I own nothing to do with the 50 Shades Trilogy. I have never written fanfiction before either, so I'm not sure what anyone would think of this story-line. But please let me know your thoughts! I will expand more on their background, how Ana came to work for Mr. Grey and why he's the way he is. P.S: I don't mean to offend anyone, I know that is basically sexual harassment in the workplace, what he did, and she will confront him about it (while not understanding why she finds some satisfaction in it). This story will contain a lot of office antics, and Christian likes controlling her/being dominant (ordering her to do things/and Ana will be much the same).
I hope this wasn't terrible, as far as beginnings go!
"Miss. Steele, I would like to see you in my office. Come quickly."
I know the instance Mr. Grey calls me into his office that I'm in trouble.
It's all in his tone of voice. Nasally and deceptively quiet as it comes through on the other line of the telephone.
"I'll be there in a few minutes, Mr. Grey," I tell him, trying to hide my frustration. "I'm just preparing these contracts to be faxed off, and then I'll be right in as soon as I can."
Mr. Grey is my boss, and I've worked for him for a little over three months now. He's the most irritating and arrogant man I have ever met. He's pompous, self-righteous, and bossy. Half the time I have trouble refraining from slapping him across the face. All the other girl's in the office that worked here with me didn't seem to despise him as much as I did. They would boast about how wildly good-looking he was, how so accomplished, for his age. And he is good-looking; Tall, seemingly self-confident, always dressed in what appears to be designer suits with his usual silk red tie impeccably straight. His hair, dark with a copper tinge, is always sleek and combed back behind his ears, and his bright grey eyes are always looking down on you constantly, like you are little more than something unpleasant stuck on his polished leather shoes.
But fortunately for me, I can see through the exterior. I maybe might have found him good-looking as well, if only he wasn't such a demanding and rude asshole. One time he dared to comment on the skirt I had chosen to wear, telling me it was "too short" and, last time he checked, he wasn't running a strip-joint.
Another time, he demanded I go to the vending machine and buy myself some peanuts and a chocolate bar for lunch when he noticed I hadn't brought anything to eat for the day.
In high school and uni, I had met my fair share of intolerable men, boys, whatever. But Mr. Grey definitely tops the cake and wins the prize above them all. Not that being an asshole is medal-worthy, or anything like that.
Sometimes I wondered if I ought to have gotten a pay rise for all the things I have done for him. He orders me around to make him coffee, he orders me around to get him something for lunch, while he never does that to any of the other girl's. I get stuck with the trivial, extra duties like that. I think he's like an animal that can sense my loathing of him, so he deliberately uses it to his advantage to stir me up. It's probably because I'm literally the only girl in the office who stands up to his miserable ass. Maybe it's some kind of sick enjoyment he has, in watching me fight back and not just sit and take it?
I suppose quitting would be a reasonable thing to do, but I have never seriously considered it. I need this job to support myself and the pay was enough to get me through Mr. Grey's antagonizing ways. I graduated from Washington State University a year ago, majoring in English Literature, but there hadn't been any jobs suitable for what I wanted to do in mind, so I had to settle for working in Mr. Grey's business. My best friend and room-mate Kate Kavanagh had been the one that suggested I try for a position in his firm, and a month after I was secure in my job, Kate and I had decided to live together in an apartment. I needed this job to afford my side of the rent, so quitting wasn't really an option I could afford to take. The job had its upsides and downsides, like any does. Mr. Grey was definitely a downside.
Deliberately prolonging the moment, I take my time with the contracts, hoping maybe soon he'll forget he even called me into his office to begin with. But, with Mr. Grey, it's always wishful thinking.
I look up from my stall, hurrying as quickly as I can, and instantly I'm met with his cold stare as he stands outside the entryway of his office, both hands on his hips like a gravely stern school-teacher. To someone else, they would probably be quivering in their boots at the look on his face, but I had grown well used to it by now.
Foolishly, I begin to hope he will magically disappear as I ignore him, spinning around in my chair to face the fax machine. Mr. Grey is hardly what you would call a patient man. So I don't know why I feel so surprised when suddenly he's standing over my chair, bending over my shoulder, his face inches away from the side of mine.
"Are you unable to hear me, Miss. Steele?" He whispers near my ear, his voice low and harsh. "I believe I asked you to come into my office immediately. There was an issue with the paperwork you sent me that needs to be rectified."
I feel my cheeks flush with anger as I bite down on my lip. "I know, Mr. Grey, I heard you. But I can't do two things at once. I would like to finish what I'm doing in faxing these first before I-"
"My office now," he cuts me off, his mouth coming closer to the shell of my ear. "Don't make me ask you again."
"Fine," I spit out, miffed. "I'll be right in, if you could please just give me a bit of distance so I can stand?"
When I see him stand up fully to his height and back away from me, I stand slowly, trying to calm down my erratic breathing. My hands tremble at my sides as I look up at his face. Mr. Grey is a good ten inches taller than me, maybe even more, and he clearly relishes making me feel small and short.
He's just an asshole all around. A damn gorgeous asshole.
