Christian's POV              

  I'm sitting in a chair that doesn't really seem like my style, looking at a seemingly familiar painting resting against the wall on the ground. It seems out of place in this office, but I can't bring myself to do anything with it.

Does this connect to before the accident?

Now that I think about it, that interview should be happening soon.

As if on cue, my thoughts come to a halt when the massive wooden door creeks open and I hear the clattering of heels. I look up from my desk to see a woman, fair in size, dressed in a gray pencil skirt, emerald green blouse and a cotton sweater. Long brown hair forms curtains around her face as she stares at the ground leaning against the door.

Clumsy journalist, do I really have time for this?

When she looks up, our eyes connect, and... where do I know her from? The mental wall that appeared after the accident seems to have cracked a little.

It looks like she knows me too, but from where?

Glancing down at the paper on my desk, I double check the woman's name. Kavanagh. Hm, I wonder if she is related to an old colleague of mine.

"Mrs. Kavanagh." I offer my hand, which she excepts with a weary expression in her blue eyes. When skin meets skin, something happens. I don't know what exactly, but it's not a feeling I shy away from even though I feel like I should.

Suddenly everything clicks.

"You're from the hospital." I recognize her now. At the mention of that memory she seems to deflate even more than when she first stumbled in here. As soon as she speaks, that feeling ignites again, and the wall cracks a bit more.

Her questions get personal, more personal than any other interview I have done for a newspaper or magazine.

She asked if I was gay! Why would she think that? Do other people think that? How could she not pick up the seemingly obvious hints I couldn't control myself from spitting out? I've had to meet with multiple woman since returning to work, and none of them seem to enchant me as this one does, simply by her presence.

Suddenly this stopped feeling like an interview and instead it was like two strangers getting to know each other. She spoke as if she already knew me.

What the hell is this feeling? I don't know if I like it or not.

Every once in a while, there would be an underlying meaning to her questions in which she formed in a challenging tone. No one here does that. I'm not use to that, well except from my dick brother, but it was different with her.

I don't know what has me so intrigued by her. Damn it; I need to be working on getting my fucked up memory back in order instead of getting these warm alien feelings for a woman.

I need to go to the gym after work.

She looks down at her watch then back to me.

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

"No." I can buy some more time with Miss Anastasia. I need to satisfy this craving I have for her. Not in a physical way, which I expected, but in the way that.... I'm a fucking sap. She visibly relaxes back into the chair.

"Very well, Mr. Grey." My name doesn't seem to roll comfortably off her tongue.

"Continue, Miss Steele." Her eyes widen. "Next question."

She opens her mouth as if to speak, beautiful peach lips parted, looking down at the paper on her exposed knees and then looking around the room as if she is lost. What is it about this woman?

"Are there more questions?" My fingers drum against the arm of the chair. Maybe the tables can turn.

She shakes her head and I feel my lip twitch. I lean back in the chair, legs crossed, hands folded in my lap and catch her eyes.

"I find it only fair you tell me about yourself now." I wonder what I can pull from her. She doesn't seem to shy away. Her body language tells me she is more than willing to open up. Damn it Grey what have you gotten yourself into?

"What do you want to know?" There are endless answers to that, Miss Steele.

"Tell me about your family?" I couldn't be as straight forward as it ask her if she were single. Then again she was pretty fucking blunt when she asked about my sexuality.

"It's just me." She mumbles. The words sounding forced. Is there a story about that?

"Just you?" I ask to confirm. She straightens her shoulders.

"Just me." So she is single. I run the side of my index finger across my lips. I'll have to find a reason for...our paths to cross again outside of the office. Now what can I ask?

"How did you get into journalism?"

"My love is English and Literature," Oh, so a romantic. Great. "I was roped into this in college." I can work with that.

"Grey House has a publishing branch," which I don't remember opening. She smiles for a split second.

"I'll try to remember that." No! Take the offer. Is she being serious? "Do you really think I'd fit in?" What is she talking about? She is female right? I think she would be fine. It's the few men that work around here that don't fit in. Since when did I start fucking hiring men?

"Yes."

"I think that concludes the interview." She collects her things and stands, heading towards the door.

"Would you like me to show you around?" I grab her elbow. Even having physical contact with her I get that feeling.

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

"How far is your drive?" I push on. If it's too far, I'll insist she stay at a local hotel, prolonging our time.

"Just a few miles away. Nothing unreasonable." Damn it. I remove my hand from her arm.

"Well you better drive carefully." She bites her lip. I've never found such a small detail so...arousing as I do now.

"Thank you for the interview, Mr. Grey." Mr. Grey feels too formal of a name at the moment, especially when she says it.

"The pleasure's mine." I look into her eyes and I see something. The Wall cracks. Just a little bit.

I decided to see her out, just needing to be near her. For some reason, even sitting across from each other, just being near her calms my racing mind. I don't think about the wreck; I don't think about what I've forgotten. Why is this happening with a stranger?

Experimentally, I place my arm around her waist. She doesn't flinch or move away, so I rest it there for the remainder of our walk.

"I do hope you consider my offer for coming to work here." I need this feeling more often. I need this woman, Anastasia Steele, around more. I push the button for the elevator.

"I don't think that would-" I close my eyes. Why is she saying no?

"What do I have to do to make you say yes?" Here I am fucking begging again. "How about we discuss the issue over coffee tomorrow?" I swear if she says no to this, the whole office will see me break.

"What time?" That doesn't sound like a no.

"Here is my card. How about you contact me when you fine whatever time is best for you?" I'll need to tell Andrea I won't be coming into work tomorrow? Shit, I feel like a horny high school boy.

She takes the card with shaking fingers and says thanks as the elevator arrives.

"I hope to hear back from you soon."

The doors start closing. I try to take in all of her in the fleeing seconds I have.

"Christian." I'm startled when she uses my first name, but...it sounds right.

"Anastasia."

And she's gone.

As the elevator descends, I turn towards Andrea's desk.

"I'm taking a sick day tomorrow." I tell her, and with a smile, she makes a note.

Now I just have to watch the phone for a call.

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