A Fifty Shades Prequel. Author's note: Reminder, these scenes are set four years before Fifty Shades of Grey.

Chapter Two – Mrs. Jones ~ Thursday . Escala luxury apartment building

Thursday at 1 O'clock… my phone rings

"Grey," I bark into the phone.

"Mr. Grey, its Gail Jones. I have just arrived in the garage and will be right up with the groceries."

"Excellent, I'll be waiting for you."

I phone down to let the concierge know Mrs. Jones has arrived. "My new Housekeeper has arrived. Please, bring her packages up, now.

The Escala doorman in his sharp black livery with Gold trim holds the door for Mrs. Jones. His name tag proclaims him as Mr. Avery. He follows pushing a luggage cart overflowing with colorful cloth grocery totes. She's bought out the store; I'm glad I sent him to bring everything up.

Mrs. Jones' feet stand still on the threshold, but her eyes are running as they roam over the expanse of the great room, pausing a moment on each feature… the paintings, the glass wall, my grand piano… taking it all in.

"Where would you like them, Ma'am?" Mr. Avery's words bring her back.

"Just put them on the counter, please." She follows him to the kitchen.

"Do you need anything else, Ma'am?"

"No, thank you. You've been a great help, Mr. Avery."

I walk Mr. Avery and his luggage cart out, discretely palming him his tip.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Jones has immediately started emptying the first bag into the big stainless steel refrigerator. Several more bags rest on the granite counter top. The six burner commercial gas range with black cast iron grates on top, contrasts with the stainless appliance fronts.

She looks up from her task. "Welcome to my home, Mrs. Jones."

"Thank you, Mr. Grey. It's lovely."

"Thank you," I say quickly.

"Give me some time to put everything away and get dinner organized, please."

"Certainly. Make yourself at home. I'll be in my study… down this corridor… if you need anything." I point.

"Thank you, sir. I'll be fine."

"One thing, Mrs. Jones, I won't tolerate wasted food. Please plan accordingly."

"As I expected, sir."

"You did? Pray tell, Mrs. Jones?"

"I Googled your name, sir, then your companies. I found Grey Food Services policies. Such a policy could only have come from the top."

"How so?"

"Healthy meals are available to all employees for minimal cost… it's really a token amount. So food services is intended as a loss leader. A contracted vendor would always be trying to cut corners to make a profit. Peelings, organic matter and unavoidable food waste is diverted to an Urban Garden project for composting.

Unused food is donated daily to a local homeless shelter."

"Grey Food Services serves wholesome fresh food, procured locally when ever possible, supporting the local economy, improving freshness, reducing shipping costs and use of fossil fuels." I quote from the folio.

"That's quite a mission statement, sir."

"I suppose it is." I pause…

"I expect my employees to give their best efforts. I can't expect that, if they are hungry. 'A great place to work' isn't just a slogan."

"If I may be so bold, sir, I find it surprising that you have such extensive food services for your employees but not at home."

"That is the point of our venture here today, Mrs. Jones."

"Indeed it is. I'll see to it, Mr. Grey. I'll get back to organizing your kitchen, sir."

"Very well."

I've been busy working at my desk. A couple of hours have flown past. I go and check on Mrs. Jones. Focused on her task, she jumps when I appear, unannounced.

"How are you making out, Mrs. Jones?"

"Very well, sir. I have the kitchen under control now. I've located everything important. I was just transferring bulk items like flour and sugar into containers."

"What's all this?" I ask as I eye a stack of smaller plastic containers.

"Food storage containers for the 'fridge. I just finished washing them. I always wash new containers before use to be sure there's no manufacturing residue."

"Good thinking, Mrs. Jones." I pause. "Would this be a convenient time for me to show you around?"

"Yes, certainly."

She puts aside her linen apron and follows me.

"This is my Master Suite."

"May I, Please?" she asks as she moves to enter. She stands in the center of the room, her eye taking in every detail.

"My closet" my arm sweeps in that direction.

