((For some reason my phone is saying I didnt upload Custody. But y'all can read it right?))

"Mr. Grey will see you now, Ana." She nods to me. I grab my papers with questions, most of them from the day we met. At least what I can remember. I'm lucky Kate files away every question sheets she has ever written for an interview; Mr. Grey's first editorial interview questions are no exception.

I don't knock. I just go in.

Why am I more nervous this time around than the first time? My hands start shaking, sweat forms on my brow, and my legs want to collapse.

I push open the door and, much like the first time, trip over my own feet. Luckily this time I catch myself on the door handle.

I look up to see where he is and if he saw my grand entrance. Holy shit.

Not only is he already looking at me with that look of irritation, concern, and humor, but he has noticeably toned up since the accident, probably more so than he was before. This is the first time I have seen him in person since the hospital.

Will he remember me from then?

I force myself to take a deep breath and stand back up on my own two feet without his help.

"Miss Kavanagh." He extends a hand to me- oh how much I have missed those hands holding me. "I'm Christian Grey." I go to respond, but he starts again. "You're from the hospital." Yes, he remembers.

"Yes, sir. I'm truly sorry for that day. I was...out of sorts." He retracts his hand and crosses his arms. Has he started doing that now instead of slipping his hands in his pockets?

"It's all right. I was too. Some would say I still am." Oh, Christian. "Please, sit?" He motions to two chairs set up just as I remember them.

He seems to be keeping his unruly dark copper colored hair shaped up. His beautiful gray eyes regard me shrewdly.

"Um. I must confess one detail before this interview continues." I mutter. He too takes a seat, after unbuttoning his jacket, and sighs. I can tell his irritation level is rising. He needs to calm down.

"Miss Kavanagh is...under the weather, so she sent me. I hope you don't mind, Mr. Grey."

"Then what is the correct name of the mad woman who stumbled into my hospital room only weeks ago?" His voice is warm, amused, almost knowing. I wish he knew. He looks interested, but above all, polite. Occasionally his eyes become shifty, telling me something is really nagging him in his mind. I've been with him for nineteen years now; I knew him pretty well.

"Anastasia Steele. I'm a coworker of Mrs. Kavanagh's."

He doesn't say a word, but simply nods his head in concentration. It's obvious he is still preoccupied by the voice in his head. I wish I knew what he was thinking.

I set out the recorder and smooth out the piece of paper in my lap. Looking around the room, I notice the lack of decorations. I know I took the family pictures out, and any evidence of that life that this newest older version of Christian wouldn't like. We had paintings in here though. Now they are nowhere to be found.

Except one, resting against the wall on the ground, as if he was getting ready to dispose of it.

"Your office is bland." I whisper. I didn't think he heard me until he sighs. Again.

"How so?" He cocks his head to one side and regards me intently.

"You could use some color. It might lighten the mood." Slowly he starts nodding his head in agreement. I find myself blushing, even after all these years from a simple approving nod of his head.

I go to turn on the recorder, although I really don't need to use it. I then think it would be more professional to be taking notes throughout this interview, not necessarily of his answers, but just his attitude throughout the duration. I look down in my lap, then feel in my hair, still no pen. 

I look in the small purse I brought with me knowing I always keep one in there. I look up to see Christian... Mr. Grey, waiting patiently –or so it seems – as I become increasingly embarrassed and flustered by my lack of props. One hand relaxed in his lap and the other resting on the arm of the chair, fingers drumming. His lips twitch. I think he's trying to hide his amusement.

"Sorry," I mutter, suddenly feeling like that clumsy didn't-know-anything-about-her-self college girl again sitting in front of one of the most beautifully intimidating men I had ever had the pleasure of meeting.

He nods, and with a sigh, stands to his feet to pluck a pen from his desk. He hands it over without a word, our fingers brushing as I retrieve it.

It takes all I have not to reduce to a puddle of tears. That was the first time I have had any kind of skin to skin contact with my husband since his memory of us has been stolen. Is it too much to ask for him to take me into his arms and just hold me?

Once I have my pen, I double check to make sure everything is as it should be.

"Take all the time you need, Miss Steele," he says, a laugh almost slipping from his lips.

"I'll be recording your answers." I say timidly. For years I have known this man, he has never made me feel beneath him, in fact he seems to put me on a pedestal at times, but suddenly I feel as if his dominant side is coming out in full force and all he is doing is sitting in front of me.

"I wouldn't expect you not to."

He's teasing me. I don't shrink away from his jab, if anything I flash a look asking for a challenge; he seems to find enlightenment in that.

Now that I think about it, I'm surprised he hasn't asked about what this interview is actually for.

"Now for questions." I pick at the skin around my thumb nail.

