Disclaimer: I don't own it.

Chapter One

"I just don't love you, Bella."

It had to be the most horrific dumping I'd ever been on the receiving end of. And believe me, I've had a few.

However, if I was being completely honest with myself, which in all actuality doesn't happen very often, then it wasn't really a surprise. I'd seen the light gradually fade in Mike's eyes like a dying firefly. He'd began to look at me in that almost mystified way, as if actually dating me was a major let down after the months we'd spent skirting around each other and kissing hungrily as we waited for the night bus together. It was the little things which harboured the largest clues; he'd stopped holding my hand when we crossed the street, for instance. So I didn't really need to be psychic to read the signs; being dumped was really inevitable.

But I didn't expect him to do it on my birthday. In Selfridges. Right next to the new season, Bayswater Lipstick Ostrich Mulberry bag.

"You're finishing with me?" I clarified, my voice monotone-steady. "Today? On my birthday?"

Finally Mike took hold of his wandering balls and looked me in the eyes, before his gaze hastily moved away to rest on the pink bag I'd been admiring before he showed up and turned this into quite possibly the worst day ever.

I should have known better than to arrive at Selfridges all excited and hopeful that maybe, just maybe, Mike had finally got his shit together and was going to buy me some serious designer goodies as a birthday present. I wasn't fussy, I'd have settled for a key ring, or a marked down pair of gloves.

"I wasn't going to split up with you. Not today, anyway. But then, I don't know... I just saw you standing there and I couldn't do this, do us, any longer than I needed to," Mike said heavily, his shoulders slumping under his leather jacket. It was early autumn and in my opinion, still too hot for leather jackets, even if you were simply trying to be 'cool'.

I'd often wanted to tell Mike that working in his family-owned hiking shop wasn't something to aspire to in the slightest, in fact, to me, it was downright lazy. I watched with grave satisfaction as little beads of sweat suddenly appeared on Mike's pretty baby face, even though it was coolly air-conditioned in the bag department at Selfridges. That was one of the reasons why Selfridges was my happy place. There was something upmarket and civilized about the grand shop, but not so much so that I felt out of place in there. And to be fair, the rails and rails of pretty dresses and the shoes on display don't provide an altogether ugly backdrop either. Except now, Mike had truly ruined my happy place as well as my birthday. Talk about killing two birds with one stone.

"Why, why are you breaking up with me? Should I mention the fact that it's my birthday again or am I repeating myself too often? Jesus Christ, Mike, what the hell is wrong with you?" I was fully aware that my voice was verging on an extremely high pitched squeal that dogs would be lucky to hear but I think it was rather justified given the circumstances I'd found myself in.

"Bells, come on, please."

I watched in disbelief as he ran a hand through his blonde hair, his eyes scrunching up tight as if he was completely exasperated and bored of this conversation.

"I was going to wait a couple of days, but things just aren't right between us, are they?"

"Is it something I did?" I asked as I scrambled around in my Marc Jacobs bag for my Chanel sunglasses to shield my accusatory glare somewhat, and modestly hide my upset. "What did I do wrong?"

"You didn't do anything wrong, we just, I don't know, we aren't right for each other."

For someone who prided himself as being able to sell anything to anyone, he wasn't really doing a very good job at selling this break up to me. I could see that he was fumbling around, trying desperately hard to come up with an excuse.

"Your hair," he finally mumbled. "I don't like it blonde."

"You're breaking up with me because of my hair?" I returned in complete bewilderment.

I think we both knew at this point that my hair colour only had maybe one percent, if that, to do with the split. The new hair colour was meant to signify a newer, classier me, but it honestly just made my washed out skin look even paler than it usually did.

"No," Mike stalled. "Yes – God Bella, I don't know. Look, we can still go out tonight and hook up or whatever, but I just don't think you and I are really headed anywhere, so what's the point in us pretending that we are? But I did get you a birthday card – here."

He produced a creased pink envelope and held it out to me, and it was as if he'd now marked the last five minute conversation as finished, and therefore we could both just get on with our lives because it had all been sorted out, he'd said his piece.

"You're a complete arsehole," I hissed at him while my voice began to quiver traitorously with the threat of tears. "You could have picked any other day and come up with some ridiculous excuse to end this, but instead you decide to do it now, in Selfridges for fuck's sake."

"Don't make a scene, Bells." Mike returned in a shocked whisper in response to my outrage.

"I'll make a damn scene if I want to, Mike."

Mike now began to shuffle his feet as if he wanted nothing more than to run out of the revolving doors screaming, but I was nowhere near finished with him yet. I wasn't going to be satisfied until I'd shoved him square in the chest with my fists because he really fucking deserved it. So I did just that and he rocked backwards, flinging his arms wide in the air to keep his balance, and he then knocked the Mulberry bag I had been admiring off the display.

