THE ESSENCE OF MY LIGHT

Ana hands in her two-week notice, only to be given an assignment too hard to refuse. If she succeeds it will be a light shining moment of her life. CHRISTMAS STORY. OOC, AU, HEA.

Based on:

Fifty Shades Trilogy written by EL James.

Starry Night written by Debbie Macomber, and

Paperback Hero (1999 Australian Film).

Disclaimer and Notes:

THE ESSENCE OF MY LIGHT uses characters and some plot from the FSOG series written by EL James. It was highly influenced by the Christmas Story - "Starry Night" written by Debbie Macomber at times some dialogue/plot and maybe recycled [I recommend all the read this novel, it's a beautiful sweet Christmas Story]. Also the 1999 Australian Romance film "Paperback Hero" helped me finalize this story.

This short story is OOC and AU. Underage abuse/BDSM is mentioned, but not discussed in detail. This story is a true romance, maybe a tad bit of Insta-love and can't forget the fluffiness. It's not solely focused on a white Christmas, I felt it was time to write something a little different for the holiday subject, especially for all us living in the South Hemisphere this time of year.

UPDATES will be regular and completed by the 26th December.

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BETA Halo140 and pusher Stargazer93.

Thanks,

missmusicteach

…..

CHAPTER ONE

I DIDN'T ASK for this whirlwind trip across the globe.

If I only reined in my shoe addiction, the photographs would have been redundant. Being nineteen everything seems flawless. Prime example, a nude photo-shoot involving leather, chains, at one point a ball and gag. My past life choices were never well received in the present, only one has remained. Shoes. Louboutin, in the shade of red. My passion and never-ending love.

Twisting my ankles I was trying to see a hint of the leather heel and a slight hint of red in the confined space. An elderly woman on my left and a large man barely able to loosen his seat-belt. I didn't have a chance. Only a few more minutes and I'll have freedom, my personal space returned.

A raspy voice filled the cabin, "Tray tables up, and seats in the upright positions. We are approximately twelve minutes away from Darwin International Airport." A loud ding ended the announcement of the American Airlines flight 2207 from Los Angeles.

Raising my neck, I caught a glimpse above the seat. Not a single passenger acknowledged the cabin announcement. Each and everyone continued with their menial tasks, talking with loved ones, reading the inflight magazine or catching a few z's.

I was bursting at the seams, itchy to get out of my prison. After twenty-four hours on planes, and some kind of cab or uber this girl needed her feet on solid ground. Trying my best ease my nerves peaking outside the small porthole, the blue waters of northern Australia lapped at its golden shores.

It's surreal seeing so much sun, Seattle is bleak during the course of the holiday season. I skipped my travel to Montesano, for the meal of the century. I avoided my parents where I should have been for Thanksgiving. Work got in the way, and now I'm kicking myself with my ridiculous choices. Choices I couldn't refuse. So I'm making my way to a foreign country with their season flipped for Christmas. All this to get a golden ticket. My dream job. You know, a piece of cake. The momentous task is to find one recluse author, in an unidentified location.

Not once have I left my home of North America. I hadn't even heard of Darwin until yesterday and I'm not speaking of the theorist about biological evolution but rather a town surrounding the sea, with endless plains of desert land.

All I wanted is to simplify my life, now I was willing it to flat line.

…..

TO SAY I WAS TRAPPED is utter nonsense, I put it upon myself being locked in ridiculous assignments at Seattle Daily. You may think, this is a paper, so stop whining like a spoilt child. It's the lack of reputable status which hits me hard. Well, for one it wasn't my dream position at The Times, that's for sure. When you believe hard work at an Ivy League School, graduating with honors and the perfect 4.0 GPA, would all equate to a perfect receipt for success. Wrong! With a capital N.O. They research. Every-thing! Especially raunchy highly inappropriate photographs of suspected future employees.

