Author's Note: Please note a word was deemed offensive in this story, so I changed it. My apologies to anyone who found the word, which will not be repeated, offensive... Ana

Chapter 1 – The Dropout, the F-Wad, & the Bitch

The day I will always remember is the day nearly seven years ago that the cocky, wet behind the ears, twenty-year old asshole, Harvard dropout walked into Lyden Technologies, LT for short, as the new Lord and Master. Accompanying the kid was Mr. Fuckwad himself, though calling him mister gives him too much respect. Part of me was thrilled that someone bought the place before it disappeared like Atlantis, another part of me wondered if this kid wearing overpriced jeans, black t-shirt, and a leather jacket that looked like it came out of a biker closet – never mind those stupid Aviator sunglasses. His outfit screamed arrogant prick, delusional, and most of all, pretentious douche bag.

At twenty-four, I, Ros Bailey, was the Chief Financial Officer to the Fuckwad owner, an asshole if there ever was one, who had been making one bad decision after another for the past few years. The fucker took his brilliant technological achievement and eventually flushed it down the proverbial crapper – almost literally.

It was thrilling when I first started at LT. All eyes were on us as the next hot up and comer out of Seattle's own tech company. I went to Stanford University with the Fuckwad. Why do I call him that? Well, when someone completely and utterly screws up a potentially multimillion dollar company, in my book, he becomes my own personal Voldemort – he who should not be named; so he will forever be known as the Fuckwad, or FT for short. Thank you JK Rowling, I bow before your greatness! While Voldemort was pure evil, my Fuckwad earned his name for his stupidity. After all, he wasn't evil, just horny and that made a once brilliant man fucking stupid.

At Stanford the Fuckwad worked hard, graduated valedictorian, and was motivated to achieve. The guy barely dated throughout school, though to be honest, he was a nerd, but not nerd hot as some girls like them, but so fucking fugly he'd need to have thousand dollar bills sticking out of his tighty whities to get even looked at much less laid.

We were good friends, so I was there day one when Lyden Technologies was founded fresh out of the University. Little did I realize the moment we achieved success, those large bills would go into those tighty whities, along with bottles of high end alcohol, clubbing, and whores with the business forgotten. My recommendations were ignored as his arrogance swelled with his bank account. Why did I stay you ask? Simple, I'm a vile, vindictive bitch who wanted to document his rise and fall for the book I was working on. Yes I was bitter that he was driving the business into the ground, but more than that, I was sorely disappointed in his actions. Don't get me wrong, I'm no saint, but I have no issue separating my business and personal life. Trust me, I've banged more women than the Fuckwad paid to bang him after he earned his first five million and I didn't pay. Being a natural redhead has its perks when cruising the different venues that cater to the homosexual community around Seattle. Around those clubs I was simply known as Big Red.

So the kid, Christian Grey, swaggers into LT that day with his arrogance radiating from every pore. Clearly growing up he must have been treated like the sun shined out of his ass because he proceeded to point at different people and simply stated your out, your out, your in, and when he pointed toward me, I couldn't resist stating, "I'm out, proud, and really fucking loud. I'm out of this shithole. Don't stand too close to the Fuckwad" I add pointing toward the actual Fuckwad "because it might rub off and trust me kid, add Fuckwad to arrogant asshole and you get … well nevermind because we'll just get you!"

"Fuck you Ros," Fuckwad yells at me. "You were as much a part of bringing this company to its knees as I was."

I laughed at him; actually it was probably closer to snorting with derision at him. He knew I was a major bitch. He had to know I wouldn't allow that remark to go unaddressed. As previously stated – I'm a major fucking bitch. Hell, I give major fucking bitches a bad name and when I go thermonuclear, well, some say I'm Satan incarnate and yes, I was in that instance possessed. Fuck, I'm almost aroused just remembering that day – the day I eviscerated the Fuckwad.

The stunned look on Grey's pretty face was hilarious when I grabbed a file from my desk, slammed the Fuckwad against a wall and began my verbal assault. "Let's get one thing straight Fuckwad, the downfall of this company is one-hundred percent on you. At Stanford you worked your ass off to be top of our class, but no sooner than you had enough cash to pay for pussy you lose your way." I slammed the file in my hand against his chest. "Here are all the emails and other correspondence between us over the last eighteen months where I'm practically begging you to cut the crap and recommend courses of action to bring this company back from the cesspool you tossed it in. If you had listened we'd be golden and you wouldn't constantly be out of the office being treated for one venereal disease after another. I kept LT afloat while your ugly ass was balls deep in rotting pussy, booze, and drugs."

"Screw you Ros," Fuckwad countered.

"Just the thought of that makes me want to vomit," I snorted. "Oh and before you get any ideas of shooting off your fucking mouth blaming me for LT's failures you need to keep two things in mind – one, I'll sue your ass until you are homeless; and two, you know me, I won't stop there. So I'm warning you – don't push me because I won't stop pushing back until you have a gun in your mouth."

As I grabbed my bag and walked out the door, the kids face was filled with a combination of panic and begrudging respect. Okay, so I'm as arrogant as the Grey kid is because I firmly believe he should respect me for my diatribe, and his panic, well, no one knows this company like I do and I'm certain he knows it. If the brat wants me to work for him, well, he'll just have to kiss my freckled ass. "I'm out of here" I tell the kid as I pinch his cheek and head out the door. The only thing I hear as the door closes behind me is the kid bitterly swearing - fuck!

I knew the kid had done his homework before purchasing LT. I've avoided him for a week by partying a bit too hard, turning off my cell phone, and spending the day light hours passed out in bed. It's times like these where I'm thankful I was good at saving money and investing. I could afford to spend a year without working if I had to. Not bad for a twenty-four year old.

Guilt started moving through me on day twelve – a Friday night. The one thought that kept going through my mind during the moments when I wasn't on the prowl or getting laid was – what if the Grey kid's plan included me in some role. It's a logical conclusion after he'd left me ten voicemails per day and even notes slipped under my condo's door. Reluctantly, I turn on my cell phone and send him a text: BE AT THE WILDROSE - 6 PM BRING YOUR BUSINESS PLAN AND I'LL BRING MINE – LET'S TALK. After that, I turn my phone off again. If the kid doesn't know The Wildrose, Seattle's best lesbian sports bar, then he's a fucking idiot or not gay. Why meet at the Wildrose? Simple – to get a clear picture of the man-boy-brat that is Christian Grey. Sue me. This bitch wanted home field advantage.

The only thing I needed to do is decide what to wear. Do I wear my normal Wildrose attire of something clingy, slightly revealing, but androgynous or do I go balls in, hit the men's department at Neiman's and buy the same jeans and t-shirt the kid wore into the office on his big day, along with Chucks and the leather jacket from the back of my closet. Note to self: buy Aviators. Shopping it was. I wanted to push the kids buttons and see how he'd handle being mocked in a lesbian bar. Balls in it is!

In life you have to stack the deck in your favor whenever possible; hence the location and wardrobe for my meeting with the Grey kid. To say I spent a great deal of time over the past few years at the Wildrose would be an understatement – I'm the captain of their softball team three years running. So when I asked the owner if I could tap into their security feed to watch the kid's reaction when he arrived, she readily agreed. My entry would be fashionably late. Normally I wouldn't do this but it was all about gauging the kid's reaction. I'm a Virgo. I don't do late without it being strategic. Heck, I arrive fifteen minutes or more early because nothing irks me more than lateness. Well, that's not true, stupid, ignorant, and biased piss me off more. Ironic, I know since it almost feels like I'm judging the kid based on his age. I'm not really though. I've done some homework on him and he's not your typical twenty-year old. He's not on social media of any kind, though his kid sister is and his older brother is Seattle's number one man-whore, Elliot Grey. Other than those tidbits there's not much on the web on the kid and this alone raises red flags in my warped mind.

I have to admit sitting here in the darkened parking lot waiting for the kid to arrive makes me feel like a cop on a stake out. Naturally, my mind is drawn to Detective Olivia Benson on Law & Order: SVU. Boy, could I feast on her. 'Mind out of the pussy, Ros' I remind myself as the kid arrives in a late model BMW. As he gets out of the car wearing another pair of overly priced jeans and a button down shirt, he looks confused yet amazingly, like less of a douche bag. He's your typical yuppie though with his leather messenger bag around his shoulder. The video feed as he enters the bar is hilarious. His slack-jawed face is priceless as he finally realizes this isn't your standard jock's sports bar. It takes a second, but he smiles at the muscular female bouncer by the door, shrugs with embarrassment, and heads to the bar and orders a beer. I had let the bartender know he was under the legal drinking age, so she serves him a coke instead. Sue me. I'm a bitch!

