I began my excursion into FanFiction when I couldn't find the story I wanted to read and envisioned it myself. I began with a scene from Taylor's POV which mainly occurs out of Christian's sight. I first envisioned that scene as a single one-off and I went ahead and posted it as "A Home Above The Clouds". I'll go ahead and say it: I made a mistake. I later envisioned more scenes from Taylor's POV, including earlier scenes in the time line. Well, what do I do now?

I am posting a "new" Chapter One, "A Fresh Start" into A Home Above The Clouds. I hope the scenes I already posted, which are later in the time line, can be kept and just renumbered. I apologize for the confusion.

Chapter One – A Fresh Start .

In the Escala underground garage, I park my well worn Chevy pickup in the designated space next to a new looking Audi Q5. The Chevy sure looks out of place in these digs. The code on Mr. Grey's business card worked the gate so it looks like I'm in the right place.

This morning, as I left Mr. Grey's office, Judith, his PA, was waiting for me. She entered an override code in the elevator and we were whisked to the first floor and GEH Corporate Security offices. Judith introduced me to Don Johnson, the Head of Corporate Security. DJ, as he's known around Grey House, is middle aged, I'd guess, graying at the temples… and fit. He rose to greet me coatless and as he shook my hand, I noted a compact pistol in the classic FBI carry position inside his belt, next to his ID badge. He has cop written all over him. I'm only surprised to see a Miami detective's gold shield, patch and handcuffs in a shadow box over his desk. It's a long way from Miami.

I'm assigned a small office next to DJ's. It is equipped with a comfortable swivel chair, a side chair and a laptop on the desk. Judith uses the desk phone to help me set up my log in with the I.T. dept. Standing behind me, she leans over me to see the screen. Her mouth is near my ear, her breathe warm on my neck and I can feel her chest against my shoulder as she shows me how to bring up Mr. Grey's schedule. Damn, she's distracting. Is she coming on to me? Is this a sexual harassment test for male employees? I plant my hands flat on the desk top so I know where they are.

"Anything you can tell me about his schedule?"

"It's all here. See here, she points at the screen with a colored nail.. 'Bastille. Here.' That's Claude Bastille, Mr. Grey's personal trainer. Sometimes they train in the gym downstairs here, sometimes Mr. Bastille's gym or the gym at Mr. Grey's building."

"Thank you for that."

I received my ID Badge with my picture marked SECURITY in blue. She gave me the nickel tour of the twenty story mid-city building, all glass and gleaming steel, which apparently houses his empire, ending in the lunch room. I have a turkey and cheese made to order on a bulkie roll, a cup of in-season fresh fruit, an oversize cookie and a coke. It's a treat to have food with no sand in it. Judith turned to me and said, "Don't worry about menu prices. There's a substantial employee's discount. You can eat a full meal here."

"Tell me about that."

Judith lowers her voice as if it's a trade secret. "Company policy… from the top. Nobody who works here ever goes hungry."

Grey Food Services as a loss leader. There must be quite a story behind this.

"How do we pay?"

"Swipe your ID. It's a payroll deduction."

I do and the transaction shows snake eyes. 00.00 I show it to Judith.

"Mr. Grey doesn't make mistakes," she says.

I look incongruous in the garage of this luxury apartment building. With my G.I. footlocker at my feet, I sling my backpack on over my blue suit and summon the elevator. I reflect that I can surely use a regular paycheck. Even a temporary gig would be welcome at this point and I'd save a few days cost of the weekly flea bag hotel where I've been bunking to save money. I generally don't lament my lack of funds. Sophie is my Princess. She deserves the best and Linda is a good Mom despite our personal falling out.

As the elevator door closes and I punch in the code, I remember Mr. Grey had directed: "One more thing, Judith. Please let Mrs. Jones know to expect one more for dinner tonight."

As the elevator speeds upward, I wonder who this 'Mrs. Jones' is. I'm about to embark on a new adventure. I hope it's a good one and better if it doesn't involve me being shot at.

The elevator door pings loudly as the doors open. I kick the foot locker out in front of me before the doors can close again and step off. I look up into blue eyes and am confronted by an attractive blonde woman. She's wearing a beige linen bib apron with a needlework decoration over her clothes. I'm immediately embarrassed by my crude entrance into the foyer of this luxury apartment. I wasn't brought up in a barn… although, at this moment this attractive woman probably thinks that I was. I glance around. The outward wall is all high glass lighted by the sun, the inside resembles an art gallery.

"I'm Jason Taylor." My mind is scrambling for what to say. I fall back on Military discipline. "Reporting as ordered, Ma'am."

"I can see that. I'm Gail Jones, Mr. Grey's Home Manager and Chef."

She sounds a little… what… unimpressed. Well, I can't blame her. Man have I screwed this up. She stares at my olive drab trunk with the famous USMC globe and anchor in black on the cover. She gives it that look, as it rests on her polished floor, as if it was the serpent in the Garden of Eden.

"I apologize, Ma'am. I'm Mr. Grey's new Close Protection officer," invoking the boss's name as if it were a shield. "If you could direct me to my quarters, please?"

I reach to pick up the foot locker and she says "Come back for it. If you scratch my floor, I will hurt you." She takes a breath. "Follow me."

The attractive Mrs. Gail Jones, leads me through double doors, away from the art gallery saying, "Staff quarters are this way." I can't help but notice, her figure is as fine from behind as it is from the front. I drag my eyes away from her legs and try to focus on her words. She's established here and I am the rookie. I sure don't want to be on her bad side. I can't help but think if Sam, the previous Security Operative, ran afoul her, it's no wonder he didn't last.

She pauses in the short hall to point out "the laundry room is here" and pointing to the right "the security office is there." I glance inside the high tech security room lit by the LED screens. I'll be coming back here at the first opportunity.

At the Tee in the corridor, she points to my right, "the service elevator is there." Yup, it's right there. Turning left, we go a short way to a deluxe kitchen and living area. My first glance catches stainless appliance fronts, granite counter tops, a chef's range with cast iron grates and a breakfast bar. The lounge has several comfortable chairs around a coffee table, two smaller end tables, one with a reading lamp, a big flat screen TV on the wall, several tall windows and a door to a modest balcony. "These are our quarters." Pointing to a door off the lounge, "I'm using the closest bedroom. You can choose from the others."

She has an outside bedroom with windows as does the vacant room beyond it. The two interior bedrooms on the opposite side of the corridor seem identical except they have small round skylights instead of windows. I choose the closest of the available bedrooms, which happens to be opposite hers. Simply, if I'm ever called out in a hurry, it's less distance to cover. Extra steps can matter.

The vacant bedrooms are all fully furnished and the bed linens sit in a neat stack on the foot of each bed. I drop my pack on the bed; staking my claim.

When I emerge from the bedroom, Mrs. Jones is waiting with a stainless steel dolly. It's a catering cart.

"Please, use this to bring your trunk."

I would have lugged my foot locker but she's taken pre-emptive action to prevent my bashing of her doors and woodwork with it. She's on the ball, for sure.

"Thankyou."

"Do you have much more to bring up," she asks?

"Another trip or two, I guess." I want to get the rest of my belongings out of the truck sooner rather than later.

"I think it will be easier if you use the Service Elevator." I'm thinking Duhh! "You can borrow a proper luggage cart from the concierge."

"Thanks, again," I say.

"Mrs. Jones, I totally got off on the wrong foot with you. You've been nothing but kind." Her intervention may have saved me from a major faux pas. A disturbing image of her on her knees, touching up scratches in the entry floor, when the boss arrives home flashes in my mind. I might have been dismissed before I was even unpacked. "I apologize for my boorish entrance and thank you for saving me from my screw up."

She seems very self assured but she may have reservations about sharing quarters, if not bunks, with a strange man. I need to reassure her.

"Mrs. Jones, I know you've just had a roommate assigned without your permission or consent. I'd have preferred it if you'd had a choice or at least a prior introduction. We'll have to make the best of it. Let me assure you that I will totally respect your privacy."

"You sure will. Have you ever had food poisoning?" She pauses. Before I can reply, she says: "Or your shorts starched." Surely she's joking.

"I understand."

"Good, then, we'll get along just fine."

"I'll let you get settled in. I cook for all of us. We eat after I serve Mr. Grey his dinner." She turns back to her cooking. I'm off duty so I change into comfortable jeans and a tucked in sport shirt with a collar.

"What can you tell me about Mr. Grey, his schedule. Anything at all I need to be aware of? Any threats?" OKay, I'm trying to butter her up a little. "The truth is, I need your insights so I don't flub up… again… before I get a chance."

