"Um,... I have an appointment with Christian Grey..."

"This way."

Ana eyed the gorgeous woman warily and followed her down a dimly lit corridor to what looked like a bar or private club of some sort. So far, this was not going at all the way Kate said it would

Her friend had come down with a nasty bout of flu and in between sneezing, coughing, and groaning she'd managed to talk Ana into interviewing some mega billionaire in her stead. Waving off Ana's hesitations and stuttering excuses with a pleading look and a pathetic whine, "It took me six months to schedule it. If you don't help me out, my star article for our student paper won't get published. Just show up, set up the tape recorder, ask some questions, and you're done. Easy peezy."

Easy peezy. Ana felt her eyes roll back in her head. So far nothing about this was anywhere near easy and peezy...forget about it.

She'd shown up at Grey's Offices at the appointed time only to be put in the back seat of an SUV and whisked away. When she'd tried to get answers from the tight-lipped driver, he'd just grunted something about Mr. Grey.. a meeting... he didn't know details and blah, grunt, blah, grunt, grunt...blah.


So here she was, following the tall, blond, statuesque walking advertisement for leather corsets, short skirts, and mile high stilettos. Ana was relieved to see no whip in the woman's hand.

"Mr. Grey is on the phone. You can wait at the bar. He'll be with you shortly." The woman led her through swinging doors and into..

Ana's mouth dropped open...

What. The. Fuck?

Shit shit shit HOLY shit! What the hell was going on? The place was dark, lit by dim sconces along the walls, but it was enough light to make out two things. One: she was not dressed appropriately. Two: this was not your mama's club, not unless mama was into some freaky shit.

Ana didn't know where not to look first. Men in leather pants and vests. Women in tiny short leather skirts and bustiers that barely covered the essentials, and those were the over-dressed ones. Some people wore nothing but teeny weenie leather thongs. Ana winced. Now that had to chafe. They also wore chokers, or maybe collars would be a more appropriate word. She wasn't a complete idiot. This was some kink/BDSM club right here in the middle of Seattle. Lordy, lordy, well who would have guessed. She didn't know whether to poke her eyes out or run from the place screaming. She settled for standing there with her mouth hanging open.

"Are you alright, dear?"

Ana turned to the woman beside her. Was she alright? Well...uh...maybe if she asked her once the shock wore off. Say in about a week… or two. Possibly a month... or year...she should ask next year. Yep, that ought to do it.

"Hey..." Ana blinked at the woman. Her face had lost its sever lines and compassion lit her eyes..."You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

Oh hell, why did this woman think she was here, "I'm just here for the interview." The words tripped over themselves in her rush to get them out.

"Yes, yes, that's right," The perfectly coiffed blond head bobbed once, "And you can leave at any time. Come on, I'll introduce you to Maurice."


The woman, who she decided to call Brunhilda in her head, smiled. It transformed her face. She looked almost not terrifying, "The bar-tender, makes a wicked margarita."

Ana's eyes skittered over the dimly lit room, trying to find somewhere to look that wouldn't make her wish for a gallon jug of Purrell. Call her old fashioned, but some things should be done in private. Like what that man in the corner was doing to that girl in the thong. And that threesome over against the wall, and oh how was that even anatomically possible. Margarita? Oh, hell yes. She didn't normally drink, but there was nothing normal about this. Following Brunhilda to the bar, she made a mental note to give Kate a couple days to get over her flu before she killed her.