To say I enjoyed shopping today is an understatement. I love fucking with people. Hell, I even went and cut my naturally long dark red hair short, just to fuck with the kid. I even styled it like his just fucked coiffure. I know that I probably went a bit too far, but I just couldn't resist. Maybe there needs to be a twelve-step program for bitches. I would go just to rock the boat until people either jump ship or are puking over the side. It would probably be as much fun as when my friend Mike and I ditched church as teenagers, stole booze from our parents liquor cabinets, got loaded, and went around to different freaky cult churches just to make fun of people, point and laugh. Good times!

After allowing him to stew for ten minutes, I make my way toward the bar with my laptop in my own personal messenger bag. He doesn't even look uncomfortable – that fucker is ruining my fun. I can't resist slapping him on the shoulder as I rudely inform him he's in my seat. When he turns to face me, his acrimonious grey eyes examine my outfit in its entirety. He then his gaze fills with humor and breaks out laughing.

"Maybe if you cut your dick off and dress in drag you'll be my type kid," I counter with a smirk.

"The attachment of my dick or lack there of is non-negotiable Miss Bailey," he replies with mock-terseness. "Besides, don't people of your persuasion occasionally utilize strap on devices?"

"It's what they are strapped to that is the issue. One hundred and seventy pounds of testosterone infused stupid isn't my thing." I motion him to follow me and we head toward a private room in the back. "I'm Ros," I officially introduce myself as I shake his hand. "I don't appreciate stupid, ignorance, and people who either don't have listening skills or who waste my time. I'm blunt, crass, hard-working, and a straight-shooter, so if you are someone whose fall I need to cushion, then I'm the wrong person for the job."

"Christian," he replies shaking my hand. "I feel as you do with regard to stupid, ignorance, blunt, etc… I hope I'm passing your test so far." He smirks respectfully at me.

"So far, but the night is young," I counter. "I know you probably know all about me since you bought the company and would be a fool to have done so without checking out upper management so it's only fair I do the same to you. Unfortunately, your online footprint is negligible, so what better way to get to know someone than by judging them based on their reactions to awkward situations." After a pause, I add, "Did you know your sister has a picture of you on her Facebook account wearing a speedo? Your sister is all kinds of hot by the way, when she comes of age let me know and I'll gladly initiate her into the lesbian sisterhood."

I watch as he sends a text. My guess it's to his sister to take the picture down. "Good luck getting her to flip sides, she's boy crazy."

"So kid, tell me about yourself."

"There's not much to tell. I left Harvard because I was bored and impatient. I had an idea and stumbled upon LT and knew I had to strike while the iron was hot. So I borrowed some money and made it happen. To say my parents aren't amused at my dropping out is an understatement. Right now I'm living with my idiot older brother and the harem of women who are in an out at all hours," he replies not taking his eyes from mine. "I'm not the Fuckwad. Love the name by the way. It's fitting from everything I've read on him. I swear you scared his balls back into his body that day. It was impressive."

"Thanks," I reply as the bartender and a server bring a pitcher of Old Rasputin Stout and two glasses into the room along with an order of loaded nachos, assorted cheese sticks and sauce, and buffalo wings. "I hope you don't mind kid, I took the liberty of ordering for us to save time."

Over dinner we share our respective visions for the company, eat dinner, make off-color remarks about the Fuckwad, and then order another pitcher and some shots. I have to admit, I like the kid. He's smart, driven, and most of all, disciplined. The only thing that concerns me about the kid, okay, Christian, is he's a bit too serious. Case in point – most off-color remarks came from me. It felt like his real personality was buried underneath the businessman, well, business-kid in him and wasn't allowed to come out and play. It's something we'd have to work on over time.

By eight pm we had an agreement – I'd work for what would become known as Grey Enterprise Holdings LLC as the Chief Operating Officer, while Christian would be the President and Chief Executive Officer. The kid had a vision – technology, shipping, and giving back. I not only kept my job, but also got a slight raise and if we turned a significant profit in the first year, according to Christian, five percent of GEH was mine. The last line of the movie Casablanca went through my mind, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.