Hi! This is our first attempt to write a fanfiction together! Hopefully you guys enjoy it!

Disclaimer: We would still not own Twilight and Edward even if we changed our names to Stephenie Meyer.

Chapter One: Enigma

The echoes of my Gucci high heels resounded in the hallway as I scurried across the pristine marble floor. Maneuvering my way through the crowd, I could feel the soft fabric of my designer skirt move fluidly across my milky skin, and sense the heated stares, punctuated by both admiration and jealousy, from people around me. Regardless, I knew that the daggers that I was receiving were not merely the result of the expensive garment and accessories I had on. No, the animosity was more deeply rooted than that. In short, they stemmed from the fact that I had a limousine for my own particular use, lived in a mansion about twice the size of the White House, and owned a closet filled with endless racks designer clothes. Oh, and did I mention that my parents were just about the most affluent people in the country?

Sounds like an absolutely dreamy lifestyle, right? Having five-course breakfasts served daily on a balcony overlooking an incandescent ocean, receiving new technology before they are released into the market, and participating in high class parties for the "elite;" my life was just impeccable, wasn't it?

Oh, who was I kidding? My life completely and utterly sucked.

Why? Well, along with the stacks of money my family's got stored up in some bank and the public's knowledge of this fact, I grew up under the scrutiny of the media. Every step and every breath I took was analyzed thoroughly by the media. Living under the close examination of the public, I've had my fair share of restrictions: the need to avoid public facilities, to make friends who have passed the "background check" because, as my father had so eloquently put it, "We must make sure people not trying to take advantage of our money," and to have three body guards shadow me whenever I go out. And of course, there was the "no-hanging-out-with-boys" rule that I've been subjected to since hitting puberty.

Then, there was the fact that I can't walk in heels without stumbling to save my life. It is a miracle if I get through a day not tripping on my own feet. If I had it my way, I would wear flats for the rest of my life. Yet, I'm usually forced to wear heels because my dear Father had the insensibility to go cooperate with designers who happen to produce a prolific amount of high heels and sign a contract that required me to put on those heels for "advertisement" at least four times a week. Really, what was he thinking? Probably anything but my incapability to function in heels without submitting myself to humiliation.

Of course, living as a prisoner under the lenses of the public eye and within the confining walls of etiquettes combined with my physical awkwardness is simply a recipe for disaster—making my life a complete purgatory. Imagine wearing a couture party dress with a train the length of a meter ruler and a pair of ten-inch heels at the age of twelve! The photographers at the dinner that day definitely got their money shot when I tripped and gave myself a face mask with the chocolate cake on the desert cart. It was moments like the one above that remind me of the nuisance of leading such a lavish yet arduous life, but they also make me grateful for the few reliable friends I do have—reminiscing the ups and downs of my adolescent life they have helped me through.

My chums—Jasper and Rosalie—are my sanctuary. They are the only two people who constitute my list of friends in my profile, something that my father and my entourage of body guards have felt the need to put together for my "safety." And obviously, for security purposes, an intricate background search was conducted on Rose and Jazz before either of them was allowed to come within a five feet radius of me. Good thing that both Jasper and Rose came from respectable families who were also wealthy, or else the background check would have been as close as we would ever be to being acquainted.

I've known Jasper for pretty much as long as I could remember—ever since the age of three when we were old enough to tease each other and take part in other childish shenanigans. Even though I'm an only child, I've always regarded Jasper as my older brother, my knight in shiny armor who has never failed to be at my rescue. I can still recall the painful episodes of behind-the-back teasing and taunting that characterized my early days in elementary as the "ungainly klutz" as the kids called me. The manner in which Jasper stood up for me has since then been forever imprinted in my mind—the chivalry and gallantry of a loving brother.

Then there was Rosalie—my Rose, who was my best friend and my confidant. Despite our sister-like bond and our mutually-dependent relationship, my impression of Rose had not always been pleasant. Our first meeting—at a Sunday brunch that Jasper's parent's were hosting—was arranged by Jasper himself who had wanted his two best friends-sisters to get to know each other. Eager to have a new companion my age that I would not be prohibited to spend time with by my father, I chattered with such exuberance that I had thought would be reciprocated. Yet, to my disappointment, Rosalie was a reserved girl with a ladylike conduct too mature for her age…or at least that was what I had perceived. Rose had what ignorant people would call an unnerving confidence or worse, a haughty disposition—the kind of glamour exuding from her was one that would make any girl a little self-conscious. But in reality, the strong, seemingly dismissive air was Rose's façade—the walls that have been erected due to the regular absence of her busy parents and the perpetual need to appear charming for the media.

