Chapter 1

September 20, 2016 - Christian's POV:

Six months. That is how long it has been since Anastasia Rose Steele walked into my life and turned everything upside down. I had control back then, before Anastasia. I was the master of my universe, the king of the empire I had so carefully built around myself. But that was all thrown to hell the day she waltzed in and made herself invaluable… and off limits… to me.

I'd like to say it was a day like any other, but that wouldn't exactly be true. It was a Tuesday, approximately three months after the media had broken the story of my becoming the youngest self-made billionaire in the world, less than five years after starting GEH. I was proclaimed "the most eligible billionaire bachelor in the Pacific Northwest." A load of bullshit. Anyway, I was in the middle of negotiations with a promising shipyard in Taiwan, a somewhat shady electronics manufacturer in Shenzhen, and two outrageously shady political leaders in two Central African nations regarding agricultural projects I wanted to start but couldn't without their fucking support. I also had a pile of contracts on my desk that needed my attention, and Ros had just given me the news that we'd closed the deal on the two big communications companies that we had been working to acquire. But regardless of Ros's good news, I was freaking out because my office manager and personal assistant, Mrs. Andrea Parker, was going on maternity leave at the end of the month, or possibly even sooner if the little brat was so rude as to show her face earlier than she was supposed to. Either way, I was being forced to find a replacement for Andrea, and it pissed me off. Why did she have to go and get herself pregnant in the first place? Didn't she understand that she was indispensable to me? Andrea assured me that she'd take care of hiring and training a temporary replacement for the three months that she'd be on maternity leave, but I'd insisted that I needed to be the final denominator, since I'd be the one stuck with her replacement for three whole months.

Andrea must have interviewed at least two dozen applicants, and she then narrowed them down to the top three, which I insisted on interviewing myself. In addition to their resumes and cover letters, I also had thorough background checks for all three. I'd already completed the first two interviews, and now I was getting ready for the last one. And so it was, six months ago almost to the day, Anastasia Rose Steele entered my office and knocked me on my ass, quite literally.

Flashback: March 22, 2016:

"Mr. Grey, Ms. Anastasia Steele, your 2:00 p.m. appointment is here," Olivia Beaudreau, Andrea's assistant, announced in her sing-song voice that annoyed the hell out of me. Olivia herself annoyed the shit out of me, but there wasn't anything I could do about it unless she fucked up big time. Her father was a state senator, and I'd given her this job as a favor to him. I really needed to have that fucker in my pocket, even if I did detest his daughter.

I checked my watch. 1:47 p.m. Early, but not too early. I looked back at the applicant's file again and noted her name. Ms. Anastasia Steele had just earned herself a point by being punctual.

"Give me ten minutes, and then send her in," I ordered Olivia in my best Dom voice.

"Yes, sir!" She squeaked back. Yes, little girl, be afraid.

I got up and went to my private bathroom. Once I'd taken care of business, I gave myself a critical look in the mirror. I knew I looked good on the outside. Little girls like Olivia Beaudreau would be quick to drop their panties for me, if only I paid them any attention. Alas, she did nothing for me, which was a damn good thing since she worked for me, and I had a firm policy of never shitting where I eat. But even without that policy, I wouldn't have been interested in Olivia's batting eyelashes or tight blouses because she simply wasn't my type. She and Andrea were both attractive blondes, but where Andrea had naturally tanned skin, Olivia's tan appeared to be sprayed on. Nevertheless, she wasn't ugly. I just wasn't attracted to either of them, which made their presence in my outer chambers tolerable.

No, my tastes were much darker than either of my office assistants, thank God. I hadn't hired them because of their looks, but I was glad it worked out that they weren't my type. I liked petite, fair-skinned brunettes, and I liked to fuck them hard after a good round with my flogger. I demanded that they submit fully to my control, no questions asked. I didn't expect to hear a peep from them unless they needed to use a safe word or answer a direct question from me. As a Dom, I insisted on making every decision for them, from what they ate to how they dressed to how I fucked them. I liked to watch their fair skin turn red under my hand, and I liked to…

Shit, who the hell was I kidding? Certainly not the man looking back at me in the mirror. The truth was, I was losing interest in "the lifestyle," and the past few subs I'd had were just… boring. The problem was… it was all I knew. I didn't know any other way to fuck. I certainly wasn't into the whole hearts and flowers bullshit. I'd never asked a girl out on a date before. I didn't have to ask. I just took what the women I contracted with were willing to give. But after a decade, five years as a sub and five years as a Dom, this way of life was losing whatever appeal it once had. But what fucking choice did I have? No pun intended.

OK, enough of this pansy-assed feeling-sorry-for-myself bullshit. So what if I hadn't had a sub in over two months? My balls weren't going to fall off, and I sure as hell didn't want to call Elena. Not that I didn't appreciate all she'd done for me in the past, but honestly, I was bored with her too. The past few times we'd talked, she'd annoyed the hell out of me. I wasn't sure anymore what I'd ever found attractive about her, but to be fair to us both, it had been a decade ago, and I had been a horny and angry teenager while Elena had been… well, younger. No matter how much she paid in Botox treatments, she couldn't hide the fact that she was now nearly 50. But now I was a 25-year old self-controlled, self-made billionaire, and I didn't need Elena Lincoln any longer. Over the past couple of years, her "help" finding subs for me had begun to annoy me, and I'd only contracted with three of her girls in the past two years. Each of them hadn't lasted beyond a few weeks, and then I'd go for a few months between them. Elena would nag me until I got a new sub mainly to shut her up. But my contract with the last one had ended over two months ago, and I wasn't eager for a new one. Not that I didn't want to fuck, and my left hand was getting plenty of action, but I wanted something… different. I just didn't know what, but something… more. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate Elena for all the ways she'd helped me when I was younger, but I was a grown-ass man now, and I didn't need her kind of help any longer. I wasn't sure what the hell I needed, but I knew Elena couldn't provide it.

Anyway, I needed to get focused back on work instead of thinking about Little Grey or his lack of pussy. I had more important matters to attend to, like hiring a temporary person to replace my irreplaceable office manager and personal assistant. I'd already interviewed the first two candidates, and unless this Anastasia Steele was something more special than she appeared on paper, I'd already decided to go with the guy, Matt Reyes. The first candidate, Jaqueline Allred, had not done herself any favors by showing up a minute late and then unbuttoning the top button of her blouse before walking into my office. I didn't want to look at that surgically-enhanced shit day after day. She could take her bleached-blonde Barbie ass back to the temp agency she came from. Matt Reyes had been the second interviewee, and he had experience as an office manager and strong references, including a glowing recommendation from Beth Galetti at Amazon, where he'd interned while completing his undergraduate degree at the University of Washington here in Seattle. Not only was his resume impressive, but it also helped that he was a guy, so one less thing for me to worry about. Olivia's batting eyelashes were about all the ridiculousness that I could stomach on a daily basis.

Anastasia Steele was a recent college graduate, having finished a Bachelor of Arts from WSU Vancouver last May. She'd majored in English Lit. Nothing impressive about that. She'd started a Professional MBA at Seattle University last August, and she worked part-time at Seattle Public Library, and part-time as a barista at the Starbucks at Fourth and Seneca. While in college, she'd worked for a hardware store while also working in the Campus Library, and she'd done both jobs while keeping her grades up. In fact, the most impressive thing about Anastasia Steele was her 4.0 GPA and her high SAT, GRE and GMAT scores. But high test scores didn't determine a person's success, as I could attest to. My own SAT scores had barely been high enough to get me into Harvard. Not that it mattered much, seeing as how I dropped out after a year. But the problem with Anastasia Steele was that all she had going for her were her scores. No matter how hard of a worker she was, she didn't have the kind of experience I needed in an office manager and personal assistant. So unless she was able to pull a rabbit out of her ass, I was planning on hiring the dude.

