50 Shades of Shepherd

*This story is the same as 50 shades of Grey except with characters from Grey's Anatomy. All credits go to Shonda Rhimes and E. L. James*

I frown with frustration at myself in the mirror. Damn my hair, it just won't behave. Damn Alexandra Grey for being sick and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be studying for my last exams, which are next week, yet here I am trying to brush my hair into submission. I must not sleep with it wet. I recite it many times. I try once more to bring it under control with the brush. I roll my eyes in anger and stare at the pale, blonde-haired girl with green eyes that are too big for her face and give up. My only option is to tie back my wayward hair in a ponytail and hope that I look semi-presentable. Lexie is my roommate and half-sister, and she has chosen today of all days to catch the flu. Therefore, she can't attend the interview that she has with some mega-producer-tycoon, I've never heard of, for the student newspaper. I have final exams to study for, an essay to finish and I'm supposed to be working this afternoon. But no, today I have to drive 165 miles to downtown Seattle to meet the mysterious CEO of Shepherd Enterprises Holdings Inc. As an exceptional entrepreneur and major benefactor of our university, his time is really precious, much more precious than mine. But he has granted Lexie an interview. A real coup she tells me. Damn her extracurricular activities. Lexie is huddled on the couch in the living room. "Mer, I'm sorry. It took me 9 months to get this interview, it would take another 6 to reschedule and we'll both have graduated by then. As the editor, I can't blow this off. Please." Lexie begs me in her rasping, sore throat voice. How does she do it? Even sick she looks gamine and gorgeous, black hair in place and green eyes bright, although now red-rimmed and runny. I ignore my pang of unwelcome sympathy. "I'll go, Lexie. You should get back to bed. Would you like some NyQuil or Tylenol?" "NyQuil, please. Here are the questions and my mini-recorder. Just press record here. Make notes, I'll transcribe it all." "I know nothing about him, " I whisper, trying and failing to suppress my rising panic. "The question will see you through. Go. It's a long drive. I don't want you to be late." "Okay, I'm going. Get back to bed. I made you some soup to heat later." I stare at her fondly. Only for you, Lexie. "I will. Good luck. And thanks Mer, as usual, you're my lifesaver, " gathering my satchel, I smile wryly at her, then head out the door to the car. I can't believe I let Lexie talk me into this. But then Lexie can talk anyone into anything. She'll make a rare journalist. She's vocal, strong, credible, feisty, beautiful and she's my dearest friend. The roads are empty as I set off from Vancouver, Wa toward portland, and I-5. It's early and I don't have to be in Seattle until 2 this afternoon. Fortunately, Lexie lent me her sporty Mercedes CLK. I'm not sure Wanda (my old VW beetle) would make the journey in time. Oh, the Mercedes is a fun drive and the miles slip away as I floor the pedal to the metal. *Sometime Later* My destination is the headquarters of Mr. Shepherd's global enterprise. It's a huge twenty-story office building, all curved glass, and steel, an architect's practical fantasy, with Shepherd House written slyly in steel over the glass front doors. It's a quarter to 2 when I arrive, relieved that I'm not late as I walk into the huge and frankly alarming, glass, steel, and white brown lobby. Behind the solid brown desk, a very attractive, neat, blonde youthful woman smiles pleasantly at me. She's wearing the sharpest charcoal suit jacket and white shirt I have ever seen. She looks clean. "I'm here to see Mr. Shepherd. Meredith Grey for Alexandra Grey." "Excuse me one moment, Ms. Grey." She arches her eyebrow slightly as I stand humbly before her. I wish I'd borrowed one of Lexie's formal blazers. I have tried and worn my one and only pantsuit, my black heels, and a brown jacket=. For me, this is smart. I tuck one of the escaped locks of my hair behind my ear as I pretend she doesn't scare me. "Please sign in here, Ms. Grey. You'll want the last elevator on the right, press for the 20th floor." She smiles kindly at me, amused as I sign in. She hands me a security pass that has VISITOR firmly stamped on the front. I can't help my smirk. Surely it's obvious that I'm just visiting. I don't fit in here at all. Nothing changes, I within sigh. Thanking her, I walk over to the bank of elevators past the 2 security men who are both far more smartly dressed than I am in their well-cut black suits. The elevator rushes me with vital velocity to the 20th floor. The doors slide open and I'm in another large lobby, again all glass, steel, and white brown. I'm confronted by another desk of brown and another young blonde woman dressed cleanly in black and white who rises to greet me. "Ms. Grey, could you wait here, please?" She points to a seated area of white leather chairs. Behind the leather chairs are a roomy glass-walled meeting room with an equally roomy black wood table and at least 20 matching chairs around it. Beyond that, there is a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the Seattle skyline that looks out through the city toward the Sound. It's a stunning view and I'm briefly paralyzed by the view. Wow. I sit down, fish the questions from my bag, and go through them, cursing Lexie for not providing me with a brief biography. I know nothing about this man I'm about to interview. He could be 90 or he could be 30. The uncertainty is galling and my nerves resurface, making me