7 Days to Christian Grey

Day 1: The First Contract

I am the best graphic designer in Seattle. I know this to be a fact.

You can't grow a design agency with a team of five in just three years if your work isn't stellar. The final product of every project we complete is extraordinary. We have a reputation of exceeding the client's expectations, and I plan to keep it that way. I hand-picked each person on my team because of their specialized skill in different areas of design; Zara's impeccable eye for coordinating colors, Nina's award-winning typography, Damien's animation wizardry. Anyone who's been referred to us knows that when they choose Williams Designs, they're choosing the best of the best.

I feel no anxiety at all as I step out of my Uber, and onto the sidewalk in front of the steel-and-glass behemoth of a building that is Grey House. I don't get nervous for these presentations at all anymore. Not because I'm a fantastic public speaker—I'm definitely not—but because the work from my agency speaks for itself. I hardly have to say anything at all. I just show a few slides, explain what they are, and watch jaws drop. Many of our clients have already pulled out the contract before I even finish.

I'll be presenting some basic mockups for the new website we'll be designing for Grey Enterprises. Basic by Williams' standards is, of course, outstanding compared to everyone else's. The head of the Grey media department, Mitchell Benning, has informed be that there's another design agency presenting for the same offer, and he'll make his decision on which one they'll choose after today. I suppose he thought it was necessary to tell me that, maybe he thought it'd provide some motivation to bring my absolute best if I knew that I was competing. But my best is the best, so it doesn't really matter.

The design department is on the 20th floor, which gives me a good bit of time in the mirror-lined elevator to straighten my clothes and hair. As I gaze at myself, I start to think that I may have went a bit overboard on the make-up. The striped blouse, five inch pumps, and pencil skirt are much more formal than what I would usually wear for this occasion. But then again, this is a six-figure contract. I'm carrying pocket aces in my briefcase, but looking good is the insurance.

The elevator chimes before I'm totally finished with my adjustment, but it's good enough. There's a tall, red-haired man standing right in front of the doors when I step out. He's dressed in a simple black polo shirt and khakis. I recognize him from his photo on Gmail: it's Mitchell

He smiles warmly, "Ms. Williams, how are you? I'm Mitchell."

"I'm well thank you," I reply, with a smile. "And yourself?"

"I'm great. This way." He gestures to the right, and I follow him down a hallway, toward the meeting rooms.

"You're right on time," he comments, as we walk. "We just finished up with Kilgore Design about ten minutes ago."

Here he goes again, talking about the other agency. Will he give it a rest, already? We both know how this is going to go.

"How'd they do?" I ask, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my tone.

"They're designs were incredible, actually. You've got some stiff competition."

"We'll see about that."

He turns back to give me a smirk that instantly rubs me the wrong way.

Six figures, I remind myself. Six. Figures. Damien is neck-deep in student loans, and Nina's landlord just outright doubled her rent. This isn't just about me, it would change the lives of my team members. The only way they'll take care of me is if I take care of them first.