Monday, December 12, 2011


Chapter I

Just as I dismiss Claude Bastille, he turns on his heels at the door and grins “Golf, this week, Grey,” he says, rubbing in the fact that he can kick my butt in the golf course as well.  He’s one of the best mixed martial arts instructors there is, and trains me very well as he should since I pay him well for his instructions. He kicks my butt on the matt often as expected though I give him a run for his money. He was an Olympic contender.  I’ve been working out with him every day in the last two months since I have to spend all my excess energy. Although he used to kick my butt five days a week before that. I reserved other kinds of work out for the weekends. If I could kick his butt to the floor once or twice a week, that would be the highlight of my day.
Though I don’t like the pace of golf, it’s the game of businessmen, I endeavor to do well in it, and as it happens, often business deals are reached at the golf courses. I scowl and look outside from my twentieth floor office’s floor to ceiling windows. The weather is gray as my mood, unpalatable. I have everything under control, but it has been an ordinary existence for me lately. I haven’t had a diversion in the last two months. No exciting challenges and nothing has captured my interest.  Everything is orderly, and all my affairs under control.
The phone buzzes. “Yes, Andrea?”
“Mr. Grey, Miss Anastasia Steele for Miss Katherine Kavanagh is here.”  I hate surprises. I should not have agreed to give an interview to WSU magazine, but then Miss Kavanagh had been quite persistent, and she comes from a business family, whose father I can do business with in return of this favor. But someone else shows up in her place? I’m petulant like a child to Andrea.
“I wasn’t expecting a Miss Steele. I was expecting Katherine Kavanagh!”
“It’s Miss Steele who is here, sir,” she says.

I grumble, “Fine! Send her in!”

Less than a minute later the door opens, and a tangle of chestnut brown hair, pale arms, a messenger bag, indistinctly dressed pale legs in brown boots roll into my office floor sprawled headlong. Although I hate clumsiness, courtesy demands that I go and help her up, and reach out and get her into upright position holding her slim shoulders. As she stands up, I meet the brightest blue, shy eyes capture mine as a jolt of electricity halt me in my tracks. She looks at me, through me, as if to dig into my soul, unnerving me, as if shining a light to the depths of my being and pulling it to the surface.

She blinks, blushing after noticing my face. I grimace, but quickly smile. It’s always the same. Women react to my face that way, tongue tied.

I extend my hand, deciding to have fun. “Miss Kavanagh. I’m Christian Grey. I hope you’re alright. Would you like to sit?”

She blushes, her pearlesque skin changes color to her hairline blushing, bringing her gaze down, her ponytail nearly undone with the tumble she took, her voice stutters briefly as I receive her tiny hand in mine. I feel a jolt of electricity with her touch! Wow! She must feel the same way because she looks as if she got shocked and withdraws her hand with a slight gasp.

“Miss Kavanagh is indisposed. She sent me. She isn’t well. I apologize for the change in the last minute Mr. Grey." Her voice sounds musical, her long lashes cast a shadow over her blue eyes which are downcast again in that shy manner.
“And you are?” I coax the words out of her.

“Oh, I’m Anastasia Steele. I’m studying with Kate.. uhm… Katherine, uhm.. Miss Kavanagh at WSU.” She stutters and stumbles over her words. I’m amused. There’s something about her. She’s a brunette too. As she casts her eyes down again, I can see she’s nervous and extremely shy. She can’t even meet my eyes, she just looks around, anywhere but me. I fix my gaze on her, already feeling a distaste of her indistinct A line skirt, shapeless blouse, and cheap boots. All of a sudden I imagine her in silk and satin; I don’t even know where that thought came from. I can’t imagine her to be a journalist with her demeanor. She doesn’t have a single decisive, emphatic bone in her body. She’s too shy, too compliant, too forbearing… too submissive.  I take a sharp intake of breath. My mind is wondering, and before I can point her to a seat she gazes up at my painting, and looks at it admiringly. I feel compelled to explain. “Local artist,” I say, “Trouton.” I don’t even know what made me explain that, I wouldn’t ordinarily care.

“Lovely,” she speaks slowly, “raising the ordinary to extraordinary.”  I was surprised to hear those words out of her so simply and eloquently, as that was my exact thought on it when I purchased it – in a way, she is extraordinary out of the ordinary.

“Yes…” I find myself saying while gazing at her intently. She flushes all over again, as my thought wonder how her derriere color would change with the bite of my twitchy palms. I don’t know where that thought came from; I slightly shake my head, and see her making an attempt to set up her outdated mini-disk recorder on my very expensive coffee table all thumbs dropping it repeatedly. Though I find clumsiness irritating, I find hers to be endearing, and try to hide a smile behind my index finger.
What the f*ck! How did I not notice those lips and she’s biting her lower lip in her frustration trying to set that antiquated machine up! What I would love to do to that lip! I can’t get my gaze off of it, and my mind is wondering in all directions going crazy! I just want to reach up and release that out of her bite and put it in my mouth! I close my eyes, and take a slow breath as she finally sets up her recorder, and I am chiding myself in my head for thinking like an adolescent boy as she mutters an apology for not being used to that recorder which I could care less; I’m too engrossed watching her bottom lip.

