Chapter 2

Anastasia

Christian's dark hair, slightly copper colored, looks similar to his pictures. When a red-haired woman comes up to him, telling him something privately, I see it's a little outgrown in the back. He wears a crisp white linen shirt, dark fitted jeans, and a face mask embroidered with the GEH corporate logo. It's looks professional, like he's a model. He seems calm, like nothing is out of the ordinary.

Pulling out a white leather chair, Christian sits at the head seat–waiting. Everyone moves to their seats. Niall sits next to me.

Christian speaks to the group, "Thank you all for coming here today. We'll do what we can to make in-person meetings as short as possible. All discussion here should remain confidential." His eyes scan the room. "Taipei Precision wanted to delay the planned August merger. Their revenue is in decline with current oil prices. News of the security breach upset them. They agreed to further discussions later this week."

Christian's voice projects authoritatively–an accomplishment considering the cloth restraint covering his mouth.

Niall adjusts one of the ear loops of his face mask, while slowly moving his head in a nod, he looks uncertain. Does he not trust his boss?

Hmm…noted. Christian turns towards Niall. Our eyes make contact. His gaze pushes me backward into my seat. It's intense. Pugnacious, like he's gearing for a fight.

Heart now racing, I press my palms into the leather and make a silent pledge to never get in an argument with that man. I should keep a low profile. Goosebumps line my arms. I didn't factor in air conditioning when choosing this dress.

Still staring my direction, for what feels like an eternity, Christian says, "Spread out some more," pausing as he waits for people to distance themselves.

I turn to face Niall, who doesn't stir. That's my cue to move–I gather my legal pad and backpack placing it in another seat–glancing between the chairs in a silent attempt to measure six feet. I hope it's okay I'm here. Andrea only mentioned filing.

Christian answers my unspoken question. "Andrea normally takes the minutes," he says sharply. Grabbing my pen, I write today's date on my legal pad and start scribbling notes. Trying to look like I belong, I exhale slowly. It's gonna be a long day.

º-º-º-º-º

I've been writing for the past forty-five minutes, trying not to miss anything. Christian just said something about making decisions with 70% of the information needed. Something called high-velocity decisions. I'm trying to put that in shorthand, when one of the technical guys raises his hand.

"Yes, Jeremy," Christian says, his intensity laser focused on the fidgeting programmer. Jeremy's eyes communicate clarity of thought, yet his insecurity clearly show that Christian's in charge.

"Mr. Grey, how did you get the Taiwanese to uhhh …" Jeremy says hesitating. "Agree to further discussions? Did you..." He stops for a second, picking at his hairline. He pulls a strand out. "Sir, did you promise them something in return? A piece of technology or a new privacy feature?"

Christian's eyes acknowledge Jeremy's concern. His face dips downward and the other programmers lean forward with their hands on the table sitting tight for an answer. I can tell Jeremy's anxiety is genuine. They're no longer having a surface level discussion.

After a long pause, Christian sighs then says, "We'll get to that later."

Turning his head again towards Niall who isn't paying attention, Christian says, "It's important we make a decision here. Niall, take the lead on the contractor proposal."

We make eye contact again. Looking down first, I try to avoid his magnetic eyes. Just looking at him affects my breathing.

"We've started our formal investigation of the security breach." Niall begins, dragging out his words, speaking carefully. "We're considering hiring a third-party contractor to help."

The techies rustle in their seats. They look at each other, making some type of silent acknowledgment. I don't know how to put the unspoken agreement in writing.

Niall stretches his arms out, continuing after a pause. "Ideally, we would like to have a suspect by next week. It's possible it's not even a real hack job, could have been social engineering."

What's social engineering? Everyone else nods, while I just look around dumbfounded.

One of the technies, the one wearing glasses, whispers in my direction. "It means...somebody saw a password on a Post-It or convinced a superior to give it to them." I nod. That sounds sketchy.

Christian remains silent while the others take turns speaking. There are legal questions, technical buzzword-filled statements, and logistical proposals. I barely keep up, trying to write everything down. Christian's glare is so steely. It's hard to detect his emotions. I try not to get distracted by his eyes or my growing desire to see the rest of his face.

