"Thank you Taylor," I step out of the luxury SUV. Taylor closes the door behind me. He is standing by the passenger door, watching private elevator double doors close.

I press for the top floor and tap the breast pocket of my suit. There's the unexpected rustle of paper instead of familiar, cold, hard ridges of a silver pendant against my equally cold heart.

***Flashback to Brightmoor, Detroit, 1988***

Persistent pounding on the front door is replaced by silence then laughter. My curiosity is aroused. Why is it not loud, angry voices I hear from outside the wardrobe? I press against the wardrobe door peering through a tiny crack.

Momma's dark brown hair is held up in a loose, pony tail although strands come out by the side of her face. She's in animated conversation with John Lambert, our neighbour, who lives three houses away. The two houses in between, like many on our street, in Brightmoor, have been abandoned, vandalised or converted into safe places for arms dealing, arms dealing, drug taking and prostitution.

I have to be quiet. John can't see me. He will have me taken away from Momma again. I can't hear what they are saying but Momma's furrowed brow softens into a wide smile. She mischievously bites her lower lip as her earrings shimmer reflecting light.

My stomach makes a long drawn out growl.

I miss playing with JJ, John Junior, John's five year old son. No one is to know I live in a cold, damp, condemned house. I miss toy car racing with JJ in a warm house where the aroma of a meal being prepared wets my taste buds. Eating the hot meals John brings eases forty eight hours of hunger.

I watch Momma and John talk a little while longer before she leads him by the hand through to the bedroom. I close the wardrobe door relieved. John leaves milk outside the front door every day and brings food and a bottle of wine when he visits Momma every other day.

I settle back in the dimly lit wardrobe absorbing the stillness and quiet of my silent doll companions. Excited at the prospect of my next meal, I press my ear to the wardrobe door. My stomach growls. Cold penetrates my bones. I hug my jean clad legs rocking back and forth, day dreaming of flaming hot, golden sun reflected over the blue sea that in turn stretches to the horizon and reaches up to kiss it. Majestic birds frolic in the sea before soaring high on currents of wind.

As my mind drifts, calmness descends, my eye lids get heavier. I jerk awake when Momma opens the wardrobe door. I blink acclimatising to the room. I watch her check the living room blinds in black stockings, black lacy panties and a short cream top then sink to the floor, her sea coloured eyes filling up with tears. She sips blood red liquid from a coffee cup.

"Come out of there maggot," she slurs, "Have some of John's sweet potato pie."

I run to the kitchen table, scramble onto a chair, stretch my hands, brown with dirt grab a large slice that is shoved in my mouth. My cheeks swell up as I wolf down the pie barely chewing. A few handfuls later, I am sated. There'll be no food tomorrow so I stuff handfuls of pie into a plastic bag then into my jean pockets. Wiping my hands on the coarse material of my faded jeans, I go to the bedroom with Momma's clothes strewn everywhere. I find three shiny sports cars and one SUV on the unmade bed. I hug my long lost friends.

I place my toy cars on the cold floor and push them into acceleration "Vroom, Vroom..." then release until they collide into the wall.

Momma looms in my bedroom doorway. She sniffles as tears steam down her face, "Go back to the wardrobe."

"I want to play."

"Stop that," her voice rises getting my attention. She yanks my hand dragging then bundling me into the confined, dark space. "Don't make a sound if someone knocks. And don't you dare follow me across the street to the crack house, you hear?"

"Don't leave me Momma," I whine.

"Drink this," Momma presses the coffee mug she's drinking from against my lips. I take a gulp, cough, spit as the blood red liquid heats my mouth and insides. "Stay put, this drink will help you sleep."

"Is it medicine?"

"John's favourite, wine, from a vineyard in Sancerre, France. Shhh, don't tell anyone," she places a forefinger on her lips.

"Momma," I say wiping her tears with my hands.

"Yes maggot?"

"Your eyes are beautiful like the sea."

"Here drink this," she whispers then adds, "I'm sorry son."

I swallow every drop of wine from the coffee cup. My body warms numbing the fear of being alone with my lifeless companions. I'm calm when Momma leaves me home alone.