So, for now, I'm locked in the bullshit of the society page. Don't get me wrong, I see some amazing shoes and get to wear a fair few but it doesn't fulfill my passion for reporting. My Editor, Elena Lincoln informed me when I was first hired, eventually, I would be able to write compelling factual pieces. Ones I craved. The big interviews of human-interest stories, possibly politics, or even something drastic in the business world of Washington or the nation. Six years later I'm still running up and down red carpets of the Pacific North-West, waiting.

I was trapped, frustrated and under-appreciated. My years of education were dwindling away as my vocabulary stagnates. I can't remember the last time I needed to use the words, bipartisan, transcendence, or vicissitudes. To be undervalued and wasting my reporting skills is killing my ability to continue.

How could society bullshit ranging from parties, auctions, award ceremonies, contribute to the greater good of the world's use of words on paper? In the process I sacrificed many things including love. José, my college sweetheart. In the end, of course, he married six months later to my college roommate and best friend. Well yeah, that didn't take the asshole long, and it made me realize how oblivious I was to the world around me. Too focused on my dream goal. Instead my boyfriend of three whole years was fucking my best friend in her bed. The worst part is, for the last few years I've been too busy reporting on this menial bullshit to have time for my own social life. This includes my very inactive sex life.

I was done. Not with life. Just my fucked up job. I knew it was time, so the best option was to hand in my two-week notice, end my lease, and take a chance. Anywhere. I refused to deteriorate any further. My close friend Luke, now don't get any ideas we're co-workers. He refused to believe I wanted to quit, but then again what did he have to worry about. He the success before him, a wonderful woman, a baby in tow and he reported sport for God's sake. At least there was science to it and scandals. Real scandal, not celebrities sleeping with one another, or adopting a Chihuahua puppy from a shelter. It was real.

"This isn't some kind of holiday prank thingy?" He stared at the envelope labeled Ms Elena Lincoln, "Oh shit. Fuck me you're serious," Luke Sawyer finally realized there was no humor involved in this.

"Quiet! I don't want the whole office to know," I hushed him as I lounged into my swivel chair, beginning my daily setup of my desk.

"Don't fucking do it, Ana," he whispered, rolling his chair closer to my desk, "Don't hand in your notice. You're needed here." I scoffed at his weak retort as Luke branched out his arms, trying to convince the already converted. I needed out.

"Well, not as a reporter," I assured him, rolling my thick coat off my shoulders, dumping it on the back of my chair. "I'm sorry Luke, it's final. The decision was made after a full bottle of Pinot Grigio. This mind is made," I tapped my forehead, "you and I both know Lincoln will never give me a decent assignment period. I've wasted six years of my life on the yo-yo society shit. It's time. Out and forward."

"Pinot Grigio, fancy. Do you realize you are your own worst enemy?" he rolled closer, turning my chair around so we were eye-to-eye.

"How's that?"

"Well for one, you're the perfect fit for the society page. You're gorgeous, and beauty sells in this industry," he said as his hands cupped a heart over his chest, "Give Lincoln credit, she knows what's she doing."

"Ha, if only I was vain."

"Wait," he began tapping a finger on his chin deep in thought, "There's more," Luke said, "You're great with people. All you need to do is bat those baby blues and strangers open up to you and tell you the future. It's a gift, a real gift. And damn woman, have I mentioned those eyes sparkle like the night sky."

"Luke," I chastised his ridiculous compliments, "Okay I get it I'm friendly, but this isn't going to get me a column about mergers and acquisitions. My heart is set on being a reporter, a real reporter. Writing the real news and about compelling people."

"So Kylie Jenner isn't compelling?" he scoffed, waving me off.

…..

I STARED AT MY COMPUTER. Holidays are the worst while being late November, the frenzy has already started. The list of parties Lincoln assigned me was already kaleidoscoping out of control. Halloween decorations were still arranged around my desk, and already there was a Christmas tree in the display window of the store across the street.

Before regretting my decision, I fixed my blouse and ran my hands down my pencil skirt heading towards Lincoln's office. She was a veteran news reporter in her own right. Elena glanced up from the screen, as the light whitewashed her face. Her pupils shrunk to pinpricks as those dark eyes pierced any glimmer of hope. All I see two bottles of Pinot Grigio consumed in quick succession later this evening.

Lincoln gave her regular weary sight, "What now Ana?" her words growled.

"Here," I stated, carefully placed the sealed envelope on her desk, "my two-week notice."

And I waited for the wrath of Elena Lincoln. Never experiencing it first hand, the expectation was unknown but set high. Like flames or lasers. But the only reaction I received was a few blinks and a steady glare at my face.

"Any particular reason?"

"I want to prove my true skills, but opportunities are a challenge when all you're writing is society gossip. When you hired me, you made it clear you'd give me a chance. I've been waiting Lincoln… six long years."

She removed her glasses to pinch her brow, "Ana, to be clear there is nothing wrong with your writing. It's exceptional."

"I don't want to write this garbage anymore." I huffed as I stomped my foot.

"Ana, Ana, Ana," my name whined and I was waiting for the proverbial but, "In time you'll get your break. I'm waiting for the right moment."

I straightened my shoulders, "I know I'm fortunate to work here, after my exuberant past, but this isn't the career I dreamed of, or even wanted. I have no choice Lincoln. I'm done." And I pushed my envelope closer towards my editor.

She arched her brow, "Oh, you're serious."

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" I pursed my lips, pushing up my chin.

"Fine."

Elena reached across her desk and picked up a hardcover book Throwing it towards me. It took my breath away landing straight on my stomach.

"Find Grey. Get an interview and I'll print your story." She pointed with force.

I pulled the book away, not recognizing the author's name. "And if I do this?"

"Well there's a slim chance you'll locate the author. Every reporter on the planet is dying for an interview. I don't think those fluttery eyes of yours will win any luck especially to get them to talk. But I'll keep my word. If you succeed I'll print the piece, and Anastasia Steele will no longer write society babble for Seattle Daily. The choice is in your hands."

I pondered as it resembled the red pill or blue pill scenario.

Fuck it!

It was a chance, and an adequate one I'm willing to gamble on. I needed to prove myself to my family, my Editor and above all else, myself.

"Oh please Lincoln," I purred, " sounds like child's play. I'm in." And like that, a huge ass grin from cheek to cheek sealed my fate.

My confidence wasn't unnoticed as she sobered a replied, "Sure… if I print the story, the world is your oyster. You can have any assignment as you please."

I pointed to her face, "I'm holding you to your word Lincoln."

She didn't say anything further, rather sitting back in her chair, placing her glasses on her face continuing to read. Not even flinching at my threat.

…..

BACK AT MY DESK, I examined the book to see if there is an authors photo and biography. Nothing. Not even on the inside cover. Shit.

I paused at Luke's corner, "You ever heard of a, C GREY?"

Luke's eyes lifted as he spat his coffee all over his computer screen, "and you haven't?"

"No?" I questioned myself.

Should I?

Studying the title, Beaten With Love, maybe it's a domestic abuse story, possible retelling. The cover was dark, glossy black with a large leather whip, a few faint trees with white dots in the distant, perhaps representing a night landscape with infinity of stars.

"So what do you actually do outside of Seattle Daily? Like live under a rock Ana!" Luke exclaimed while cleaning his spilled coffee.

"I do… lots of things," Biting the inside of my cheek. Does drinking overpriced and online shoe shopping count? "But who is Grey?"

"Man, woman no-one knows for sure." He paused, letting out a heavy breath, "Ana this is huge. The romance this person writes is amazeballs."

"So, amazeballs is a new term these days Luke?" I said while crossing my arms, "And also how do you know about…" I tapped the cover of Beaten with Love.

"Well…" he winked, "it's kinky and heartfelt."

"Oh."

The one thing I know nothing about, lovey-dovey stuff.

"This story has been a best seller mostly at the number-one position for the best part of six months." I was impressed both by the author and Luke's knowledge of romance charts. "This author is all about hooking your own heart, crushing it and then building it back together again. They make you harp for the hero and heroine all the way." He pumped his chest.

