Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and characters

So I wanted to try something more racier and adult. Alhough this also has a bit of fluff, to make it light and frothy.

I have created another one of my characters, just a warning as I know some people arn't big fans of original characters as the main character, but it would be nice if you gave it a go as I think it has potential.

Thank you to my beta reader, ohgeekyone, she's brill at proofreading which makes her God.

haha, yes so enjoy m'dears!


I held the Chanel bag carefully up to my nose to breathe in the lambskin leather, and then I exhaled. Why have children when you can have Chanel?

I'd practically begged my parents to buy me this bag for my 21st birthday and they'd soon caved in. They'd told me, "Aurora this is one of your last birthday gifts. From now on it's a card with a twenty pound note," or something that resembled that. I couldn't quite remember at that moment, as my eyes were indulging into the classic black quilted lambskin with the two golden 'C's interlocked with each other. This was probably the most expensive bag I had ever acquired, although let me get this straight – I was not spoilt. Well, only on birthdays. Although, it was my 21st. You're only 21 once.

I complimented my worshipped Chanel bag with my Rosie Print Body-con dress from Topshop - unfortunately, I couldn't always be designer-dolled-up, although the women(/bitches) at Selfridges think I should be. I just prayed they wouldn't ask me who my dress was by because they could get really pissy when it came to not being kitted out with labels, especially when you're working in the Super brand section like me.

I remembered this one time when one of the girls who worked on our floor wore a t-shirt from Primark. When our manager, Hillary, saw her, we thought she was going to have a heart attack. She ordered her to go home and not to come back in until she stopped posing as a tramp. It was pretty harsh to be honest; she was a lovely girl. But I'd always taken to heart the line: 'The only thing worse than being skint is looking as if you're skint' – Linda Grant. Subsequent to this advice, I had spent more on clothes than food. My flat was not ideal for a dinner party. I think I could manage beans on toast for three. I can't save money for shit, and the supermarket I had to go to these days was the food supermarket equivalent of Primark – yes, Aldi.

I slipped my black blazer over my dress and pushed my feet into my Prada black flats which I'd had for a while now, although I knew Hillary was getting tired of them. I made sure I turned my straighteners off and had another safe glance over my outfit to see if I looked okay. I scuffed my short ash blonde hair a little to add volume and retouched on my red rouge lipstick. Okay – now I was ready to go. So I shot off out of the door and reached the busy, bustling streets of Manchester where everyone walked like they were on a mission and carefully kept shut out from the world and buried in their own thoughts.

I didn't have to go to work until midday - so that meant I had an hour and a half to go shopping. A great pastime for the girl who was slowly going into the reds on her bank statement.

I totted off into Urban Outfitters and placed my hands along the slogan T-shirts with different bands on them. I thought they were cool, but pretty unsuitable for work, and since I spend the majority of my time either working or going out and painting the town red, I didn't really have the time to wear things like that.

I looked through the jumpsuits, shorts, shoes and the cute quirky accessories. It was hard; they were begging me to buy them. In the end I bought some 'Neon Harlequin' over-the-knee socks, so it wasn't a total defeat and it didn't make a huge indentation in my credit card.

Although I didn't know when I would wear them…

My next stop was All Saints, although I barely left that shop unscathed. I had a bikini on my wish list from there, because I really have a holiday booked this summer…

And then I took a trip into Flannels, with the staff eyeing me up. So I carefully tried to flaunt the Chanel sign on my bag, and as soon as their eyesight's caught the famous sign they became warm and friendly with the whole, 'Can I help you madam?' charade - see, this bag had powers!

After all that window shopping I really needed to retire at the local Starbucks. I had the unsettling thought of work in half an hour - great. I walked into the cafe around the corner from work and the warmth gushed onto my skin. It was busy, as per, and I started to queue up for an overcharged coffee. Today I fancied a much needed mocha to boost the life in me.

My eyes lingered over the different kinds of cakes - should I buy one? Yes, Aurora you should. No I shouldn't. I had to stick to my diet.

I kept chanting that in my head whilst I waited in the absurdly long queue.

I started to unconsciously tap at my Chanel handbag whilst in the queue and when it occurred to me to what I was doing; I gasped and rubbed it better – like it was a person. If I wasn't in public, I'm sure I would have apologised to the bag too.

