Chapter Text
September 2005
Anastasia's POV
"Ana, Ana, wait," Mia Jones catches up with me on the school steps. Her hair, as always, is perfectly styled in an intricate updo. Her clothes smell like Gucci perfume. What the hell does she want?
"Jones, quick and to the point!" I spit out and look at her.
"Ana, as you know, Kate's sick. And she asked you to come see her," the brunette says pleadingly.
I sigh and take out a cigarette. Kavanagh usually invites me over when she wants to pile on yet another shabby social work. It really pisses her off that she works at the newspaper, which doesn't even bring in any decent money. No, of course, Kate and I grow up in wealthy families and have everything we could ever dream of, but unlike her, I feel like the ugly duckling. The adopted daughter of brilliant diplomats—Ray and Carla Steele—I'm one of the worst students in my class and a real nightmare for the teachers. Sure, my parents love me and don't care about my grades, but I've never felt loved or needed by anyone except them. Whatever.
"Jones, you work hard for the newspaper this time, I'm out. I have things to do," I exhale smoke.
"What? Getting drunk with Hyde and Rodriguez? How have you not landed in jail yet? It's mind-boggling. Steele, life isn't about drinking and partying. Kate needs you, she's insisting you take this assignment," Mia coaxes me.
Damn, she's very persuasive. I look into her chocolate eyes and realize I can't let Kate down. Even though she infuriates me with her unattainable holiness and perfection.
I take out my phone, plug in my headphones, and blast Deep Purple's "Smoke On The Water" at full blast. It distracts me from my thoughts, and I practically run to Kavanagh's house. Whatever Kate has in store for me, I'll quickly deal with it and tell her to get lost.
It's drizzling outside as I enter Kate's mansion. Almost immediately, I'm greeted by Alma, the Kavanagh family's maid. An elderly, gray-haired woman of about 60. She smiles warmly and leads me upstairs.
Catherine, as usual, is lying on her bed, surrounded by textbooks. She's taking notes, reading, and simultaneously researching information on her laptop.
"Hi," I say, plopping down on her bed, still wearing my sneakers, and looking her straight in the eyes.
"And you too, Steele," Kavanagh answers me amiably. "I see Mia convinced you to come?"
"Mia's no match," I laugh and tilt my head to the side. "Why did you invite me?"
"Ana, I arranged an interview for our newspaper with a prominent businessman. But," Kavanagh sneezes, "you can see for yourself what state I'm in, so I'm asking you to go see him. It's not far. I'll print out a Google map for you," says Katherine.
"Kate, damn it, I know how to use Google, don't think I'm a jerk. Just tell me who the hell he is and what I need to ask him?" I say, smiling.
"His name is Christian Grey, and he's a leading businessman in New York. He's also a trustee of our school," the blonde says calmly.
Wow, our school has a sponsor. And here I thought it only existed on diplomats' money.
"So what's the list of questions?" I ask.
Ha, it's easy as pie for me to get some old fart to interview me. I'm a good person, I love to provoke people, and I love to see how they react.
"Ana, please don't pull any of your legerdemain. Whether Grey will continue to fund our school depends on this interview," Kavanagh pleads, handing me the questions.
"Masturbate, Kate, you're being such a bitch," I smile at her and run my eyes down the list.
Kavanagh mutters something about my heritage, and I sigh. Fuck, what else do you expect from the daughter of a whore who committed suicide because of a client? My mother never loved me, didn't care about me, and let her fucking pimp put out cigarettes on me. Only the Steeles were able to soften me a little and show some concern. They're saints, putting up with my quirks.
"Don't be angry, Kate, I get it, I'll be all manners and virtue," I put the questions in my backpack and smile at her. We say goodbye warmly, and I head home.
My mother meets me there and asks about my day at school. I reluctantly answer and tell her about the interview with Gray. I don't like sharing my problems with anyone. I'm very reserved and have a hard time connecting with people. My friends Jack Hyde and Jose Rodriguez know this and don't pry into my soul.
After dinner, I do my homework, review the interview questions, and go to bed.
Saturday morning is very cold and cloudy. What a day, my textbook is a complete disaster. After a quick meal, I put on jeans and a Harry Potter T-shirt, my best sneakers, and a warm coat.
"Ana, should I give you a ride?" Dad sits down at the table. He looks more like a rock star than a world-renowned diplomat. Long hair, a tattoo on his arm, a two-day stubble.
"Okay," I smile. Despite all my antics and quirks, they love the Steeles, and I repay them in kind.
Dad winks at me, and we head to the garage.
"What are we driving, princess?" he asks.
I nod toward the yellow Wanda Beetle. I don't know why I like that car. I think it's because it's like me—an ugly duckling with a heart of gold.
Dad gets behind the wheel, and we pull out of the underground parking garage. Ray turns on the radio, and a Ricky Martin song comes on. We start singing along, and I forget my nervousness about the interview with that old man Gray. Yeah, I haven't seen his photo, but I'm sure he's a boring, prim Englishman with a mania for correctness, and he talks like a Harvard graduate. I've never liked people like that. They look smart and proper, but they're empty inside. Finally, we pull up in front of a majestic building, and Dad opens the door for me.
"Good luck, Ana," Ray smiles, and I head toward the skyscraper.