After I finished up in the bathroom, I headed back into my office. As I made my way back to my desk, I noticed that a petite woman with long brown curls cascading down her back was standing at the window with her back to me, gazing at the Seattle skyline. Shit, this must be Ms. Steele. How long was I in the bathroom, anyway? I couldn't see Ms. Steele's face with her back to me, but I took a minute to check out her ass, and my, what an ass it was! She was dressed to impress in a navy pin-striped suit, not too tight, but just perfectly showing off her perfect heart-shaped ass. Her skirt ended just above her knees, and her legs were long and… just beautiful, showcased by a pair of 4-inch stilettos. Shit! I could just imagine those perfect legs wrapped around my head as I ate her out. Good God, I needed to get a grip. This woman was here for an interview, not to be tied up and fucked in my office!

As I approached Ms. Steele, she still had not heard me behind her. I reached out to tap her shoulder to get her attention, but before I could, she must have seen my movement in her periphery. Before I even knew what was happening, my ass was on the floor. Tiny Ms. Steele had just fucking grabbed my arm before I had a chance to touch her shoulder and flipped me! As I regained my senses, I looked at her face quickly enough to see the look in her eyes shift from fear to confusion to mortification. And holy shit, what eyes they were! The clearest blue I've ever seen. And her flawless face was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, with pouty pink lips and the cutest little nose, and my God, those eyes! She was wearing light make-up, including lip gloss that made her lips look more kissable. Holy fuck, what was wrong with me? I never kiss my subs. And besides, Ms. Steele was here for a job; she wasn't a sub. But it was impossible for me to overlook the fact that she was a natural beauty who didn't need cosmetics to look more beautiful. She was a perfect angel.

She was the first to speak. "Mr. Grey! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean… I didn't realize… Oh, God! Please forgive me!" The sound of her voice was like angels singing. I wondered for a minute if I was dreaming all this. This woman had just literally and figuratively knocked me on my ass, and all I could do was stare at her like an open-mouthed idiot.

"Are you injured, sir? Should I call someone?" I loved the sound of her concern almost as much as her calling me Sir. I could get used to both.

But I realized that I needed to snap out of the fucking trance she'd seemed to have knocked me into. "I'm fine, Ms. Steele. Don't worry about it," I said as I picked myself up off the floor and brushed away the wrinkles from my suit. "Come, sit here," I told her. God, I wanted to ask her to sit on my lap, but I motioned to the armchairs. Once again, I willed myself to get control. I grabbed her file off my desk, and mentally prepared myself to conduct an interview, not to fuck in my office, something I'd never done and never planned to do.

She followed me obediently and sat in the armchair next to me. Normally, I sit at my desk to conduct interviews, and I have the other person sit across from me. It's more intimidating that way, which is just how I like it. But there was something about Ms. Steele that called out to me. I needed to be near her.

Her face still looked mortified, which pleased me for some reason. "Mr. Grey, I really must apologize, sir. I should never have reacted like that. I was lost in thought, looking out your window, and I should have been paying more attention to…"

I interrupted her. "Ms. Steele, please forget it happened," I said reassuringly. Shit, did I just say please? Why the hell was I being so nice? She'd just knocked me on my ass. I should be kicking her out on hers.

She smiled, and it seemed to light up the room. "That will be hard to do, Mr. Grey. I assure you that I'm not normally a violent person."

"Please, call me Christian," I said. What? Call me Christian? Did I really just say that? And holy fuck, did I just say please again? And who the hell do I allow to call me Christian? Even Andrea still calls me Mr. Grey, and she's been my most valued employee for over four years! Well, maybe she's third in line, after Taylor and Gail. All of them call me Mr. Grey. What the hell is happening to me?

Anastasia seemed to realize how unusual it was for me to ask her to call me my given name. She looked uncomfortable. "Look…Christian… I understand if you no longer want to consider me for the position, considering what just happened. I don't want to take up your valuable time."

I couldn't tell her how many "positions" I was considering her for, but I could keep her here a bit longer. Surprisingly, I loved the sound of my name coming from her lips. I wanted to hear the sound of her screaming my name as I pounded into her. No fucking way was I going to let her leave yet. "I think I should be the judge of how I spend my valuable time, as well as who I want to consider for this position, and I would like to conduct this interview," I told her firmly, but still more softly than I normally speak.