I was waiting in that queue for what? Nearly fifteen minutes? All I wanted was a drink - it was not like I was asking for them to reincarnate Jesus.

When (finally!) the person in front of me was at the till I took my hundredth glance at the lemon meringue cheesecake. It looked so tempting, it looked so delicious, it looked so mine.

Suddenly I felt somebody shuffle beside me. I looked up to find a tall man getting into the queue in front of me. I felt my blue eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. Who did he think he was? My annoyance over this twanged inside me; I really ought to say something to this rude man.

"Ahem, excuse me?" I said timidly.

Great Aurora, I'm sure you're really going to tell him with that voice.

The man still stood their boldly. So I raised my hand and gave him a sharp prod on his shoulder. He turned around slowly and my breath hitched for a moment.

I knew exactly who he was, I mean who didn't? He was definitely familiar, from his bronze tousled hair to his defined strong jaw line. He was wearing a dark grey Armani business suit with a crisp white shirt underneath and a smooth black tie. He did look dazzling.

He was Edward Cullen, the American King of the Business world. He owned a multi-million pound chain of restaurants……or it could have been department stores. I couldn't remember but I knew he was rich as hell, but he was notoriously known for being a bit of a playboy.

After the couple of seconds of me just standing there, mesmerised, it suddenly hit me. He thought he could push in because he was some kind of big shot. Behaviour like that was just disgraceful.

"Excuse me!" I said sharper this time, feeling my annoyance burning in my chest. "The end of the queue is down there!"

His majestic emerald eyes stared at me innocently.

"I'm sorry about that, and I hope you don't mind, but I'm in a rush," he said coolly, as if it was ok that if you were 'in a rush' you could just jump the queue.

"Yes, I'm in a rush too and I've been here for the past…twenty minutes," I explained cutting each word into him. I don't know why I bothered because he seemed to have this defence shield up and he kept his handsome smile strong around the edges of his mouth.

"Great, so you can empathise with my situation," he replied sweetly, in a kind of patronising way. What a wanker! I thought.

"Get to the back of the queue," I snapped at him. He laughed lazily and shook his head gently and the woman at the register started to take his order and I just stood there – annoyed, mainly, that I had lost this battle.

"One black coffee and a lemon meringue cheesecake, please," he told the woman at the register politely. She was stunned by who she was serving and tried to keep a smile plastered on her face; but she looked like she was going to hyperventilate.

"Erm, of course, yes s-sure Mr. Cullen!" She stammered out. Edward looked pretty smug about this and he flashed her his gorgeous grin.

I was stood there, gob smacked at his behaviour. I looked at the woman who was serving him; she was jittering around like a beetle on ecstasy. Bless her. Then she arrived back to the arrogant arse hole in front of me.

"Here you are, Sir! And it was the last lemon meringue cheese cake too!"

Now I was fuming. That was exactly what I wanted and he took the last piece!

He was a pusher and a thief!

Although he didn't seem to care as he collected his coffee and my cheesecake, and he politely said thank you to the girl who served him, then swivelled around and caught my brooding eyes – well I thought they were brooding, since I was at my peak of being pissed off.

He smirked and raised his cup at me.

The. Fucking. Cheek.

He soon walked off in hurry and out of the door. I stood there, feeling so insulted.

"Excuse me?" I heard the girl call out towards me. I looked back at her, feeling flustered. She must have said that a couple of times because she looked like she was starting to grow impatient.

"Oh – sorry! Could I have one mocha please….and you don't possibly have another piece of lemon meringue cheesecake?" I asked

"Sorry, we just sold the last piece to that man," she started off, and then she got giggly. "You'll never guess who it was…..only Edward Cullen!"

"Oh really," I replied in the most uninterested voice I could pull off.

She obviously didn't detect this.

"Yeah! Don't you think he is so handsome! Especially in the flesh!"

Oh, so she was the reason for the slow queue.

"Really? Hmmm, I don't know. He kind of reminds me of a squirrel, you know with the hair and everything. Although I think I would prefer the animal," I told her, and then shone a bittersweet smile.

Her eyes widened for a moment, she obviously thought I was mental. Oh well.

"Right…..well I'll just go get your order, unless you want another type of cake?" She asked.