It's not just a closet but a dressing room with built-ins. She disappears inside to have a good look around.

"My Bathroom."

She makes a circuit of my spacious bathroom, sizing up the soaking tub, oversized walk in shower and the spaces for supplies. She checks the towel racks and opens several cupboard doors.

"My study, obviously."

She peers in quickly. My laptop sits closed on the dark wood desk. The printed reports I was just reading sit face down with my pen on top. Two monitors sit on a side desk. My executive black leather chair stands as I left it. Two modern grey leather chairs facing my desk. There are wood front filing cabinets and book shelves. One complete wall is glass with a stunning view of Seattle.

As we re-enter the hallway, I point through the next doorway. "My library." In the center is my billiards table with an ornate stained glass lamp hung overhead. There are a pair of comfortable winged side chairs with a small table between them… the walls are floor to ceiling book shelves all neatly cataloged.

Mrs. Jones studies the colorful stained glass lamp over the billiards table. "Tiffany?" she asks inquisitively.

"Why yes, it is."

"It's exquisite, sir."

"Why thank you, Mrs. Jones." I feel myself smile a little. I wasn't the only collector who wanted it but it is hanging in my library, over my billiards table, not theirs. Sometimes, victory is sweet.

Across the hall I point out "My TV and Games room. At my previous place, my brother, Elliot, was fond of coming over," I tell her. "He claimed he came to play pool or games… he always beat me… but I rather think it was to drink my beer and eat my snacks. At some point, I'll have to let him find me at home here." I feel my face smile.

"What kind of beer; what snacks, sir?"

"I hide the good beer, the Budvar. He can drink Coors or Bud Lite. Salty snacks, pretzels or nachos, usually. He'll eat anything."

"I'll make a note, sir."

"My mother, Dr. Grace Trevelyan-Grey, may stop by for coffee… and possibly have my little sister Mia with her." … "Mrs. Lincoln, one of my mother's friends, might stop by for coffee or a drink… I recently invested in her beauty salon."

"What kind of coffee, sir? Do you have a preference?"

"I love a good coffee… I'm not going to tell you how to make it. Think of it as a challenge, Mrs. Jones."

"Challenge accepted, Mr. Grey. What about muffins or pastries?"

"That would be nice, if we have them."

"I'll see to it."

As we cross the great room, "You've seen the kitchen. Do you have everything you need?"

"There are a few things on my list for the future but I have everything I need for today."

"I see you've found the dining room." My eyes point at the large table which she has set one place at the table head for dinner service. It's set off from the great room by an intricate panel of interlocking wrought iron shapes. She follows behind me.

"Your piano, sir." She pauses. "I am experienced in cleaning the exterior properly. I presume you'll want to have a professional tune and clean inside."

"Yes, of course. Any other concerns in this room?"

"No, sir."

I conduct Mrs. Jones up the stairs and stride briskly past the closed & securely locked door to my play room. Some members of the BDSM community call their dedicated play space a dungeon. This is no dank basement! How positively Medieval sounding! It's not a torture chamber. It's a place to explore… with a consenting submissive… the sensuality and sexuality where pain and pleasure merge. As I've built my new luxury penthouse home, I've gathered all the highest quality sex toys and devises for my play space. It's where I will finally be able to express my true self, safe and secure from the outside world.

I open the door at the end of the corridor. "I will have a house guest most weekends. I'd like her room freshened before she arrives on Friday evening." The outside glass wall and its balcony have another spectacular view of the city. I notice, Brandy, my new submissive, has wasted no time in unpacking her things. The bed is now made with a frilly throw in light blue and gold.

"There's a dressing room." She ducks briefly into the adjacent room while I watch from the doorway. The blouses, skirts and dresses are hanging precisely, neatly, from the racks. To the side of the makeup table with its lighted mirror is a rotating makeup tower by a new designer. A closed jewelry case, a few delicate gold chains, one with a Gem stone pendant, some bangle bracelets hang displayed from a stand. A dressing bench, a comfortable armchair, a smaller chair stands by the table.

