook his head unamused, "Everyone has a price. What's yours?"

With her mouth opened, the doctor frowned. She picked up her glass and took another nervous sip, "I don't have one. I was kidding, Mr. Grey. You're lucky that I don't care about those things."

"Then, why not work for me?" Christian didn't understand the difficult situation he was creating, or he couldn't see it.

Anastasia chuckled in disbelief, "You want me to be your personal physician and caretaker? I wouldn't even know what to do at your company if not tending to patients as I would in a hospital."

He shrugged and smirked, taking another careful sip at his wine. She watched his lips purse against the glass, the condensation from his breath lightly fogging up the rim, "I'm sure I can figure something out. There's always something I can find you to do."

Blushing at his comment, the doctor sipped again, getting used to the taste, "We'll see…" Avoiding his gaze, she began looking at his glass, as his neatly manicured hands carefully stroking the stem.

Just in time, Mrs. Jones comes in with tongs and her iron skillet, placing two steaks onto their plates. Buttered broccoli topped with parmesan cheese followed after, and a hearty scoop of garlic mashed potatoes was placed on the side. Anastasia's mouth watered from the fragrance of all the foods, biting her thumb.

"I hope you both like it. Enjoy," The female chef responded.

As the two verbalized their appreciation, they began to eat. Immediately, Anastasia groaned to the food, humming with gluttonous satisfaction. Christian grinned, imitating her sounds of delight.

"I want to learn more about, Anastasia," He responded, cutting his steak with his knife and biting it off his fork, "Tell me about yourself."

The doctor covered her mouth, chewing and speaking, "What is there to tell?"

"Well, to start, tell me about your family."

That's not a happy conversation starter, "You tell me about yours," Anastasia said, deflecting his question back at him.

Christian scowled, "I asked you first."

"And I asked you second," The doctor shrugged and smiled, biting into another piece of broccoli. It's been a while since she had a nice, hot meal, especially after a shift longer than twenty-four hours, he was absolutely right.

Slumping back against his seat in quiet frustration, he commented with narrowing eyes, "You're very taciturn."

Silence crept into their dinner as Anastasia picked and nibbled her potatoes, debating on telling him. Before she could rethink her decision, her lips began to purse in movement as her voice came out, "I don't have a family."

Out of respect, he sat back up, leaning in to listen.

Taking a final bite of her potatoes, the doctor grabbed the glass by the bowl, appreciating her last sip of wine before she told her small tale, "Originally there were three of us—my mom, my dad, and me in New York, just a small village in the mountains of Lake Placid." Anastasia smiled, nostalgically memorializing the small moments with her family, "But my dad passed away when I was a baby due to a stroke. Shortly a couple years later, my mom met Ray—my stepdad. We were happy for a couple years, but when I was seven—on our way to a fishing trip to Pulaski—we got into a car accident."

Christian opened his mouth to say something, but he was speechless. He didn't want to pity her, but he didn't want to say anything offensive either, ashamed of his probing.

"Ironic, huh? A car accident…" Anastasia scoffed with a weak smile. Leaning her elbow on the table, she grabbed her fork and began watching it twirl between her fingers, "They died upon the impact. After that, it was just me."

"I'm so sorry," he grimaced, folding his hands together as he stared down at them.

The doctor shook her head, placing the fork back on the plate, "It happened a long time ago."

Trying to lighten the mood, her golden eyes radiated with warmth as she changed the topic, smiling, "Did you know that the Pulsaki River is known for their salmon?" She didn't want him to be unhappy.

Peering up, his curious eyes met her gaze, "Really?"

Anastasia nodded her head, grinning at her trivial fact, "You can find Atlantic salmon there mostly, but Coho salmon and King salmon can only be caught during September and October; that's if you were lucky."

Smiling, he admitted, "I didn't know that. Do you enjoy fishing?"

"Oh, god, no!" The brunette roared a laugh, listening to the soundwaves of her giggles ripple in the empty space of his apartment, "I can't stand it. Sitting and waiting is not something I'm good at. My mind is always thinking and buzzing with thoughts. When you fish, you need the discipline and the patience to keep still and silent, and I can't do either at the same time."

"Is that so?" He mused, smirking to himself with his quiet thoughts.

He asked warily with an impassive gaze, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Not that I know of," Anastasia wittily responded. She joked in a playful smile, "Do you have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend? I don't judge."

Scowling at her with narrowing eyes ablaze, "I don't do the relationship thing, nor do I swing that way."

Not the relationship type? Why?

Remembering that she knew nothing of the man in front of her and wanting to find out, she decided it was her turn to poke and prod, "Your turn. Tell me about you and your family. What do they do?"

He sighed, crossing his arms, "Well, you know my mom is a doctor—a pediatrician, specifically. My dad is a lawyer. They live here in Seattle."

That's nice. But I want to know more about you, Mr. Grey. "So, you decided to start a company, and it's done so well, clearly," Anastasia commented, gesturing towards everything around her. So, she went and asked her question, "How did you do it?"

"How did I do it?" He asked, trying to understand his question.

The doctor nodded her head, clarifying with an explanation to her question, "What made you and your company so successful?" He smirked, but his dissatisfaction was shown through the unamused glimmer in his eyes.

"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, and how to incentivize them. I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well. 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 hard, very hard to do that. I make decisions based on logic an 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," Christian huffed truthfully, a circling expression of disinterest.

Arrogance. Her conscience whispered in her head. Well, maybe you were just… "Lucky. Did you consider yourself to just be fortuitous?"

His gray stern eyes flared with challenge, "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 'growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership.'"

Unable to control her observational truth, the girl frowned in disgust, "You sound like a control freak."

Christian scoffed and smiled, but the kindness wasn't reflected in his eyes, "Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Steele." Anastasia ran her tongue across her teeth, inhaling sharply. This did not prevent him from commenting, "Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you were born to control things."

At least this prick is honest, but why am I drawn to him? Let alone like him. "Power…" the doctor pondered on the word, "Do you feel as though you have it—immense power as you just said?"

Proving his point with a statistical example, he answered her, "I employ over forty thousand people, and that gives me a certain sense of responsibility—power if you will." I didn't say that, you did. "If I were to decide I was no longer interested in telecommunications business and sell up, twenty thousand people would struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month or so."

Needing a second to look away, Anastasia scratched her head, trying to process his biased views of success. Returning her gaze back towards him, she rubbed her lips gently with her fingers before closing them into a fist to press against her mouth. Changing the topic once again with rolling eyes, she asked him, "What about your free time? What do you enjoy?"

Wicked in his thoughts, a devious smile curled to his lips, "I have varied interests, Miss Steele, very varied."