"Finally," he says, deadpan. My cheeks heat at the realization that his rather rude, but playful side is taking a part in this meeting. The bastard.

"Your business. It's been booming since you started at such a young age. To what do you owe your success?" I look up from the paper, having to alter the question a bit. His smile is rueful, and he seems to be trying to figure something out.

"Business is all about people, Miss Steele, and I'm very good at judging people. I know how they tick, what makes them flourish, what doesn't, what inspires them, and how to give them incentive. I'm lucky to be able to work with such a... disciplined ground of people. It always comes down to the people."

"Is there one person in particular that you would like to recognize?" I can't help but ask. Is that too forward? Will it blow my cover?

"I..." He takes a moment. Come on Christian! "I don't know. I rank all my employees equal, no one is above the other in my mind. In fact, I think it was Harvey Firestone who said 'the growth and development of people-

"-is the highest calling of leadership.'" I nod finishing off the quote. I remember the first time he told me that.

"You sound like a control freak." I can't count on my hands how many times I have told him that. His reaction always the same. Nostrils flaring, eyes flashing in amusement. This time is no different.

"Depends on the situation, Miss Steele," he humors laced through every word. My heartbeat quickens, and my face flushes again. Now who is being too forward?

He is flirting with you. My subconscious smirk. But he doesn't know you two are married. He doesn't even remember he has a wife. If you were any other woman, would he flirt with her too?

"Besides, if you tell yourself you are capable of immense power, you will go through life as if you have it." His voice has softened.

"Do you feel that you have immense power?" Over me I know for sure.
"Over fifty-five thousand people work for me, Miss Steele, therefore I have a sense of responsibility – power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in the telecommunications business and sell up, how many people do you think would lose a job?"

"Twenty-seven thousand." I say. I know the exact number but I don't want to seem like a freak here. He raises a brow at my accurate "guess".

"Precisely." He's expression turns to a questioning look. Are some pieces coming together?

"What are your interests, if any, outside your work?" I move on. Maybe we can get somewhere here.

"Well, off the record," He looks at me and I pretend to press the pause button on the recorder. I have to have every word of this conversation with me. "After my accident, I've been trying to figure that out." Not a trace of humor can be found on his face. "But, from what I do know, they seem to be very...varied." And suddenly there is a smile on his lips. Now we are back to the old Christian.

"Well what have you figured out?" I know he is talking about his exotic sex life, but how would he remember that if he...if he didn't try it out? Oh my God, has he had a woman over? Has he taken a stand in sub since he doesn't remember me? Taylor would have told me by now I'm sure.

"That various physical pursuits seem to keep my mind at ease when it tends to wander." He smiles, revealing perfect white teeth. I stop breathing. He really is beautiful.

What is he talking about?

I want to get off this subject.

"You invest in manufacturing. Why, specifically?" I start to fidget more. It's not Christian making me uncomfortable, it's the voice in my head questioning if we will still have a marriage when he comes to and if he is being faithful in this lost state.

"I like to know the specific mechanics of everything: what works where, why that works and something else's doesn't. And I have a love of ships, I guess you could say that's what spiked my interest."

"That sounds like your heart talking."

He stares appraisingly at me, wrinkles decorating his forehead as if he is still trying to figure me out. It's not me you need to figure out, buddy.

"Possibly."

"Do you know the expanse of it though?"

"Isn't this getting a little personal." His lip curls in a wry smile.

"You tell me."

"I'm a very private person, Miss Steele. I don't often give interviews," He continues to stare at me with that look. Are we having a competition?

"Why did you make an exception?"

"Something told me I had to." Oh. Clearing my throat, I search for another question. I don't want to bring any memories of starvation back, mostly because now that has ties to my son, and I don't need to think of that right now.

"How do you interpret this quote, 'A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind may-

"-may take possession of anything else to which he is justly entitled.' Control. That's what that quote means to me, and if you don't have control, especially in the work place, the company will fall.

"So you need control?" He's eyes narrow, and brows come together.

"Control of myself and...the company." I nod.

"You sound like the ultimate consumer."

"I am." He smiles, but the smile doesn't touch his eyes. I miss that smile.

"You were adopted. How has that affected you in your professional and personal life?" This is personal. His brow furrows.

"Well, having no contact with birth parents led me to be independent." He keeps his response short, but still more than what he revealed to me before.

"You've had to sacrifice a family life for your work."

"Thought you had questions." He's terse.

"Sorry." I squirm.

"But if that were meant to be a question, I have a family. I have my parents and a brother and a sister. Anything beyond that..." Come one. Come on. "I don't know."

It's not a no! I look down at the paper, seeing the last question Kate wrote down all those years ago. Memories come like a flood.