"No, I'll get to sleep tonight just knowing that Edward Cullen is munching on my fave."

With that she sauntered off and prepared my over priced mocha and then I sat down on one of the vacant chairs – although there weren't many so I squeezed on one of the high stools which I hated.

I resumed my time in Starbucks sipping at my mocha in silence, coming up with all the comebacks I should have said to Edward. Why was it that you always thought of the things you should have said when the time to say them is over?!

It was so aggravating.

With two minutes to go I downed my drink and rushed off to my beloved Selfridges (yeah, right).

I was soon in the department store and went into the staff room. I zapped in my card which had a picture of me on it for identification. I looked like a terrorist in the picture…..nice!

I put my Chanel bag in my locker and hung up my blazer before entering the top floor where I worked on the Super Brands.

I was basically a shop assistant, although my formal title was 'Fashion consultant.' I quite liked that as it made me sound so much more important than I was. Most of the normal customers were fooled by the title and if I picked the outfit they would most likely want, they bought it.

As I commenced towards my section on the top floor, there was something different in the air. It was like something had gone off and I hated not being in on it. All the workers in their different concessions were secretly chatting if they weren't serving a customer. I decided to shake it off; I was sure Rosalie would tell me later anyway. Well, if it was something big.

I walked into my working area and saw Rosalie tidying a rail. I also noted that there was no sight of Hillary – thank God.

Rosalie turned to look at me and gave me a wave of her hand; she was currently supporting a Karen Millen giraffe print dress with some black chunky high heels.

Rosalie was an absolute stunner and I was not just saying that because she was my best friend. In fact, I shouldn't say it at all because she so knew it. She had it all – blonde hair, blue eyes and a fabulous body to match. I guessed you could describe me like that, except she is curvaceous and toned and I, on the other hand, am skinny. I had done a couple of modelling jobs before for Stella McCartney and Rosalie did modelling as well, but she did more jobs than me. She was mainly a lingerie model, which was not to be confused for a page three girl. I wasn't into the whole modelling business anyway; I would much prefer to be working in fashion.

Rosalie was a Grade-A man-eater. I remembered the first time we went out for drinks - she must have flirted with a dozen men. She had simple rules: if she got bored she would move on, but if not, they'd both move on somewhere else. That's what Rosalie was like: she didn't take shit and she didn't hang about unless something good came out of it.

"Rosie!" I greeted her in a singing style.

"Hello! Did we have a nice sleep in today?"

"Yeah, wasn't too bad, but I decided to do a little window shopping."

She looked at me like a disapproving mother.

"You just can't let that credit card gather dust, can you?" She asked rhetorically, trying not to quirk a smile.

"Ah, the art of not spending…" I mused.

"It's not an art, babe! It's pure torture!" I heard a familiar male's voice say.

I looked over to see who it was: my gay boyfriend, Seth. I'd known Seth since I started working here – same with Rosalie. He was tall and lean; you could instantly tell he was gay because he had that feminine walk. He had gorgeous brown glossy hair to die for! And beady brown eyes to match with a cute button nose. He'd always reminded me of Mark from Ugly Betty. I could remember the first time we'd talked; I'd been nervously standing on the shop floor by myself trying to look professional when I felt a presence creep behind me to whisper something in my ear.

"Have you seen that woman's outfit over there?….That skirt makes her bum look like a sack of potatoes and her top just radiates 'I live on the red light district'." I couldn't stop laughing, and we hit it off from there. Short story, but sweet...in a weird way.

But back to the present.

"Hey Seth. Ooh! I like your shirt!" I complimented him on his long-sleeved, jet black D&G shirt.

"God, I spent half of my wage slip on this!" As he said it he slid hand down his shirt, modelling the item.

"Well, fashion kudos to you!" Rosalie pointed out.

"OhmyGod, you'll never guess who I saw in Starbucks today!" I announced, feeling fury streaming out of my words as I remembered the incident.

"Britney Spears?!" Seth shrieked.

What?!

"Err…no, but if I did, Seth, I would have gotten her to sign a Starbuck's napkin for you," I told him patting his arm with a silly smile.

"Aw, thanks hon. I'd do the same for you if I saw Enrique Iglesias." Mmm, Enrique. "So go on, who was this mystery person…it best be somebody good!" Seth said whilst gently tapping me on the shoulder.