With a steady gaze, he exhaled through his nose slowly, and the sounds of a little whistle blew filled her ears. Anastasia cleared her throat, "Care to clarify?"

"I'm a wealthy man, Miss Steele, and indulge myself in physical pursuits," He answered, shifting in his seat, "I have expensive and absorbing hobbies—sailing, flying, and even dining."

"What about your siblings? Do you have any?" She continued with probing questions.

"I have an older brother and a little sister," Christian answered simply.

"And?"

Narrowing his eyes, tired of answering questions, he went onto the specifications as she had hoped for, "My brother is in construction. My sister is at a cooking school in Paris."

Anastasia opened her mouth, gasping and spreading a smile across her face, "I hear it's lovely there." Dreamily, she fantasized herself in those travels.

Commenting truthfully, he replied, "It's beautiful. Have you been?"

"I've never been out of country before," The brunette said, shaking her head.

"Would you like to go?" He asked with a gentle smile.

"To Paris? Of course. But Switzerland has my heart," Anastasia grinned.

"Really? Why?" Christian mused.

After his arrogantly boastful speech about his success, the doctor eventually delighted herself in the current conversation, "Klausman Institution for Medical Research in Zurich—the new director there is a cardio goddess, and I would love to meet her and have a chat with her some time about her medical journey, thoughts, and innovative discoveries. In fact, she was in the same residency program like I."

"It isn't just Zurich, though," she shook her head, "There are so many places to see all over the world. Sooner or later, I hope to find the time for myself to go out and explore someday."

With the sun already set, Anastasia turned around to see the lights of Seattle cascade over the darkness. She stood up, grabbing both their dinnerware and headed to the sink, turning on the faucet and soaping up the dishes and utensils.

"You don't have to do that, Anastasia," Christian responded, rushing over with a grimace.

The brunette smiled and shook her head, embracing the feeling of the warm water against her cool hands, "It's no problem. Mrs. Jones cooked a fine meal, Mr. Grey, the least I can do is reward her from doing a simple chore." Soaping each dish and utensil carefully clean, she began rinsing them. He admirably watched her on the side, leaning in closer and resting his hand on her shoulders. A static shock of tension and shivers were sent down her spine. Working more quickly to rid the suds off the dishes and cutlery, she dried them and casted them aside. The doctor wasn't sure what she was doing, or what he was doing, but she felt an unfamiliar surge of emotions rush.

"Thank you for dinner, Mr. Grey, but I should get going now. It's late," Anastasia said.

He nodded, "Let me escort you home."

"You've generously done enough, Mr. Grey; I can grab a cab."

Briskly walking to the exit of his apartment, Christian followed her behind, trying to keep up and calling out, "There's no need, let me. It's dark out, and I can't let you go out alone in good conscience."

"Thank you, Mr. Grey," Her gratitude was the only reply she could speak against his fair reasoning.

Pushing the call button to the elevator, the doors opened, and they both entered the machine, heading back down to the garage from the thirty-first floor.

Anastasia sighed to herself, knowing well that she was silently secluded with the mysteriously attractive man in the empty space they filled. The doctor gazed up at Christian beside her, finding out he had been staring at her the whole time.

Christian smiled secretly to himself, and a shadow of mischievousness clouding his eyes. Daring herself not to look away, she smiled back up at him gently, gray eyes captivating her attention, examining every fine feature on his face. Discontinuing her ogling eyes, her head turned back to the numbers above the sliding doors, seeing each floor go down.

31…

30…

29…

The brunette bit down her smile, chewing on her lip. Erupting into a fire of emotions within Christian, he blurted out his desire in a low murmur, "I'd like to bite that lip."

28…

27…

Time felt like it was slowing down, and all Anastasia could listen to was the simultaneous harmony of their quiet breathing. She released her lip from the holds of her teeth, boldly inviting him with her anesthetizing provocation, "Then, bite it."

26…

"I can't," Christian shook his head, gutturally speaking through and trying to resist his actions. He told himself that he couldn't but his body turned to Anastasia's side, leaning his head against the side of the wall.

25…

The young resident leaned in, inviting his scent to fill her nose. She breathed him in gently, urging him, "Bite it."

24…

23…

22…

21…

They both listened to each floor ding as their destination was coming closer with each story dropping before them. Suddenly, he huffed, "Fuck the paperwork."

20…

Christian cupped her face into his hands, pulling her face in and clamping his teeth gently against Anastasia's bottom lip. Gasping in hitched shudders, she leaned her head back slowly, feeling the skin of her lip stretch slowly from his teeth.

19…

He sucked her lip into his mouth, greedily savoring her taste, "You. Are. So. Sweet." He groaned breathily between each word through his teeth.

18…

Anastasia's hands were at her sides, but before she could hold him, one hand grabbed both wrists and restrained her above her head, while the other caressed one side of her face. His body pressed onto hers as he leaned in to kiss her fully and deeply.

The sounds of the elevator were gone, and it was as if time had frozen—in their small space, in their bubble. He inhaled her scent as she gasped him into her mouth, expressing fervently passionate kisses into each other's mouths. Her moans encouraged him to go on with his sexual pursuit, unable to stop his aggressive desire. Her lips and her body surrendered herself to him, letting him take away her breath and overwhelming her in every physical sense.

His tongue snaked past her lips, tasting her as her mouth openly submitted to his attack. As her desire for him expanded through her body, she latched her tongue onto his. He pulled his tongue out, kissing her again and again repeatedly and deeply.

1…

Momentarily, the doors to the elevator opened, dissolving their sexual desires and kisses. The heat of the space they shared escaped the sliding doors, cool air coming in to relieve the tension, but she couldn't stop gazing at him, his eyes and his lips, breathlessly.

Without a second to spare, Christian released his restraints on Anastasia's wrists, but held her hand as he led her to his black Audi. In silence, he opened the door to the passenger's side and ushered her in before entering through his side, turning on the car and driving out of the garage in a rush.

Silence filled the space of the car, and the young doctor was still quietly panting to herself.

"Where?" Christian monosyllabically asked the location to her place, dwelling in his thoughts just as she was.

Ardently, she lied, "The hospital—I need to pick up something."

Nodding, he stayed on his route, driving through the streets in the night. Contemplating and going through the recent events of their elevator ride, Christian said, "What happened in the elevator, it can't happen again."

"Why?" The brunette frowned, combing her hair with her fingers. She confessed quietly, "I liked what happened."

He smiled and then smirked right after, "I did, too, but not until I have your written consent, Anastasia."

"What does that mean? You have my consent," The young doctor rolled her eyes away, leaning against the side of the car.

Pulling to the curbside of the entrance of the hospital, he answered back with ambiguity, "I'll have to show you."

Unbuckling her seatbelt, Anastasia responded, "Then, show me tomorrow. I have work until 6:45 p.m., but afterwards, I'm free."

"So keen for information, like Eve with the forbidden fruit of knowledge," He smiled to himself, rubbing her biting lip with the thumb of his finger. He then said, "I'll pick you up, then. 6:45 p.m. Do you have a phone number or email I can use to contact you in the meantime?"

"Uh, yeah. One second…" The doctor pulled out her phone and exchanged contact information with the driver.

Getting out of the sports car, he called out to remind her, "6:45, Miss Steele."

Anastasia nodded her head, repeating him and bidding him good night, "6:45. Good night, Mr. Grey."

"Good night, Ana," He said. The smile on his face was the last thing she saw before closing his car door and watching him drive away.

…

The next day … Friday, May 03, 2018

One more patient, and I can start getting ready for the mogul, Anastasia told herself as a reward of hard day's work.

Heading over to the next patient in The Pit, she smiled professionally after viewing her file on the clipboard, "Mrs. Crowley, my name is Dr. Steele. It says here that you've been consistently vomiting all day and that you've been struggling with vertigo throughout the week. Can you tell me what happened and what you did today?"

Christian Grey had been on the doctor's mind all day—inadvertently and purposefully. She couldn't stop thinking about him and his kiss, so she decided to learn more about the successful businessman, and she was impressed through her research of him and his company.

Grey Holdings Enterprises Incorporated prided itself on "transforming what is possible" as their website quoted, being the global leader "in communications technologies, eco-manufacturing, and next generation farming solutions." It seemed as though the entrepreneur and the doctor had similar, common interests in their careers and future, and it was all about bettering lives and futures of people and the world's tomorrow. Mr. Grey was a bigger deal than what Dr. Steele initially judged, starting his business at twenty-one from nothing and now becoming an established, well-respected company six years later.

The twenty-seven-year-old business man does a lot of investing as well, not just in businesses and revamping run-down companies but also into fundraisers, charities, and schools. Although he didn't seem like the type at first, he's invested his funds philanthropically into farming technologies to end world hunger. He was also well-acknowledged and respected at Washington State University, being a benefactor that funds the environmental sciences department through the school's soil fertility and arable technology. With the school's help, Christian was trying to help pioneer and engineer technologies that used low-input systems. With his telecommunications, his goal was to get the message out as he progressed with progresses in all types of green technology to better the world.

Reading WSU's newspaper article, Anastasia read an interesting quote he used as a "guiding principle" in his life that simultaneously made her roll her eyes and smile disapprovingly: "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," quoted from Andrew Carnegie. Unsure of the coincidence, Carnegie was known as the "father of philanthropy," and yet he wasn't a good man growing up; she wondered if the parallelism were intentional, but the doctor let it go.

Diagnosing her patient with hyperemesis gravidarum (morning sickness) after receiving the patient's blood tests, also revealing the news that the female patient was pregnant, Anastasia hurried off to the resident's lounge to get undressed. She pulled the light-blue scrubs off her body and tossed them in the waste basket, slipping on a sheer black blouse to match with her black lace undergarments. Pulling a pair of black jeans over her legs and heeled boots on top, the doctor fixed her hair in the mirror to tame any frizz before rushed out the door with lip balm swiped across her lips. She frowned at her depressing outfit and day-old jeans, but her attire will have to do until she found the time to shop—something she dreaded.

Anastasia rushed past Dr. Deluca, causing him to whistle and call out, "What are you getting yourself into, Dr. Steele?"

"Trouble," the doctor joked, waving good-bye. "Good night, Andrew."

She was a minute late as she left the grand entrance of the hospital; spotting Mr. Grey leaned against his car.

The man was dashing as always—dark blue shirt with a black leather jacket to match, khaki-colored dress pants, and a head of annoyingly hair-pulling-provocative, tousled hair. Christian walked over to the young resident with a smile, leaning in to kiss her cheek, "Hello, Miss Steele, you look lovely. Shall to go?" As he asked, the wind blew gently from behind, toying her nostrils with an invitation to wrap her body around his musky-scented aromas of expensive colognes and body wash.

"Yes, please. Thank you for picking me up," Anastasia flushed from his compliment and against the winds of Seattle's blowing air. Carefully, she stepped into the car before buckling in.

The car ride began as Christian stepped in his car, "It's my pleasure. Do you have a car? I know you said you just moved, but how do you get around?"

"Me and cars don't go well together with my track history with them," She giggled jokingly, but the driver beside her found no humor, setting a grim line across his face. Jokes aside, she answered honestly to fix the situation, "I don't have a car. That's why I asked you to drop me off at the hospital because my place was in walking distance. If I do want to go somewhere, I just take a walk; and it's a great way for me to get to know the ins and outs of the new city."

Christian scowled at the idea of the young girl alone in the streets, "That's not a good reason or an excuse, regardless of how optimistic it sounds. It's not safe."

"It's not like I own a company," Anastasia shrugged, glimpsing at the street lights flashing past her eyes.

He smirked at the comment and asked seconds later, "Music?"

"Sure."

The sounds of classical music filled her ears again, reminding her of the piano in his apartment. The doctor brightened at the thought and stated, "There is a piano in your apartment."

"You have a good set of working eyes, Miss Steele," He spoke sardonically with a cheeky smile.

She rolled her eyes and asked, "How long have you been playing?" That's what I was getting at, she thought.

"Since I was six years old," Christian answered.

Anastasia smiled, a disbelieving head shaking, "Is there anything you can't do well?"

"Yes…a few things," He hesitated. "Do you play any instruments?"

Anastasia shook her head, "No, I wish I did, but I was too preoccupied with school. I do know my way around the piano though, not well enough to play, unfortunately."

Furrowing his brows, he asked for clarification.

"When I was put into the foster care system, I met someone who knew how to play piano. Penn knew how to play a lot of instruments, actually, but he would always take the time to teach me a note or two as we played together," the doctor explained, thinking about her childhood friend—Penn Hadley.

The realization of Mr. Hadley teaching her to how play upset and disturbed him. Shifting in his seat, he sat in silence, driving back to Escala for the second consecutive day in a row with her.

Things were starting to look familiar to Anastasia as she passed by certain streets and roads Christian took, knowing that she was almost at his place.

Let's talk about him, her thoughts suggested.

"I read about you, today, Mr. Grey," The doctor commented, "You are as intimidating as the articles and newspapers make you out to be through your interviews about your accomplishments and progress in technology."

"Good, you should find me intimidating," He responded, and she blushed, wondering why she was.

Anastasia went on with her personal interview, "There's one thing that I can't put my finger on; I read that you invest into manufacturing. Is there a reason why?"

He sighed and shrugged, "I like to build things. I like to know how things work: what makes things tick, how to construct and deconstruct. And I told you, I like to sail, so you can assume my love for ships, as well. What can I say?"

"Hmm. For once, that sounds like your heart talking, rather than logic and facts," The doctor's voice mused.

His mouth quirked from the comment, and he answered her, "Possibly. It's a nice thought to think about, though there are people who'd say I don't have a heart."

Now, is this figuratively with your "heart talking" or logic and facts because literally speaking that isn't possible? Anastasia smirked at the irony of her career pursuing cardiothoracic surgery.

She pried, "Why would they say that?"

"Because they know me well," He smiled quietly at his own double entendre.

Parking back in its originally spot, Christian and Anastasia exited the car together as he searched and grabbed for her hand, leading her back into the elevator after it was called.

The doctor's heart accelerated and she thought about performing the Valsalva maneuver on herself to slow down her nervous beating organ. She tried concentrating on her breathing, breathing in her nose and out her mouth slowly. Suddenly, a squeezing pressure on her hand snapped her out of her trance, turning to the man beside her.

"Nervous?"

Unintentionally, Anastasia nodded her head rapidly, biting her lip. She felt his hot breath press against the side of her head and then his pressed lips, speaking in a murmur, "Me too."

The doctor stared at him in awe for a second and then stared back at the closed doors in front of her, waiting for them to open.

Christian frowned, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb, "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. You know that right?"

Answering quite simply, she responded, "I'd never do anything I wouldn't want to do, Christian." Smart enough for her own good, she pondered the idea if what he had said was a warning that foreshadowed a formidable decision.

As the sliding doors opened the floor to his apartment, he kissed her head, "Good."

The gray-eyed man pulled the brunette into his home, and she admired the vastness of his ample-spaced penthouse, once again. She walked towards the view of Seattle through his big glass window. She smiled, commenting to herself, "I don't think I can get used to the view, Christian." The lights scattered across the city, and the moon was just rising with stars spread across the night sky. Her body turned to his direction, and she stared at him with a genuine smile, "It's so beautiful."

Christian stared back at her, beguiled by her beauty. Her golden-warm eyes melted and thawed his cold heart, disarming him as eyes of pure innocence and elegance locked eyes with him. Her dark hair radiated a glow from the moonlight behind her, highlighting the warmth in her dark locks. Her milky skin was luminescent against the brilliance of the moon, supple and silky enough that one would know how it feels upon sight.

"Yes," his voice croaked huskily, "it is."

Anastasia's head tilted to one side, smiling through a confused face. Drooling over her beauty, he shook his head out of his stupor and asked, "I'm going to have a glass of wine. Would you like to join me?"

"Okay," she nodded her head, heading over to the kitchen.

His hand grabbed for a Sauvignon Blanc, asking her, "Pouilly-Fumé?"

"I know nothing of wine," Anastasia shrugged, "but I trust you." She smiled at him and her own ignorance.

Her sentence sparked a warm feeling in Christian, wanting the doctor to keep her word in trusting him. He poured white wine into each glass and handed it to her, hoping to relieve the nerve-wrecking tension. He couldn't understand why he was nervous, considering he's done what he's offered before.

"Mr. Grey, can you tell me why I'm here?" Anastasia blushed to her question. "I've been trying to figure it out, but I don't think I have an answer."

Christian handed her the glass with a darkening eye, "I think you know why you're here."

His lips pursed against the rim of the glass, taking a careful sip before setting his glass down. He confessed, "I want you." With an impassive gaze, he warily stated, "But what I am about to propose I suspect would be very far from your expectations."

Her heart fluttered in her chest. Biting her lip she answered, "Enlighten me, Christian."

"Anastasia, please, stop biting your lip," He said with a strained voice, reaching over and pulling at her lip with his thumb, "It's very distracting."

The doctor watched the man briskly leave for a moment. She took a seat by his couch, making herself comfortable with a glass in her hand as she waited for his arrival. Coming back minutes later with a file of papers in hand, he placed the stapled papers and a pen in front of her.

A nondisclosure agreement? Her eyes scanned the title in disbelief.

"This is a nondisclosure agreement. My lawyer—" Christian spoke and then stopped, interrupted by Anastasia's actions as she picked up the pen and began signing her name. Irritable by her impulsive actions, he scolded, "You're not going to even read it?"

"Who am I going to tell?" Anastasia sighed, wondering if this was what Christian did with all the women he encountered. Was he ashamed of someone like her? Was that what she was supposed to not expect this? She explained, defending her impulsive decision, "I don't know anyone here in Seattle close enough to share anything about my personal life, nor yours if you care about it this much to make it verbatim and binding in this agreement. Unless what we talk about or do is illegal, I think I'll be fine."

Christian narrowed his eyes, "Fair point well made, Miss Steele."

"So," The doctor slowly approached her words cautiously, hesitating as she brazenly went on, setting down her glass of wine on the coffee table, "is this where you…make love to me now?"

Christian smirked, "We're ever so eager, Miss Steele." He stopped in his place as he leaned in closely, "No, Anastasia, it does not. First, I don't make love. I fuck, hard." She inhaled a low gasp as he corrected her. Mindful to not bite her lip, she bit the pad of her thumb as he went on, "Secondly, there is a lot more paperwork to go through and sign. And third of all, you have no idea what you're in for."

His eyes darkened, but he lent out his hand, "You wanted me to enlighten you. Let me show you."

Placing her hands on top of his, Anastasia held it gently. Following him up the stairs and towards a corridor, she found herself at the end of her walk with a door in front.

Where are we going? She pondered as her eyes searched the area of the hallway

Christian let go of her hand, hesitating as he adamantly reminded the brunette beside him, "You can leave anytime. I can bring you home if you don't want to do this with me, or you can stay the night, and I can have someone bring you home tomorrow morning—the choice is yours."

"How can I make a decision when I don't know what's in stored for me, Christian?" Anastasia huffed. This was sort of getting slightly offensive, but her attitude deep down was concerned. "Don't be so cryptic. Open the door."

With her wish in his command, the threshold to the room opened. Red—there was red everywhere, contrasting with the outside of his apartment. Her senses were darkly filled with a sense of adrenaline, like a body in fight-or-flight, but she didn't feel threatened. Yet. The smells of the room penetrated her nostrils of the leather and wood in the room, a faint scent of citrus lingering in the air. A color of deep burgundy crowded over her vision and the space around her as if she was inside a beating heart, but it wasn't the color of the room or the sheets on the bed that stole the attention from her eyes. Curiously walking in with a brisk, she spotted random objects in her sights, peering in close to examine each one.

