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Chapter Eight.

Heading South.

Ana

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As I enter the city of Seattle, I gulp thickly as my eyes and heart expand dauntingly. My eyes are constantly drawn upwards by the metal and glass structures that ascend, powerfully into the sky. They're imposing, impersonal, and what I wouldn't give to see a tree, right about now. I'm obviously missing the familiarity of home and my body know that.

My palms have become slick on the steering wheel, and panic's beginning to creep in. Where on earth am I supposed to start looking for him, in this unfamiliar place? It seemed so easy in my head. Well, not exactly easy. I never gave much actual thought to what I would do, once I arrived here. I just knew that I had to come here, and I had to try and find him, but now what?

After talking to Meg over dinner and explaining everything to her. I packed a bag, gathered a few of my things and retired to bed early. I slept fitfully, all eager and apprehensive for the day to begin, because as soon as it did, I was in my car, heading south. Now, I need direction.

I head further into the hustle and bustle of the strange city, just going with the flow of traffic. I have no idea where I'm headed, or where I'll end up. So, I look around, anxiously, for inspiration. I spot an internet café as soon as my eyes scan the buildings to my left, and thankfully, a vacant parking spot, a block further down the road.

I feel a bit less overwhelmed by my surroundings, once I'm stationary. So, I leave my car, enter the café, grab a tea, a muffin, and situate myself at an empty computer. Where I eagerly log on.

I have no idea how to begin, so simply type, Christian, Seattle, into a search engine and hope for the best. I frown, feeling instantly disheartened as dozens of irrelevant sights are listed. I try Face book, but that's another disappointment as there are hundreds of them, and not nearly enough pictures.

I search the name on the back of the florist's card, and my hopes are lifted, when the accompanying website, gives me an address that appears to be local. It's a starting point, I suppose, and what harm can it do to ask.

I pull out my phone and call the number on the back. Though I don't expect an address. I thought the shop would at least part with a name, but no, the sales assistant informed me, that they are unable to share their customer information with me. Data protection, or something.

I thank her anyway, hang up, and don't allow this hiccup to douse my eagerness. I may not have received an address, but at least I know I'm within his radius. If he used this florist then he must be close. Or at least, work nearby.

As I sit and sip my tea, just staring at the open search engine, that's waiting for me to give it something to do. I realize that I have no idea how to go about this. I know nothing about Christian, so what do I really hope to achieve by sitting here, looking for one man in the midst of a city that I'm so unfamiliar with.

I need help. Professional help. I need someone who knows Seattle and knows how to go about finding the proverbial needle in a haystack. I need someone who can get me information, and hopefully access. I place my cup down, set my hands on the keys and begin my search, for a local Private Investigator.

Once I find a reputable one, and one that's within walking distance. I call the number provided, requesting an appointment, without thinking to much about it. I'm pleasantly surprised, when someone is available to see me later today. The nerves begin to kick in as soon as I hang up the phone, but the excitement soon takes over at the prospect of what could happen with their help.

To kill a little time and stop myself from become too anxious, I order another tea and search through local tourist attractions. Aunt Meg, made me promise, that I would use this time away as a vacation and put some time aside for sight seeing, while I'm on this crazy quest of mine. So, I'm sure a few trips to the local galleries, museums and highlights of Seattle, will interest me and satisfy her. I'll bombard her with postcards and touristy tat. That should keep her quiet and cease her worrying about me.

A few hours later, I have a rough list of places I'd like to visit during my time here, but all those thoughts are brushed aside as the alarm sounds on my phone, reminding me of my appointment.

Gathering my things together, I check the map on Goggle one last time and head out in the direction of the Investigator's office, that's situated, only a few blocks away. I hope against hope, that they can help me, and this won't be a complete waste of time.

Walking into the large, bustling, office block that houses the Investigators office. I quickly spot the main reception desk, where they politely and efficiently, issue me a guest pass, and instruct me to head up to the eighth floor.