I waited for a second to enjoy the anticipation in their eyes.

"Edward Cullen," I slowly proclaimed.

Then for some reason, their eyes fell and lost the excitement they just held a minute ago.

"And you know what?! He is the rudest man I've ever met! I was in the Starbucks queue, and you know how long it takes sometimes in that queue, and I really wanted to buy a lemon meringue cheesecake, so--"

"You do you know how many calories are in one of those, don't you?!" Rosalie interrupted, horrified.

"Let me finish my story!" I snapped back.

She simply rolled her eyes.

"Well, anyway, I decided I would treat myself and then I felt somebody shove me out of the way!" Okay, maybe a bit over-dramatic there. "So I looked up, and it was the Edward Cullen, looking all high-and-mighty, so do you know what I did?" I was now talking at a 1000 words a second pace.

"What?" They answered in unison.

"I told him exactly where to go! You know, just because he's a celebrity doesn't mean he's better than everyone else!" Both of their mouths were now gaping at me – impressed I hope. I did feel pretty proud of myself. "So he was like 'Well I'm in a rush, blah blah, I'm a twat, blah blah' and he just… flounced out! I'd like to think something I'd said had gotten through to him but I doubt it. I'll tell you what, though, if I ever see him again it'll be too soon!" I huffed, declaring that it was the end of my rant.

They were still staring at me, and then Rosalie bit her lip trying not to laugh, but Seth being Seth was in a fit of giggles.

"What?" I questioned.

"It's just an amusing story," Rosalie told me, still foolishly grinning.

I could tell that wasn't it but I had a job to do and if Hillary caught us she would go mental.

"Okay well, I've been here for nearly ten minutes so I better start doing some work," I sighed.

I walked around the floor, keeping an eye out for customers looking for help. I made sure the clothes on the rails were in size order and that there was no outcast items which had clumsily been put back by a potential customer because they couldn't be bothered to put it on the proper rail. It was a tough job to sell £1500 dresses, so we always needed to be on alert when somebody was browsing and give them good advice. Although these days, trade was hard.

When there were no customers in sight, I went to the back of the counters and Rosalie and I had a chat since nobody was looking. We always kept an up to date issue of 'Heat' magazine behind the counter so we could talk about celebrity happenings.

"Oh God, have you seen what Lady GaGa is wearing?!" Rosalie screeched, pointing to the page.

"Oh bless her, she looks like she's fallen out of a wardrobe trying to find Narnia," I said scrutinizing the picture.

"Shit, Aurora, Mr. Jenks is coming this way and he's looking at us," Rosalie whispered, hurriedly stowing the magazine away for future use. I decided to surreptitiously edge away from Rosalie so it didn't look like we were talking. I needed to look professional: back straight and shoulders back, and don't forget the Selfridge's smile!

I felt nervous as he approached me. Had I done anything wrong except for the occasional talk time? I couldn't think of anything I had done wrong, was it the Topshop dress?

No, Aurora – that's slightly extreme.

If you didn't guess, Mr. Jenks was the manager of managers. So he was in charge of Manchester's Selfridges. And he was one step away from me.

"Hello, Aurora," he addressed me.

"Uh, hi Mr Jenks."

"You might be wondering why I'm coming to talk to you," he started to explain.

Oh, just get to the point.

"Well as you weren't here this morning I have some news for you – don't worry, it's nothing too serious," he told me, trying to smile, but whenever he did all his face just kind of creased up. It was -- urgh.

"Okay…" I shortly responded.

"We have somebody in for the next few….well, we aren't sure yet, but basically he's here to inspect the place and Selfridges want you to treat him with the utmost respect – like he was your boss."

"Um, okay." Was 'okay' the only thing I could come out with today?

"Good! Ah, he's over there now in Hermez. I think you girls will be very excited to find out who he is," he joked.

I tried to smile at his attempt as I looked over to where he was staring.

Bollocks.

Shit.

Fuck.

I wished the floor would swallow me whole.

Of course. It was just my luck.

It was Edward Cullen.

What do you think?

Please leave reviews, as I have another chapter on hold.

Also, just want to mention that Aurora is inspired by my older sister, Alice, as she wanted her own character. (: