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I sigh at my reflection as I wrestle with my long, mousy brown hair, trying to get it flat. Just one more thing to make this day awful. I could’ve used my flat iron, but that was in the bathroom, which coincided with problem one, aka my dear friend and roommate Kate’s food poisoning. I’d lit three scented candles, but not even the combined power of French Baguette, Gingerbread Dream, and Ocean Paradise can mask the stink. I knew we never should have tried that new sushi place. Problem number two was the interview. I glance over at the veritable dossier on my bed, containing what will hopefully be all the notes I need to get through Kate’s meeting with Christian Grey, a billionaire and entrepreneur with such a tight schedule that Kate wouldn’t be able to get another shot at the interview for six months- and, apparently, such a tight schedule that he couldn’t be assed to set up a rain-check date in advance. I’m not looking forward to this. Looking at the clock, I finally give up on my hair, tying it up in a ponytail instead, and go to check on Kate in the bathroom. She’s surrounded by empty Gatorade bottles, with a gallon-sized water bottle sitting at her feet for good measure, and clutching a tub of Vaseline to her chest like a teddy bear. A box of Saltines sits on the edge of the bathtub. I wince, both in sympathy and because, quite honestly, it’s pretty gross. “Are you sure no one else from the school paper can make the interview?” I ask. I don’t want to be harsh, but I do still have to cram for finals. Not to mention the fact that I’m not even a journalism student. Someone as awkward and unsociable as me is not cut out for this. The look she gives me is so miserable, however, that the rest of my resistance crumbles instantly. “It’s too last minute. I’ve tried everyone. I’m so sorry, Stacy.” “It’s fine, Kate,” I say. “I know you’d do the same for me.” And she really would, too, otherwise I would’ve never agreed to this. “I’ve got all you’re prep notes, I’ve read up on Grey on Wikipedia, and I’ve practiced setting up your recorder. I’ll be golden.” She sniffles. “Thank you so much. I-“ She breaks off as a rumble cuts through the room. “Fuck.” I slap my hand over my nose. “I’ll leave you alone. Call me or José if you need anything, okay?” “Okay,” she says weakly through the already-closed bathroom door. “Drink water!” I yell as a reminder before gathering up my things and heading out the door. The building for Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc is an unremarkable modern tower whose twenty-something stories would look intimidating in Vancouver, Washington, but here in Seattle is nothing out of the ordinary. The receptionist is a blonde, blue-eyed woman with a sharp charcoal blazer that would look right at home on Kate’s shoulders; it makes me feel even more inadequate and unprepared, dressed in a frumpy cardigan and the only skirt I own. I explain to her the situation with Kate and the interview- leaving out the uglier details, of course- and she’s very polite about it. She gives me a Visitor’s badge to pin to my shirt and sends me on my merry way. From there it’s up the elevator and into a waiting room on the twentieth floor. Another two receptionists, both also blonde but easily distinguished by their green dress and long legs respectively, greet me, and one offers me a glass of water, which I accept gratefully. I drink it as I try to read through the questions again, my eyes glazing over them instead. I’m fighting down the urge to fake some food poisoning of my own. But I’m here for Kate, I remind myself. I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts that I actually jump when the door to Grey’s office suddenly opens. Looking up, I see a well-dressed black man waltz out, calling behind him, “Golf this week, Grey?” I don’t hear the reply. He smiles at all three of us as he heads for the exit, and I give what I hope is a smile back. “Mr. Grey will see you now, Miss Steele. Do go through,” says the receptionist in the green dress. I stand, gathering myself, and walk over to the large, heavy door to Mr Grey’s office. It’s harder to push open than I thought, and so I put more force into it. When it finally swings open, it happens so suddenly that I trip over my own feet and land in a heap on the floor. Because of course I do. A pair of firm hands helps me stand, and one of them slides over my waist. I flush instantly and detangle myself from my handsome ‘helper’, who can only be Christian Grey. He’s handsome, in the way that a Greek sculpture is handsome: chiseled, impeccable, uninviting, cold. Once I’m safely back on my feet he extends his hand for me to shake. “Miss Kavanagh,” he greets me. “I’m Christian Grey. Are you alright? Would you like to sit?” I bite my lip. I can’t believe they haven’t told him yet. This is mortifying. “Actually, my name is Stacy Steele. I’m a classmate of Miss Kavanagh. She’s fallen ill very suddenly, nothing serious, but she really can’t travel today. I hope it’s not too much of an inconvenience.” “Not at all. Would you like to sit?” he asks, gesturing to a white leather couch. “Yes, thank you.” As we take our seats, I look around his office. It’s so… impersonal. It almost looks like he just forgot to decorate, except for a set of small pictures on the wall by the door. “Would you mind if I record our conversation?” “Not at all.” I get the recorder set up on my second try. Hitting play and pulling out the questions once again, I begin with, “You’re