Chapter 7

Anastasia PoV

"Seattle's most eligible bachelor and bachelorette seen on the town together," read the headline of the tabloid I happened to walk past the next morning. On the front page was a photo of Christian and myself arm in arm as we walked to lunch together. There were other photos within the article of him kissing my hand, me kissing his cheek, and him kissing me goodbye outside Steele Designs. I snatched it from the stand, threw a twenty at the guy and ran towards my office. "Thank you for your patronage, Ms. Steele!" the man yelled as I passed.

On the way up to my office, I opened the magazine and paged to the article about me and Christian. I couldn't believe after only being seen in public together one time, there was already a tabloid article about us. Was Christian really that influential in Seattle? Was I?

Can it be true? The long single Christian Grey has landed himself an equally reclusive high-profile mate in Anastasia Steele? Both multi-millionaires under thirty, both devastatingly attractive, it looks like a match made in heaven.

The duo was seen strolling through the streets of Seattle on a rendezvous for lunch. They stopped at a local delicatessen where a witness reports they were seen laughing and chatting together, enjoying each other's company, and the local fare. Then, Grey escorted Steele back to her building, kissed her goodbye, and walked back to Grey Enterprise Holdings.

In a thorough search, neither Grey nor Steele have ever been seen out with a date. Is there love in the air? We think so. Our witness told us that Anastasia gazed at Grey with such adoration and he regarded her as if she were the most precious thing on the planet.

Our fingers are crossed that wedding bells will be in the air for this perfect couple before long!

"Ana!" Kate bellowed as she barged into my office later that morning "Have you read this?" she demanded, holding up a copy of the very tabloid I'd been reading. I held up my own copy and her posture relaxed. "Okay, so what do you think of it?"

"I'm more interested in what Christian will think of it," I replied. "I didn't even know we were being photographed. I didn't even know I was interesting enough to follow. I guess they were following Christian and happened upon me by sheer luck." I decided that I didn't like the article. "I feel violated, Kate. You know how I hate attention, and this is far, far too much of it. What gives these people the right to follow us around and make assumptions based on how we look at each other?"

Like magic, my phone buzzed an incoming message.

Good Morning, Miss Steele. How are you today?

I expected him to ask about the magazine. Perhaps he hadn't read it yet. Or didn't know about it yet.

I'd be better if my face wasn't plastered all over the Seattle Tabloids.

His response was immediate.

What?!

Oh, I could tell he was angry. Good, so was I.

I walked past a news stand on the way to Steele today, and a headline caught my attention. "Seattle's most eligible bachelor and bachelorette seen on the town together." And it had a photo of the two of us from yesterday.

His reply took a few minutes. I figured that he was acquiring a copy and reading the article.

Well, they certainly have us painted as the perfect couple. How do you feel about it?

I had to organize my thoughts. I was still so angry about it, and I knew it wasn't his fault we were followed, but I couldn't shake the idea that if I had been out with any other man aside from him, I wouldn't have caught anyone's attention.

Shock and anger are the first two reactions. I'll let you know as they progress.

A moment later, his reply came.

I'll take care of it.

What the hell did he mean by that?

What do you mean?

My mind reeled with possibilities of how he was going to "take care of it." None of my theories made any sense though. Again, his reply took a few minutes.

I'm a major shareholder of that magazine. They're officially bankrupt.

What? He did what? Captain overreaction, much?

Why on earth would you do that? It was one article; they didn't lay out all of our skeletons, just one measly little story about a lunch date. No real harm was done other than the public being aware of our relationship, or whatever this is. Why, did you want to keep me a secret? Are you ashamed of me?

I sat there panting, hyperventilating, close to passing out as I waited for his reply. Instead of a text message, my phone rang with his incoming call.

"Hello?" I answered, shyly.

"I'm not ashamed of you, Anastasia," he replied. He sounded angry. "Why would you think that? I'd love nothing more than to shout from a mountain that we're together. But I wanted it to be on our terms, not some tabloid looking to make a few bucks on a half-assed story."

Oh, that was news.

"Okay," I replied, not having a clue what to say. "So, will word get out that you took your reaction to the story to the extreme by bankrupting that company? Or will that be kept under wraps?" I asked.

"I'm sure it'll get out sooner or later, though I have my PR people working on that as we speak. They're not very happy with me right now. They said that having my bachelor image changed into 'taken' could be good for me. Apparently the public wants to see me settled down or something."

"I'm not overly thrilled with your reaction, either," I told him. "I can't say what the public thinks about me, as I've no clue aside from today's article."

"Believe me," he replied. "They like you. A lot. Now that they're aware that you're dating, men from all over will be knocking down your door."

"Doubtful," I disagreed. "But I appreciate the compliment. Listen, Christian, I've got to get back to work. I'll speak with you later?"

