Fifty Shades of Phantomhive

Chapter One

The mirror resting on the wall before him revealed his frustrating hair. He scowled. He should be studying for his final exams. He wasn't. Instead, he was standing here, trying to make sense of the hair resting on his head. I must not sleep with it wet. I must not sleep with it wet. He repeated this to himself over and over again, trying to tame it. He had never had much luck with his hair. Why should today be any different? He rolled his eyes, throwing the brush on the sink, glaring at his existence. The silver-haired wonder grabbed a hair tie and restrained his locks into a ponytail, hoping to the gods that be it might look somewhat decent.

Grell Sutcliff, Adrian Crevan's roommate, has decided that today of all days she must be sick. She had spent hours and hours badgering Mr. Phantomhive's company for this interview. She'd sold her soul, pleaded on her hands and knees, and refused to leave anyone alone on the matter. Adrian had no choice but to go in her stead. The trip would be a long one. And Grell just had to get sick on the day of departure. 

"Dri, I'm really sorry. I spent nine months begging on my hands and knees to get this interview. It'll take another six months for me to reschedule. I can't do that. We will be graduated by then! Please, please, pretty please with a cherry on top just suffer through it for me," Grell, on her knees currently, clings to Adrian's legs crying her eyes out. Adrian frowned. Even sick, this wonderous red-head has such fabulous features. He sighed. 

"I've already agreed to go, you idiot," Adrian grabbed Grell's hands and helped her back to bed. "Even though I know absolutely nothing about him and have zero questions to ask but, hey, that's fine," he mumbled. 

"You've got my notes. You'll be okay," Grell closed her eyes and curled up into a ball under the sheets. Why did she have to get the flu? Honestly, why today, of all days? This was a nightmare. But, it was time to drive. If he didn't leave now he would be late arriving.

...

Upon reaching the destination of utter destruction, Adrian could only hold his breath in utter terror. The glass building, twenty-stories, something of a fantasy. 'Funtom Company' plastered on the side in a font unrecognizable to the poor boy from the cheapest university that existed in America. He checked his watch. Still a bit early. But, there isn't anything for him to do other than sit in the lobby and wait for his terror to end. 

Behind the solid sandstone desk of doom, was a very attractive (or so Adrian assumed, being the chaotic homosexual that he was) brunette. Adrian glanced around. Every female in this building was a brunette. Was that a mandatory part of the resume? Adrian frowned. He was already self-conscious enough about his brilliant silver hair...he didn't need more reasons to leave. His clothing wasn't nearly as fancy as anyone else's. He was wearing jeans for crying out loud. He didn't even own dress clothes! Shit. He should've worn a better button-up. This was not something you should wear upon meeting the richest man in the, uh, probably world? 

"I'm here to see Mr. Phantomhive," Adrian's voice cracked. That made him look like an idiot. 

"Do you have an appointment?" the (probably sexy) lady asked. 

"I'm Adrian Crevan for Grell Sutcliff. She had an appointment for an interview?" Adrian didn't know for sure what the situation was. Hopefully, he was saying things correctly. What are words? 

"Miss Sutcliff is expected," she nodded. "Please sign in here and wait just a moment, Mr. Crevan." She slid a 'visitor' pass over. Adrian nearly snorted. Shouldn't that be obvious? Does he look like he belonged here? He stands out against these marble floors. His clothing was ragged and his hair was in a crude ponytail. He doesn't belong here. 

"Follow me, Mr. Crevan," she escorted him to the elevator. The top floor was waiting. Adrian nervously fiddles with his badge. The more he stood the more he realized how stupid of an idea this all was. He knew nothing about Mr. Phantomhive. He didn't know his age, what he even does at this company, how he looks. Nothing. Why didn't he google him the night before? At least that would've given him some idea of what to expect. He also had no idea what questions he was supposed to ask. Where was the recorder? Adrian checked his pockets. Please be there...please?