Disclaimer: Most of the characters in this story are those from the Fifty Shades Trilogy. They remain the rightful property of E L James. Recognisable brands, places, music or films remain the property of their owners. No copyright infringement is intended.
SuzB – Thank you, my lovely! I'm glad you liked the first chapter. :) Hope you like this one, too. (Also, glad you like the title of the club!) Much Love x
Bree – Thank you! Hope you like this one, too. Much Love x
Christian618 – Glad you liked the intervention in the last chapter. ;) Hope you like this chapter! Thank you! Much Love x
LA – Yay, thank you, LA! I'm so glad you liked it! :) I hope you enjoy the journey! Much Love x
Ellie – Thank you, Ellie! So glad you're looking forward to more. I hope you like it and it lives up to expectation! Much Love x
Wow, thank you all so much for the comments on the last chapter, and for even daring to read it! I'm glad to see so many of you liked it. :)
Hope you like this chapter. Just to reiterate, please bear with me if there are delays - working full time and writing my other FSoG FF is taking up a lot of my time, but I am dedicated to this story too. I will post updates whenever I have the chance. I promise!
Much Love and Many Thanks,
Chelsea x
"Ana, I swear to almighty god, if you don't come out of the bathroom in the next ten seconds I am going to piss all over your bedroom floor!"
Kate Kavanagh. 22 years old. Such a wonderful way with words.
I sighed as she rattled the door with her fist a few more times. I'm leaned forward over the basin, stealing myself just a moment in a bid to compose myself. Anxiety has condemned my stomach to nausea. I took a deep breath and pushed myself to stand upright, facing the mirror head on. I look paler than usual, the black of my uniform sucking all and any colour from my skin. My hair has been tamed into the mandatory ponytail expected of me. I had to battle with it for almost twenty minutes, my long brunette locks refusing to submit without a struggle. I added a hint of Kate's pink blusher to the apples of my cheeks, hoping to ease some of my deathly appearance. I'm not convinced it's helping.
Kate huffed outside the door, her dragon like breath signalling my final warning. I shook my head and left my reflection in the mirror, heading to the door. Kate barged past me before I even had chance to leave the room. Her sweat pants were already around her knees and she was grappling with her underwear. We have lived together for almost four years now and there is little by means of boundaries between us. I have seen and heard things that no person should ever have to endure. And peeing is definitely up there. Along with animal like sex howls in the middle of the night.
I moved around the living room, making my way to the table next to the couch. I lined up all of my belongings on here earlier, to save me rushing around just before I leave. I picked up my wallet and phone, and shoved them into my bag. I paused.
"Have you seen my keys?" I called out to Kate, unable to see them on the table.
"Check the bowl by the door." She shouted back at me, over the flush of the toilet. I went to the door and rummaged around in the mosaic fruit bowl we use as our key tray. It was a gift from my mother. It's hideous – a horrible concoction of green, brown and mustard – but we had to make use of it.
"Thank you," I mumbled as I picked up my keys. I pushed them into my bag and grabbed my jacket from the hook.
"Holy mother of Jesus…" Kate whistled as she came back into the main body of the apartment. She stopped abruptly in her tracks. I turned to face her and found her delicate features contorted. Her mint green eyes widened, looking up and down my front.
"What?"
"Ana… what the fuck are you wearing?" she inhaled a jittery breath. "You look like the grim reaper just exploded on you."
"Thanks. That's exactly the look I'm going for." I huffed, shoving my arms into the sleeves of my jacket. "I didn't choose the uniform."
"I thought you said you'll be working in a bar? Are you sure it's not a funeral parlour?"
I saw the first hint of smirk rise upon her face. I rolled my eyes.
I know I look awful. Black just isn't my colour.
I was almost excited when the courier arrived at nine a.m. this morning with my uniform sealed in a black dress bag. I knew it was all-black attire, but I was hoping to see a pop of colour in there somewhere. I found red on the soles of the shoes handed to me in a chunky white box. Kate mumbled the word Louboutin to me as she fawned over them. It meant very little to me. The shirt is much too tight for my liking, clinging to my body, the buttons threatening to burst open any second. I'm worried about moving too fast just in case I expose myself. The skirt is no better. It sits modestly at my knee, but similarly hugs my thighs, restraining me like a straightjacket. It fans out into pleats towards the hem, meaning I can move my knees a little. Without it, I'm afraid I'd resemble a constipated penguin.
I pushed my feet into my new patent shoes, wriggling my toes into place. I shuffled on the spot for a moment, checking the height and fit of them. They're surprisingly comfortable.
"Are you ready to go?" Kate asked, drawing my eyes up from my feet. She's putting on her trusty denim jacket. I nodded.
"Are you sure you're okay to drive me? I don't mind taking the bus." I reminded her. Over breakfast this morning Kate offered to drop me off and pick me up after my shift tonight. She complained about the idea of me roaming the streets in the dark.
"Of course," she smiled sweetly, pulling her blonde hair into a simple bun on the top of her head. She's only been home an hour and instead of partaking in her usual Thursday night routine of a bubble bath and glass of wine (Fridays are party nights, apparently), she changed quickly into some sweat pants and a tank top. She swapped her own high heels for some sneakers.
I said another word of thanks to her and stepped outside, waiting for her on the porch. It's a typically cold January evening. I shivered and hugged myself against the wind.
"Do you have everything?" Kate joined me on the porch. She locked the door behind us and jumped down onto the driveway. She unlocked her Mercedes and I raced to the passenger's seat.
"I think so," I nodded. Once inside the car, I checked my bag again. I mentally ticked off everything in there. I've brought everything with me, just in case. I've even got my passport, in case they want proof of identity or something.
Kate fired up her car and reversed out of the driveway, turning the heater onto its highest setting. After a few minutes I could feel her eyes on me, instead of the road.
"You okay?" she asked quietly.
"Hmm? Yeah, I'm okay."
I lied. I'm stupidly nervous. I don't know what to expect. It's the first night the club will be open to public, which means it's going to be super busy, right? There's got to be a list as long as the Great Wall of China of customers waiting to sample some of Maîtrise's finest. I'm also worried what they'll all expect of me – the other bartenders, Ms Lincoln, Cal. Maîtrise is a classy bar. They'll expect perfection. Anyone this side of Mars knows I'm far from perfect.
"Don't sweat it, Ana. It'll be a piece of cake." She nodded and smiled, pulling the car to a stop light. She rolled her head to me. "It's just serving drinks, not brain surgery. You'll pick it up in no time, I know you will."
"I wish I shared your optimism on that one." I sighed. Kate jabbed her finger into my arm.
"Hey, you'll be fine. Your shift will fly by. Before you know it, I'll be picking you up."
"I hope so." I formed a half-smile and settled into my seat, slugging down into it. I folded my arms across my chest. I just hope I can make it through the night without breaking something.
"You've been here fifteen minutes and you're already wrecking the place. Are you fucking kiddin' me, Steele?"
Cal frowned a disgusted look as he slammed into the back room – the staff only area. The door swung back on its hinges. It's a spacious room, holding two leather couches, a fully equipped kitchen area, and a long dining table with eight high-backed chairs surrounding it. I'm sat at the head of the table, holding my hand up high, trying to stem the steady flow of blood trickling down my arm.
"What the fuck happened?" he asked, stomping his way towards me. When he reached me, he grabbed my wrist and tugged it down. My hand went limp as he pulled away the towel I pressed into my palm.
"I dropped some glasses on the floor." I told him quietly, wary of his reaction. "I tried to clear up the mess and, well, I cut my hand."
He poked around the wound in the centre of my palm, shaking his head at me. He hummed a noise.
"It's only superficial," he groaned. He tilted my hand towards the light overhead. "You won't need stitches. Go run it under some water. You need to make sure there's no glass in there. I'll grab the first aid kit."
I rose from the chair and moved over to the sink, pushing my hand under the cold water faucet. I winced as the water struck my cut. The blood turned pink, swirling in circles towards the hole at the bottom of the basin. It was mesmerising for a second, the moment disturbed when Cal slammed a cabinet shut. I looked over my shoulder and saw him dropping a large blue briefcase on the table. He popped open the lid and rummaged inside it.
"Come sit down," he told me, scraping my chair back from the table. I let my hand drip water across the floor as I moved back to the table. I sat down on the edge of the seat. Cal drew a chair to me. "Give me your hand."
I offered my hand and he grabbed the blooded towel and dabbed it across my palm, mopping up the water.
"I'm sorry," I apologised. My voice is muted and he didn't bother looking up at me. He kept his dark, almond shaped eyes on my palm. I looked down and examined the cut for myself. It really isn't that deep.
"It happens to all of us sooner or later." He shrugged it off. His New York accent is gruff and lead-like. He pulled some antiseptic from the box, poured some onto a piece of gauze and placed it over my palm. It didn't hurt. "Once I've cleaned and covered this, you can go home."
"What? No." I shook my head. He lifted his chin, looking up at me through his thick, dark lashes. "No, I'm here to work. I'm okay. You said it's just superficial. I'll be fine." I rambled. He stared at me for a few seconds before turning his head down to my hand again.
"Whatever," he shrugged his shoulders. He pulled a band-aid from the box and stuck it down onto my palm. "If you're going to stay, we need to run over some basics. Listen up, because I won't repeat myself."
I swallowed hard and sat up a little straighter. I focused on him, making myself aware of every word.
"I'm the manager here. I'm your immediate boss. It's my job to keep everything running smoothly, which means I'm going to be all over the place. I don't have time to watch over you 24-7." His voice oozed authority and sternness. It scared me a little. "I have a list of rules that you need to stick to, okay? It's for your own safety, no one else's."
"Okay," I nodded. I felt a sudden wave of nerves crush over me. For my safety?
"One – you're here to serve drinks, clear glasses, just your regular bartender stuff." He began wrapping a bandage around my hand, tightening it after every turn. "If anyone asks you do anything other than that, just tell them you're a bartender. This is an invitation-only club so we won't have too many perverts or drunks rolling around, but if you do get someone being too friendly with you, just come find me. I'll sort them out."
I didn't like the way he said 'sort them out'. Looking at his roughened knuckles, I can tell he's a fighter. He certainly looks the kind of guy who won't put up with crap off anyone.
"Two – if a customer asks you to get something for them that you don't understand or feel comfortable with getting, leave it to me."
"What kind of things will they ask for, other than drinks?" I narrowed my eyes and searched my brain. "Drugs?" I shuddered at the thought. "Will they ask for drugs?"
"Fuck no! You think I want crack or meth floating around the place?" he shook his head and grumbled at me. He didn't want to elaborate on what might be requested. "Three – don't ask questions. You'll want to ask questions; it's only natural. But don't. The customers won't appreciate it. A place like this runs off being discreet. So whatever you see or hear or think is going on, just keep it to yourself. Definitely don't discuss any of this with people outside, you hear me?"
I nodded. A place like this…
"Four – don't go upstairs." His voice became harder with this rule. "I mean it. Don't go up there."
"What can't I go up there?"
"No questions, remember." He shook his head and his jaw twitched. "It doesn't matter what's up there. We have six rooms that customers can book out for private parties. You don't need to worry about them… There is a chart preloaded on the tablet next to the register, with details about which rooms are being used. If you get a customer asking for a room, check the chart and if there's a room available, take their name and give them the key from the ones hanging up next to the spirits. You don't show them to the room. You just hand over the key and that's it."
"I think I can do that." I gulped.
"Five – you have any problems, you come to me. I'm your boss. Don't go crying to Ms Lincoln. With any luck she'll hardly be here and when she is, she should be hauled up in her office or in one of the rooms upstairs. You won't see much of her. Consider yourself lucky." He snorted. He added a final piece of tape to my bandage and retracted his hands. I flexed my fingers into a fist and checked the pain. It doesn't hurt too much.
"I kinda wanted to thank her for changing her mind." I muttered. Cal shook his head, scowling at me.
"It wasn't her decision. And before you get any ideas, it wasn't mine either." He looked over me and gave no care for my feelings. I can tell he thinks I'm a lost cause where this job is concerned. "Look, Steele, a girl like you doesn't belong in a place like this. If I had my way, you'd be out of here, working in some snooty office somewhere. But I can see you're desperate for the money so I'm willing to help you out. Stick to the rules and you should be fine."
"I'll try." I promised him.
"Tonight will be an easy shift. It's the pre-opening, only a select few are coming along." Cal began packing away the first aid box. "Tomorrow is our official opening. You're going to work tonight's shift and then, if I think you can handle it, you'll start again next Thursday. I won't make you work tomorrow or over the weekend… We only open Thursday night through Monday morning - eleven 'til 4am."
