NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: THIS 'CHAPTER' GIVES US A LITTLE INSIGHT INTO ALICE.

ALICE'S POV:

I watch them, from my vantage point behind the bar. They're back again, the second time this week. Doesn't she ever cook? She's wearing an even fancier dress than last time, and more jewelery; the diamonds in her ears catching the candle so light seems to dance around her, dance off her. He's captivated as he always is. He leans in like she's made of light herself, as enticing as an open fire. He seems to warm himself on her, drink her in.

She throws her head back in a hearty laugh. I make mental notes; a study of Mrs Grey. I will become her when I get home, as I do every night, practice this new move in front of the mirror.

He brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and he's rewarded with a coquettish little smile. I find my own mouth mirroring hers. He draws her hand up to his mouth, brushes his lips over it. I feel my stomach knot in jealousy. What has she got that I don't? I look at myself in the shiny brass of the beer tap. Mr Grey, that's what she's got. But not for long...

I shock my mom into silence when I come down for breakfast a few days later. She just looks at me and then at my hair.

"Alice. What have you done?"

I roll my eyes, just like Mrs Grey does sometimes which always inspires a hooding of Mr Grey's eyes. He finds it sexy for some reason, I have noted. And the biting of her lower lip. That drives him crazy. I'm perfecting that. I'm almost there.

"Nothing, ma. Just dyed it brown. And waved it a little." The disappointed look she's giving me is really starting to grate. "Don't you like it?"

"It's not that, honey. It's just, you look..." She runs her hand through her own platinum mane. I wait for her response. "Ordinary." I roll my eyes again as I lean over her to reach a piece of toast.

"I think it looks classy."

"Well, yes..." I bite into the toast and turn away.

"Gotta go. I'm gonna be late for class."

He was, without a doubt, the sexiest man I'd ever laid eyes on. It wasn't just his looks, it was the power he wielded, the confidence he possessed. My eyes followed him as he walked past me and I found myself shrinking back, not wanting to be noticed in my work uniform which did absolutely nothing for me. The black skirt was an awkward length, the white shirt too baggy. And that waistcoat? Big and boxy. I didn't want him to see me like this. I needn't have worried - his gaze passed over me, as if he hadn't even taken me in. He only had eyes for his wife, according to Ashleigh. That was evident by the way they were acting as if they were the only people in the room, the center of each other's universes.

I asked Ash about them when we were tidying up. His name was Christian Grey. He was CEO of a massive company, apparently. A billionaire a few times over. In his 40s. She was Anastasia, she worked in publishing, was an editor or something. That was a hard piece of info to digest. Not only did she have my dream guy, she also had my dream job. A spasm of jealousy gripped me.

Ash was surprised I didn't know about them – they were always in the papers, attending galas and charity balls. I never liked reading those parts of the paper; I always felt like my nose was getting rubbed in it.

Anyway, she'd said, eyeing me suspiciously as she tipped away the muddy liquid from the beer trays, don't get no funny ideas - she knew me so well. They've been happily married for over two decades. For me, this just added to the challenge.

I googled Christian Grey as soon as I got home then applied for a secretarial course the following day.

All of the parts of the plan I had formed when I first saw him, my plan to take Christian Grey, were coming nicely together. My month-long secretarial course was nearly up and I was ready to send out my resume for the post of Assistant that had just been advertised. I looked on-line daily for any role I could take in his company, just to get my foot in the door, be noticed. Of course, I had to massage my resume a little, add a few fake courses, make myself more attractive. But I didn't even need the job. I just needed a few minutes alone with Christian.

Then all that was left was to hand in my notice at the restaurant, dye my hair and perfect the becoming of Mrs Grey.

She stumbles as she enters the restaurant and he's by her side, supporting her, holding her up. My body takes another wave of jealousy, which sweeps like nausea, through me. She's laughing at her clumsiness in a self-deprecating, embarrassed way but he seems enthralled by it. He whispers something in her ear and he starts to laugh, join in on a very private joke. I grip the bar, my neat nails grooving imperceptible semi-circles into the real wood. She regains her composure and follows her husband to their table. I take it all in, to be used back on him when we meet for my interview next week. My muscles clench at the mere thought.