And that was how we came to be working on the same floor of my father's company—three best friends, so dear to each other, who would aid each other in surviving through the first waves of challenges and pressures in the real world of business. At least, that was what my father had offered to the public as an explanation when he revealed that we three were going to be working at his office as interns.

In actuality, that was just a euphemism for "In order to ensure that my daughter does not continue her pursuit to become a journalist – a job that pretty much has 'writing obituaries for the first twenty year of her career' stamped across the job description – I have decided to drag her into the whirlwind of tedious business meetings instead, and because I wanted to placate the enormous tantrum my daughter directed towards me, I have resolved to subject her best friends, Jasper and Rose, to attend business endeavors from hell, as well."

Although I do realize that my characterization of the financial industry may appear to be too premature and superficial, it was nonetheless a candid opinion that I'd formed after my first day working in the company.

Or, more precisely, after my first downright disastrous first day of work.

First, after tossing and turning in my bed until four o'clock in the morning, I woke up, unsurprisingly, to the knowledge that I was running late. This immediately induced a wave of panic to rush through me, and caused me to jump out of bed hastily. What I had managed to forget in my state of trepidation and daze was my dire physical coordination. Needless to say, I ended up hitting my shin against the frame of my bed. That was certainly not the best way to start off a day.

Then, upon my arrival at my first business meeting, I was called to the attention that I had forgotten to read over the file that my father had given me, and was therefore, completely clueless about what we were discussing during the conference. I spent the next two hours smiling at the company heads, and feigning interest in the topics that were being talked about. That was probably not the best way to give a first impression.

My horrendous day did not end there. While walking back to my office with a newly brewed cup of coffee, I had managed to bump into the one of the executives of the company, and stained his crisp shirt brown. That was obviously not the best way to be introduced to one of your bosses.

The rest of the day went by in a similar fashion, with events that all concluded on an embarrassing note.

As the clock struck six, I found myself weary and somewhat relieved as I dragged my foot across the hallway to the dining hall for dinner. Pulling out my Blackberry, I opened the text messages that Rose and Jazz had sent me while I was busy organizing files. Apparently, Rose's volatile personality had gotten her into a heated argument with her boss, a quarrel that had ended up delaying her progress with work. She apologized for not being able to join me for dinner, as she still had to finish going through the mountain of files. Sighing, I read Jazz's text message, which had a similar sentiment contained in it; he, too, was unable to dine with me due to the work that he had put off to do until about four in the afternoon.

I stomped into the colossal cafeteria, peevish that I would have to wait until tomorrow to complain to Rose and Jazz about my unpleasant day. Quickly snatching up a tray, I made my way through the salad bar, while absentmindedly picking up food that looked remotely appetizing. I was still wallowing about my catastrophic day when I sat down at an empty table. Picking through my food, I was too absorbed in my own thoughts that I did not notice that someone had played their tray on the table and sat down next to me. It wasn't until the person started talking that I realized I had company.

"Well, you look like you've had better days," a sensational voice uttered amusedly.

Annoyed at the jabbing comment, which only fueled more self-pity, I turned to the rude intruder. What I had not prepared myself for was the pool of viridescent orbs that met my eyes. I was stunned momentarily by their depth. They held laughter, which was probably the result of witnessing my sullen mood. Yet, they were guarded, too, as if they were deliberately hiding something.

It seemed as though the silence had lasted longer than I had intended to because the corner of the men's lips pulled up into a crooked smile.

I hastily snapped back to reality and sneered, "Yeah, I really wasn't aware of this fact."

The man pulled up his hands, as if to surrender, and said, "Whoa, there is no need to get so worked up. That was merely an observation – I didn't mean to offend you."

I let out a breath, chastising myself internally for snapping at him. The poor man certainly did not deserve my harsh attitude.

"I'm sorry for acting petulant," I stated ingenuously, "it's just that my first day of work did not go as smoothly as I had hoped."

The gorgeous specimen of men chuckled and replied, "It's alright – we all have our bad days." After a short paused, he introduced himself, "By the way, I'm Edward."

He then extended his hand for me to shake, which I took quite eagerly – too eagerly, in fact. I blushed at my blatant action, and told him, "It's nice to meet you, Edward. I'm Bella. Bella Swan."

