A Slice of the Pie

Disclaimer: Twilight and its inclusive material is copyright to Stephenie Meyer. Original creation, including but not limited to plot and characters, is copyright to the respective authors of each story. No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: So there's currently a contest ongoing called The Mountain Man Contest, and while I certainly can write well over two thousand words in a one-shot, which is a requirement for the contest, it's the other requirement that I'm less enthused by. That requirement is the fact that a story must be beta'd, which I'm not really big on betas. I think they're truly a great thing for anyone who wants one, but I'm not the kind of person who likes betas and pre-readers. And make no mistake, I am far from perfect when it comes to my writing, but I don't claim to be. I write for the fun of it, and for me, betas and such take away from that. So this here is the story I will not be entering in The Mountain Man Contest.

Word Count: 2257

Pairing: Emmett/Rosalie and/or Emmett/Vasilii

"I'm not a particular kind of guy, that's one thing you should know about me," I say as I lean in towards Rosalie after finishing off the dinner I'd ordered.

It's the truth, I was born on June fifth, 1987 to Royce and Isabella Carver in the mountains of Tennessee when they'd been hiking, and was raised as an only child with a rifle in one hand and a fishing rod in the other. I'd grown up as if I was the king of the world and had never known there was anything wrong with the way my parents acted – the bruises my mom could never quite hide and the nights where my dad stayed out late and came home smelling like cheap cologne – until I'd moved out on my own.

Still, even though there are things about my past which I now know to be quite awful, there are so many more things which I wish are more acceptable in the rest of the world. My parents have never cared about the fact that I swing both ways nor have they cared that I don't have a desire to settle, but most of the rest of the world doesn't seem to agree with my free and easy lifestyle.

"Yes, I know. I read your file. You have a live-in boyfriend. May I ask how this works given that?" she asks, tilting her head to the side slightly, her long blond hair falling down her shoulder as she does so.

I want to reach out and take as much of her hair as possible in my hand and tug on it while I kiss her lips and then her throat, but I haven't been paid yet, and I don't kiss for free.

"The same way it works for anyone. As long as you pay me, you're a job, and I'll do whatever you want, whether that's going to fancy soirees or to your bed for a steamy night of sex. I'm not particular. Just understand that it's not permanent. I'm only going to escort you for as long as you pay me. And no matter what, it truly means nothing to me. At least nothing more than the momentary gratification of being in your presence."

She smiles widely. "You're quite forward aren't you?"

"Right now I am. Once you've paid me, I'll be whatever you want me to be. I don't care if it's the dominant you can't get enough of or the submissive you've never dreamed to have."

Rosalie Hale is the great-granddaughter of one of the oldest 'royal' families in Hollywood. Unlike her parents and grandparents, she's late in getting off the ground. It's not because she doesn't have the looks either, as the woman in front of me could make Aphrodite glare in envy. But from everything I've heard, she's impossible to work with.

The quick google search I'd done on her before agreeing to meet had shown that she'd been slated as a young teen to play on one of those big Disney TV dramas but had walked offset after an assistant had failed to put enough cream in her coffee. In the twelve years since, every opportunity she's had ended similarly, until six months ago when she'd landed the lead role in an upcoming major science fiction flick which will be starting it's promotion soon.

Apparently after filming, the producer recommended she reach out to an escort company to get someone to play the role of her boyfriend for the next few months so she'll appear more down to earth and less the spoiled rich queen of Hollywood which she really is.

So here we are. I'm one of more than a dozen male escorts who work for Alice's Devotional Enterprises and Rosalie could have picked any one of us. I'm actually surprised she didn't go for Edward who looks to be more her type than I am.

"So as long as I pay you your fee you'll be my boyfriend until I no longer have a need for you?" she asks suspiciously.

"Yes, that's exactly how it works. And unlike most people, I'll do whatever you want and I'll do it right the first time. With me, it's not about my manly pride. It's about the dollar. So if you need me to be there for your interviews, press releases, dinner parties, and red carpet venues I'll be there. If you need a break from all the strain than I'll be there for that too."

"I understand how you keep it from getting out that you're actually an escort, but I can't be seen with a guy who's cheating on me, especially with a guy."

Alice Brandon, the sole proprietor of the escort service where I work, has her business officially listed as an entrepreneurial outsourcing phone service and only a select few know what we actually do. Most of them are like the person who told Rosalie to go to her. Producers, directors, and even some high-level actors and singers all know about what Alice's company really does, but most people don't.

"Then I won't go home until our relationship is at a close. I have another apartment I can stay at for this very purpose."

Rosalie arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me. "Won't that concern your boyfriend?"

"He knows the job I work and knows I'm not satisfied with settling down. I'm an escort for a reason, Rosalie. It's not just because I'm extremely good at it either, but because I enjoy it as well. I likely always will enjoy it. Vasilii understands my need to spread my wings and be free."

"Vasilii, eh? Like the artist?"

I grin. "Exactly like the artist."

"I didn't know he was dating anyone. Everyone claims he's a notorious recluse who doesn't like being around anyone."

"There's a reason for that. We both like our freedom."

"Such a strange sounding relationship." She shakes her head.

"We've been in the twenty-first century for nineteen years now. It's alright to do things like sample the wine and smell the roses. In fact, it can be quite fun."