"What about the, um, money?" I mumbled. I glanced down at my fingers and blew out a shallow breath. "It's just…"
"You're poor, I get it." He filled in the blanks. I nodded. "I know what it's like to be straight out of college and have barely a dollar to your name. But don't worry about the money. Lincoln pays good. Well, it has to be for what they're asking us to do." He droned to himself. "What you earn tonight will cover you for the next week easy, don't worry."
Cal stood up and dragged the box across the table, sliding it into his hold as he moved over to the cabinets above the long granite coated counter. He's wearing a fitted black shirt, tucked into charcoal slacks. His ebony hair is spiked into a Mohican and from just above his collar, I can see a tattoo scorning his skin at the back of his neck.
"Lincoln's partner will come by tonight and hand over our pay checks. Apparently there's been an issue with her accounts. I dunno, I wasn't really listening." He told me. His honesty was something I appreciated.
"She's married then?" I hesitated over my question. Cal shook his head.
"Divorced… her ex is definitely a lucky bastard for escaping her claws." He snorted a laugh. "No, I mean her business partner. She owns forty per cent of the place, her partner owns the rest. He's a silent partner, so you won't see him around much. In fact, you'll be lucky to see him at all after tonight. He's only coming here because Lincoln's fucked off to Chicago for the weekend."
It's obvious he doesn't like Ms Lincoln. But I gather it's more than just a clash of personalities. From the way he squirms at the mere thought of her…
"Cal, can I ask you something?" I paused. He didn't shake his head so I took that as a yes. "If you don't like Ms Lincoln, why work for her?"
"It's a job and it pays good money, better than most places. And I don't have to like her to work for her. I'm here to make money, not friends. I suggest you adopt the same mentality, Steele."
He turned on his heels and trudged to the door.
"It's Ana. My name's Ana." I told him, rising off my seat a little to carry my voice forward. He didn't look back to me.
"Whatever, Steele."
The door bounced backwards behind him, leaving me alone again. I looked all around me, feeling so small and naïve in this place. I looked above me, to the clock on the wall.
"Show time," I whispered as it chimed ten o'clock.
At a little after four thirty Cal slammed the doors shut and closed the bar for the night. He showed the last of our customers to their limousines and personal driver's, and locked us inside. I survived my first shift.
I hovered around the bar, collecting the remaining glasses from the tables. The other bartenders are in the back, sorting through crates of beers and boxes of mixers. I haven't spoken to any of them. I tried talking to a slender redhead but she ignored me before heading upstairs.
"You look like shit, Steele." Cal beckoned my attention, coming to stand in front of me. He dropped a glass into my plastic carrier. I've spent most of the evening collecting glasses. "You never worked a night shift in your life, have you?"
I shook my head. "Did I do okay, considering?"
"There's a lot for you to work on," he said. "You didn't break any more glasses and you only fucked up three drink orders, so I guess that's something to be proud of."
I could feel his sarcasm like it was a slap across the face. I clenched my teeth together. Ana rule number one: learn to ignore Cal's snarky comments.
A loud thudding rocked the door, sending the noise through the bar. I jerked my head to the door and then to Cal. He remained passive, shrugging his shoulders.
"That'll be the boss man. Go let him in. I need grab the spare set of keys Lincoln left for him." He called to me as he charged towards the office on my right.
I dragged my feet across the floor. My shoes were comfortable earlier but now, after being on my feet all night, they are causing irreparable damage. I reached the door and unlocked the clasps at the top and bottom before turning the key. I paused, smoothed my hair back, and cranked the door wide open. I stepped aside, keeping my head forward.
It was several seconds before a tall, exquisitely dressed man stalked into the building. I felt the room swell as he entered.
My eyes ran the length of him. He's wearing a dark grey suit, sculpted perfectly to his frame, one hand fisted into his right pant pocket. I looked slowly up from his waist to his torso. Under his jacket I can see a buttoned vest, white shirt and a thin black tie.
"Is Caleb here?" he snapped me from my examination of him. His voice is cool and tense. He turned to face me. His features are dominant and masculine. His steely eyes stole my gaze until I couldn't stomach the intensity lingering in them. I glanced around him.
"Um, y-yes. He's getting keys… the keys… your keys." I stumbled over my tongue. I jerked my head down and back towards the office. "He'll be with you in a minute."