The shrieking alarm sound that followed completely deafened both me and him, and I would have placed both of my hands over my ears to protect my hearing if I wasn't rooting around in my bag for a damn tissue. I could feel my mascara slowly rolling down my cheeks as the tears began to move down my face.

"You want a reason for me to end this with you?" Mike scowled at me, lowering his head so that he could literally get right in my face. "This is why I'm ending it, Bella. You are so fucking embarrassing."

After his fiery little speech, he punched the Mulberry bag, for reasons completely unbeknown to me and then marched himself out of the shop.

I carefully moved my thumbs underneath my sunglasses and inspected them, unsurprised that they were covered in mascara gloop as a horde of shop assistants hurried over to the bag which was still swaying from the punch Mike had given it.

I concentrated on breathing while my mind chose this moment to sum up the fucking mess that had been my birthday, and it was only half one in the afternoon. I'd been dumped, seen my bitch of a boss take the new intern out for coffee and had an email from my estranged mother. Being banned from Selfridges would just be the icing on the cake right about now. However, it was an imaginary cake, because absolutely no one in the world had bought me one today anyway.

I swallowed hard to dismiss the sob I could feel rising up in my throat. But the ones that followed were lined up tidily and my frantic gulps meant that I started coughing and spluttering and –

"Don't cry," someone said behind me gruffly. "You'll only make it all seem worse than it is."

The voice then had an arm, which was curving around my shoulders and then led me towards the exit. Both the tone of his voice and his vicelike grip left me no room for any form of resistance.

"Let's get you out of here before they take you to court for physically harming a handbag."

I looked down and noticed that there were feet there too, highly polished black shoes. I was still coughing as I watched these feet walk alongside my worn flats while I was steered past the Louis Vuitton section and then found myself back out on Oxford Street, my eyes watering instead of crying, by some nameless, faceless man who was extremely well rehearsed in guiding the both of us through the throngs of people that bustled along the pavement.

I was safely delivered to the other side of the road and we began to walk down one of the side streets. I managed to stop myself from walking any further with this strange man and tugged on the sleeve of his expensive looking suit. "I'm okay now, thank you," I said as I sniffed, feeling incredibly ladylike, not.

I then glanced up at him, because I was curious to put some features on this blank face, and I was shocked to find absolute gorgeousness staring down at me through narrowed eyes. He had a thin, angular face with one of the most incredible jaw lines I'd ever seen and his eyes were a sparkling green in the sunlight that bathed down through spaces in buildings. His lips were quirked in something which wasn't quite a smile, but I didn't know how else to describe it as his copperish coloured, messy hair rippled in the late summer breeze. It was easier for me to focus on his suit, which, if I wasn't mistaken, and I never was when it comes to fashion, was Gucci.

"Well you don't look alright," he noted in his posh public school boy voice. "You look as if you need a drink."

He was devastatingly handsome. And older than me. Maybe early thirties, I thought to myself, taking a stab at his age.

"Look, I'm really sorry that I created a huge scene in there, and I can't thank you enough for getting me out of there unscathed, but I'm fine now, really."

"Where shall we go?" he pondered as he looked around and tried to gather his bearings.

"I can't –" I began to say but apparently I could, because his arm was placed on my shoulders again and he set off with his long-limbed stride so I had to practically gallop to keep up with him. "I have to go back to work," I panted. "My boss gets really annoyed if I take longer than an hour for lunch."

"Really? Well he seems rather tedious."

"He's a she, actually," I corrected him as I continued to struggle to keep up with his pace. I felt like I was being kidnapped, not to mention manhandled, in complete daylight, and for some obscure reason I wasn't fighting it. In fact, I was even glancing in the window of the boutiques which lined South Molton Street as I was rushed past them. So obviously the shock of being dumped and now being abducted had obliterated my rational thought process.

"Come on, keep up," the man said as he pulled me around several corners until he came to a halt outside an unmarked red door. He began to key in a security code on the panel beside the door and the logical side of my brain suddenly swung into action, screaming at me to run away as quickly as I could. I took a tentative, testing step to the right but his hand, which was still firmly placed on my shoulder, tightened, as did that sinking feeling in my stomach. "Ladies first."

A buzzing noise ensued and he slowly pushed the door open before he ushered me inside. I found myself in a dark space, the walls painted in the same red as the front door; the dark floorboards making the space seem completely devoid of any light at all. There was a large set of double doors ahead, but there was no way in hell that I was moving.

I then noticed that someone was walking towards me, a smiling woman dressed in a black dress with a white pinafore over it. "Good to see you again, sir," she said to my abductor who was standing right behind me. "Are you here for lunch?"