"I know," Edward said, confidence and smugness radiating from his eyes as he flashed me the most perfect smile I've ever seen.

For a moment there, I was completely entranced by his aura of perfection that I was verbally incapacitated.

I must have grumbled something while lingering in my deer in headlights state that resembled the sound of "what" because he quickly offered, "In magazines and newspapers. Your pictures are everywhere, especially in our offices because you're the boss's daughter. "

"Right. I am the boss's daughter," I articulated as I tried to suppress my awe at his beauty. "That just makes every bit of it much worse."

Edward looked bemused as he contemplated what I had just said. "What do you mean?" he uttered, concerned.

As though I had no control over my mouth, I began to babble incessantly about the body guard jail cell that I've been imprisoned in since birth and the daily public mortification I can always count on for having no physical coordination. I didn't understand why I felt so comfortable talking to this perfect stranger—in both sense of the word "perfect." Yet, inadvertently, I had disclosed my most embarrassing anecdotes to Edward without even thinking twice about what I was doing.

"…and that's when I was forced to acknowledge my inability to play any kind of sports, or take part in any activities that would require my eyes to be synchronized with my feet or hands," I said as I recalled that atrocious incident when I was playing baseball in school at the age of five. I had been so eager to finally be able to play with kids my age without the interception of my body guards—somehow my overprotective parents had lost their minds and decided for once that it was actually "safe" for their child to be in contact with other kids—but when I walked up to the base to bat, it was mayhem. Somehow, to everyone's astonishment, I had succeeded in hitting the baseball, but to my misfortune, the ball flew in the wrong direction and hit me on the head instead. That was the last time my parents ever let me play, or even merely exist unsupervised.

Edward chuckled as I finished my lifestory to find the key to my mouth and lock it. "I doubt that," he challenged my claim playfully.

His comment was enough to make me blush as bright a red as the lipstick I was wearing today. To evade Edward's awareness of my delighted embarrassment—if that's even possible with the apple red of my face—I struggled in vain to formulate an elaborate question about his childhood and upbringing that would be enough to divert his attention.

"Umm. Tell me about yourself," I said, resigning and settling with cliché introduction questions. "Where were you born? How were you like as a kid?"

At least I had assumed my questions to be fairly forthright, but somehow, it required Edward more than a few seconds to answer. It seemed to me that he was vacillating between the option of telling me the truth and that of improvising.

"Uh, what?" Edward looked up as if emerging from his thoughts, "Birthplace. Right. I was born here, in New York, but then my parents flew me to England to attend boarding school there."

"How was school in England like? Any humiliating moments?" I asked in a tone that was a note too aggressive. While his answer appeared frank enough, it incorporated no details whatsoever. I knew I was being paranoid, but it felt as though Edward was deliberately concealing something from me. "It must be great to live on your own, without the permanent supervision of overbearing parents."

"My school was pretty much the same as any other school in the homogenous pool of boarding schools. It was dull with a thick rulebook, and I missed home a lot. Tell me about going to an all-girls' private school in New York. That must have been just as uneventful," he said without much interest or reminiscence for his childhood.

Was I being little Miss Obsessive and imagining Edward's disinclination to reveal anything about himself or was that his intention?

I was goaded by his response either way and as each second passed, the anger within me soon became irrepressible. To convey my irritation, I decided to apply his strategy, "It was alright. Like you said, uneventful."

Edward seemed taken aback by the acrimony that laced through my voice. However, he soon realized his slip up, and his countenance once again resembled one of equanimity.

"I'm sure that was not the case," he resumed light-heartedly. "Isn't it usual for girls to get into catfights with each other? I'm sure those fights were anything but boring to witness."

I don't know why I suddenly got defensive, but without thinking, I retorted, "Yeah, but it's not like we women are constantly getting ourselves into fights like you men do, so I had nothing of that sort to 'witness.'"

"Wow, somebody's getting feisty," Edward stated with a smirk, his lips pulling into the shape of a half-moon.

"And you're certainly making it all better," I shot back caustically.

"I guess that is my cue to leave," he replied as he stood up from his chair, "since I am apparently not helping your acerbic mood."

That is how Edward left me, dazzled by the mix-signals that he'd sent me all through dinner – attentive and sarcastic at one moment, and detached on the next. I was completely aggravated by his provocative attitude, yet, utterly flustered by his handsome visage.

My day could not have ended on a more confusing note.

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? POV

Ring. Ring. Ringgggggg.

When the line connected, I whispered, "And so the game begins."

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