Dreams take me to the sun reflected in the blue sea, to white sandy beaches where family and friends laugh and swim until, day melds into night. A dark sky lit up with millions of stars that sparkle brightly. Our laughter is replaced by screams of terror as Momma carries me away from automatic gun fire...

I jerk awake in the cupboard, covered in sweat. The air I breathe is covered in smoke. I climb out of the cupboard with my dolls and cars. I crawl in the dark to the bedroom. Momma is not in bed. I reach for the backpack with my things at the foot of the bed.

I sit on the floor conflicted. Momma told me not to leave the house.

Multiple voices outside pierce the quiet of night.

"Fire, fire."

"Call nine-one-one."

"Does anyone live there?"

"Help."

***End of Flashback***

I step out of the mainly glass large private elevator. First Executive Assistant, Andrea Smith is waiting. She hands me a steaming cup of cappuccino with the morning financial papers. She has an iPad in her other hand.

"Good morning Mr. Grey," she says with a perfunctory smile. She breaks into a sprint in an attempt to keep up with my fast walking pace.

"I'm glad you think so Andrea, I could use some good news about now," I say handing my overcoat to second Executive Assistant.

"Have you smacked your head?"

"Sir," she looks at me with trepidation.

"You must have a concussion to have sent the card you did to Susan O'Leary. Remind me of the instruction I gave?"

She glances at her iPad, "A card to commiserate about her divorce."

"And what did the card you sent say?"

"Sorry to hear about your divorce LOL, Christian Grey."

"I'm trying to understand...Why the hell did you add LOL?"

"Lots of love?"

"Laugh out loud? Were you living under a rock before you got here Alexis?"

"Olivia, Sir."

"Where's Alexis?"

"On maternity leave, Mr. Grey."

"Are you planning on following her?"

"Err...no Sir..."

"Run this down to new projects for me, tell them to make a copy of the design and code at the back then return the drawing to me."

Puzzled at the child's drawing, Olivia opens her mouth but no words come out. She blushes wordlessly taking my over coat and the drawing.

Ros Bailey, Vice President and Chief Operating Officer of Grey Enterprise approaches us, "Whatever you told Felix Langdon worked, he came back this morning."

"My chief engineer is back on his work bench preparing for the demo Friday. Emergency averted. I took care of it."

"You push the technical team too hard."

"No harder than I push myself."

"Mere mortals take several hours of downtime each night. You're like Napoleon Bonaparte conquering the world."

"Adoring chants of 'vive l'Empereur' don't seem appropriate in Seattle, but I live for surprises."

"You do?" Ros raises an eye brow in mock surprise. "You're being sarcastic."

"You know me, Ros. If we get the contract, it will be one of our biggest. Now there's a page right out of Napoleon's world conquering play book. This could be a good morning after all," I run my fingers through my bronze hair making a mental note to go to the workshop to oversee the quality control process. "When will we have results of the predictive network software after the FBI field test?"

"They just emailed it. Our software got the most favourable reviews, field agents reported investigation overlap procedures we hadn't anticipated. Engineers are working up optional extras you recommended could bridge FBI secure internal networks with international platforms. The earliest the software will be ready, is in a fortnight."

"That long?"

"We've got to push back the DoD demo in four days."

"Sure, let's do that," I say sounding relaxed.

"Really?" She does a double take, looking at me incredulously.

"No can do, Ros. I deliver on time, every time..."

"...no exceptions."

"You're finishing my sentences now?"

"This obsession with perfection..."

"Is to be admired?" I interject.

"Not if it made the chief engineer walk out last night."

"I had him back this morning..."

"How long before someone burns out?"

"That's never happened on my watch."

"Let's keep it that way. Now about Friday..."

"Let's talk after I chair the quality control meeting this afternoon?"

"Be patient when you do the Washington State University, WSU, interview. There may be a back lash from the student act of protest against our two R&D projects. Our orchards and vineyards in California were mistaken for neighbouring operations. The media team issued this press notice and lines to take you approved."

"Got it."

"I hope you do Christian," her expression asks me to play nice.

"Trust me."

"It is I who has to sooth the egos you bruise," she smiles and nods at me.

"You do it so well Chief Operating Officer extraordinaire," I nod back at Ros as she walks towards the conference room.