He stares at me for a moment, his jaw tensing then slackening, then he turns abruptly on his heel and strides towards his office. I have to follow and I hate it. Straightening my shoulders and puffing out my chest, I make my way after him, dreading it as every moment goes on. The instance I'm inside his office, Mr. Grey slams the door shut roughly like a two-year old having a temper tantrum and dashes quickly to his seat behind his desk.
"Get over here and look at what you've done, Miss. Steele." He jabs his forefinger down on the paper that's in front of him, which I'm one-hundred percent positive is one of the documents I typed on my computer for him.
What I've done? As far as I was aware of, I hadn't done anything but what he has asked of me. Taking in a deep breath, I approach him with my usual bravery that most of the other girl's didn't obviously possess, setting my chin and staring down over his shoulder at my recent work.
"Do you see anything wrong with this at all?" he asks me, rotating quickly in his chair to look me full-on. His kneecaps brush up against my thighs.
Without meeting his gaze, I read through what I have typed mentally in my head. I can't see anything wrong with what I have written, though. "But Mr. Grey, sir, I don't understand? I did what you asked of me. I did everything you wanted me to do? As far as I can tell, there isn't any spelling errors or anything. I always make sure my work is polished and I read it several times so I have everything correct." If he's going to make me look like a fool, well, over my dead body. He can kiss my ass, for all I care. "Can you maybe elaborate on what you think I've done wrong regarding this, because I fail to see it, Sir."
"You fail to see it?" He repeats. I hear the squeaking noise his office chair gives out as he stands, but I refuse to meet his eyes, nor give him the satisfaction. Since he has moved out of my way, I rest both hands on the table, inspecting my work more closely. I still can't see what he is trying to get at, though. But that's probably his point; He's doing it to be unfair. "How can you fail to see it? It's right there in front of you, Miss. Steele?"
I lean over the table, looking closer. "Where, Sir? I don't see anything-"
Then it happens.
Mr. Grey's arms come around me, hands sliding over the table to cover mine, the length of his body pressing into the back of mine. My breath gets caught in my throat when I feel his groin digging into my backside and he rests his face near the crook of my shoulder-blade.
"You're so argumentative, Miss. Steele. Why can't you be like all the other girl's, huh? Why do you have to get me so wired up?"
Mr. Grey has never done anything like this before. He has never gotten close to me before, or touched me in any way, or said anything like this to me. Suddenly I feel consumed by Mr. Grey, surrounded by all that is him. And, much to my surprise, despite my strong level of disgust towards him and his arrogant ways, I discover I hardly am turned-off by what he is doing one bit.
He turns his face into the side of mine, his mouth parted and touching my cheekbone. "Now do you see it, Miss. Steele?" He asks me, his voice just above a strained whisper. "Now do you possibly see? Am I making myself..." He gives out a deep grunting noise from the very back of his throat as he thrusts his groin up against my rear in a sudden, savage jerk. "... clearer now, Miss. Steele?"
It occurs to me that I'm turned on. I'm turned on, yet simultaneously disgusted, with what my boss is doing, at his closeness. I hate him, yet at the same time, I'm loving what he's doing. A tight ache forms in my belly, and I'm aroused. I'm aroused over what my asshole boss, Mr. Christian Grey, is doing to me over his desk. And, apparently I'm not the only one. His breathing is ragged and unsteady as he rubs himself against me a few more times with his groin, and it's really lucky the table and his arms are in my way to stop myself from falling straight over.
To my horror, I hear myself actually whimpering, "Oh, Mr. Grey."
For what feels like an eternity, I just stand there, leaning over the desk, startled by Mr. Grey's actions, while he satisfies himself in moving against my behind with his groin through the material of his trousers. His hands grip mine tightly, tendons stretching and knuckles reddening. The friction is obviously enough for him to really get going, because when he reaches that peak, he lets me know by pressing his mouth into the fabric of my blouse to stifle the moan he gives off in his office, and hearing the sound as he orgasms astonishingly thrills me, rather than sickens me on some level. He shudders against me, making me shiver in return, and then everything turns eerily silent, apart from his breathing as he recovers. Then I guess once he has recovered enough, he straightens up and moves away from me, running both hands through his thick hair, making it stand up on end.
He refuses to meet my eyes as he stares around the room, stunned, as if he can't believe what just happened himself. He looks unlike his normally composed self; His tie is crooked, and his face is flushed. Then, as he finally gains enough courage to look at me, I realize he looks disgusted with himself, truly disgusted with self-loathing.
"Thank you," he mutters, somewhat drained. "That's all for now, Anastasia. You can get back to work now."
I nod, still too stunned to speak, walking towards the door to his office with limbs that feel like lead. But just as I reach it, it dawns onto me that he called me by my first name. He hasn't done that before either.
"You know my name," I whisper under my breath in shock. He has never used my name before, just only my surname. I never even knew he cared to remember what my first name was.
"Of course I do," he says, his throat tight. "I'm your employer, for fuck sake. Now get out." I've never known someone to have such mood swings before. One minute he's clothes-humping me, and now he's back to his usual grumpy, asshole self. Clicking his fingers, he points to the door impatiently, waving his arm around. "Get out of my office!"
Confusing son of a bitch.
Suddenly Mr. Grey doesn't seem like such a bad boss to work for after all.