She relaxed into the chair and smiled again. "I'm happy to hear that, sir," she said.

I crossed my legs, mainly to hide Little Grey, who'd been hard since I noticed her gorgeous ass standing at the window and had gotten a bit more excited upon her calling me Sir again. To her, it only appeared that I was relaxing and preparing to interview her. "Would you like something to drink, Ms. Steele?" I asked politely.

"No, thank you, sir. And please, if you insist on my calling you Christian, then you must call me Ana."

"Your name is Anastasia, is it not?" I asked her as I looked at her resume that I'd grabbed from my desk before sitting down.

"Well, yes, but everyone calls me Ana," she explained.

"I'm not everyone, and I like Anastasia," I responded. I couldn't tell her that it was a beautiful name, fit for a princess like her. Holy shit! What was wrong with me? Had I completely lost it? She was interviewing for a job as my assistant, not as my submissive! I didn't even think about my submissives the way I was thinking about her. I felt like I was losing my fucking mind.

She apparently decided not to argue with me about what name to call her. "Thank you again for inviting me for an interview today. And again, I do apologizing for earlier. If I had been paying more attention, you wouldn't have been able to catch me off guard, and I wouldn't have responded with that knee jerk reaction. I sincerely hope I didn't hurt you."

Oh, baby, if only you knew how much I want to test your reflexes, and if you think that little tumble hurt me, you have a lot to learn. Oh how I'd love to take a few more tumbles with you. OK, focus, Grey!

"Never mind, Anastasia. Let's get started, shall we? Tell me what makes Anastasia Steele tick." I wondered if she could see how intrigued I was by her.

"What makes me tick?" she repeated. "Well, books, I guess."

"Books?" I questioned.

"Well, yes. I've always been an avid reader, ever since I learned to read when I was five."

Ah, a bookworm then. Very unimpressive. "What genre is your favorite?" I asked.

"The classics," she answered with no hesitation. "I prefer British classic authors like Thomas Hardy, Charles Dickens, the Bronte sisters…"

"Jane Austin," I completed for her. Of course she'd be an Austin fan. I'm no Darcy, baby.

"Yes, of course. I love Pride and Prejudice. I also love American classics. F. Scott Fitzgerald is probably my favorite."

"Ah, yes," I responded. "The Great Gatsby. One of the best novels ever written." Yeah, I'm more like Jay Gatsby, except I'm not a bootlegger. But Anastasia here doesn't strike me as a Daisy Buchanan, thank God. She's not the kind of girl to want me just for my money. Of course, first she'd have to want me. Does she want me?

"I agree," she replied. "But I read anything and everything. Lately, all I've been reading are business books and articles."

"Ah, right. You're working on your Professional MBA." It was an observation, not a question.

"I am," she replied. "I have about a year left. Thankfully, I'm able to take the courses in the evenings, so it won't interfere with my work schedule."

"I'm curious, Anastasia," I said, loving the way her name sounded rolling off my tongue. "Your undergrad is in English Literature, which makes sense because you say you love books. So, why an MBA?"

"My career goal is to run my own publishing house. If that doesn't work out, my back-up plan is to own and manage my own bookstore. Either way, I need to learn the skills of running a business. That is the main reason I want to work for you, and this temporary position couldn't be more perfect. Being an office manager for one of the best business leaders in the world for three months will teach me more than any class in my MBA program ever could. I really want to learn from you, Mr. Grey."

"It's Christian," I corrected her. Why? I would have never corrected anyone else for calling me Mr. Grey. For some reason, I needed to hear her call me Christian. "Why should I hire you instead of someone else? What skills do you have that you think make you the best fit for this job?" How are your oral skills, baby? And how tight is your pussy? I can only imagine how good a fit my cock would be.

"Well, I can think of a few. First of all, I am obsessively organized. My dad always jokes that I'm OCD, but I don't really like that term, at least to describe myself. It denotes some kind of disorder, but I don't see how being good at creating and keeping order can be a disorder. I feel strongly that my ability to organize things is a strength. For me to function well, everything must be in its place, and if it isn't, then I make sure it is. And if I work for you, everything about your work life will always be in its place, from your daily schedule to everything about the office. Basically anything that you give me charge of. Also, I'm not afraid to work long hours, and since this is only a three-month position, I don't mind taking a quarter off from classes if I need to be available in the evenings."

