So…this was an idea that just kept running around and around my head. I even started writing it on my phone. Let me know what you think! Should I continue? More lemons? (Although this chapter doesn't feature one, the next one could). Different characters? Let me hear your ideas!

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She crossed her legs, shifting the lacy tops of her stockings against her A-line skirt. Pearls rested at her throat, above her silk blouse, first two buttons undone. A tight, black blazer completed the look, her mother's watch on her left wrist, just slightly too big. It was the one thing she had brought to Washington from her old life.

Like her mother, Isabella Swan had lived too large for the small town she'd been born into. Her father's decision to send her to boarding school-all girl's, private school, smack in the middle of Manhattan-had probably been the only good decision Charlie had ever made when it came to the women in his life, aside from letting them go. She had lived large there, too, making friends with the most beautiful, wealthy girls in the city, indulging in late-night drinks and all night parties, and she had still gotten in to Yale on a fill ride scholarship.

All that remained now from her high school years were her two best friends, Rosalie Cullen and Alice Hale, both strikingly beautiful, both from aristocratic Upper East Side families, and both with more money than they could spend in a lifetime.
Unfortunately, the days of all night parties and late night drinks had slowly passed behind them. Alice had married Jasper Hale, the infamous Texan Senator, with his slow, twangy drawl and blonde curls. They were far from boring, but Alice had a far more public reputation to maintain now. Rosalie had fallen hard for Emmett McCartey, the high scoring center of the Washington Capitals, and although they weren't married-yet-the tabloids were having a field day with engagement rumors.

So, Alice had Jasper, Rosalie had Emmett, and Bella...well, Bella had Jacob, her mediocre booty call (although he would have married her in a heartbeat, if she'd only ask), and the bad habit of sleeping with very wealthy, very powerful men.

Sipping her scotch, neat, Bella pondered her sorely lacking love life. She was alone at the bar, like she so often found herself these days, but being on her own had never bothered Bella. In her teens, she had blushed, melting back into the wallpaper when forced to face social situations alone, but as she'd gotten older, she'd learned to work her prim smile, neat figure, and good looks, and now, almost preferred it. She worked better alone.

As she laid her black Amex card down on the bar to pay for her scotch—fighting the eye roll that threatened at the bartender's shocked (and slightly worried) expression—Bella felt eyes boring into her back. Rather than turn, she simply smirked at the bartender, waiting as he processed her card. Fresh out of high school, Bella had solved her spending habits with a quick marriage and quicker divorce to James Samuelson, a plastic surgeon from Seattle who had never quite known what hit him. Five years later, she was the holder of the infamous black Amex card, a junior partner in New York's finest law firm, and had a net worth of almost thirty million dollars.

As the bartender handed her card back, Bella turned, elegant, with self-taught grace (the reason she almost never exceeded two drinks), and walked across the hardwood floor to the washroom. As she walked, she met the eyes that had been staring into her back. Senator Michael Newton's beady, semi-glassed eyes met hers, and Bella smothered the look of disgust and displeasure that threatened. She offered the barest of just-socially-acceptable smiles, always proper, but didn't offer more. Michael Newton had been eyeing her since the day he'd first set foot on the Hill, and couldn't seem to understand that Bella was never going to lower her standards.

In the washroom, Bella powdered her nose, shifting in front of the mirror and adjusting the clasp on her pearls. She tried to quell the rising disappointment that had flourished under Senator Newton's gaze. Bella enjoyed sex, but she enjoyed quality sex, and often, powerful, womanizing men were the best equipped to offer that. Which was precisely why she had refused Michael Newton time and time again. She worried her lip, a habit from childhood, and debated whether or not she should give in and call Jacob—another habit from childhood. Jacob was good looking, had money, and certainly knew how to satisfy her (Lord knew he had enough practice), but he lacked the dangerous assurance and smoothness of a man born and raised in money.

With a sigh, Bella straightened her already perfect hair, and walked out of the bathroom. Ambient light gave her such a lovely glow, and the hardwood floors clicking beneath her heels always gave her a rush, but Bella felt that the night had ended when Michael Newton had started eyeing up her pert ass.

As she headed out the door into the characteristic Washington drizzle, dialing Jacob's number as she walked, Bella stumbled uncharacteristically, her heel catching in a crack in the flooring, and she tumbled into a pair of strangely familiar arms.

"Isabella. I wasn't expecting to see you here tonight."

That voice. Smooth as silk, and Bella fought to keep her schoolgirl blush at bay as she straightened, suddenly perfumed in the scent of expensive cologne and musk from a hard day's work. Adjusting her blazer, she met the gaze of Rosalie's father, Carlisle Cullen. His blue eyes, blonde hair, rock hard body and the dangerous half smile he was currently giving her were the stuff of her fantasies many times over, but Rosalie had warned them repeatedly as teens the punishment for even thinking about her father that way—and the threat of being shaved bald had served to deter both Bella and Alice throughout high school. But now…Bella couldn't bring herself to think of a single reason why she shouldn't pursue this. Offering her hand to the good doctor,

"Carlisle. My apologies, I'm usually not that clumsy."

Carlisle laughed, his eyes sparkling,

"Could I interest you in a late night dinner?"

Bella smiled demurely, her night suddenly improving vastly,

"You certainly can. Angelina's? I've heard their ravioli is impeccable."

"As is your taste, Isabella. Angelina's it is."

Carlisle offered his arm, leading her to his car, where the driver opened the door for them and Bella scooted in, allowing just the briefest hint of stocking to show as she settled in the seat, watching with satisfaction as Carlisle's eyes darkened just the briefest hint.

Yes, this night had certainly improved.

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And there we have it, folks! I know, I know, it's not Bella x Edward just yet…but it's a hard habit to break! Let me know what you thought/are thinking! Ideas, constructive criticism and thoughts are always welcome.

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