As we step into my office Andrea says, "Will you need a few minutes to look through the media briefing? Your next appointment is the interview for the graduation edition of the student newspaper."

"I spoke to the media team before they finalised the briefing. Is it the student journalist that phoned every day for nine months?"

"Katherine Kavanagh is pretty tenacious sir," Andrea says lowering her voice. She wanted to do a personal profile but you limited it to a business one that plugs the beleaguered R&D agricultural projects you are funding at WSU. She sent someone else in her place."

"Miss Kavanagh's persistence getting this interview suggests she would not readily let someone else conduct the career making interview." I glance at my watch, "Come in after nine minutes so I can get to my next appointment on time." I'm nonchalant about meeting Caroline.

"Of course, Mr. Grey."

"What do I have after the WSU interview?"

"You have a video conference with the President of Iceland this afternoon."

"Is the report on harnessing energy from natural hot water springs on my desk?"

"It is."

"Great. Ask Ros if she's free to sit in on that meeting. What's the name of the journalist from WSU?"

"Anastasia Steele."

My memories of Harvard are of attending lectures in politics and economics, juggling that with designing telecommunications solutions to reduce student expenses, raucous college football and celebrating football prowess at alcohol fuelled parties. Many college party areas were strewn with posters of pop and porn stars. While fellow students experimented with sexuality by viewing porn stars like Lexington Steele, Riley Steele, Sydnee Steele or Rebecca Steele play adult scenes like the naughty secretary almost believably.

As fellow students explored their sexual boundaries, I was loyally serving Domme Elena Lincoln. Ros reminding me not to 'burn out' my innovative project teams, confirms that I need release through a BDSM session. Exerting control in the bedroom extends calm to all areas of my life. Elena and Ros, the two people I work most closely with have noticed how punishing my work schedule has become.

"Anastasia Steele, interesting name."

"If that's all Sir..." Andrea pauses from typing on the iPad screen and prepares to leave my office.

"One last thing. If Elena asks you to change my appointments again, don't do it."

She looks up her eyes wide. She seems to be suppressing the urge to say, "If you don't say no to Mrs. Lincoln, Grey Enterprises' original investor and family friend, how do you expect me to?" Andrea's fingers fidget at the edge of her iPad. "Mr. Grey," she says politely, glancing at me knowingly before striding out, her heels clicking on the polished white floor.

I turn away from the double doors Andrea closes behind her. I skim through the media briefing. It is what was agreed with the team earlier. My eyes turn to the sleek Seattle skyline that has two of my finished sky scraper constructions and three city regeneration projects. Ros wants to push back the DoD demo, the WSU collaborative R&D project is attracting student protests, the FDA license is taking longer than expected and I need to set my sights on a media acquisition. Today is no different than any other.

I hear Andrea escorting the student journalist to me, "Mr. Grey will see you now, Miss Steele."

A crush of clutter on the floor forces me to tear my gaze away from the view of towering buildings that dominate the Seattle skyline. Miss Steele in a short blue skirt, blue sweater is lying on the floor. Her personal items are strewn beside her on the white polished floor.

Her skirt is upturned showing off flawless, peachy buttocks, exposed over a blood red thong. Porn stars Riley Steele, Sydnee Steele and Rebecca Steele cannot beat Anastasia Steele's dramatic entrance.

My eyes are captivated by fiery sapphire eyes glistening with unshed tears when Miss Steele moves onto her hands and knees.

A/N:  Chapter 2  is being worked on and should be uploaded in due course...

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Content Warning: The fan fiction you are reading describes adult, liberal, unconventional relationships. The characters, their personalities, occupations, relationships and events in this story are not always consistent with the original stories 'Fifty Shades of Grey' or 'Grey'. Hopefully they reflect the complexities and moral ambiguities of the original. Billed as erotica with unconventional relationships accessible to a mature audience, this story develops through consensual BDSM themed sexual encounters.

If you do not want to access a multimedia erotic romance that involves extra marital relationships, same sex attraction, ménage à trios, triggers, mental health issues, flash backs of child abuse or descriptions of sexual conduct, please stop reading now.

***This story is under construction, it has not been edited and content could change***

October, 2, 2016

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