It felt like a dungeon, and her experience of the room somehow triggered repressed memories of her past in her head. Across the room on the wall were different objects of restraints—ropes, chains, and hanging shackles. The bed even had shackles and cuffs attached. Nearby the door was a dresser that resembled Pandora's Box to Anastasia, but she wasn't sure if there was "hope" at the bottom of his dresser. But out of everything in the room, her eyes stared straight at his tools—whips, floggers, canes, paddles, and crops. She didn't understand their uses or what they were, but her conscience was telling her it wasn't pleasure—it was pain.

Anastasia walked toward the set of tools, her fingers running through the feathers of a flogger.

"It's called a flogger," Christian said in almost a whisper. For a moment, she forgot he was in the room.

Where am I? The young resident felt out of place and out of her league. Illustrating a scenario in her head, she pictured herself in his restraints as he lashed his tools and fury at her and then the roles reversed. Overwhelmed, her body paralyzed and numbed to the idea. Was he a masochist or a sadist? Why did he enjoy it? How long has he enjoyed it? How was he introduced to this dark world? Who has he done this with or who has he done this to? Who has done this to him? Swimming chaotically in her questioning deliberation, her hands traveled against the post of the king-sized bed.

Powerless to the deafening silence, he urged in a deceptively quiet tone of voice, "Say something."

"Do people do this to you or do you do this to people?" Anastasia asked. She needed to get that straightened out first.

He blinked at her, contemplating in his thoughts as he tried finding his version of a correct answer, "I do this to women who want me to."

There are women who want this? "If women want this—with your desires, why am I here?"

"Because I would like to do this with you, very much."

With me? Or to me? Anastasia felt distressed and conflicted. It was a strange mess of emotions—desire and confusion and possibly even fear. Christian has reassured her that he wanted her consent multiple times, so everything began making sense to her. Was this the only way he wanted to touch her, through his methods?

"You're a sadist," The doctor determined without question.

His eyes blazed in intensity, objecting, "No, I'm a Dominant."

She chewed at her lip, challenging him, "What's the difference?"

"It means I want you to willingly surrender yourself to me, in every way."

Like a slave? Her logic objected in question. Like the ultimate lover? Her desires corrected.

"Why?" The doctor asked, but that question was simplified from her many other questions.

He whispered, "To please me. I want you to want to please me."

Please him, her desires commanded as her logic screamed from her chains. This is what you've been after. Why are you here, Steele? Why are you here? You wanted to be here, otherwise you would have left. You want to taste him. You want his lips. You want him.

"What do I do?" Anastasia asked breathlessly with fluttering eyes.

Christian gasped, confused but seduced by her misdirected question, "You do what I say with rules I want you in compliance—for your benefit and my pleasure." He swallowed, and she watched his apple bob gently, "If you follow my rules to my satisfaction, I reward you. If you do otherwise, I punish you, and you will learn."

"This is my playroom," he explained, gesturing to the room around, "and as a submissive, you let me delve into your body however I want, whenever I want, and whatever I want."

"My body and soul," Anastasia added. Playroom? More like the devil's chambers—an incubus, perhaps, both logic and desire simultaneously thought in her head.

He nodded slowly, unsure if he should enjoy the statement, "If you must, but your consent most of all."

The young resident took another look around the room, "And what do I get out of all of this?"

"Me," he simply stated, causing her gaze to turn to his gray eyes, "all of me and the pleasure that comes with it—anything that you want from me and more, anything that I will allow to give you."

I want you. The brunette flushed in thought, confused on how she wanted him. Silence filled the void of the red room, and he felt uncomfortable as she felt overwhelmed.

"It's distracting having you in here, Anastasia," Christian muttered, lending out his hand again. "Let me show you where you will be sleeping," he responded.

Anastasia stared into his gray eyes, feeling them beckon her to come to him. There was kindness and care in his dark gaze, which was something she couldn't understand, wondering how all the paraphernalia and roles of being in a BDSM relationship can relate. His need to control and possess things made sense to her now. Everything he said, and the way he said them was brightening a light in her brain.

The doctor's awareness of her conversation dissipated from the mess of thoughts in her mind. Christian hesitated, shifting in his stance, "I won't hurt you, Anastasia."

She blinked in confusion and looked at his hand before taking it in hers. He pulled her out of the playroom and led her across a room. Opening the door to a blank white room with a matching white bed and large vanity, the brunette made a face, "I'm moving in here now?"

Rethinking his decision of showing her the room from her response, he answered in explanation, "Just Friday through Sunday, while you are with me."

This won't do. What if I'm working on the weekends? Hold on, am I really thinking about this? "Where do you sleep? I won't be sleeping with you?" Anastasia asked, opposed to the sleeping arrangements and the room for the wrong reasons.

"My room is downstairs," Christian responded, "I don't sleep with anyone."

The luxuries of his place were not convincing her to be a part of his ordeal. This blank room felt cold and isolated, like a prison. The apartment she owned felt homier than the room she was currently in. Distressed, she rubbed her arm, looking around the room with unappreciative disgust. It felt degrading, and she felt like a pet—a pet that was getting signed for adoption; however, a pet gets cared for and loved. Was this his version of that? She pondered the thought, Is that what this is? A means of ownership? This was far from what she wanted. What this the right decision for her?

"Christian, this relationship…ordeal, I just feel…" Anastasia's face was troubled, and he felt regretful for bringing her along this path, but at the same time, he wanted to show her how much they can do and be together. "Objectified," she declared.

Christian's eyes widened in disbelief, "No, I—"

"Is that how you want to see me? Do you only want me when I am that way?" She frowned as she started comprehending her own beliefs of the ordeal.

"No, Anastasia!" His blazed furiously at her and nose flared as he yelled. Flinching from his response, she turned her face away from him, causing him to release a sigh, "I want you. Believe me. I just—I told you; I don't do the relationship thing. This is all I know. I don't want you to feel objectified because this isn't about that."

He held onto both of her hands, squeezing them while urgently speaking for her conviction, "I know I've given you a lot take in, Ana, but I want this for you. For me. For us. I wouldn't think of objectifying you, far from it. I'd worship you, God knows, what I want to do to you—with you—so much." The man beseeching the doctor for her approval was all he wanted at the moment; he didn't want to be responsible for that look on her face, "Please, believe me."