"There's an ensuite bathroom…" I wave my hand in that direction.

She ducks into the bathroom briefly. I hear some cupboard doors close.

"Do you need these rooms done for this weekend? She sounds a little surprised, shocked even.

"No, Mrs. Jones. That is beyond what I asked you here for today." She'd be stuck working late into the night. I will not abuse her good nature that way. "I'd like you to include this with the rest of your duties, when you start next week?"

"That's fine, sir." I see a flash of relief in her eyes.

"Excellent… My house guest doesn't interact with either my family or my business acquaintances. It's simply none of their business."

Mrs. Jones is off weekends… Brandy would be unlikely to have occasion to interact with Mrs. Jones, either. I know I have breezed over a lot of details with Mrs. Jones but it is 'need to know' after all. I can't imagine why she would need to know.

"Very well, sir."

We go back downstairs. Walking towards the main foyer entrance, we turn through recessed double doors into another corridor. Anyone entering the apartment would have to walk right past it… "This leads to the service elevator and accommodations for on-site staff."

We pause in front of an open door, the first door off this new corridor.

"This is the Security Office for the apartment. The entrances, balconies, garage have Closed Circuit TV and various alarms."

The bank of CC TV monitors occupy one wall. The colored lights of the master panels for the alarms are positioned under them. A large conference table serves as a working desk dominating the center of the room. There are two executive office chairs. The Principle's chair is at the head of the table facing the door. The Security Captain's chair is positioned at the Principle's right hand, positioned facing the monitors as he works. A low filing cabinet and a matching cabinet of shallow drawers are within reach of the Executive chairs. There are several side chairs, some pushed up to the table, while others rest against the walls. A laptop, the remote for the TV monitors, a house phone with intercom, a cup with pens and pencils, a legal pad are on the table within easy reach.

"Are you some sort of a Secret Agent like Double O Seven?"

I laugh. "No, I'm afraid not. My security advisor insists that I can no longer casually go about my business. He warns that my success has raised my profile, making me a potential target of envious people. He personally supervised all the installations."

That's considerably understated, actually. Welch was clear that my success makes me a target for extortion or blackmail. Fortunately, I had already moved on from Seattle's BDSM club scene… the many participants made the risk of exposure untenable. Still, his well intentioned concern is… I should keep my dick wrapped…. not withstanding the NDA and signed contract with my submissive.

"All the perimeter security seems rather superfluous here on the thirtieth floor. I mean, seriously, is Spiderman going to scale the building to break in?" There is the helicopter pad on the roof, though. Welch seems to have this all covered. Somehow he managed to get our cameras installed in the garage without Property Management being the wiser. I bet there's a cloak and dagger story to that.

"He's adamant I need to hire a twenty four - seven personal security person… Close Protection he termed it. The first 'bodyguard' didn't make it past the trial period," I scoff.

"I DO hope we have better success, Mrs. Jones."

"I certainly hope so, Mr. Grey."

Continuing down this corridor, "Laundry room," I say.

With a determined step, she goes inside like she owns it. She closely inspects the laundry machines, their hose connections, a pair of stainless laundry sinks built into a side counter, she opens the doors under them. She steps back and turns around to overview the cupboards & open shelves of neat supplies on the opposite wall. She looks up, noticing the skylight admitting outside light… there's no windows possible in this interior room. It seems her penetrating gaze misses nothing.

"Is everything satisfactory, Mrs. Jones?"

"What's here is fine, Mr. Grey. I'm going to need some additions. An ironing board, something for folding, maybe a table or island cabinette… the right height for me to work at."

"Very well. We'll buy whatever you need, Mrs. Jones. Buy the best."

"Thank you, sir. It's not an emergency. I'll look into it next week, if that's alright with you."

"Yes, good. That's settled."

At the Tee junction of the corridor; "The service elevator is over there." We glimpse it at that end of the corridor.