Oh, baby, I'd love for you to be available in the evenings… in my playroom.

She kept talking. "Another strength that I have which I think will be useful to you is my ability to empathize with others. I tend to get along well with people I work with, and I'm a great team player, simply because I am able to see other people's strengths and weaknesses. I'm great at delegating tasks because I can see, once I've gotten to know another person, what they'd be best at doing."

"I don't see any managerial experience on your resume, so how can you know that?" I asked her.

She replied, after a brief pause. "It's true that I haven't had opportunities yet to work in the kind of job I'd prefer. I love my library job, but it isn't what to want to do long-term. But to answer your question, I have a lot of volunteer experience leading others. Currently, I'm one of the shift leaders at a homeless shelter here in Seattle. Every week, I assign volunteers to their stations. Some of the volunteers have better people skills than others. I make sure they're the ones who interact with our guests. Those who are there just to make themselves feel better about themselves… who don't really care for homeless people… they stay busy in the kitchen. It's a win-win for everyone."

"Why didn't you include your volunteer experience on your resume?" I asked. Anastasia volunteering at a homeless shelter? It didn't sound safe at all. Why would she put herself at risk like that? But then again, she had landed me on my ass for almost touching her shoulder, so maybe she could take care of herself. But still… people in homeless shelters were dangerous and unpredictable. I didn't like it.

"Mainly because I was taught to keep it short, that potential employers wouldn't want to read more than one page. And I could fill another page with volunteer experience, but I didn't think you'd be interested in that. It didn't seem as relevant as the jobs I got paid for."

"I'm more interested in your volunteer experience at a homeless shelter than the fact that you worked part-time at a hardware store when you were in college," I told her.

She nodded. "I know working at Clayton's doesn't appear to be great experience for the job I want to have, but working there taught me a lot. It's where I first realized how much being well organized makes a difference in running a successful business. Mr. Clayton is a friend of my dad, so he hired me as a favor to dad, but I never let him regret it. The store was a mess when I started working there. Within a week, I had things organized, so customers could more easily find what they needed, or at least those of us who worked there could help them find it, which had been challenging before. I helped Mr. Clayton with his books too. He was bleeding money until I helped him organize his finances. The part-time accountant that he'd hired had made a mess of everything and was actually stealing from him, and he had no idea. I found out later that he was probably going to have to go out of business or sell his store at a loss by the end of the year that I started working there, but it turned out that he started bringing in more revenue, so by the time I graduated and moved away, he was making a larger profit than he ever had. He claimed I was the reason."

"Well, it sounds like Mr. Clayton appreciated your help," I commented.

"And I appreciated the job. Again, win-win for everyone," she responded. Then she continued speaking. "Another strength I have that I think you will be interested in is my professionalism. While I'm good at empathizing and showing compassion to people I work with, I'm also careful about not… getting too close to them. I believe strongly that 'interoffice romance' needs to be avoided by all means. It only leads to disaster."

No problem there, baby. I don't do romance. I just want to fuck you.

She was still talking, and I was so focused on the fact that I wanted to fuck her that I almost missed her next words. "And one thing that I can promise you that I seriously doubt any other female that you consider for this position can say…" She hesitated, but now she really had my attention. Where was she going with this?

"What would that be, Anastasia?" I asked her.

She answered, "I'm sorry… I was trying to think of a more… professional way to say it. I have a firm policy of… keeping work at work and personal life outside of work. I never mix the two. I'm sure that this must be important to you, being who you are."

"And… who would that be? What do you mean?" I pressed her.

"Well, you are Christian Grey, the most eligible billionaire bachelor in the Pacific Northwest if not the whole country. I'm sure you have women vying for your attention on a daily basis. All I'm saying is that I'm not… You don't need to worry about me being one of those women."

"Are you a lesbian?" I asked her. Please say no, please say no, please say no.