She narrows her eyes slightly. "To be clear, if I pay you, I'm expecting you to have no other relationships or cavorting of any sort for the time that we're together."

I shrug. "I'm a professional, I can do that just fine. May I ask though, why'd you pick me among all the escorts you could have selected?"

"I'll admit, my first choice would have been the one with the wavy, golden brown hair and green eyes – Edward, I think it was. But he looked too much like a player, and I get it, you guys are paid to be escorts for whatever the agreed upon time is, and I'm sure he'd be like you say you are... but I can't afford any scrutiny. The chance of the paparazzi following him is much higher than you. Not to say that you aren't hot, you are. You're just more..."

She trails off so I finish for her. "More of the dumb lug type who'd be lucky as hell to bag a catch such as you so therefore obviously wouldn't ever cheat."

"Frankly, yes."

"I should be offended, but your hardly the first to think it of me."

It's the truth. I can still remember when I graduated from high school how I wanted to go into college to become a doctor and, in spite of the fact that I'd been valedictorian at my high school, the very first college counselor I'd ever met told me I was too stupid to make it. I dropped out not too long after that, though not because I couldn't make it, I simply decided I didn't want to deal with the constant ridicule.

"I'm going to need your services for the next five months, through all the interviews, dinner parties, and photo shoots, and clear up through the red carpet walks for opening night. And likely not just opening night here, but in Paris, London, and New York as well. Possibly even Vancouver."

"Whatever you want, you know my price. My services are a flat fee. But you'll have to pay for any extra expenses, which includes travel and room and board if you want me to traipse halfway across the world. I have a ton of outfits for any sort of occasion, including nights on the red carpet, etc. So outfits aren't part of the expenses I'm referring to."

"Mrs. Brandon went over the terms with me, so I understand how this works."

"Ms. Brandon, actually." I correct automatically.

"Ah, I see." She looks at her bag for a moment. "Well, I have money in my purse. I'll need you first thing on Saturday at my place where we'll ride together in a limo to my first interview. Shall we –"

"I'm a gentleman," I say, cutting her off. "Let's close this deal with a slice of pie." I wave towards one of the waitresses taking care of people in the main part of the restaurant.

"Pie?" Rosalie asks.

"Yes, pie. The world's greatest invention."

She bites her lip for a moment before finally letting out a small snort.

"Do you mind if I order for you?" I ask as I watch the waitress walk towards us.

"Order the pie?"

"Yes."

She frowns slightly for a moment and I'm tempted to reach out and smooth it out, but finally she says, "Go ahead."

I smile boyishly just before the waitress comes up to us. "Have you decided on if you want something else?"

"Yes, my girlfriend here would like a slice of chocolate silk and I was hoping to get a slice of cherry."

"Right away, sir." The waitress turns and heads back into the main area.

"And who says I like chocolate?"

I look Rosalie over. "Oh, you like it. Your choice of food when we first ordered told me a lot about you. Beef bourguignon is a very bold choice of meal. It tells me that you like the red, have a preference for strawberries – and like them even more dipped in chocolate – and the most sensitive part on your body isn't between your legs." I cross my arms over my chest. "Go ahead and try to deny it."

Instead, she opens her mouth and flounders for a moment like a fish out of water.

I smile widely.

"How do you even know all of that?" she demands after a moment.

"As I told you, I'm very good at my job."

"And your job is what? Mind reading?"

"No," I start, but pause when I see the waitress coming back with our slices of pie. I sit back and wait for her to arrive and set them on the table. "That's all we need," I say immediately, preemptively cutting the waitress off so she'll leave.

I wait until she's back out of hearing range before I continue. "No, I'm an escort, and it's my job to predict your desires so that I can keep you fully satisfied. The fact that it proves that I'm not the dumb lug you assume I looked like... well, that's just an added advantage for me."

She squishes her nose slightly, but pulls an envelope out of her bag and sits it on the table between us.

I leave it on the table, finally nodding toward her slice of pie. "Go ahead, take a bite. Their chocolate silk is the type of rich delicacy which will make your panties wet and you salivating more."

"Food doesn't do that," she informs me, but looks down at the pie in suspicion as if it will actually hurt her.

"I assure you. Good food, with the right texture and flavor, most definitely will."

I cut off a bite-size amount of my cherry pie and quickly eat it while I wait on her to try hers.

She narrows her eyes at me as if in challenge, but finally uses her fork and takes a small piece of the slice of her pie, bringing it to her mouth. She chews it a couple of times before her eyes roll up slightly and she moans softly.

"Told you."

It takes her a few seconds but she eventually asks, "What's in this?"

"The chef will never tell. But the regulars often call that pie 'ecstasy on a plate.'" I pause for a moment, smirking as she narrows her eyes again. "Our arrangement, as well as our upcoming relationship, is much like that slice of pie. It will be rich and satisfying, delicate in a way that will be perfect. But it will only last for a sliver of time, and is ultimately but a small piece of a much bigger picture."

"What does that even mean?" she asks, her brow furrowing.

I get up from my chair, picking up the envelope. "You'll figure it out eventually," I murmur as I step to her side. I lean down and grip her hair, pulling her head back enough for me to press my lips firmly against hers.

I pull back after a second. "I can't wait to do that again on Saturday. I'll leave you to your pie for now though."

I turn and walk away from her.