"I believe you," Anastasia answered back, stunned from his confession. His confession was the most he has said to her in one breath and moment. The strange fact throughout all of what she had just witnessed was that she still wanted him, through and through everything she experienced she still wanted to somehow be a part of She shook her head, squeezing his arm, "I'm sorry for the overreaction. This was just a lot to think about. I don't understand this or much about anything unless you give me a cadaver."

Christian made a face at her joke, as he thought about a the doctor and a dead body, "What?"

"No, sorry, not like that, I meant I know more about—forget about it," The doctor sighed, chuckling weakly, "Bad joke."

"Have you eaten today?" He asked, changing the subject. Nodding "no," his mouth turned into a hard line before he decided, "Let's go downstairs."

There was a lot to contemplate, but Anastasia was not sure where to begin. She was lost, and her night had such a turn of events much to her surprise—she believed his was the same.

"Cheese and grapes, okay?" Christian asked, as the young resident went for her glass of wine at the coffee table after descending the dominant's stairs.

Strolling back to his kitchen and seating herself on his chair, she leaned on her knuckles with a propped elbow as her other palm cupped the bowl of her glass, spinning the wine in circles. She sighed, "I'm not hungry."

"Eat," he ignored her comments, pushing a board of cheese and grapes toward her.

"Even if I was hungry earlier, I have lost my appetite, Mr. Grey," She frowned in her truthful answer, shaking her head.

"Eat, Anastasia," Christian ordered again, eating some cheese and sipping his wine.

After the brunette's stubborn reluctance passed, she picked up two grapes and ate them silently one at a time, taking sips of her wine after finishing each grape. He watched her, filling the void of silence with his caring reassurance, "I understand that this is a dark path I'm taking you on, which is why I want you to really think about this. You signed the NDA, so you can ask me anything."

Right, questions—Oh, Mr. Grey, what can I ask? She mused. Staring blankly at his gray eyes, trying not to fall into the gray-eyed hypnotization, she asked, "What happens if I don't want to do this and not sign the other following paperwork?"

"Isn't it obvious? We won't pursue our relationship," He said.

"Any type of relationship?" Anastasia asked with saddening disbelief.

"No, this is the only relationship I am interested in."

"Why?"

He said carefully, covering up his ominous tone, "Because it's the way that I am."

No, it is not. Anastasia's thoughts refused to believe it, but she still respected his interests (to say the least).

Learning more about him through rapid-fire questions the doctor learned that Christian's been the way he was for a while, enjoying his particular interests since the birth of his sexually active timespan. The dominant has been in a BDSM relationship with fifteen other women; while some lasted longer than others, all his relationships ended due to incompatibility. He's hurt women in the past before in these types of relationships, but she didn't expect any less or differently for herself, taking in mind what goes on between a dominant and a submissive. It meant that it was bound that he would hurt her, regardless if it was a "punishment." The one thing that made the young resident ponder was him revealing that he had been beaten before, in wondering what context.

Christian offered to talk more in his study, wanting to show the already overwhelmed girl something else.

Furrowing her brows to the paper she was handed, the young doctor frowned wondering if what she was given to her seriously, "What is this?"

"Read it, and we'll discuss. Although subject to change, they are the rules for when you are with me," He answered.

Essentially, Anastasia had no control of her own life. What she ate, what she wore, when she slept, her well-being, her physical appearance, how she acted—all of the rules listed were in the possession and manipulated by the dominant, and she had no control unless she asked for punishments, which he would still enjoy. It was not a win-win, or a win-lose; it was simply lose-lose-lose. These rules felt offensive.

"Money for clothes? This is wrong," Anastasia opposed. With a sex contract like this, this is borderline prostitution, which she can use to break the NDA if needed be; however, she would be at fault as well.

"I want to lavish money on you," Christian replied, making her want to vomit repulsively, "Let me buy you clothes. I may need you to accompany me to functions, and I want you dressed well." So, now my contract doubles up as an escort? This was not in the job description. She thought to herself as he spoke—as if this was the part of the contract that was most concerning to her.

Gaping at the rules, she opened her mouth, looking up at him, "It says you will provide me with a trainer, have a list of food for me to eat, and enforce me to have a minimum of seven hours of sleep. That, to me, is all utterly unrealistic."

Christian shook his head in disagreement, cocking his head to the side as he made a face of confusion, "I need to make sure you stay fit and healthy around me, what you will endure with me is quite energy-consuming and I want you to keep up with me."

"I thought this was something we were supposed to discuss and negotiate, not decide?" Anastasia asked with a lifting brow.

"Yet another fair point well made, Miss Steele," He smirked.

Anastasia nodded her head, "If I may add, I can't concur with these agreements. My life is already energy-consuming and stressful enough for me to dwell on these little things."

His gray eyes blazed as he admonished her, "Your well-being is not a 'little thing' to neglect, Anastasia, but what did you have in mind?"

"For starters, requiring me to sleep is nonnegotiable; my job is physically demanding and laborious—I am aware the irony of the situation, however, I can't always maintain at least seven hours of sleep everyday," The doctor shook her head, secure in her decision.

Moving on to her next rule, avoiding her biggest issue, she continued, "The food—this rule is a bit objectionable. I won't eat from a list you 'prescribe.' I'm an adult, and I should be able to eat what I want with the trust that you would respectfully and kindly give me to take care of myself. I am a doctor after all, and I know what I can handle."

"But at the same time you don't," Christian counter-argued her objection, "I've done this longer and more times than you. I do understand what you need, Anastasia, and needs you may not even realize." His eyes darkened, staring down at her.

Anastasia swallowed, doing her best to disregard his last comment to maintain focus, "In spite of everything and my lack of knowledge in your world, the thing I do understand is the human anatomy and what follows, as well as my body—my body, Mr. Grey. I understand my role and submitting to you, nonetheless I will be honest with my needs, but you need to trust me that I can take care of myself."

He sighed in resignation, aware that he wasn't going to win the conversation, "Very well, Miss Steele, as you wish."

"Omit exercise, I just can't—my schedule," Anastasia said, repeating her reason. Unless I do them in the early morning… she thought to herself. Back at Stanford, she ran every couple of days. It started as a way to improve cardiovascular health and advocate exercising as she spread awareness, but then it became a routine habit in her life—that was until she moved.

"I need you strong, fit, and healthy as I've said before. The things we will be doing together require a lot of energy and stamina, and I need to be sure that you can keep up with me," Christian said.

"I'll see what I can do, but not four times a week. You have no idea how much I can get done in an hour," Anastasia stubbornly agreed. Her workouts usually ran longer than an hour anyhow, but she never ran four times a week; if she did, she'd be stick and bones.

Hoping to make him happy, she compromised, "Twice a week for an hour."