Her eyes, those gorgeous blue orbits, just about popped out of her head. And then, she began to giggle. My God, what a sound! If I thought her voice sounded like angels singing, now it must be an entire choir of angels. Suddenly, all I wanted to do was make this woman giggle like this as often as possible.

"No, Christian," she finally answered, still giggling. "I'm not a lesbian. Do you really think that a woman would have to be a lesbian to be able to resist you? I'm sorry, don't answer that. It wasn't appropriate for me to ask you that." She sobered quickly, clearly afraid she'd offended me, even though I was the one who'd just asked her a very personal and rude question.

I smiled at her, not the least bit offended, because she had a point. I did think that only lesbians could resist me, but I wasn't going to admit it. "Of course, I don't think that," I answered. "And please excuse my rude question as well. I shouldn't have asked you that." Shit, did I just say please again? And apologize to her?

Then she looked uncomfortable as she asked me pointedly, "Are you a homophobe?"

"What? Why would you ask me that?" I asked her. That hurt.

She explained, "About a year ago, a college student named Katherine Kavanagh interviewed you. When she asked you if you were gay, you got angry and kicked her out of your office. You had her escorted from the building. Now, you're asking me if I'm a lesbian, as if there would be something wrong with that if I were. You know, when Kate came back home that day and told me what had happened, I was convinced that you were a closeted homosexual. Why else would you have reacted so defensively? But now, I can see that you're a full-blooded hetero male. So the only explanation is that you are a homophobe."

And now, I wanted to pull her over my knee and spank her luscious ass until it was red. How did I not know that she was friends with that bitch, Katherine Kavanagh? And how dare she accuse me of being a homophobe? Did she not realize that my second in command was Ros Bailey, a lesbian in an open same-sex marriage?

"It's not the only explanation, Anastasia. I'm neither a homosexual nor a homophobe. I just happen to be a very private man, and your friend Ms. Kavanagh asked a very personal question."

She looked pensive, and after a moment she said, "I get that it was personal, but I don't get why it was so offensive that you kicked her out. Why not just tell her to mind her own business and then move on to the next question?"

My desire to spank her was only growing stronger. "You'll find, Anastasia, that I am not a very patient man. Ms. Kavanagh had clear instructions on the manner of questions that were allowed. Hell, I only agreed to the interview as a favor to her father. I don't do interviews, but I made an exception. She was instructed to keep focused on business. She didn't."

She continued to look pensive, like she was trying to figure out something that she was missing. So I said, "Anastasia, I'm not sure why I'm defending myself to you. I'm supposed to be interviewing you, not the other way around."

"Yes, I realize that," she conceded. "But the way I see it, I blew any chance for this job when I landed you on your ass. Things were going well there for a while, but now that they've taken this turn, I'm sure I don't have a snowball's chance in hell. I'm not really sure why you're still talking to me."

"About that…" I said. "I mean, about landing me on my ass earlier. I'm curious. Those were some really quick reflexes you have. I didn't even touch you yet, and before I even knew what was happening, you'd flipped me. Why did you react so… as you put it earlier… violently?"

"I'm really sorry about that," she apologized again.

"Stop saying you're fucking sorry," I growled.

She looked frightened. Shit! I scared her. Why did that bother me so much? I usually liked frightening people. I tended to get more that way.

"I'm… ummm…"

"Just answer my question," I said in a less harsh tone. "Why did you react like that?"

She sounded nervous as she answered, and she talked quickly. "Wow, now you're getting really personal. OK. Umm. Well, when I was in my teens, I was attacked and nearly raped by my step-father. So after that, my dad… who is actually also my step-father… it's complicated… he taught me self-defense. He's a marine, so he knew a lot himself, but he also enrolled me in Krav Maga classes, and I got pretty good at it. In college, it came in handy on more than one occasion. After a couple of close calls, I guess I've just gotten more… defensive." She paused and looked at me. "Does that answer your question?"

Close calls? What did that mean? When was she in danger? She should never be in danger.

"It does, but now I have another one," I answered. "Earlier, you said that you could see that I'm… as you put it… a 'full-blooded hetero male.' What did that mean? How did you know I'm not gay?"