An hour, or maybe two, passes and I squirm in my seat wondering if I could slip out to find a bathroom, when Christian finally decides on a break.

This seems like a good time to exit. However, just as I'm about to walk through the door, a shaky hand on my shoulder stops me. It's the tall guy, the one who had been getting close to me earlier.

"Hey Ana! Sorry, I didn't get to really meet you earlier...I'm Ced." He motions to shake hands, and then laughing at himself, pulls his hand back and into his shaggy hair. "I guess we don't do that these days."

I laugh politely–smiling at his honesty through my mask. I'm not sure what to say so I point to the front of room, gesturing towards the subtle argument between Niall and Christian. "Should I be worried about this breach?"

"Nah, Mr. Grey will get it resolved," he says, with a relaxed voice. And then, more nervously, "We should–"

My bladder can't wait any longer. "Excuse me Ced, I actually need a quick break before we start again. It was great to meet you though."

º-º-º-º-º

I glance backwards, seeing no one behind me as I walk down the hallway trying to find the restroom. I pass a metal door on the right with a locked keypad. This can't be it. At the end of the hall is another door, slightly cracked open. Tentatively, I open it all the way, expecting to see a row of offices. Where am I? The floor-to-ceiling windows, the dark wood desk, and the mosaic of small paintings oozes luxury. I move up to touch one frame–when the door opens.

It's Christian. He sees me freeze, in position to touch his likely precious artwork, when I hear him say, "I'll call you back." He had been on the phone, his face mask lowered. I can see his whole face. The jawline, the lips, now exposed and perfectly formed. He would be gorgeous if he wasn't scowling. He reminds me of one of those Russian boxing guys my stepdad watches, the one whose face is always scrunched in a frown.

Putting his cell in his pocket, "Planning to steal one?" he asks in a deadpan tone. His expression blank–while mine is completely flustered.

"No, um. Actually, I went down the wrong hallway." Honesty seems like the best policy at this point. "I was looking for the restroom." The skeptical look on his face compels me to speak further. "It's my first time in the building. I was expecting um, there would be several more offices down here." He nods, saying nothing, giving away no hints of his feelings towards my invasion of his personal office. "I'll just, go ahead and head out then," I say, gulping down air, moving to leave.

"Miss Steele," he calls, and I turn to face him. How does he knows my name? I stare at him for a moment in silence, trying to hold my head up as I wait for a reprimand or a request for a new replacement.

He moves gracefully to the large gray wall behind his desk, touching a small steel handle above crown molding–it opens a room. "Use this one. We're reconvening in five minutes." He walks past me. "Find your way back. Don't be late." He's gone, and I'm alone in his office.

Entering his restroom, I quickly find the toilet and relieve myself. I lower my face mask, feeling the heat on my cheeks. I go through the motions, cleaning my hands robotically until I feel the plush richness of the hand towel that awakens me to my surroundings. The secret room.

It matches the theme of his office. Mostly white, modern art, with dark wood and steel accents. There is a glass shower and surprisingly a full bath. I touch one of the candle arrangements feeling the excellent craftsmanship. He must like fine things.

I move to get back to the conference room-he warned me not to be late-when I get distracted by a large white orchid. I touch the delicate flower and realize there's something behind it. It's a white and gold lacquer box. Why's this here? Maybe toiletries. Despite my better judgment, I touch the latch, opening it. I have to move closer to get see the contents.

Squatting, I lift the lid and gasp. It contains massage oil, three whips, and some weird type of paddle. Who is this man? Putting the box back in its original position, I make sure no one can tell it's been touched. I run out of there, nearly tripping on his coffee table. Spying on him is a bad reason to be late.

My cheeks flushed from embarrassment, I reaffirm my commitment to try to avoid upsetting him. His lifestyle choices, his personality, the source of his charisma, they're all a mystery.

º-º-º-º-º

Making my way back to the conference room, a little frazzled with my new knowledge, I sit and rearrange my notes when a strong voice says, "Miss Steele."

Christian is staring at me, walking toward my direction. When he's maybe four feet away, he stops.