"Four times a week—three one-hour sessions, and one half hour session," Christian retaliated.

"Three times a week—one-hour sessions. With my time here, I'm sure you'd keep me on my feet."

"Okay, agreed," He smiled wickedly with a dark gleam in his eyes, "You make a good negotiator. Are you sure you don't want to work for me?"

The doctor raised her hand to decline his suggestion, "Let's not get too ahead of ourselves or push our luck, Mr. Grey. I think it's best if I stay within the path of what I am best at."

Moving on to the next topic, Christian handed her another sheet of paper, "Moving on. These are my limits."

Uncomfortable that she was reading this on paper, her gut and conscience was subdued to his limitations—essentially it was no violence or uses of the excretory system, no use of surgical equipment, no engagements with children or animals—Good God and thank God—, no acts that prevent the use of her respiratory system, and no scars left behind.

Going along and concurring with his limits, Anastasia stared at him rubbing her lips together, nodding. Okay? That's nice?

Narrowing his eyes, he dominant asked, "Well, is there anything you'd like to add?"

Anastasia stared down at the paper, scratching the side of her head and hoping that inspiration would hit, but nothing came to mind. She wasn't sure what to add or what she liked.

"Anastasia, is there anything you don't like?"

"I'm not sure. I've never done anything like this before," She shrugged, looking back at the paper to avoid his gaze and hide her embarrassment.

"What don't you know? When you have sex, was there something you didn't enjoy?" He asked with gray eyes making a stern face of comprehension, trying to apprehend her situation and expression.

You don't get it. Do I have to spell it out? Anastasia stared back up at him with widening eyes, feeling all the blood rush to her head. He continued pressing her for her answer, "We need to be honest with each other if we want this relationship to work, Anastasia. I won't judge you."

Sighing, her golden eyes gazed back into contact with his gray eyes. She revealed, shaking her head to emphasize her thoughts, "Christian, I've never…" A flood of shame of self-consciousness had overcome her emotions, beginning her sentence again, "I've never done anything that intimate before. I've never been intimate with anyone." She made a face that expressed her thoughts, Do you understand now?"

"Never?" He gasped, and a void of dread and shame filled the pit of the brunette's stomach.

Christian's gray eyes bulged, breathing out his whispering exhale, "You're a virgin?" He closed his eyes, bringing his hand to his head as he rubbed his lids before pinching and massaging the bridge of his nose.

His nose flared before his gray eyes showed blazing fury momentarily, "Why the fuck didn't you tell me?"

A minute after, Anastasia watched him pacing his study back and forth in exasperating anger, hands running into the mess of his hair. He shook his head in a menacingly manner, his rage causing him to think before he was able to articulate his thoughts, "I've just shown you…I knew you were inexperienced but not once did you indicate or showed that you were a…What I don't understand is why you didn't seem to want to bring this up until I asked."

Christian's voice increased in sound, and her ears rang from the volume of his voice as it bounced and echoed off the walls of his study. She felt her shoulders sink down, and she stared up at him with quietly pained anger, "It's because you never asked, and like you I'm a fairly private person. I don't go around sharing that kind of information to anyone. It's not anyone's business." She shrugged, hoping the angered man would understand, "Like I've said before, you know as well as I do how looks can be deceiving."

"You want to discuss what I want to do when you have no experience," He gave her a look of puzzled disbelief. "Apart from me, have you ever been kissed before?"

Crossing her arms into her chest, the doctor looked away from his, "Yes. Of course, I have." Just once…from Penn before I left New York…seven years ago. Anastasia thought, feeling as though she didn't need to disclose that information to him.

Trying to understand her reasoning of celibacy or abstinence, Christian knitted his brows together, "Was this a choice? Have you avoided sex purposefully? You're a young and beautiful girl in her twenties, and you're telling me a man has not swept you off your feet? Explain this to me, please."

Caught off guard by his inquiries and flattery, she didn't know how to explain. The doctor sighed, "I've never been in a situation where one has taken interest, or one that would take interest as mutually as I did. There are not many that have grabbed my attention."

Christian's face softened to her answer, but the doctor asked, "Why are you angry with me?"

"I'm not angry at you. I'm angry at myself. Based on what we've spoken about and how you've acted since my time with you I just assumed…" He sighed, sitting beside her. He turned his face to her and asked gently, "Do you want to go?"

Anastasia sighed through her nose, "Should I go?"

"Not unless you want to, but I like having you here," He answered with a smile before pulling at her bottom lip from the tug of her teeth, "You're biting your lip."

"Oh, sorry," She licked her lips.

"Don't apologize. It's just want I want bite it, too," Christian breathed, as he stared at his lip.

"Come with me," he declared after a moment of revelation, gently taking his hand into his and stood up.

Anastasia stood with him, walking out of his study. She asked as they exited his study, "Where are we going?"

"We're going to rectify your situation right now," The dominant stated, "I'm going to make love to you. Of course, that's if you want to; I don't want to push my luck with you still being here."

Her mouth gaped open, stuttering, "I-I thought you didn't make love." Is this really happening? What do I do in this situation right now?

Christian's smile spread in a wickedly dark way, "I can make an exception, or even combine the two." He stopped in the middle of his apartment, turning around to face the doctor, a hand holding her hand while his other hand cupped the side of her face, "I really want to make love with you. I want our arrangement to work, but I need you to understand what you are getting yourself into before you make the decision to become mine." He stroked her cheek with his thumb, and she gazed into his heated gray eyes, "Think of it as a fun way of learning, you told me how much you'd been in school for so long—we can start with the basics. So, what do you say? Please, come to bed with me." He was seductive in his husky voice, hypnotic and pulling the pure girl into the snares of his alluring hold.

It was tempting, but her logic and wits restrained her from making an impulsive decision based on her desires. She bit her lip, "I haven't consented to the way you wanted me to. The rules—we aren't finished discussing—"

Christian smiled gently, shaking his head and cupping her face with his hands, while her delicate hands held onto his wrists. Pressing his forehead against hers, he continued, "Forget all the rules, the details of tonight. I want you. I've wanted you since you pulled me out of my car. And I know you want me, otherwise you would have left already." His hand caressed her head, watching the shine of her hair reflect against the light of the moon from the corner of his eye. He urged again, "Please, spend the night with me."

Anastasia, hypnotized by his stare and seduced by his words, fell into his arms as he wrapped his arms around her body. She could feel the strength and the grip of his muscles constrict against his hold. His hand snaked up her back and grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling it down to stare in into his eyes. Lowering his head down onto her lips, he tugged and pulled at her bottom lip, humming a moan. Her body shuddered to his sexual tease, moaning to his kiss. She sucked in air sharply through her gritting teeth.