He sucked in a sharp breath and brought his hand to his face, scratching at his jaw for a moment. His hair shone under the dimmed lights, reflecting copper tones in his otherwise brunette mix. He must have felt me staring at him. He snapped his head towards me and stilted me in my intrusion. His eyes roamed my face and the base of my neck. My heart quickened.
"Can I get a drink?" he asked, nodding to the bar.
"Yes, of course, sir." I picked up my heavy legs and raced to the bar. I think I saw the corner of his mouth rise into a smirk. I circled the bar and took my place opposite him. "What can I get you?"
Please don't be something difficult…
"Single scotch. Neat." He ordered, leaning onto his elbow, propping himself sideways against the bar. I grabbed a glass from the pile under the counter and turned towards the shelf of spirits. I searched for the whiskey bottle and shoved the glass against the faucet, waiting as a single measure dripped out. I turned back towards him, placing the glass in front of him. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a series of grey envelopes. He flicked through them and paused. "Actually, put some ice in the glass."
I took the glass back and traced the bar around to the side, where the ice machine is. I pressed for three cubes and watched as they dropped into the glass, clinking and splashing against the caramel liquid. I heard him fiddling with one of the envelopes. I glanced over my shoulder and saw him putting something inside it before sealing it again. I caught a glimpse of his wallet before he shoved it into his jacket.
"Thank you." He nodded as I slid the glass back his way. He sipped at it, watching me at all times. I hovered near the register, rocking on the spot. He lowered his glass and ran his tongue along his bottom lip, collecting some of the moisture from his drink. "It's Anastasia, isn't it?"
"I prefer Ana," I nodded.
He nodded and smiled in return. He looked down at the pile of envelopes. He picked up the first one in the pile and handed it to me. My name is written on it in thick black lines, handwritten.
"Your wages for this evening," he told me. "It's cash. Unfortunately Ms Lincoln had some issues setting up the account so we could transfer money directly into your bank." He explained with such proficiency. I felt like I could lose myself in his words. "It should be dealt with by next week. I hope it won't be too much of an inconvenience having cash?"
"No, no cash is fine, thank you." I smiled, accepting the envelope.
"You're welcome, Anastasia." He definitely smirked this time. "You'll get paid every week."
"Thank you, Mr…" I waited for him to give me his name.
"Grey. Christian Grey." He drawled his name. Christian Grey. I've heard his name before…
"Thank you, Mr Grey." I nodded.
"You can call me Christian." He corrected me. I gulped. He placed too much emphasis on 'you'. "How did you find your first shift, Anastasia? Did it run smoothly?" he pursued me. He began circling his middle finger around the lip of his glass.
"It was good." I nodded. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the rhythmic motion of his finger.
"Good."
I looked to the office door as Cal came back into the bar. He straightened his shoulders at the sight of Christian.
"Mr Grey," Cal nodded. He swaggered towards Christian and forced his hand out. Christian accepted it, shaking and squeezing his hand hard. "Good to see you again, sir."
"I believe those are mine?" Christian gestured to the keys in Cal's hand. Cal nodded and handed them over. "I have all your wages here. I'll leave you to distribute them. I've already personally given Anastasia hers." He looked towards me and gave me a dazzling smile. I could feel my cheeks reddening.
Cal tensed up a little.
"Sir, can we have a moment alone in the office?" he pointed over his shoulder. "There are some things we need to discuss."
Christian huffed, displeased. He reluctantly nodded and lifted himself upright, adjusting his suit jacket. He knocked back the rest of his drink and offered the glass to me. I hesitated before taking it from him.
"It was a pleasure meeting you, Anastasia."
Cal shook his head and moved back towards the office, refusing to wait for Christian.
"I'll look forward to seeing you again. When are you next working?" he asked me.
"Thursday." I stuttered.
"Thursday," he nodded. "I'll see you then."
"You will?" I swallowed. "Right… sorry, I just… I was told you wouldn't come here often. Not that you shouldn't come here, it's your club… sorry, I'm rambling… Cal said you were a silent partner. He said you were only coming here because Ms Lincoln is away."
He laughed at me. I flushed fire truck red. Why did I say that? Learn to keep your mouth shut, Ana!
He leaned closer to the bar and lowered his voice.
"That was the plan, but it appears I now have a reason to come here more often." He smirked again. "And it's not to admire the upholstery."
"It's…"
"Good night, Anastasia." He turned and walked away from me.
