This is my first attempt at fan fiction. All important author notes will be in my description versus the pages themselves. As a frequent reader of fan fiction, I find it irksome having to scroll through ramblings that have no relevance towards the story. If you have questions for me, I welcome them. If you have something negative to say, attempt to be constructive or I shall ignore you. Thank you for your interest in my work.

-All characters are owned by their respective authors and no copyright infringement is intended.-

It was one of those days. One of those really fucking shitty days where you wish there was empirical proof of God so you could send him an email and demand an answer to why he would pull this shit. The saying "It could be worse" was definitely referring to this day. I hate fucking Mondays.

I knew it going to be bad when I woke up to a fucking rainstorm outside. It never rains in L.A. and yet its fucking raining. I moved here for the sunshine after a childhood full of cloudy skies and do you think its too much to ask for a bit of it? Freak weather the forecasters are calling it. A sign of the fucking apocalypse is more like it.

Yeah. Okay. I'm fucking grouchy, but I think I have good cause. After almost 10 years of working for quite possibly the sweetest old man in the world, he tells me on Friday that his trophy wife wants him to retire so she can live on the beach in Aruba. He married her less than a year ago and I can honestly say it was disgust at first sight. She reminded me of Anna Nicole Smith with her fake breasts and bleached hair. She wanted a rich old man who she could milk for all his money and she found him.

When I commented to Aro that he might want to rethink her 'loving' motives for marriage, he told me flat out he was too old and tired to look for love. He'd be content on buying an artificial version and honestly, can you blame the guy? Really? I mean, yeah, I get it, she's 20 something and he's 60 something with a shit-ton of cash.

When he called me in to his office on Friday with a nervous sound in his voice, I knew something was up. Aro Volturi was well known throughout the L.A. area as a fucking pit bull. He was responsible for producing 3 of the top 5 grossing films of all time and it was through his take no prisoner's attitude and my complete lack of social life, that this was achieved. Yeah, I'm taking some of the credit. Who do you think does all his running around for him? The trophy wife? Did I mention her name was Sulpicia? Talk about hating your child.

Anyway, I was interrupted during a really important game of minesweeper (don't you dare judge me – that shit is addictive) and that meant this was serious business. As I strolled over to his office door and gave a brief knock, I saw him slumped over his desk with a sad look on his face. I immediately thought of the worse possible scenario.

"Oh fuck, Aro. Please don't tell me you're going to be a father. I can't bring myself to add shopping for Pampers to the list of degrading things I do for you already."

"What the hell are you talking about Izzy," he said.

"You look like someone just kicked you in the nuts Aro and the only reason I can think of is either a deal fell through or you knocked Sulpicia up. Please, please, please tell me its Option A."

His face twisted in a mock frown before he started laughing loudly. His whole body was shaking and tears running down his cheeks and all I could think of was 'He's fucking lost it.' As he got control of himself he waved me to the seat in front of his desk and wiped the wetness from his cheeks.

"I'm going to miss your snarky comments my dear girl."

"What?? Are you dying? What the fuck Aro. What's wrong? Shit, are you firing me? I mean I know I called Tom Cruise a nut-job to his face, but come on Aro. Speaking truth isn't a crime is it??"

"No Izzy, I'm not dying nor am I firing you. I'm retiring. Sulpicia isn't happy in L.A. anymore and honestly I'm tired of the business. If it wasn't for you, I probably would have retired years ago, but even with all the work you do, I just can't justify it anymore. I'm a rich old bastard with very little to show for it and I want to make the best of the few years I have left before Sulpicia fucks me into a grave."

With a deep sigh and a shake of my head, I stood up and went around the desk and gave him a hug. Ever since I started working for Aro right out of college, he became a grandfather figure to me. He guided me in this fucked up industry full of bad moral values and fake body parts and helped me avoid the pitfalls that lesser people fell in to. I hope I retained enough over the years to get by without him now... shit, I'm fucked.

"I get it Aro. How soon til we close shop? I was wondering why we had no films ready to go after Bad Moon Rising finished post-production."

"A few weeks, maybe a month at best. I really am sorry Izzy. I hadn't made a definite decision until the other day and then I just couldn't bring myself to tell you til now."

"Yeah. Shit. Well I hope you write me one incredible reference letter. I haven't gone job hunting since that time you started wearing plaid almost everyday to the office four years ago. It was giving me migraines."

"Ha. Ha. Ha. Now get out of my office while I write your letter for you. I'm sure that game of minesweeper won't finish itself on its own."

He knew me too well. I couldn't help but grin at him, walked out of his office and shut the door behind me. I didn't start shaking until I sat at my desk and stared at the screen. I was barely making the bill and rent despite my decent paycheck. Its amazing how things can change over the course of two years. First Charlie, now this. What next?

I couldn't stare blankly at the minesweeper taunting me anymore. I had to get the fuck out of there. I grabbed my things, told Aro I was heading out and made a stop at the store for some Ben & Jerry's. I went home, shut the blinds, put the phone on vibrate, grabbed a pint from the freezer and started a marathon of the movies I helped bring into being over the years. I thought it would be cathartic, but by Monday morning I was sick of Ben and his hetero life-mate Jerry. I was sick of the film industry and all the false shit it spewed. I was sick of my life and I really wanted to make a change, but what is a broke, size 12 and braces wearing 33 year old woman supposed to do in L.A.?

God, I fucking hate Mondays.