I touch my mouth, despite the face mask covering, and slowly stand to face him. Not sure if he's about to kick me out, I see the others turn their attention towards us. One of the blondes looks at me curiously as he meets me near the corner of the room.

"Did Andrea tell you about the file cabinets?" Christian asks. His steely gray eyes unnerve me.

I nod, shifting my stance. This would be easier if Andrea was here or if I hadn't seen his whips. I reiterate my earlier mantra–focus. Breathing deeply, I look him in the eyes and straighten my posture.

"Yes, I'm Ana by the way." I feel butterflies in my stomach when he calls me Miss Steele, there's something almost sexual about the way he says it.

He stares, waiting for me to continue.

"She mentioned that I would need a list of the requested personnel files. Since it couldn't be sent electronically because of the breach...um...she said someone would give me instructions. As you saw earlier, I don't know my way around yet."

Rugged good looks. A broad chest. No words. The empty glare continues.

For a moment, I wonder if he'll say I can call him Christian. No such luck. Now my lip slightly tightened by his silence, I gesture towards Niall, who's sitting down. "Maybe Niall could show me the file room or tell me where the list is."

Christian looks at me directly for a moment.

I imagine him using the massage oil. Would his hands be strong? His forearms indicate they would be. And, why am I thinking this?

"Kevin, the man with the goggles, has the list. I'll ask him to drop it off at Andrea's desk."

I nod, touching my throat again. This time, it catches Christian's attention.

"Are you feeling ok? You keep touching your throat?" His eyes narrow. Maybe he's concerned about me. No, that's not it. He doesn't want an outbreak of the virus.

"Yes, yes," I say quickly, to remove any of his fears. "Perfectly healthy, no problem here."

His eyes smiling, he moves closer to me, leaving less than a foot between us. Standing stoically, he reaches for my forehead, checking my temperature.

"No problem there," Christian confirms, taking his hand back to the pockets of his jeans. "Let me show you the file room and Andrea's desk. You'll need an access card. We don't need you for the rest of the meeting."

Following him to the adjacent hallway, I shiver. His touch was different than Niall's–more purposeful.

I see a large unused desk, neatly arranged and recently sanitized.

"Andrea's desk," Christian says, bending over to reach into a drawer.

I catch a glimpse at how his pants lightly hug a visibly muscular behind. He must workout.

The drawer has a keypad. Obviously perplexed, he tries one passcode and then another. He scratches his chin, pulls his face mask down slightly, and types another series of numbers. This time the drawer opens, and he pulls a keychain with an ID card pouch out of it. He removes a card from the keychain then puts it back in the drawer. Standing up, he hands me a heavy key card that has a silver chip embedded in it.

Touching my chin, mirroring Christian's earlier movement, I examine the card. What all does this give me access too? The secret bathroom pops back into my mind. Christian studies me for a moment and then sighs.

"The personnel file room requires this access card and it's just down the hallway before my office. The keypad is next to the steel door. Go ahead and get accustomed to the room. The list should be on Andrea's desk soon."

"Thanks!" I say watching him leave, wishing for a moment that he would stay. Kate's rubbing off on me. No such luck, he turns and walks back to the conference room.

I've already turned towards the file room, when I hear him get in the last word.

"And Miss Steele, the employee restrooms are in the entry way in the other hallway near the lobby. Try not to get lost."

My stomach's now knotted. I won't get lost again. Unless, he sends me to other floors. Slipping the card into the slot on the keypad, I unlock the heavy metal door, part of me curious–why does Christian need this level of security? Will there be more surprises besides the paddle in the bathroom?

Staring at the rows of matching cabinets, with shiny handles, I smile wickedly. I don't have the list. I'll need to familiarize myself with what's here. Maybe then I'll get more answers.

º-º-º-º-º

Christian

Christian centers himself with a deep breath. He keeps his face neutral while he listens to Jeremy stutter on about Black Hat methods and end-to-end encryption. There's no time to fall into analysis paralysis. He checks his watch and groans. The Taskforce shouldn't be in close proximity this long. The disinfectant treatment won't be effective if the virus particles linger in the air.