"Oh," I repeated myself again. "Lincoln said they don't give interviews."

"Not only doesn't, they are invisible, a complete ghost. No one has ever met or spoken to them."

"Surely the publisher or editor—"

'Nooo,' Luke mouthed wide, like a carnival clown, "Amazing technology we have these days, everything by computer, on the internet highway." He cringed as he turned to his computer with coffee still dripping down the screen. "Shit," he mumbled under his breath.

"Well… they must have signed contracts or at least a meeting for the startup."

He shrugged, "There are blogs relating to conspiracy theories."

"Well, are you going to elaborate?"

"Theorist believe they are American but living abroad."

"Oh fuck!" I hit my head on my desk, while Luke counter tapped with the hardback of Beaten with Love. I've been beaten by my own game before I've even started. "I don't have a hope in hell, do I?" I said as the book continued to pound my head.

"Ana, the press has gone wild for the search. All have failed. No one knows how to find them, and the mysterious C Grey doesn't want to be found."

Intrigued, I grasped the book from him, flicking through the pages, "Lincoln said I could have any story I wanted, as long as I had something to publish."

"Of course she did. Being around since the dawn of time, she's got you cornered in a no-win situation."

"Well fuck it, I'm going to try," I said slamming the book shut.

"Well good luck girl because you'll need it." He patted my back and I walked back to my desk with the turning point of my career nestled in my palms.

…..

IF I WAS EVER to have a real career in journalism, I needed to find the unknown C Grey.

The first thing I did was read Beaten With Love. Not once but almost three times. Paper tags created a collage of rainbow colors off its pages. I underlined and color coded everything to a slight sign to their identity, nuances, and references to locations. For two days I skipped lunch and began skim reading their other novels. All three in fact. I began to Google search as much as I could to begin my search to pinpoint C Grey.

"So how's it going, Ana?" Luke patted my back.

"Good," I rested my hand on the hardback, "Google is currently my friend." Through my fact-finding mission, I was developing an image of the person. One thing was for certain, they were from the Pacific Northwest.

"Any luck?" Luke asked, breaking my thoughts.

I sighed heavily, it had been two days, "Sort of but no clear-cut answers," I hesitated, "So Mr Sawyer, you've read the book, what are your theories?"

And of course, he surprised me when he blushed, "Sure."

"One thing," He pointed with his index finger to the ceiling, "have you noticed all the books do a well-written male perspective, especially when the hero struggles with the opposite sex." Luke laughed, "It has to be a dude, for one, there are no quivering cock twitches in these books. What dude says or even thinks that of his dick." he snorted.

I questionably looked at him with my arms crossed, "so how often do you read this genre?" now hooking my brow.

"Well," he rubbed his neck, "please don't tell anyone, but I'm a closet romance lover. A dude needs to read something when taking a dump. Guilty o-kay." he raised his hands in defeat.

"Umm eew. TMI." I stuck my tongue out to the side.

"So do you really think it's a guy?" I nodded.

"Well, they are a Mariner's fan and must have listened to Dave Niehaus commentary. Salami time, so many references. Also, they never drank wine, only—"

"Craft beer."

"Right! It's strange, but did you know Washington State has the largest amount of craft beer breweries. Also the many references to coffee, baristas and cafe houses. Another thing, there was a small reference to Wheedle on the Needle."

"Ana… you're onto something. Keep me posted with any other finds." he smiled and rolled his chair back to his desk.

…..

THAT NIGHT I READIED myself for my latest Lincoln assignment, another charity event. Fortunately, I was interrupted by my mother in Montesano. As a given we spoke at least two to three times a week, and even though they were a day's drive away I never had the time to see them.

"Hi Momma," I answered, pressing the cell tight to one ear as I attempted to place my faux diamond stud in the other earlobe.

"Oh sweetheart, are you busy?"

I quickly looked at the time, "I've got a few minutes," and I quickly swapped ears to put in the other stud.