I tell her to take her time giving myself time to gather my errant thoughts.

Once she sets her recorder up, I’m disappointed by the questions she’s asking. They’re mundane, ordinary. Why am I spending my time to answer such questions?
She’s flustering again noticing my distaste, and disappointment.  After hearing my answer to her question she mumbled, “You sound like a control freak.”
What the f*ck? How right you are baby! If only you knew. I tell her looking at her intently “Oh, exercise control in all things Miss Steele.”  I would love to subdue that smart mouth of yours right now! She blushes again biting her lip.

She asks me a question about power; I can tell she finds me arrogant. I give her an answer which pops her mouth open. She then asks me of my interests outside of work to “chill out.” I tell her most of my interests except my two most favorite both of which would include her right now. In fact I am envisioning her tied up on my poster bed in my playroom. What the f*ck! Where did that image come from? She asks me a few other questions which are public information. Didn’t she even do her homework before she came over to interview me? Ridiculous!
Then she opens her mouth and asks me the question even my family didn’t dare to ask; what's in everyone's mind, but no one worded it before:
“Are you gay Mr. Grey?” What the f*ck? How dare she?
I would now love to take you over my knees and beat the living shit out of you had you been mine with that question! I slightly change colors, but compose myself. I answer firmly: “No Anastasia, I’m not!

She has the decency to look painfully embarrassed. She flusters.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Grey. It… uhm.. the question was written…” pointing to her notes, “right here?”

“Didn’t you compile your own questions?” She looks chagrined.

“No, Mr. Grey. Kate, uhm… Miss Kavanagh did,” she replies flushing.

“That explains the questions. Tell me, how did you end up interviewing me if those are Miss Kavanagh’s questions?”
“Uhm… I was drafted. She’s my roommate, and she’s very ill.”
All of a sudden I feel much better. “Well then, let me ask you some questions. It’s only fair after your less than informal, more so personal questions.” She flushes and flusters fidgeting in her seat. I look at her pointed, yeah, I like to get you squirming, and subdue you baby! There she goes again biting her lower lip. I just want to reach over and thug that chin so she stops doing it, or else I will f*ck her over on my coffee table… Calm down Grey, I tell myself.  
I ease myself back into my chair, and rub my lower lip with my index finger. She fidgets more. Ok, she’s not a lesbian, and not immune to my charms.

Andrea comes in after knocking the door. “Mr. Grey, your next appointment is in two minutes.”

“Cancel my next appointment Andrea!” I say, and she freezes in her place. “Sir?”

“I said cancel it,” turning my head to her gaping mouth, face getting red. Anastasia is getting ready to leave, and packing her things saying, “I don’t want to alter your schedule Mr. Grey.” At least Andrea has the decency to finally realize my command, and says, “yes sir.”

“You don’t have to leave right away Miss Steele. I can give you a tour if you like.” She’s ready to bolt.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that for me Mr. Grey,” she mumbles.

“Miss Steele, what are your plans after graduation?”
“I haven’t thought that far Mr. Grey. Just trying to get through my finals.”

I find myself offering her a job; I’d never do that, “you can apply for an internship here.” What the hell is wrong with me, she’s too young, and I have a policy to never f*ck  the staff. But she’s not staff yet.

She dismisses my offer. What’s wrong with my company?

“Why not?” I ask her.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” she asks as if it’s common knowledge, and takes her bag and stands up. Not to me! I rise up, and walk to the door smoothly, opening it for her. I don’t want her to trip over her own feet on her way out, indicating my intention, and she grudgingly thanks me as I smile.

Both Andrea and the intern’s mouth agape as I walk Miss Steele out. I ask her if she had a jacket, and the intern rushes to get it for her. I grab it out of her hand, put it on Miss Steele. My hand is on her shoulder just a second too long and I feel the jolt of electricity again as I know she does as well.

“Goodbye Anastasia,” I say. “Goodbye Christian,” she says as the door closes.

I turn on my heels, and order Andrea:

“Get Welch on the line!” A minute later he’s on.

“Welch! I want you to do a background check for me.”
“Yes sir. Name?”

“Anastasia Steele. I need it ASAP.”

“Yes sir.” I hang up. Now I wait. And I don’t do waiting. I have to give myself time to see if I still want her in a couple of days. She is too young, and looks too inexperienced, but how fun would it be to teach her. I hate waiting.

A couple of days later I receive her detailed but nondescript background check. She’s 21 years old, works at a hardware store part time, has 4.0 GPA, but it says nothing about her past or present relationships. Even though few days passed since she had interviewed me, I can’t get her off my mind. I have to find out. I dial my assistant.

“Andrea, book me a place in Portland, for tomorrow.”

“Yes sir.”
I hate waiting, I don’t do waiting! I am freaking right now, but I have to find out about her. I’ve never pursued a woman before. It’s a first. I don’t even know her sexual orientation. She seemed to have responded my charms positively. What if she’s not single? F*ck! The thought never occurred to me. Only one way to find out. If she’s not, then I’ll come back and forget about that idiotic venture. But right now, I’m going out of my mind and itching to find out about her. I can’t get her lip biting out of my mind without my inside twitching like a teenage boy.
Tomorrow. I’ll see her again tomorrow.