"Just drinks. Maybe some afternoon tea," he responded, finally taking his hand off my shoulder and he stepped forwards. His sleeve brushed against my arm and I flinched from the contact.

The front door was shut and the thud echoed around the small space. I got the feeling that I was safely cushioned in this deep, red place, where people only talked in hushed, soothing whispers and it was oddly comforting. So much so that, unexplainably, I began to cry again.

It wasn't so much as a cry though; this was full on sobbing, because the tears in Selfridges had only been the warm-up act, evidently. Being kidnapped had been a great diversion, but it was still my birthday and I'd only just been dumped and my life was just one big, fat heap of shit. I could feel my chest shuddering as I began to sob harder.

"Oh dear," the man said gently, cupping my elbow and steering me carefully down through the doors ahead and along the corridor, the woman following behind. "I'm sure it's not worth crying about. Sonya will take you somewhere to dry your eyes, while I order you a glass of champagne."

I tried to shrug indifference but I was still heaving, so I allowed myself be led through a side door and up a curving staircase.

"The bathroom is through there," Sonya whispered to me.

I raced into the nearest cubicle and sunk my arse down on the toilet seat, relieved to be able to finally cry in peace and without an audience.

The attendant I hadn't noticed previously averted her eyes from me when I emerged and I was grateful for her tact. I glanced up at my reflection and sighed as I took in the black gunk around my eyes, which spilled down my cheeks most flatteringly. I scrubbed away at my face and then appreciatively took the tinted moisturiser the attendant was holding out for me.

"Much better," he said as I slipped myself into the free chair at his table.

I had been ready to make a run for it, but there had been another woman strategically placed at the front door, who most helpfully guided me back to the main room.

The glass of champagne was waiting for me, as promised. I raised my eyes hesitantly to my kidnapper and immediately straightened my back against the chair under his penetrating gaze.

"I really need to get back to work," I stuttered as I a glanced out of the window, wondering why I never knew places like this really existed. He smiled assuredly at me, and it irked me incessantly.

"Don't be so silly," he said dismissively, as if going back to work was something completely foreign to him. "Drink your champagne."

I decided to stay and do as he asked because I really did need a drink. "I'm Bella," I said, my voice sounding incredibly horse, as if I hadn't used it for weeks. He shook the hand that I was offering sternly, his fingers warm as they brushed against my palm just long enough that I decided to hastily withdraw my hand completely.

"Edward Cullen," he offered, before he bowed his head to interrogate the menu.

I raised my glass in silent thanks towards him and then took a sip. The bubbles fizzed on my tongue as I took three large gulps of the liquid.

"I have no idea what 'fleur de sel' is, do you?" He asked conversationally as he looked up from his menu.

"'Fleur de sel' is just a fancy kind of salt," I said and then took in his raised eyebrow. "I like cooking."

"Shall we just have chocolate cake instead? And some tea. We should definitely have some tea."

I instinctively knew that there was absolutely no point in me trying to argue with his tone of voice. "Tea and cake is fine," I said and then picked up my glass of champagne again.

He raised his finger and the waitress suddenly appeared at the side of our table, not even writing down his order of three different kinds of chocolate cake and some tea.

I crossed my leg as the waitress hastily walked away towards the kitchen. The champagne was continuing to bubble inside my empty stomach which made me restless. I tapped my hand on my leg, wondering what the hell I was doing, sitting here trying to make conversation with a complete stranger. I didn't really have anything to say to him so I allowed my eyes to wander around the room.

"Well I'm pleased you aren't crying anymore," Edward said and coupled his words with one of those half-smiles of his. "No one should cry on their birthday."

I offered a small smile back at him. He's right, no one should cry on their birthday, be dumped, be jilted to a promotional opportunity by a damn intern...

"So, how old are you today?"

"Twenty-three," I sighed.

He smiled properly at me, and he seemed a bit younger than I had previously thought.

"Twenty-three is a good age," he said as a teapot and teacups were delivered to the table extremely efficiently. "This is going to be a very interesting year for you. I can tell."

"Was twenty-three an interesting year for you?"

"Yes," he said briskly and then nodded towards the teapot. "Do you mind? Milk, one sugar."

I lifted the teapot and carefully poured the tea into the cup, added the milk and dropped in a teaspoon full of sugar, as requested. "Do people always do what you ask them to?" I asked, and then any courage I'd built up to ask that question scurried away. "People never do what I tell them to."

Edward glanced critically at the cup I pushed his way and he then obviously decided that the tea met his exact standards. "By people, you mean your ex?"

I considered his words carefully. "Not just Mike. Everyone. People never take any notice of what I have to say," I said and then shook my head. "I'm sorry; I'm not usually like this. I mean, I don't tend to mope. I guess it's just a bad dose of the birthday blues."

"You just haven't learnt how to make people take you seriously yet," Edward said evenly and then leaned forward towards me. "I find not saying please or thank you helps greatly."

"Well, I'm pre-programmed to say please and thank you, even when I'm not actually either pleased or thankful." I poured myself a cup of tea and glanced up at Edward curiously. "So, do you make a habit of abducting young women from department stores?"

"I was wondering when you were going to ask me that."

"In all honesty, I should have probably asked during the abduction but I guess I was a bit shocked for my brain to act rationally," I said in a rather snotty voice, just so he knew that I wasn't a complete pushover.

"Anyway, I was wondering if I could ask you a favour."

The way he cut across everything I said and the way he completely ignored me began to really infuriate me. However, it didn't infuriate me as much as the sudden thought that this entire situation, being take for tea and chocolate cake and small chit-chat had some sinister ulterior motive. I was imagining schoolgirl outfits, whips, canes and possibly an incredibly strange wife, and a fetish for recording these events so they could be re-watched whenever he wanted to revisit his dirty fantasies.

I placed my hands on the arms of the chair I was seated on just as the chocolate cakes arrived. I bit down on my lip in consideration because the rich chocolate torte looked absolutely sinful. "I'm going," I announced coldly. Well, my voice had sounded cold in my head, but the reality was a tad more morose than I had intended. "I know exactly what kind of favour you're thinking about, and the answer is no."

Edward flashed me a smile, which was slightly bordering on a smirk and it felt really condescending. I was starting to really dislike him, in the very same way that I disliked my boss Lauren, my landlord, the snotty employees of the credit card companies that phoned me more regularly than my best friend Alice did...

"Be a good girl and sit yourself back down," he said calmly. "Haven't you caused enough scenes for one day?"

"Excuse me! Who the hell do you think you-"

"I saw you in Selfridges and decided that you were the sort of person who would know their way around a French cuff." He was already fiddling inside his pocket and then produced a small, black cufflink box which he placed on the table.

I shut my mouth quickly, realising that I had just completely overreacted.

"I lost one of my cufflinks so I popped out to buy some new ones. Surely the least you can do after I've bought you a glass of champagne is help me put them on."

I sunk back down onto the soft leather chair. "How did you fix your cufflinks this morning then?" I asked suspiciously, because I honestly still thought there was a wife lurking at home.

"Not very well, evidently," he explained as he held up one of his hands so I could see the messy cuff of his shirt for myself. "I'd really appreciate your help."

I rolled my eyes and picked up the small box from the table as I waved his arm over towards me. Edward lowered his eyes apologetically, which I didn't buy at all, as I slipped the pair of designer cufflinks, coloured in the same blue as his shirt, out of the box. I then took his hand.

It felt rather intimate, holding his hand. I pulled my chair forwards and patted my knee so Edward could rest his hand on it while I gathered up his sleeve so I could reach his cuff. I'd done much worse than put a cufflink on a man before, but still, my cheeks flushed bright red.

I excused myself for the blush though, because I'd had a shitty day and it must be because I had drunk champagne on an empty stomach.

"There you go," I said and then pushed his hand away from me, not before noting how beautiful his hands were. "I really should get back to work now; they really are going to think that I've been kidnapped."

"Would you like to take some cake back with you?"

"No thank you," I said, even though I really would have liked to.

It seemed that Edward knew that I really wanted some cake too, if the smirk that was plastered on his face as he inspected his cufflinks was anything to go by.

"Well, I hope you enjoy the rest of your birthday," he said, as if he didn't really care one way or the other.

And now, even though I should have been walking away from the table, I found myself rooted to the spot. "I shouldn't have snapped at you," I blurted out. "I'm sorry."

"Another reason why people take me seriously is because I never apologise, even when – no, especially when I should," he told me coolly. "No pleases, no thank yous, no sorries. Remember that and you just might have that interesting year I was talking about."

With those words of wisdom, I held out my hand for him to shake, but in complete surprise, he lowered his head and placed a kiss on the top of it. I jerked my hand away rather quickly and then hurried my way out of the room, along the red corridor until I was back out on the street. I spun around on the spot as I tried to get my bearings.

I then looked through the glass window and could see Edward forking some of that chocolate torte I was eyeing earlier. He suddenly raised his head and found me staring at him. I lifted my hand and waved limply at him for some inconceivable reason. He didn't wave back, but he did keep looking at me with a concentrated stare, and I realised that I should start to walk away now.

No matter how much I tried to ignore it though, my hand tingled for the entire afternoon.