There's nothing to be afraid of here.
I had to repeat that mantra to myself over and over on my across the lot and several times as I ascended to Grey's office on the twentieth floor of Grey House. I know that I'm in no real danger in this stark and somewhat intimidating place. Too many smartly-dressed men and women roaming the halls as potential witnesses. Though Christian Grey owned the place and could fire them all at will, I doubted he'd be willing to endanger his business interests on a mere whim to kill me.
It didn't stop the frenetic pace of my heart as the elevator doors dinged open on his floor.
The doors dinged open on a large lobby, which is just austere as the first. Steele, marble, and glass compose a utilitarian landscape that's the perfect urbane hunting ground for our Patrick Bateman-wannabe.
A white sandstone desk dominated the space, manned by a blonde. Not overtly strange, in and of itself, but hadn't the receptionist on the ground floor also been blonde?
A quick glance around revealed most of the employees currently at work were statuesque and blonde. Kate would have fit right in. The idea had possibilities, if this initial gambit failed. Neither Elaine nor I would relish putting her in that position, but it beat the hell out of letting Grey continue his spree of alleged homicides.
It did beg the question of why. It couldn't possibly all of his staff, or he'd be leveled with workplace discrimination in a New York minute. Still, he seemed to have clustered them in the places where he, specifically would be working. Had Leila been mistaken about his type? Or maybe the contrast was the point. An attempt to avoid mingling business with pleasure.
Or more frankly, maybe Grey just didn't like to shit where he ate.
"Miss Steele, could you wait here, please?" the receptionist flashed me a professional, Colgate-White smile and directed me toward a small waiting area filled with white leather chairs.
Behind that was a glass-walled meeting room dominated by a walnut table and a row of matching chairs. A floor-to-ceiling window would ordinarily have allowed a peek at the Seattle skyline, but our view of the Sound was blocked by a dense wave of fog and the ever-present patter of rain.
He's not going to hurt you. Not yet. Calm down.
The instructions were difficult to follow, even though I knew they were necessary. I couldn't go in too scared. A twitching rabbit unaware of the hawk, instead of a gazelle about to run the opposite direction at the first sign of the lion. Too much fear and he'd know I was a plant.
So I dragged in deep breaths, clutching at the pre-written list of inane questions specifically crafted to make me look like a flustered incompetent, and watched the droplets slide off the window and into oblivion.
In no time at all, another put-together blonde appeared in the lobby and approached me with a soft smile and a demure;
"Miss Steele? Mr. Grey will see you in a moment. Would you like a refreshment before you go in? Water? Coffee? Tea?"
I'd have killed for caffeine at the moment. I was parched. You know, on account of all the terror, and needed something to assuage the stress headache blooming between my eyes. But coffee and tea would stay on my breath. No one liked coffee breath.
"A glass of water would be fantastic, thanks," I murmured, dropping my gaze from hers as if sheepish.
"Olivia, please fetch Miss Steele a glass of water," the receptionist (I thought her name was Celia, but couldn't be sure as I'd only gotten a glimpse of her name tag once) said, voice stern. She turned to me seconds later, the Colgate smile in place once again. ""My apologies, Miss Steele, Olivia is our new intern and it's her first week. Please be seated. Mr. Grey will be another five minutes."
Olivia scurried away, appropriately chastised for the non-existent transgression. I was beginning to really dislike Maybe-Celia. It sounded like Olivia was going to have a miserable couple of months beneath her.
Olivia returned, shamefaced, with a glass of iced water.
"Here you go, Miss Steele."
"Thank you."
I wanted to say more. But what was there to say that wouldn't completely blow my cover? I sipped my water nervously, waiting.
The only thing that kept me from jerking off of my leather chair at the sound of the office door's opening was the sheen of sweat that plastered me to the upholstery. The man who exited was tall, African-American, and looked as if he could be modeling the Versace tux he wore on any reputable runway. He exchanged a few words with Grey, laughed good-naturedly, and then strode confidently toward the elevator, which Olivia rushed to open for him.
He flashed me a cheeky smile and a hello before disappearing into the relative safety of the elevators.
My turn. Gulp.
"Mr. Grey will see you now, Miss Steele. Do go through," Maybe-Celia said with a supercilious smile, gesturing toward the door.
My knees were knocking so hard I could barely stand. Now was the moment of truth. Lives were hanging on my ability to find dirt on this man. I wasn't cut out for this. Not by a long shot. I wasn't tough-as-nails Elaine, with her sturdy strength and ready wisdom. I wasn't brassy and outspoken Kate, who'd have seized Grey by the balls and shaken him like a terrier until the truth fell out.
I was just Ana Steele, apprentice wizard, who preferred theory to real life and aspired to be an alchemist or a healer.
But I was all we had. So I pushed the doors open and stepped through.
Or tried to step through. The floor was slightly uneven, and my shaking legs didn't take the change in height well, folding like a weak hand of cards. I fell face first onto the smooth wooden floor. My knees stung, my hands throbbed dully, and my cheeks flamed. I'd be red as a fucking fire engine soon. Traitorous biology linked frustration and anger to the blushing reflex, making poker faces impossible when I was flustered or furious.
Gentle hands gripped my biceps, pulling me up. My skin tingled upon contact and I dragged my gaze almost unwillingly toward the face of Mr. Grey. When our eyes met, I went still immediately, a doe in the headlights. I couldn't move, too terrified to unlock my aching muscles.
Christian Grey was devastatingly handsome. Tall, with lean muscle evident beneath his starched white shirt and gray tux. The chiseled face of a Greek statue, pale, flawless skin. Young. Attractive, with unruly copper hair. But it was the eyes that froze the breath in my lungs.
Shrewd, pale gray eyes bled to silver, even as he gazed down at me with naked Hunger in his gaze. We'd misjudged the situation badly. Perhaps even fatally.
Christian Grey is a White Court vampire.
Fuck.