"You'll need to blend seamlessly into Mr. Grey's world. If you'll excuse my saying so, your suits look like they've been run hard and put away wet." She says. "I do routine care for Mr. Grey's suits day to day so he always looks his best. Although my degree is in Culinary Sciences, I do a lot more than just cook and shop. I do manage the household for Mr. Grey."

She's not going to back down and further more she's right. While I saved money at the low rate hotel, I didn't pay much attention to my suits. If I had clean Jockies and socks, I was pretty much good to go.

I can't B. S. my way out of this… and would just look stupid if I tried. I look at my clothing hanging from the bar on the concierge's dolly. Bad news never improves with age.

"Thank you Mrs. Jones. You are correct but at this moment, I'm at a loss for what to do about it. I won't get my check for…" I'm thinking two weeks and I'll need funds for Sophie too. I don't want to ask for an advance.

"Let me look at them," she says.

I take the first hanger down and hand it to her.

She looks it over and then says, "Let me see it on you."

"The suits are cut to conceal my equipment." Yeah, pistols, spare magazines, a brilliant Surefire tactical flashlight, sometimes communications or other equipment.

"Alright, that's about fit, not the condition of the suit." She inspects each piece closely. There's a lot of history in these clothes… the story of a man's life.

"They'll look a lot better with a dry clean and professional pressing. Your plastic hangers are alright for shirts but not these suit coats. And don't get me started on wire hangers. These can't hold the coat's shape properly. Each suit should hang and air out at least a day between uses. And be spot cleaned and brushed. I'll send them out, one at a time, with a RUSH order and get the proper hangers."

"You'd do that for me?"

"Yes, I will." She looks down, "Mr. Grey would expect it."

There's subtle shift in the tone of her voice. I study her face to see if I can read her. Is she just being professional or is there something more?

"I hope you have your workout gear. I can tell you, Mr. Grey works at staying fit."

"Yes," I answer. "I see his session appointments with his trainer on his calendar."

"Your information is very incomplete." She almost chuckles. "He runs every morning at 6. Yes, sometimes he sees Mr. Bastille, his trainer, at Grey House. will work out alone." "I'm not aware of any threats; not that Mr. Grey would confide in me."

- 5:30 pm . Escala Penthouse. Sometimes at Mr. Bastille's gym. Sometimes they will use the gym downstairs here or Mr. Grey

"Mr. Grey is going downstairs to the gym."

Thanks to Gail's… Mrs. Jones, heads up, I'm changed and waiting for him when he moves toward to the elevator. I fall into step beside Mr. Grey.

"Okay, fine, come along, Taylor," he says. "I doubt I'm in danger in my own apartment building."

"I might as well start tonight, sir. As much as possible, I need to learn the sights and sounds of your life and the places you go. In the future, if something is out of place, I'll notice."

I accompanied my new boss to the gym in the building's basement, for a workout. Many clients don't like 'the help' to use their facilities, especially when they are using them. Grey didn't seem to care. I stayed out of his way but still managed to get a good workout in. He gave me a few sideways glances when I hung my gym bag within reach on each machine I used… no need to tell him my weapon was enclosed therein. It must remain under my control at all times.

Now, post workout, I've had a shower. Each staff bedroom has a private bathroom with a shower. It sure beats barracks living. It was fully outfitted with shampoo and body wash. The latter is pretty high luxury. There is a stack of clean towels, several grades higher than I'm used to. I hang my used towel on the bar to dry.

I'm keeping busy learning my way around our staff quarters while Mrs. Jones serves Mr. Grey his dinner. I check out some shallow plastic trays on the window ledge. They purport to be cooking herbs: Basil, Chive, Cilantro, Dill, Oregano, Rosemary, Parsley, Sage, Thyme. The plants are just a few inches tall at present. There's a strand of braided cord… reminds me of para-cord… in a bow in front of the window. Tied at intervals are stalks of drying plants. They must have been picked elsewhere, they're too big for these starter containers and I don't see any other.

I end up in the Security Office. I know Fred Welch set the systems up and everything appears to be in order.

Mrs. Jones appears at the door.

"Mr. Taylor, come wash your hands for dinner. I won't call you twice!"

"Yes, Ma'am!"