50 Shades Deeper

Interview

((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.