Reaching the floor that houses, Grant, Mitchell and Cohen. I step from the elevator and head towards the reception desk. Which, thankfully, is directly in front of me. I take a seat, after I receive a smile of apology from the lone secretary, who is busy on the phone at her desk. As soon as her phone call is finished, she stands.

"Welcome Miss Steele, Mr Grant, will be with you shortly. Can I get you any refreshment while you wait?" she asks me efficiently.

"No... No, thank you." I utter, while clearing my throat.

She smiles with a polite nod as her phone starts to ring again, and I'm left alone in my thoughts as she sits back down at her desk.

I survey my surroundings while I have the chance, and feel my shoulders slump. I don't know quite what I was expecting, but I'm a little disappointed. This office space is quite modern, and sterile. It's all dark granite floors, with light walls and black fixtures, fittings and furniture. Very cold and impersonal.

I've watched a lot of old Private Eye movies with my Aunt Meg - they were a favorite jon-ra of my dad's - They were always full of brooding men in trilby hats, wearing trench coats and hiding under coils of cigarette smoke, and there was always some sexy as hell, femme fatal, leaning provocatively against the door jam. This is nothing like that. This, is like a lawyer's office. A divorce lawyer's office.

The smartly dressed, middle aged secretary, rises from behind her desk, after a low buzz is heard a few minutes later. She approaches me with a bright smile.

"Mr Grant, will see you now, Miss Steele." she says kindly, as she ushers me to a set of large wooden doors to my left. She knocks gently, waiting for a reply, before pushing them open for me.

I smile in gratitude, my eyes holding hers, and as my feet cross the threshold I feel myself trip. I correct myself quickly, before falling flat on my face. Grateful, because what type of impression would that have made? He's already going to think I'm nuts.

My eyes widen as the doors close behind me. The office of Mr Grant, is nothing like I thought it would be from the outside. It certainly doesn't fit in with the reception area I've just left. But this, this is more like it, and I feel the smile on my face, growing wider by the second.

Mr Grants office, is like something out of a time warp. It's old, cultured and full of strange, oddly shaped objects from travels gone bye. One wall, the one behind Mr Grant, is completely floor to ceiling books. Old, dusty books, that I want to browse through. The rest of the room is all dark wood paneling, and even the Windows are obscured by heavy, wooden, slat blinds. They're tilted, giving the room a nice cool, shaded feel and look.

There are two, oxblood leather wingback chairs situated in front of a beautiful but huge, ornately carved, wooden desk. It reminds me of something an old time professor, would reside behind. It's beautiful.

The man behind the desk, stands politely as I approach his desk. He looks at me, from behind half moon reading glasses, with bright, kind blue eyes. I feel my smile, soften as he looks so Grandpa like. He certainly fits his surroundings. He's in his late sixties, I'd guess and when he smiles in greeting, I instantly relax. I shake his hand easily and comfortably.

He gestures with his hand, offering me a seat and I quickly sit and sink back into the soft leather, grateful for the support.

"Miss Steele. How may I help you?" Mr Grant inquires as soon as I'm comfortable.

My throat suddenly tightens, because I have to actually tell this man something, and I suddenly feel very reluctant, and foolish. I take a deep breath and hope that I can get some information out of him before he throws me out of his office.

"I need your help in finding someone." I state simply, but confidently.

"A missing person?" he utters, picking up his pen and poising his hand over a ledger to jot down some notes.

"No, not exactly... Missing." I confess, nibbling on my bottom lip.

"No." he says curiously as he takes off his glasses and looks up at me.

At that moment, there's a soft knock on the door. It swings open, without invitation and the efficient secretary, carrying a tray laden with tea and coffee things, enters the room.

As she busies herself preparing our refreshment, Mr Grant's eyes don't leave me. I can feel them boring into the side of my head as he eyes me with interest. I try and ignore him, by concentrating on the other woman in the room, but I can feel my nerves growing at his silent scrutiny of me.

I try to think of the best way I can, to explain why I'm here. Why I'm in his office, seeking his help, looking for someone I don't know. Without, giving him too much information, and without, sounding crazy, but he doesn't give me a minute. As soon as his secretary has left the room, Mr Grant asks me again, how can he assist me. My cup, clatters noisily in its saucer as I place it down on the edge of his desk, and I feel myself flush.

"Please, take your time Miss Steele." he says kindly, seeing my discomfort.

"Mr Grant, I need your help in finding someone that lives here in Seattle. I don't have much information about him, which is why I need your expertise in finding him." I say, sounding a lot more confident than I actually feel.

Mr Grant, nods purposefully with a compassionate smile, before turning in his chair and fiddling with his computer. "So, what can you tell me about him?" he asks, fingers at the ready.

"Well, his name is, Christian," I state firmly, knowing it's the only real fact I have. "He lives here in Seattle, according to the license plate on his car, which is a flashy, little Audi. He's a professional, I think as he wears a suit, and..."

I look at Mr Grant, noticing that his fingers have stilled on his keyboard and he's frowning at me. "No disrespect, Miss Steele, but nearly everyman that lives or works, in the city is a professional, and they all tend to wears suits. They also tend to drive nice cars."

I sigh heavily, feeling defeated and shrug helplessly at Mr Grant, who's waiting patiently for me to provide him with more information to go on. What else can I tell him about Christian? I don't know anything more about him.

"Let's try a different approach, shall we. Can you tell me what he looks like?" Mr Grant asks me hopefully.

I smile as I envisage the boy I met. "Now, he'd be about Twenty Five years old. I don't know how tall he'd be, but he has brownie, bronze hair, grey eyes and he's..."

"Anyone look familiar?" Mr Grant interrupts, as he turns his computer monitor to face me.

On the screen are Eight photographs. They're all head shots of men that appear to be very similar in age and appearance, but I know who I'm looking for instantly. As my eyes take in every detail of his face, I feel my body tingle at the sight of him.

He's grown to be so handsome.

"Miss Steele?" Mr Grant urges.

"Oh... sorry. There, that's him." I exclaim with excitement, pointing to the hauntingly, familiar face on the screen.

Despite how handsome Christian first appears, the more I stare at his image the more I notice that he looks so tired, and his eyes are so pained and, almost lifeless. I stare at his face, transfixed.

"This man here?" Mr Grant asks as he removes the other images from the screen.

I nod, wide eyed, at the solitary photo of Christian. "He's the person you're looking for?... You're certain?" Mr Grant asks sharply, when I don't reply right away, and it's only then, that I notice he has a cautious, clipped, edge to his voice.

"Yes, that's definitely him. Please, can you help me contact him?" I ask, sitting up in my seat. Barely able to hide the jubilant feeling that's growing within me.

I ignore the hardening of Mr Grant's eyes and tensing of his jaw, even though, I'm unsure of why his demeanor has changed so suddenly, but I'm not really concerned about that right now. He's found Christian.

Christian, who is alive and well, and here in Seattle.

My eyes are drawn back to the computer screen in front of me. My imagination, didn't do him any justice at all. He's grown to be a very attractive, very good looking man, and I'm so glad that I came here and...

"Miss Steele," Mr Grant, retorts firmly, sounding almost curt. I feel my eyebrows lift at his sharp tone. "I don't think that I can help you, I..."

"Why not?" I interrupt sharply, frowning at him, feeling totally dejected by his reaction.

"I'd rather not get involved. I will not be a part of any..." Mr Grant begins.

"Part of what? Who is he?" I interrupt him again, suddenly feeling devastated as his words and hard, set posture, finally register fully and sink in.

I look at Mr Grant closely and he looks angry, apprehensive, wary and if I'm reading him right, almost afraid.

I slump back into my seat, allowing myself to be swallowed up by the leather wing back chair and comforted. Why is Mr Grant, afraid? What could Christian have done, to make this man wary of him?

