Disclaimer: Most characters belong to E. L. James.
He strode through the third floor of the Shanghai Pudong International Airport, an aura of confidence surrounding him even without his familiar bodyguard present. He seemed slightly aggravated, even a distance from the gate counter, as he spoke into a phone, then frowned as he listened.
Though it was late December, the young heir to his father's company, worth billions, was dressed lightly in jeans and a grey-blue button down, his golden hair tousled and his bright, gray eyes regarding the world around him with a fervent intenseness. He held a brown, leather briefcase in one hand and his boarding pass was out in the other, a black leather jacket draped across his left arm. His passport was no where to be seen, but then again, he wouldn't need identification, already having been listed as the second richest heir of the world.
He came up to the gate counter and cleared his throat. The staff at hand, a woman in her early twenties, jumped and, when she looked up, gaped. Realizing that, she closed her mouth rather audibly with her cheeks burning. "Um, this is the gate to flight 2289. Boarding has already been closed for—"
The young man smiled wryly. "Then I'm sure you'll be able to make an exception. You see, I'm rather good friends with the boss of your company, Miss—" his eyes quickly flashed down to her name tag, pinned on her uniform—"Mason, and I'm sure I can send in a word about how helpful you've been." He held her gaze for a few seconds longer than what she considered appropriate, and when she finally tore her eyes away, she felt like she was burning. Burning.
Wordlessly, he slid his boarding pass smoothly across the counter, assuming correctly that she would bid to his requests. Her fingers were shaking, shaking so badly, when she set his boarding pass besides her screen and checked him in. First class, seat 4A. Mr. Christian Grey. The typing calmed her slightly, but she was still trembling when she handed it back. His eyes melting into hers, his hands pulling her closer to him as he leaned in—she shook herself out of her fantasies.
"You're all set, Mr. Grey," she said, avoiding his gaze as she grabbed a walkie-talkie from her desk. "Code 314, open the gates, open the gates, a new passenger has arrived. Repeat, code 314." She set it down, feeling slightly foolish as two members of her team came running out to escort the new passenger through the tunnel connecting the boarding gate and the plane itself. They gave her a look, one that said, Really? You've just delayed the departure by another fifteen minutes!
She sighed. She would have to explain herself later, about how the new passenger knew their boss, but as she thought it over, she realized how unlikely it seemed that he would know her boss personally. He was so much younger, probably born two generations later than the stout, sixty year old man she'd seen waddling through the crowds during the biannual spot-checks. She tried to imagine their conversation, but came up with a blank slate. Oh, good god. Why did she ever believe him? Why did she ever do it—abiding to him, and annoying the rest of her team? It had definitely not been worth it.
Yet: "Miss Mason—thank you. I appreciate your help." Mr. Grey gave her one last look before being whisked off. Oh, yes, she thought dreamily, it was worth it. It was worth it. To hear that voice, to—
She suddenly snapped out of it as his name sank in. Grey. Christian Grey. "Oh, my lord," she said, groaning as she sank her head into her arms. "I just met the second richest heir of the world and completely blew it."
She stayed like that for a few minutes longer before realizing she still had his information pulled up on her computer. She didn't mean to, not really, but somehow she found herself scrolling through it.
Birthday: n/a, n/a, 1991. He's sixteen? she thought to herself, slightly incredulous. I'd have thought he was at least twenty. Birthplace: n/a. Citizenship: n/a.
Is there anything that is applicable?