"You are one brave, young woman," He whispered and moaned, letting go of her lip, "I am in awe of you."

She wanted him, and she couldn't contain herself any longer. She wanted to open herself to him and submit to his takeover—his pleasure.

Rubbing his nose against hers, he spoke once more gentle and seductive, "Please, Ana, let me make love to you."

"Yes," Anastasia whispered, before moaning into his capturing lips, "Please."

Christian wrapped his arms around him, lifting her up and inviting her to wrap her legs around him. He kissed her with desperate fervor, hungry lust exhuming from the essence of his kisses. Her hands felt his face as he carried her, feeling her lips being pulled from his teeth again and replaced moments after with his hot kisses. He led her into his bedroom, laying her on the bed. Her body was sprawled out against the sheets, watching him shrug his jacket off. Her eyes flashed want and desire, bringing him back onto her lips as Christian lifted her chin, while his hand unbuttoned each button, beginning at the top.

"God…" Christian moaned, his face in a sexually entranced daze, "You are so beautiful, Ana."

Anastasia, in hitched breaths, gasped between kisses, smiling between his kisses as she surrendered her body over to him.

---

Present day … Tuesday, May 08, 2018

"Ana?"

The doctor opened her eyes, using a spatula to carefully place each egg and bacon onto their dishes. She stared at him confused, "Huh?"

Christian's hand held her cheek, knitting his brows together in concern, "I asked you how you were enjoying Seattle so far. Is everything all right?"

Anastasia made a half smile, putting the hot skillet back on the stove and picked up each breakfast plate, placing them on each placemat. She nodded her head, "Yeah, I was just thinking about the night of my first time with you."

"Oh?" His gray eyes opened with curiosity, wondering what drove her thoughts back to last weekend.

Nodding her head, the brunette took her seat, "You asked me how I've been settling in Seattle—my mind thought of you. It's hard to forget. You're unforgettable."

Pleased by her flattery and words, he smiled gently, "Do you want another reminder?" He grinned with a gleam of wicked thoughts in his gray eyes.

She leaned from her seat, bending over to kiss his lips and moaning in his lips. He let out a low growl as he kissed her back deeply, holding her face, "Hungry for more?"

"Let's eat, Mr. Grey. We have a long day ahead of us," Anastasia giggled, starting to pick at her food.

Christian sighed, shaking his head as he had just been toyed and teased with. Taking a bite out of his food, he stared back at her impressed and surprised, "You cook well."

"It's a wonder what you can do with food," The young doctor smiled, taking small bites out of her food.

Narrowing his eyes, he commented, "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit."

"That's a matter of opinion, which really is subjective," She shrugged at him, taking a bite of her toast.

The half-naked man beside her shook his head, finishing his food within minutes before responding with a frown, "I have to fly out to the university tomorrow, and I won't be back until Friday."

Anastasia took a swig of orange juice from her glass that he had poured earlier for her, asking, "Washington State? What for?"

He nodded to her former question, sighing with a rolling sigh as he answered the next, "I was invited to their commencement to give a speech and hand out students' degrees." He tried convincing her of his invitation, "I want you to come with me."

She grinned, "Do you now?"

"Yes," He said with an impassive stare and serious tone, "but I don't suppose you'll go?"

"Even if I wanted to, I have work, Christian. You should know that by now," Anastasia smiled, patting his hand, but before she could pull away, he grabbed at her hand and held it, warming her cold fingers with his heated hand.

"Why?"

"Why, what?" She asked, sipping her orange juice again with a furrowing brow.

"I can provide for you. You don't have to work. I'm just wondering why you do," He asked, not understanding her ethic. He had everything and anything she could want.

Anastasia made a face, setting down her glass, inadvertently setting the cup down louder than it should, "You have to ask, Christian?" She pushed her plate, leaning on her fist as she propped her elbow on the table, "I work because it is what I want to do and what I am meant to do. I want to help people, to heal and fix patients." She stared down at her hands, after folding them together in front of her, "I didn't ask for much growing up, and I didn't want anything other than to pursue this—being a surgeon. It's time consuming, and incredibly tiresome, but it's so worth it in the end, the knowledge of fixing someone and knowing that you can."

She sighed, smiling weakly as she stared up at his curious eyes. "When I am in the operating room," she closed her eyes, picturing herself there and continuing, "I feel complete bliss. Everything just disappears around me, and it's just me. The beauty and the privilege as well as the knowledge of fixing someone with my bare hands, listening to their heart beat as I suture and patch up every broken wound and injury; I know that what I am doing—in that moment—is what I am meant to do for the rest of my life, or until I can't." She giggled to herself opening her eyes, "I've never felt that way ever in my life before—at peace and utter content."

"Until I met you."

Christian opened his mouth, his mental state in shock and his full expression in awe, disarmed and enchanted by her passion and honesty.

Anastasia sighed again before smiling, preparing her next joke with a batting eye, "Maybe you're just that amazing at sex."

He laughed and grinned, "You have me at a loss for words, Miss Steele." He shook his head, shocked at how the conversation could turn one way and then the next so quickly.

"It might good for us that you're going," the doctor nodded. "It'll give me space and time to really consider this proposal of yours and what I want."

Silence filled the kitchen, and he frowned at a loss of words. She held his hand, smiling weakly, reading and comprehending his expressively silent frustration.

He wanted to convince her and persuade her the way he knew how, but the doctor was already getting up and beginning to leave for a shower.

"I need to start getting ready for work, but I guess I won't see you until Friday?" Anastasia stared at him, suddenly realizing from her thoughts that he wasn't going to be around for the next few days. He wasn't gone, and she felt embarrassed to think that she was going to miss him, despite the fact he had not left yet.

Christian nodded his head, pulling her back into his body and kissing her deeply, catching her off guard as he desperately poured his needs onto his lips, "I want this for us, Anastasia, badly." He caressed her face, rubbing his nose against hers before pulling away to stare intently into her golden eyes, analyzing and memorizing the light brown flares in her irises. "Friday," he repeated.

"Wait for me, Mr. Grey," Anastasia murmured against his lips, wishing him farewell as she went for her shower. Little did she know, he wasn't ready to leave without giving her a proper good bye the best way he knew how.

---

I'm sorry this was so long and enduring to read, but if you made it to the end, I thank you so much. Some of the readings may sound familiar; I still want to keep a regular and proper timeline so we know where we are! There's still a lot to go over in the last two days of her weekend, but I might save that for something special, I'm not sure yet. Thank you for your time, and I'll update as much as I can! It just takes a lot of energy and time.