very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success? He looks disappointed. I clench my jaw, irritated. What did he expect when he agreed to an interview with a college student? Good grief. “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 incentivize them. I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well.” He pauses, staring at me. “My belief is to achieve success in any scheme one has to make oneself master of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail. I work hard, very hard to do that. I make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a good solid idea and good people. The bottom line is it’s always down to good people.” He gives me a smug smile. I tilt my head. “Maybe you’re just lucky.” I have to fight to keep my voice from coming out angry. What an arrogant man he is. Grey’s eyes flash. “I don’t subscribe to luck or chance, Miss Steele. The harder I work the more luck I seem to have. It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing their energies accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said, ‘The growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership.’ ” “You sounds like a control freak,” I tell him. “Oh, I exercise control in… all things, Miss Steele,” he says seriously. I get the feeling that somehow, in a roundabout way, he’s trying to come on to me. I pull my cardigan closer around myself. “How does it feel to have power over such a large business? I doubt you ever get nervous,” I say, trying to get us back on track with his ego rather than whatever that was. “I employ over forty thousand people, Miss Steele. That gives me a certain sense of responsibility- power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in the telecommunications business and sell, twenty thousand people would struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month or so.” I stare at him, eyes wide. “Do you enjoy that thought? That you have so much power over your subordinates?” “In a way, I suppose.” He looks me up and down in a way that thoroughly creeps me out. “Everyone with power enjoys it. Such is its nature.” I look back at the questions, searching for something that will get us away from this topic. “What hobbies do you have outside of work?” “I have varied interests, Miss Steele.” He smiles. “Very varied.” He looks me over like a piece of meat at the butcher’s. “What about you, Miss Steele?” “I- excuse me?” I gape at him. “What do you do?” I stutter, “I- I’m an English major, I suppose I spend most of my time on classes-“ “An English major,” he says softly and with satisfaction. “Tell me, was in Charlotte Brontë, Jane Austen, or Thomas Hardy who first made you fall in love with literature?” “Virginia Woolf,” I say, offended. He smirks, like I’ve just given him some sort of great prize. I look back at the questions again, hoping Kate has given me something to work with. “What do you have to say about rumors of you being homosexual?” I ask with more vigor than is needed. His smile is instantly wiped off his face. He clenched his fists. “I have nothing to say about those rumors, Anastasia, except that they are not true.” I know I’ll feel embarrassed about this later, but in the moment I’ll take what I can get. I ask, “What are your thoughts on the LGTBQ community as a whole, Mr Grey? It seems as though the topic makes you uncomfortable.” “The Vice President of my company, Ros Bailey, is an openly lesbian woman.” “So, you would say you have gay friends?” He grimaces. “Yes.” He stares at me again, gray eyes piercing. “Are you and Miss Kavanagh particularly interested in gay rights, Miss Steele?” “Yes,” I say confidently. “We’ve been dating exclusively for six months now.” Oh God. What did I just say. Why did I say that. Oh God Kate is going to listen to this why did I There’s a knock at the door. The receptionist in the green dress peeks in. “Mr. Grey, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes.” Oh, thank God. I start gathering up my things, giving Grey the brightest smile I can muster. “Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Grey. It was lovely to meet you.” I bolt, leaving both the receptionist and Grey staring after me. “Stacy?” Kate asks as I walk through the door. She’s laying on the couch now, still looking slightly ill, but as far as I’m concerned, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “How was the interview?” I flip down on her chest. “I’m never leaving the house again. Or eating sushi.” Kate winces. “Well, I’m sure there’s something salvageable.” “That’ll be news to me.” She runs her hand through my hair. “Fuck it. Let’s just watch a movie.” “I love you,” I tell her seriously. “Love you too, Stace.” A week later I’m sitting on my bed, chewing on a pen as a I study for finals when the door flies open. Kate Kavanagh is looking at me with bright, shocked green eyes, more flustered than I’ve ever seen her, and in her hand is the recorder from the interview. Oh, no. “Oh, no. Kate-“ Whatever I was about to say is drowned out when she crosses my room in two long steps and kisses me full on the mouth, her hands tangling in my hair. One Mississippi… two Mississippi… three Mississippi… and then she’s gone in a whirl of strawberry-blonde hair. I stare after her, my heart thumping harder than it ever has before. I chase after her. She looks back at me in the hall and says brokenly, “Please don’t be mad at me, Stacy, I just had to- I’m so stupid, I just-“ I kiss her this time, and it’s soft, messy, welcoming, warm. It’s everything.