A/N: So this is my first foray into writing my own fic. While I certainly want to know what you think, please be kind because I just don't think I could take that kind of rejection.

I do not own anything Twilight related, however my husband has enjoyed the fruits ...er orgasms that have resulted from my Twi-fic fantasies.

~PROLOGUE~

"He will see you now, Miss Swan," Tanya said as she walked out of his office and into the massive, yet sparsely furnished lobby. "Mr. Cullen will answer no questions about his personal life, his father ,or his father's newspaper. Oh, and um, let me save you the trouble," she added, looking me up and down. "You're not his type. We clear?"

Who the fuck did this lady think she was and what kind of show did she think I was running? Not his type? I need this story and I sure as hell have no intention of allowing the likes of a public relations bitch like Tanya tell me how to do my job.

"Crystal."

"Great. You have 45 minutes until his next appointment. Make it count." With that, she turned on her expensive-looking heel, tossed her hair over her shoulder and stalked out.

Channeling Rose, I straightened my new pencil skirt, grabbed my notebook and walked confidently into Edward Cullen's office. I found him grinning crookedly, with crossed arms and leaning against the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked Puget Sound. Rather than throw him on the ground and rub myself all over him, I decided to keep my job and opt for the less obvious route. I steeled myself for my line of questioning and put on my tough-as-nails facade.

"Nice to see you again, Edward. The readers of the King County Reporter can't seem to get enough of you and so I am back–against my better judgment–to find out a little more about what makes you tick."

With one raised eyebrow he pushed off the window and leaned over his desk, a bit too closely into my personal space and said, "Oh, Miss Swan … it's going to take a lot more than 45 minutes and a tape recorder to find out what makes me tick."

His piercing green eyes were making me dizzy, and I had to glance away to regain composure. Biting my bottom lip, I swallowed thickly. "Well Edward, I can't go back to my editor without getting this story, so what pray tell, is it that you have in mind?"

Thirty minutes later I slammed my car door shut and leaned over the steering wheel of my beater truck trying to figure out where the hell I went wrong. Replaying the conversation in my head, I groaned out loud.

Well you walked through the door, dumb shit.

Resigned to my fate, I picked up my Blackberry and found Emmett's phone number.

"Hello."

"Emmett, for some reason your boss's son is dead set on destroying my life, so I have a favor to ask. I have two and a half weeks to get my ass into shape enough to go backpacking with Edward-fucking-Cullen, because apparently he thinks he is Crocodile Dundee or something. Are you up to the task?" I asked exasperatedly. "Because I don't think I've walked more than two miles at a time since like …."

"Whoa, hold up. Calm the fuck down, Swan, and start at the beginning. How did you start out with the simple task of 'business feature' and turn it into a Grizzly Adams sleepover and fuck-fest in the span of an hour?" he asked, obviously on the verge of busting a gut. "Girl, what do you think Daddy Warbucks is gonna say when he finds out his main squeeze is flirting with the family jewels–only the ones that don't belong to him?" He finally let out a chuckle. "I mean, you might as well pack up your desk now, because there is only one way this little camping trip is going to end… badly."

Emmett continued spewing his asshattery for a few more minutes before inviting me to tag along on his morning run for the next couple of weeks. He also said he could fit in some additional strength training at the gym.

I offered him no real explanations beyond the current disclaimer that I was brand new on the job, and I would be damned if I just usurped my life in California to lose everything a month later.

If I were being really honest though, I would admit to myself that Edward was the most exciting man I had ever been exposed to in my life. Despite that, my entire being suddenly filled with dread over what may well have been my untimely demise. This wasn't going to be pretty.

I put the keys in the ignition and willed my old truck to life. I still had to break it to my editor that I had no story for tomorrow and that he was going to have to pay me extra for the physical exertion and extended hours of my upcoming weekend getaway.

Flipping through the radio stations, I happened across AC/DC's familiar lyric, "I'm on the highway to hell." While not normally a classic metal fan, I just turned it up. I mean let's face it–the song fit the bill, and I have a tendency to wallow in my misery.