fidget. I've never been comfortable with one-on-one interviews, preferring the silence of a group discussion where I can sit secretly in the back of the room. To be honest, I prefer my company, reading a classic novel, curled up in a chair in the campus library. Not sitting, twitching nervously in a colossal glass and stone edifice. I roll my eyes. Get a grip, Grey. Judging from the building, which is too sedative and modern, I guess Shepherd is in his 40s: Fit, tan, and fair-haired to match the rest of the personnel. Another elegant impeccably dressed blonde comes out of an enormous door to the right. What is it with all the immaculate blondes? It's like Standford here. Taking a deep breath, I stand up. "Ms. Grey?" the latest blonde asks. "Yes, " I croak and clear my throat. "Yes." There, that sounded more confident. "Mr. Shepherd will see you in a moment. May I take your jacket?" "Oh, please." I struggle out of the jacket. "Have they offered you any refreshments?" "Um... no." Oh dear, is blonde number one in trouble? Blonde number two frowns and eyes the youth woman at the desk. "Would you like tea, coffee or water?" she asks, turning her attention back to me. "A glass of water. Thank you, " I murmur. "Isabel, please bring Ms. Grey a glass of water." Her voice is stern. Isabel scoots up immediately and scurries to a door on the other side of the foyer. "My apologies, Ms. Grey, Isabel is our new intern. Please be seated. Mr. Shepherd will be another five minutes." Isabel returns with a glass of iced water. "Here you go, Ms. Grey." "Thank you." Blonde number 2 marches over to the enormous desk, her heels clicking and echoing on the sandstone floor. She sits down, and they both continue their work. Perhaps Mr. Shepherd insists on all his employees being blonde. I'm wondering idly if that is legal when the office door opens and a tall, elegantly dressed, attractive African American man with short dreads exits. I have definitely worn the wrong clothes. He turns and says through the door. "Golf, this week, Shepherd." I don't hear the reply. He turns, sees me, and smiles his black eyes crinkling at the corners. Isabel jumped up and called the elevator. She seems to excel at jumping from her seat. She's more nervous than me! "Wonderful afternoon ladies, " he says as he departs through the sliding door. "Mr. Shepherd will see you now, Ms. Grey." blonde 2 says. I stand rather shakily, trying to suppress my nerves. Gathering my satchel, I abandon my glass of water and make my way to the partially open door. "You don't need to knock, just go in." She smiles kindly. I push open the door and stumble through, tripping over my own feet, and falling headfirst into the office. Double crap! I am on my hands and knees in the doorway to Mr. Shepherd's office and gentle hands are around me helping me stand. I am so embarrassed, damn my clumsiness. I have to glance up. Holy cow, he's so young. "Ms. Grey." He extends his long-fingered hand to me once I'm standing upright. "I'm Derek Shepherd. Are you all right? Would you like to sit?" So young and attractive. He's tall, dressed in a fine gray suit, white shirt, and gray tie with black hair and intense, bright blue eyes that regard me shrewdly. It takes a moment for me to find my voice. "Um, actually, " I mumble. If this guy is over 30, then I'm a monkey's uncle. In a daze, I place my hand in his, and we shake. As our fingers touch, I feel an odd exhilarating shiver run through me. I withdraw my hand quickly and embarrassed. Must be static. I blink quickly, my eyelids matching my heart rate. "Ms. Grey is indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don't mind, Mr. Shepherd." "And you are?" His voice is warm, possibly amused, but it's difficult to tell from his impassive expression. He looks mildly interested, but above all, polite. "Meredith Grey. I'm studying English Literature with Lexie, um... Alexandra... um… Ms. Grey at Washington State." "I see, " he says. I think I see the ghost of a smile in his expression, but I'm not sure. "Would you like to sit?" He waves me toward a white leather L-shaped couch. His office is way too big for one man. In front of the floor to ceiling windows, there's a huge black wood desk that 6 people could comfortably eat around. It matches the coffee table by the couch. Everything else the ceiling, floor, and walls except on the wall by the door, where a mosaic of small paintings hang, 36 of them arranged in a square, are white. They are an exquisite series of mundane, forgotten objects painted in such detail, they look like photographs. Displayed together, they are breathtaking. "A local artist, Trouton, " says Shepherd when he catches my gaze. "They're lovely. Raising the ordinary to the extraordinary, " I murmur, distracted both by him and the paintings. He cocks his head to one side and regards me intently. "I couldn't agree more, Ms. Grey, " he replies, his voice soft and for some inexplicable reason, I blush. Apart from the paintings, the rest of the office is cold and clean. I wonder if it reflects the personality of the Adonis who sinks gracefully into one of the chairs opposite of me. I shake my head, disturbed at the direction of my thoughts, and retrieve Lexie's questions from my bag. I set up the mini disc recorder and am all fingers and thumbs, dropping it twice on the coffee table in front of me. Mr. Shepherd says nothing, waiting patiently for hope, as I become embarrassed and flustered. When I pluck up the courage to look at him, he's watching me, one hand relaxed in his lap and the other cupping his chin and trailing his long finger across his lips. I think he's trying to suppress a smile.