"Of course, Ana. Have a lovely day,"

"You as well. Goodbye Christian."

I hung up the phone, feeling strangely jubilant and heavy hearted at the same time. It was an odd sensation. Christian had no idea why men were never knocking down my door. Or if they were, why I had never answered it. I debated back and forth over when I should divulge my full history to him, or if I even should.

Granted, he was a man. He was bound to want to go beyond kissing with me. He was going to want to touch me in places I'd never even touched myself. Would I be willing to go past my boundaries with him? Would I even be able to?


Christian PoV

There was even more to Anastasia Steele than I originally thought. She still had a terrible self-image, and all I wanted to do was spank it out of her then fuck her thoroughly. But she was inexperienced. That much I could tell. Her shyness when I kissed her, the way she blushed every time I gazed at her. I had no idea what kind of men she'd dated in the past, but it was obvious that none of them treated her like the queen she was.

As I finished up my business with that decrepit magazine, Welch popped into my office, a manila envelope in tow. "The information you requested, sir," he said, setting the folder on my desk. I thanked him and set about reading the information.

The first document in the envelope was a background check.

NAME: Anastasia Rose Steele

DOB: Sept 10, 1986, Charlotte, NC

Address: 12579 Blakely Pl NW

Seattle, WA

Mobile No: 360-959-4352

SSN: 987-65-4320

Occupation: CEO and Owner of Steele Designs 2010-present.

Education: MBA, Stanford University class of 2010 GPA: 4.0

Masters of Architecture, class of 2009 GPA 4.0

Bachelors of Science, Architecture and Design, class of 2007 GPA 4.0

Father: (a)Raymond Martin Steele: DOB Sept 1, 1963

Mother: (a)Miranda Rose Steele: DOB July 18, 1967

Biological

Mother: Rebecca Louis DOB August 19, 1972, deceased May 21, 1992, suicide.

Biological

Father: not known

Siblings: Katherine Lily Steele DOB May 21, 1992

Ethan Davis Steele, DOB Mar 3, 1988

Political

Affiliations: none found

Religious

Affiliations: Atheist

Sexual

Orientation: not known

Relationships: none indicated at present

Well that last part would be different after having read that blasted tabloid story. Though I wondered if she'd ever had a boyfriend before. She seemed so shy around men, not as much around me, though. Even when I indicated that men were lining up to dance with her at the benefit, or that they'd be lining up around the block, she acted like it was a preposterous notion.

It didn't surprise me that she had excellent GPA across all of her education. She was remarkably intelligent. After knowing how she felt about the article, though, I had to wonder how she'd react to knowing I had a background check done on her. She probably wouldn't be pleased.

I realized that for the first time, I actually felt guilty about it. I'd had countless background checks done for employees and submissives alike. Anastasia wasn't my submissive. I had a large doubt that she ever would be, despite my desires to the contrary. It may be to my benefit to not let her know that I'd had this done.

I moved beyond the background check to the "additional information" that Welch was able to dig up. The next document was a newspaper article, written a few days after she was found with her siblings.

Three young children found near death in their apartment.

Officers responded to a call from a concerned citizen who could hear crying and screaming coming from a nearby apartment. The caller said they'd heard crying before, but knew the young woman who lived there had small children, so they hadn't worried about it. But this crying was on a different level. "The little girl sounded like she was being tortured," the caller said. "I knew I had to call the police just to look in on things. I had no idea what they'd find."

Detective Garland was the first on the scene. She knocked on the door, which promptly fell off its hinges and into the apartment. On the table in the kitchen lay the mother of the three children, lying in a pool of her own blood. "It appeared as though she'd just given birth; given the way she was laying on the table, and the newborn baby crying in the little boy's arms." Garland also found that the young woman had slit her wrists with a pair of scissors and bled out. In the corner of the room were the three children. A young girl who looked no older than three or four, her toddler brother and a newborn.

Garland reported that the girl shrank away from her when she tried to reach out. "She was cowering in fear, and covered in blood. She was barely conscious, but had enough energy to show her fear." EMTs arrived on the scene moments later; carrying away the children after the police took extensive photographs of the scene and the children.

It was evident that the children had been left alone with their mother's dead body for a number of days. No food in the house, little clothing, and no way to sustain themselves. "It was one of the saddest and most grotesque things I'd ever seen. I don't know how the neighbors in that building weren't aware of the horrors that had gone on in that home," Garland said when interviewed after the initial investigation was over.

"The little girl saw the worst of it," she continued. "She had bruises, cuts and scars all over her body. She'd been severely beaten, abused, and neglected. She was so malnourished that we initially misjudged her age. She was actually closer to six years old, when I'd thought she was just over three. Her younger brother was four years old, and the baby born presumably on the date the mother committed suicide. If the neighbor hadn't called when she did, these children would have been dead within hours.

"The only good thing that will come from this is that the children will be placed in a loving home. We already have a couple who are willing to adopt all three children, ensuring they can stay together."

So there is a silver lining over every cloud, no matter how dark said cloud is.

I balked at the article. Anastasia had described that day in relative detail, but reading it from another perspective made my blood boil all over again. The next page in the folder was a medical examiner's report. How Welch got his hands on this, I hadn't a clue, but I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

ME Report May 21, 1992.

Jane Doe, Age unknown, 3-5 guessed.

Girl has severe bruising covering 90% of her body, deep gashes across her back and abdomen. Scarring around her wrists and ankles suggest prolonged restraint with ropes or other implements. Further examination reveals sexual assault.

I closed the folder at that moment, unwilling to keep reading. Sexual assault at the age of five? I knew that was the piece of information she'd held back during our talk on Monday night. And I understood why she'd kept that to herself. It would take a lot of trust for her to be willing to divulge that to me.

At last Friday arrived, and Anastasia was slated to show up at promptly seven pm. Mrs. Jones had made a delicious chicken pasta dish with both cream sauce and red sauce. The garlic bread toasting in the oven filled the rooms with a savory aroma that made my mouth water.

Finally, I heard the tell-tale ding of the elevator, and Anastasia stepped out of the door with Taylor in tow. I thanked him for escorting her up. "Good evening," I said to her, taking her hand in mine and kissing it chastely. She seemed to like that a lot as her cheeks reddened and her eyes widened every time.

"Hello," she replied. "What a lovely home."

"Thank you," I said. "Shall I give you a tour?" It would be a limited tour. I wasn't ready to show her certain rooms yet.

I led her through the foyer and into the kitchen area. As she stepped in front of me, I took the time to gaze over her form. Her hair was braided across the back of her head, in what my sister called a waterfall braid. It then fell down her back in loose waves, a chestnut and mahogany cascade of beauty. She was wearing a black dress that hugged her everywhere. This would be one of those "little black dresses" that every woman was supposed to own. The dress was sleeveless, showing off her creamy skin down to her wrists where she wore thick cuff-like bracelets. Likely covering the scars there.

Her feet were wrapped in sky-scraper Louboutin heels with lace covering her feet and a leopard print fabric covering the back of her heel and they had the signature red bottoms that so many women coveted. I briefly wondered if she could afford to dress herself so well, what on earth I would give her. One of the few things that kept my submissives around, aside from the sex was that I liked to shower them with extravagant gifts. None of them were used to such splendor, so it kept them wanting more. Anastasia wouldn't be that way, I was certain.

Not only did she not give off a materialistic vibe, she was more than capable of showering herself with nice clothes, shoes and cars.

"So, um, this is the kitchen," I began, as she took in the scene. "Mrs. Jones, this is Anastasia Steele, Miss Steele, my excellent housekeeper and gourmet chef, Mrs. Jones." I introduced the ladies, hoping they'd be seeing a lot more of each other.

"It's lovely to meet you, Mrs. Jones," Anastasia said. "Whatever you're cooking smells simply divine." She took a deep breath through her nose, closing her eyes and moaning slightly at the aroma.

"Thank you, Miss Steele. How wonderful to meet you, too." I led Anastasia away from the kitchen, through the dining room and into the living room.

"What a lovely view," she said, ignoring the furniture and heading towards the balcony. "I could just sit out here all day."

"If you like, I could have dinner served out here," I suggested.

"Really? Oh that would be lovely. Thank you," she replied, graciously. So it was possible to impress her. That made me happy. I showed her the living room, a brief look at my bedroom, the game room, and my study. I left the upstairs completely out of it. "What's on the second floor?" She asked. "More bedrooms?"

I simply nodded in reply. It was more or less the truth, there was a bed in two of the rooms, she just didn't need to know what else there was up there. Not yet, anyway.

"Do you play?" she asked as we passed back through the living room and near my piano.

"Yes," I replied. "Would you like me to play something?" She nodded enthusiastically. I led her to the piano bench and sat her down next to me. I began a piece by Bach, one she should recognize if she had any upbringing that involved music.

Her eyes were glued to my hands as I played, mesmerized by the sounds I made. Another thing that impressed her. Good. I tried to remember the last time I played for anyone and came up short. I played for my family here and there, but not very often. I never had played for a submissive, though. Another first. If only Anastasia had a clue of the effect she had on me. How many things had already changed about me, merely due to her presence in my life?

As the song finished, she moved her eyes up to mine. I searched them, finding only wonder and adoration in them. "That was fantastic. Thank you for playing that for me." I reached over and took her hands in mine. This time, she leaned in and pressed her lips to mine. I let go of one of her hands to cup her cheek and thread my fingers through her silky hair.

Shyly, her hand reached up to touch my face as well. She mirrored my actions and slid her fingers into my hair, lightly scratching my scalp. I groaned at the feeling and scooted closer to her. I wanted nothing more than to pull her into my lap and press her whole body against mine. Realizing my desires, she pulled away from me. "Let's not get carried away," she said.

She stood up and headed towards the kitchen where Mrs. Jones was just setting the table and dishing up our meal. Anastasia took one whiff of the food and her eyes rolled back into her head. "You don't play fair, Mr. Grey," she chided.

"I usually don't," I admitted. "But about what in particular?"

"I cooked for you last time, with only a couple hours' notice. And you've had all week to plan a meal, and have your own personal chef to do it for you. That's hardly fair."

"Your meal was amazing," I told her. "Mrs. Jones would be hard pressed to make a tortellini like yours. No offense, Gail." Mrs. Jones had just set down the pitcher of ice water as I'd made that comment.

"None taken," she replied smirking. "Perhaps Miss Steele and I can trade recipes sometime." Anastasia beamed at her, loving the idea.

We dug into our meals, leaving little space for conversation. I think we were both nervous about what was to come. I'd told her that I'd give her more information about myself, which had me practically shaking in my shoes. No one knew the true depth to that side of me, not even Flynn.

After dessert, which was a lovely caramel cheesecake with chocolate drizzle, I escorted Anastasia to the living room. She sunk into one of the couches and I took a seat next to her. I'd broken all my own rules already. Kissed her without having her sign an NDA and was about to discuss a possible relationship with the woman without first making up a contract. This was a really, really big first for me.

"Okay, so on Monday, I told you I'd give you some more information about my past relationships with women," I began.

"You don't have to tell me anything," she replied. I shook my head.

"On the contrary, I do. For you to fully understand me, I need to talk about this."

"Okay," she said, sliding her feet out of her shoes and tucking them underneath her on the couch. She was getting comfortable, expecting for me to jump into quite a story.

"When I was young, I had a lot of anger issues. I hated everything and everyone, including myself. I got into fights, drank alcohol, was doing poorly in school, and horny as hell." Her eyes widened at that remark. "Sorry, I'm just telling it as I remember. As you may know, being aroused and afraid to let anyone touch you is not a great combination." She nodded her understanding. "I needed money to buy more booze and a family friend hired me to do some yard work at his home. He had a younger wife, she was beautiful, blonde, curvy, everything a fifteen-year old boy would dream of having.

"One day, she brought me a glass of lemonade after I'd been working hard for a few hours. I made a smartass remark about something and she slapped me. No one had ever laid a hand on me like that. Not since before I was adopted anyway. It took me aback, it shocked me, and ironically enough, it aroused me even more. Especially when she kissed me right after slapping me.

"To make a long story short, she taught me how to deal with my anger. How to handle being with a woman physically, and so forth. As a result I'm a Dominant." I waited with baited breath for her reaction.

"A Dominant? As in BDSM type stuff?" she asked. I nodded in reply. "Oh." Her eyes were calm and calculating. But I was waiting for the tempest to begin. "I… I really don't know how to react to that."

"Well, I don't know how much experience you have, but I can promise that we'll go slowly. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, and we can go at your pace."

"Christian, sex terrifies me," she admitted. My eyes went wide. "I've never had sex."

"Wait, you're a virgin?!" I asked, disbelief all over my face.

"Yes, I am. I've been terrified of men my whole life. You're the first and only one I've ever let get remotely close to me, both physically and emotionally. I find myself wanting to be closer, but so scared to do so."

I'm reminded of her sexual assault from when she was five years old. I hadn't read the report further, so I didn't know the extent to which she was attacked. I'd already infringed on her privacy enough by getting the report. "May I ask why you're afraid?"

"I was raped," she replied. Well, that was one way to do it, just rip the bandage right off. I was frozen. A statue. "My mother's boyfriend or pimp or whatever he was blamed me for her killing herself. He raped me and beat me within an inch of my life. If the police hadn't arrived when they did, I'd have been dead soon after, I know it.

"Ever since, any thought of physical affection with a man sends fear through my entire body. It wasn't until you that I had any abatement of that fear. I don't know what it is about you that changes my reaction. We're kindred souls in a way, I guess."

"Oh, Ana. I'm so sorry. I had no idea of that. You mentioned you were beaten and abused by your mother and her boyfriends, but I never in a million years imagined that." I was reeling. There was no way she'd ever want to go into my playroom. If she was that terrified of sex, how could she want to do any of that with me?

"I want to try," she said quietly.

"Try what?" I asked her.

"Sex. With you. Tonight," she replied. My mouth dropped open.