Turning opposite, I say, "Living quarters for my staff." I step aside so she can go first. There is a lounge furnished with a comfortable couch and lounge chairs, a low coffee table, a huge flat screen TV on the wall opposite a large picture window with another spectacular view of Seattle.

The kitchen is all granite counter tops, commercial grade stainless appliances, another large range, a breakfast bar with four tall stools.

I point to a doorway off the lounge. "There are four staff bedrooms, each with its' own bathroom. You may choose any bedroom you prefer. If you accept my offer, Mrs. Jones, this will be your home. You can decorate, however you wish. You can have the room painted, if you like… I'll cover the expense. These will be the quarters for all future live-in staff. The common area will be shared."

Mrs. Jones, disappears down the hallway to inspect the staff bedrooms. She's gone several minutes, while I sit casually at the breakfast bar. Perhaps she's staking her claim. That would be a good thing; it means she intends to stay.

"Did you choose a bedroom, Mrs. Jones?"

"I did. I'll use the room closest to the kitchen. These living quarters are excellent, sir. They are more than adequate."

"Is there anything additional you need?"

"Nothing strikes me immediately."

"When you've moved in, you may think of something. Please, don't hesitate to let me know."

"I will." Looking at her watch, she says, "I really need to get back to the kitchen, sir…"

A little after six, there's knock on my office door. "Mr. Grey, an appetizer before dinner?" She produces a tray. A little bowl with a fresh pear, cut into slices. A plate with an assortment of delicate crackers with a cheddar cheese. She places it within reach on my desk.

"Thank you, Mrs. Jones."

She doesn't linger. "I need to keep an eye on my cooking."

I give a little nod, dismissing her.

A little before seven, I stealthily approach my dining room. A bit stalkerish, perhaps but I want to see her work. From my vantage point, I silently watch Mrs. Jones as she is busy in the kitchen. She moves smoothly with the confident air of one who's knows what she's doing and has everything under control. She is wearing an off white linen apron with bib to protect her clothes. So many tempting smells. My mouth waters. I silently retreat… just a few minutes more.

At seven PM sharp I enter the dining room. I take my place at the head of the wide table of elegantly figured wood. There is a centerpiece of fresh cut flowers with lit white candles in my platinum candle sticks on either side reflecting on the polished wood. I have dressed for the occasion in my black tux, white formal shirt with black bow tie. I hope this is an occasion… an occasion to celebrate.

The apron is gone. Mrs. Joes is wearing a matching dark charcoal grey sleeveless waistcoat over her sparkling while blouse. She pulls out the chair for me to sit, then places the napkin elegantly on my lap.

"Dinner is served, Mr. Grey."

"The smells are delicious; I can't wait to taste everything," I say.

She pours me a glass of ice water from the cut glass pitcher at hand. "Some wine, Mr. Grey?"

"Yes, please."

"Diamond Creek Cabernet Sauvignon," she announces. She uncorks the California wine and pours a bit for me to taste.

I nod, "Very good."

She pours the rest of my glass with a practiced hand.

"Fresh garden salad with my own raspberry vinaigrette dressing." The dressing is on the side in a glass decanter.

I lift my fork and begin to eat. There is lettuce, spinach greens, cut up pea pods, cucumber, onions, tiny tomatoes, a sprinkle of shredded cheese. The dressing is very tasty. Mrs. Jones is talented.

"We have eye round roast beef for dinner, sir. Oven roasted potatoes. Broccoli with garlic butter and honey glazed carrots."

Mrs. Jones, clears my salad plate and returns to place my dinner in front of me. It is everything it's promised to be. I clean my plate.

"Everything was delicious, Mrs. Jones."

"More wine or coffee, sir?"

"Coffee."

"How would you like it, sir?"

"I enjoy my coffee several ways. Tonight, I'll have it black."

"For desert we have fresh baked apple pie. A la mode, sir?"

"Why, yes, thank you." She presents me with a large slice of apple pie, a woven top crust done to a golden brown, a large scoop of rich vanilla ice cream. The pie smells delicious and tastes great. It brings back memories of Grandpa Trevelyan patiently teaching me grafting and planting in his apple orchard. I barely spoke a word but he was so patient with me.

"I taste a hint of cinnamon."

"Indeed you do."

"I was just thinking of my Grandfather's orchard when I was young and my mother baking apple pies with the fresh apples."

"It sounds delicious. I had no idea. I hope you like your pie, sir."

Taking another bite, "Your pie is excellent, Mrs. Jones. It rivals my mother's." Nothing could equal a mother's pie… because of the love baked into it. Perhaps someday, I'll be worthy of it. This pie comes very close.

I finish my meal. "Everything was excellent, Mrs. Jones." I rise so she can clear… it occurs to me, she hasn't eaten. "Mrs. Jones, your dinner?"

"I'll eat in the kitchen, sir. It's customary."

"Very well." I leave the room so she can eat in peace.

Mrs. Jones busies herself in the kitchen. I presume she's eating and putting food away.

"Mr. Grey, I have everything cleaned up and put away. Do you need anything else before I go?"

"Well, I have to say, that was a fine meal. Prepared in my home and served at my own table, just as I wanted. I'm delighted. I'd like your two week trial period to begin Monday."

"Sir, I may have overstepped my bounds a bit. If so, I apologize. It will be three days before I start on Monday and you had said there was no food in the house except what I was bringing! I couldn't just leave you without any food at all for the weekend."

"You said earlier that you'll be entertaining a guest. Of course, I didn't know that when I was shopping. I don't know if you were planning to go out to eat all weekend or order in or maybe go somewhere completely different. But I couldn't leave you with no food at all here, sir, so I took the chance. I tried to stock up your kitchen as much as possible. I promise, nothing will be wasted. I hope you are not angry."

"I don't cook."

"I understand that. I've sliced the left over roast beef, there's rolls for simple sandwiches. I've prepared a couple of casseroles. There's a selection of side dishes which are already prepared and can be heated in the oven or microwave. Everything has directions… I wrote a note if there weren't directions on the packaging. I left a list with meal suggestions and where to find them. Anything left over I will use next week."

"OKay." I don't sound OK with this… because I'm NOT OK with this. Of course, I don't have to use any of it. Perhaps Brandy has some kitchen skills. That is a good idea. My submissive should take care of all domestic tasks during her time here.

"There's the rest of this pie plus another whole one. You can microwave a piece on a plate if you want it warm."

This is more interesting.

"The snacks are in here, in case your brother visits." She lightly touches a cupboard door.

"That's very thoughtful, Mrs. Jones."

"As I learn your household's routine, I will get better at anticipating your needs." She pauses. "What time would you like breakfast on Monday, sir?"

"From 7:00 AM… but probably closer to 7:30. After I get back from my run and have a shower."

"In the morning, what time may I start in the kitchen, sir?"

"I go out for my run or go to the gym downstairs, about 6 AM though I rarely pass through the kitchen on my way out. You may begin at six… or earlier if you feel you need to."

"That sounds good. After breakfast on Monday, I'll make my grocery list and go shopping during the day."

"I have my things to bring up from my sister's in Portland. May I arrive Sunday evening to get settled in? I would come and go by the service elevator and remain in the staff residence so as not to disturb you?"

"Yes, of course. The concierge will help you. Just let him know."

"I won't have that much. I can manage."

"As you wish. The concierge is always available."

"I have a few things to do before I go."

"Very well."

I get up and head back to my study. I have left the door open. She knocks at the door. "If you don't need anything more, I'm ready to leave now, Mr. Grey. I'll see you Monday morning."

Author's end note: Mrs. Jones had used all the money that Christian Grey had provided her for shopping… which he had intended to include as generous compensation for her shopping and cooking his dinner. Mrs. Jones fully used the two days so she arrived with additional prepared foods and dishes to last over the weekend until she'd start on Monday. Mrs. Jones is rather brilliant, isn't she?