"Wow, for someone who doesn't like personal questions, you sure do ask a lot of them. But to answer you… I can see…" She hesitated and looked uncomfortable. She could see what? I glanced down at my lap, where my legs were still crossed. I knew she couldn't see how hard Little Grey still was. So what could she see?

Finally, she continued, "Look, I know I don't have a lot of experience in this area, but I know when a man… looks at me. When a man likes what he sees. And I can see that you… like what you see. Which brings me back to the whole reason we got on this unfortunate topic in the first place. I would never, and I mean NEVER have a relationship with someone I work with. And especially not with someone I work FOR. So you can look, even though I'd prefer if you didn't, but that's all. I will never reciprocate. Not if I'm your employee. But seeing as how you're never going to hire me after this disaster of an interview, it's really a moot point, isn't it?"

"Not necessarily," I mused. "Are you saying that you'd be interested in a relationship with me if I don't hire you?" Holy hell, did I just ask her that? I don't do relationships. What kind of hole am I digging for myself? And I have absolutely no fucking control. What the hell is wrong with me?

"No, Mr. Grey, that's not what I'm saying," she answered, looking… what? Frustrated? Hot and bothered? Was I affecting her? Did she feel the attraction between us?

"It's still Christian, and the way I see it, Anastasia, this interview has not been a disaster at all. The way I see it, it's been very enlightening."

She rolled her eyes. Fucking rolled her gorgeous blue eyes at me. "Whatever," she muttered.

"Did you just roll your eyes at me?" I demanded.

She looked confused and a little frightened. And adorable. "Umm… yes?"

"That's very rude, Anastasia. When you come to work for me, you'll need to avoid that kind of behavior."

"Please don't joke with me about that. I know there's no way you're going to hire me." She sounded like a mix between dejected and relieved. No way, baby, there's no way I'm letting you go that easily.

"You're wrong," I told her. I had to have her. I could not let her walk out that door. Even if it meant keeping my filthy hands off of her, I simply had to get to know her better. For the first time in my life, I wanted to get to know a girl. And eventually, I'd find a way to make her mine. "When can you start?" I asked.

"What?" she asked dumbly.

"I want you. For the job. When can you start?" And I want you in my bed too, but I can wait for that. Holy hell, did I just think that? I have never allowed a submissive in my bed. We always fuck in my playroom. I want Anastasia in my playroom too, but I actually want to see her beautiful brown curls spread out across the pillows of my bed. I want to watch the Seattle sunrise outside the windows of my penthouse while she sleeps next to me in my bed. Holy fuck, I'm losing my mind here.

"Are you serious?" she asked. I loved the look of shock on her beautiful face.

"I never say anything that I don't mean," I told her. "So, yes, I'm serious. When can you start?"

"Umm… I have a shift at the library tomorrow, but I can work out my two weeks' notice on weekends after that. So I can start as early as Thursday of this week."

"What about your coffee shop job?"

"Oh… I already gave my notice," she said absently. "My last shift there was Sunday."

"May I ask why you quit that job before you got another one?" I asked curiously.

"Well, that's personal," she answered. "But since we've already talked about so many personal things already, I'll tell you anyway. The manager was a jerk. He didn't know how to take no for an answer. I got tired of him hitting on me day after day. And it was never intended to be a long-term job anyway."

"I see. So, Thursday, then?" I wanted to find that manager and teach him a lesson or two.

"Yes," she answered. She looked like she wanted to say something more, but was hesitating.

"What is it, Anastasia?" I asked her.

"If I take this job… I need to know that things are going to remain professional between us. I can forget the fact that you almost, sort of asked me out. I hope you can as well."

"Anastasia, I most certainly did not 'almost, sort of' ask you out. I never 'almost, sort of' do anything. If I ever ask you out on a date or otherwise, you will know it. That was a hypothetical question regarding what you would do if I didn't hire you, and it is a moot point since I am hiring you. And like you, Anastasia, I do not shit where I eat."

"I'm glad to hear that, sir." God, I loved it when she called me Sir."