"Dad and I were disappointed you couldn't make it for Thanksgiving."

I pulled my head back, gritting my teeth, knowing that what I was about to say was going to break my mother's heart. "Yeah, about that," I replied all breathy, "I hate to tell you this, but there's a possibility I might not make it home for Christmas either."

"What?" She squawked rather loudly into my ear. The disappointment was painful to hear.

"Momma, have you ever heard of C Grey, Beaten with Love?"

She chuckled, "of course, who hasn't," me apparently, "I have it on my Kindle and was hoping to have a signed hardback but I haven't been able to find one."

"I'm going to interview them."

"You know where they live? Oh, sweetheart please get a signed copy for me." For the first time in my life, my mother sounded giddy.

"Momma, I need to track this C Grey down first … I only have dead ends, if only I could look at this from another angle but I'm stumped."

"From what I've heard, this C Grey doesn't want to be found, sign books, or have an interview. Poor marketing I say." Exactly were my thoughts, but their books are still selling like hot cakes.

"That's just it Mom. This would be an investigative piece. My Editor told me to get the interview and I could have my pick of anything… any assignment. I'm using some of my vacation days to find this mystery, C Grey." I didn't need to mention that it all happened because I handed in my notice.

"Oh, Annie."

"I know, I know, I hate it too, but it's necessary… this could be my big break. Mom, a monumental break."

"Do you really think you could find them?" My mother asked.

"I don't know. I won't stop from a lack of trying, that's for sure."

"I've always admired your tenacious spirit. I'll tell your father—"

"No Mom! Let me try first, ok. I don't want to get his hopes up to only have them crushed. I know how he roots for me. He'll probably make a sign and pitch it in the front yard."

She laughed "You're right he probably would. So what have you found so far?" I visualized my mother tying her hair into a messy bun, preparing to tackle this overwhelming project with me, via call.

"Do you know where they were born?" she asked.

Oh, Momma please help me crack this.

"No, but each of his works has a strong reference to Washington State. I'm wondering if they were born here, or at least lived here as a child. But I couldn't find a birth certificate for a C Grey other than a man who died several years ago, of all places in Bellevue."

"Grey is an unusual name since there are variations. I think I have something Annie, hang on for a moment, " I could hear my mother running and then a minute later panting on the line, "I have a first edition of the first book, it wasn't as popular and wasn't printed in the US, but the author's name was different, C Trevelyan-Grey. Then the second edition it was changed to C Grey. Do you think the name Trevelyan-Grey could be their legal name?"

"What the hell Mom!"

"What! I love my romance, and it looked good, you know I find some strange things on the interwebs. And for once this seemed like a winner."

"Who was the publishing house?"

I could hear the pages turning, "Kakadu House."

"Huh? I've never heard of it." I quickly wrote down all this information.

"They are located in Australia honey. Do you think they are Australian?"

"Mom, I have no idea. I don't know what to believe." I lumped into my couch.

What have I got myself into?

"Annie, do your best. You know we'll be proud whatever you do." Yeah, but I'm not so sure about my bank balance getting to the destination.

"I'll keep you updated. Send my love to Dad," like most fathers pushing sixty don't like the idea of speaking on the phone, Dad was one of them.

Off the phone, I could hear Mom call out, "Your daughter is going on an adventure for a big story, send your love Ray," Dad's words were muffled but I could identify each one, 'Love you Annie Girl!' And it melted my heart.

"Did you hear that?" she said.

I nodded with a tear in my eye as he was proud of anything that I did, "Yeah. I love you too Momma bear."

"Oh shhh, now get into your research. Love you." And like that, we ended the call.

I dumped my cell in my small clutch, gave a quick glance in the hallway mirror, even though I was running late I hoped this will be my very last social event I will ever need to cover.

…..

NESTLED IN MY CONFINED SEAT, a final announcement dinged in the cabin, "Welcome to Australia, the local time is ten past ten. Current temperature is a steady thirty three-degrees. Thank you for flying with American Airlines."