It suddenly dawns on me that Christian could have grown up to be anybody. Any type of person. I knew a boy for a few days, one summer, who was polite, and fearlessly, risked his life for me and my dog. What type of man is he now? He could...

"Miss Steele," Mr Grant snaps, as he notices my zoning out. I bring my eyes back to his and he continues. "The man you identified is Christian Trevelyan Grey." he informs me, sounding almost patronizing. As if it's obvious that I should know who he is.

"Who is he? Do you know him?" I repeat, needing to know more about the man.

"How do you not know him?" he asks, clearly bemused.

"I met him briefly when I was younger, I knew nothing more than his first name, but tell me, please, how do you know him?"

"Everyone in Seattle knows Christian Grey, he is one of the most successful and influential businessmen in the city." Mr Grant informs me simply, but I notice the slight tremor of fear in his voice.

"Oh." I mutter, dumbfounded, but secretly relieved that he's not some notorious thug or serial killer.

Mr Grant, stands suddenly and walks towards the window. He pulls on the cord to draw up the blind and lets in the bright, mid afternoon sunlight. With a hooked finger, he calls me over to him and points out of the window to a large, glass building a few blocks down, on the opposite side of the street.

"You will find Mr Grey, in that building there." he informs me, confidently.

"Christian, he works there?" I ask excitedly, suddenly nervous at being so close to him. This is going to be easier than I thought. I mentally cheer. Eager to be on my way.

"No, Mr Grey, he, owns that building, and many others."

"Oh." I mutter, realizing this might not be as easy as I first presumed. He is obviously powerful and respected.

"Yes... oh." Mr Grant mutters, sounding a little condescending.

Mr Grant ushers me back to my seat before he closes the blinds. I sit back down and he quickly follows suit, watching me closely. He stares at me, trying to read me, I think. His eyes are delving into mine and I'm not sure what my face is showing as I'm all shook up inside, and I don't know how much of that he can see, but eventually, Mr Grants posture softens and he sighs heavily.

"Miss Steele, may I ask, why do you need to contact him? What do you hope to gain from your meeting with him?" his tone is gently, but he's once again, eying me skeptically.

I hold my tongue, suddenly not wanting to share my past with him. The friendly Grandpa persona has left him, and he's now the Private Investigator, that investigates, digs and delves for a living.

"I just need to speak to him." I reply truthfully, and honestly. I've never even thought about what I would do, once I found Christian. Not passed, saying hello, anyway.

"I don't think you need my help in your search, Miss Steele. Everyone knows Christian Grey. Anyone, will be able to assist you," Mr Grant says as he stands and indicates that I do the same. "Why don't you just pop down the road to Grey House," he continues as I stand and he wraps an arm over my shoulders. "Just make an appointment to see him." I nod, thinking his suggestion sounds plausible, but his walking me to the door is a clear brush off.

"Okay, thank you, for your time and assistance." I say automatically and politely.

"You're very welcome." he replies just as politely, but I can tell he wants me gone.

He wants me out of his office, and he certainly doesn't want to get involved with Christian. Even if he wasn't pushing me out of his office, just short of rude. It's clear.

"Good luck, Miss Steele." he says firmly as the door closes behind me.

I stand in the reception, blindly watching the secretary busy at her desk. I feel a little shaken and confused by what's just happened and as her eyes lift and she notices me, I see confusion, then pity, hit her face and I don't need that right now.

Knowing, that I'm being rude, I ignore her calling my name as I stride to the elevator. As it descends, I fret, over why Mr Grant didn't want to get involved. He clearly knows Christian, yet seems worried, very hesitant and slightly intimidated. Why?

I can't imagine Christian, having that effect on people. I wonder if his perception of him is true.

Only one way to find out. I suppose.

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A/N

Thanks to each and everyone of you for reading. Your reviews are amazing and I'm so grateful that you've taken this story to heart.