Christian's phone vibrates. Taylor's arriving with takeout. He texts him back, telling him to come in. Food should help bring this meeting to its natural conclusion. If it wasn't for his new commitment to persuasion, this would already be over.

"Food's here," Christian announces.

Jeremy's face falls. The opportunity's lost.

Christian grinds his teeth. He'll talk to the programmer later. This breach is an actionable disaster. It needs immediate fixing and a third party. Bezos might be right. The two-pizza rule might apply here.

Taylor passes out the paper bags with gloves on.

Christian scowls as he checks his tablet. He calculates the rate of return from acquiring virtual worlds. Not good. GEH's other industry groups weren't impacted by the breach–they weren't as vulnerable. His groan leads the other task members to shuffle in their seats.

"Did you want a cheeseburger?" Taylor asks, smiling. Like baseball players waiting for signals, Christian and his head of security communicate via signs. Christian sighs and releases some of the tension in his jaw.

"Thanks," Christian says. He thinks of the golden rules of communication. Important in uncertain times. Find a way to tell his team he appreciates them. The words won't come out.

His employees start talking amongst themselves. Ros's on the phone. Niall's occupied. Escape is possible.

"Save one," Christian tells Taylor. Andrea's employee needs one. An excuse to leave the room for a few minutes. Team building can wait.

Taylor raises an eyebrow, then places another to-go bag on the table.

Christian pulls his mask into place and starts heading toward the file room. Ana sits on the marble ground cross-legged in the closed off room. Her soft features clash with the sharp rows of identical file cabinets. Her bare feet showcase her carefully painted toenails. She puckers her lips, unaware of his presence, her attention focused on her task.

"Miss Steele," he says, surprising her. Ana jumps up, her bare feet emphasizing her real height, making him appear taller.

"Mr. Grey, I didn't expect you here." She looks startled and self-protective. Her eyes rest on his face a second too long. Her lips press together in a tight line. She's suppressing something. "I was going through the list." He steps closer and she cowers some, moving backwards toward the laptop cart. The mixed signals intrigue him.

She bends down. Her feminine bone structure and pale skin remind him of past submissives. Her skin would flush if he used the right pressure. The riding crop. A sly smile forms on his face, as she picks up the folders from the ground and places them on the cart.

"Try these burgers," Christian says, handing Ana the to-go bag. "They're the tech team's favorite."

She examines the unusual restaurant name. Her cheeks redden. She's predictable.

He smirks. He should have ordered her a hotdog. "Dick's Drive-In is famous here." He wants to see if her blush deepens. It does. "You're new to Seattle, right?"

She nods, leaning against one of the file drawers, the stainless-steel handles preventing her from relaxing. Her chest protrudes, as she adjusts her position. Too bad she's staff.

He wants to reduce his dependence on background checks. She takes a bite of the burger. She doesn't try to seduce him. Other women have in similar circumstances. He tries to guess her age, her interests, her background. Twenty-one? Not much older than when he started GEH with Elena's initial investment and a distribution from the trust Grace set up for him. He bought a failing military contracting business, which lost its primary contract after a scandal and turned it into an empire known for its telecommunication holdings. He chuckles thinking back to the beginning. He was angrier, full of Testosterone.

"Good luck," Christian says, dismissing her. He heads to his personal office.

"Thanks!" Ana says, as he leaves. Her voice is light and cheerful. It contrasts with his dark thoughts.

He walks towards his office and swings open the door. He remembers his first merger, back when GEH was a boutique consulting firm instead of a corporation. It was between two telecommunications companies who were trying to offer online payments for new customers. He tried to reason with one angel investor, to sell the idea to him. Didn't work. The rich fool told him to go back to college.

Christian passes the sitting area that no longer gets used. He maintains complete control in all things. No lip biting will change that. He sits at his desk and notices 20 notifications on his chat box from his political advisor, Gerald, a lobbyist and lawyer in Washington D.C.

The lobbyist's messages badgering, trying to communicate urgency. Leaning into the screen, Christian reads the backlog. There's been a police officer involved shooting in Minneapolis.