"Are you gay, Mr. Grey?"

He inhales sharply, and it takes all I have not to burst into a fit of giggles.

"No Anastasia, I'm not." He raises his eyebrows, a curious look in his eyes. My name rolled off his tongue with little effort. My cheeks heat up, wishing to hear him say my name from now until forever, but that won't happen until he remembers.

"Sorry, again. It's here on the sheet." I wave the piece of paper in the air.

He cocks his head to one side.

"You didn't come up with these questions?"

The blood drains from my head. Oh no.

"Mrs. Kavanagh did." He rubs his chin in quiet deliberation, his gray eyes wondering to some place beyond the space between us.

"Did you volunteer to do this interview?" he asks.

"Yes." He hums, his vision suddenly coming too and our eye contact never breaks, until I notice the time.

"When I called to set up this interview I was told your lunch time was one o'clock, do I need to go?"

"No."

I sigh, relaxing back into the chair. This is good.

"Very well, Mr. Grey," He smirks.

"Continue, Miss Steele?"

No, it's Anastasia; lease keep saying my name.

"Next question?" I look at the paper. I'm out. I wet my lips and look around the office, what can I ask that isn't too personal to him in this state? "Are there any more questions?"

I shake my head. His lip twitches.

"I find it only fair, if you tell me about yourself now." His gray eyes are alight with curiosity. Finally! I am an open book, so this could be good or bad.

"What do you want to know?" I say, flushing again.

"Tell me about your family." Is he wanting to know if I have a man in my life?

"It's just me."

"Just you?" He sounds more intrigued.

"Just me." He runs his index finger against his lips-oh those lips-and then changes the subject.

"How did you get into journalism?" Time to do what you use to do best: lie to him.

"My love is English and Literature, I was...roped into this in college." More like forced to do an interview with one of the most eligible bachelors in the city because my roommate was ill.

"Grey House has a publishing branch," he says quietly. I try to contain my smiles and laughs.

"I'll try to remember that," I murmur, the challenging tone returning to my voice. "You think I'd fit in?"

"Yes." He cocks his head to one side, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
I lean forward to retrieve the recorder. "I think that concludes the interview." I place everything in my bag and stand. Christian stands as well and grabs my elbow before I head for the door.

"Would you like me to show you around?" he asks.

"I don't believe that is necessary, Mr. Grey."

"How far is your drive?" He sounds anxious.

"Just a few miles away. Nothing unreasonable." He nods in concentration and shoves his hands in his pockets. I look him over one last time, I don't know when I will see him next. His dark navy blue suit must be new; I haven't seen it before, but it fits nicely. His shoes are perfectly polished and – I smile – my gray tie rest around his neck and down his white button up. This is the hardest goodbye I have ever had to say.

"Well, you'd better drive carefully." His authoritative tone sends chills up my spin.

"Thank you for the interview, Mr. Grey."

"The pleasure's mine," he says, seeming to be in a trance. His eyes unwavering from mine.
He opens the door and sees me out. Just when I think he will stay in his office, a hand is placed on my lower back. His touch is soft enough that I didn't feel it at first, and when it's obvious I'm not going to pull away, his touch becomes firm. As we walk back through the main foyer, I glance over to the front desk Andrea sits there eyeing us suspiciously, noting his hand and looking at me with wide eyes. I give her a warning look and she looks back down.

I will gladly fill her in later.

"I do hope you consider my offer for coming to work here." His voice sounds needy, close to his challenging tone, but I've learned to tell the difference. He offers a small smile as his cover up. When we reach the elevators he pushes the button.

"I don't think that would-" I start to argue. His relaxed posture stiffens and he stands at his full height, he sighs and squeezes his eyes shut in aggravation and irritation. When he opens them his gray irises are bright and pleading. I haven't seen this look in a long time.

"What do I have to do to make you say yes?" I look around the entry way as if the answers are written on the walls. I didn't expect it to go like this. I expected to have to walk out of here with nothing but a mock interview recording, not an invitation to work here...again. "How about we discuss the issue over coffee tomorrow?"

Is this for real?

"What time?" I would have expected to feel happy, not nervous and scared. It feels the worlds clock was rewound and we are back to the very first time we said goodbye.

"Here is my card. How about you contact me when you find whatever time is best for you?" He feels his pockets for a card, unbuttoning his jacket to find one in the inside pocket. The elevator announces its arrival.

With shaky hands I take the card and say, "Thank you, Mr. Grey."

"I hope to hear back from you soon." I nod, unable to form a decent response and watch as the elevators close.

"Christian."

"Anastasia."

And he's gone.

((Yes, I pulled this directly from the book and changed it to fit. What do you guys think? Any thoughts?))