I'm not Stephenie Meyer. This story is written for entertainment, not profit...don't sue me. Pretty please?
As always, thanks to Meghan for beta'ing. Love ya!
A/N Premiere Hotels doesn't exist (to my knowledge). This story is entirely fictional, even though there are many references that people who work (or worked) in call centres would understand. Oh, the plight of the call centre worker!
Also, SM owns everything. Obviously ;)
Thanks to Meghan for her beta'ing skills
This was originally written for the Fandom for Haiti fundraiser, but it's been such a crazy year that I completely forgot that I hadn't posted this one for everyone else who hadn't donated to read!
Enjoy! And let me know what you think, please!
This day is dragging on. I can't believe I've been sitting at my half-cubicle desk for only two hours since I began my shift; listening to all sorts of people as they call to make their bookings for various events. Family vacations, dreaded business meetings, romantic interludes, thousands of husbands and wives and their indiscretions... they all remind me of how boring my own life is. I zone out between calls, hoping to will the minute hand of my mom's old watch located on my left wrist to speed ahead.
Beep.
Another call comes in.
Once again I spout my spiel. "Good afternoon, and thank you for calling Premiere Hotels. This is Bella."
A middle-aged smoke-riddled voice answers. "Uh, hi, uh...I need to...uh...make a reservation at your hotel."
Yet another genius.
I put on the best professional voice I can muster. "Certainly. In what city, sir?"
After a few more stutters, I finally get a location out of him. I search my system for a list of our available hotels. I find one and offer him a good room for the regular rate. He blatantly refuses to pay that price. I proceed to find him a really cheap rate, and by cheap I mean that it was more than half the regular price, and he still refuses stating he can get a Days Inn for $2 less. I apologise apathetically and disconnect the call.
That is the fourth call in a row like that.
After being employed with Premiere for over two years, I have begun to realize that you can't please everyone, so I've stopped trying.
Just as I muse about some of the more interesting calls I've received over my time at Premiere, another call comes through. I clear my throat and press the line button.
"Oui, parlez-vous français?"
Sigh. I do, that doesn't mean that my skill is such that I can take French calls without sounding like an illiterate jackass...
"No, ma'am, let me transfer you to the French queue." I transfer her with a sigh.
I twirl my pen in my hand, waiting.
Another call comes in. I sigh again, looking expectantly at my wrist watch yet again. God, only a half hour has gone by. It was days like these that I hated answering calls. But it was a living.
"Good afternoon, and thank you for calling Premiere Hotels. This is Bella."
"Hi there," a sultry voice with a rough but sophisticated edge to it replies. "How are you today, Bella?" he says in a very confident and professional manner; and he gets my name right without having to ask me to repeat it. I can't count the number of times I've been called Stella, Tina, and my personal favourite, Della, which I've never even heard is a real name!
Wow, my name leaving his lips even sounds like Bailey's on ice...yum.
My mind immediately pictures one of those black and white Abercrombie and Fitch models, and then I remember to answer the question he asked. "Good, thank you. And yourself?" I hear my voice kick up a notch. Smooth, Bella. Real smooth.
"Good, thank you. Bella, I need a room at the Premiere Hotel in Chicago for tomorrow evening. One night only, two adults, two beds. Oh, and a suite, please."
He's efficient. And he'll be in my neck of the woods. Damn.
I love guests like these; they know exactly what they needd. It makes my job a lot fucking easier.
"That's great; let me find a room for you. One moment, please." I search my system furiously until I find the right room for him. He takes it without haggling. It has to be one of the more expensive selections at that hotel, but he takes it.
Mr. Sex-voice has money to go along with his imagined model looks.
"Ok, and what is your last name?" I ask as I bring up the personal info screen.
"Cullen. First name is Edward." Now I have a name to go with the imaginary face in my head.
"And your address?"
"Let's put it under my business address. Care of Cullen Enterprises Inc." He recites his address, which is in Seattle, and I quote the cancellation policy and when he has to arrive at the hotel to guarantee his reservation.
I guess he's in town for business, since he's based out of Seattle. Such a pity.
"Was there anything else that I can help you with today Mr. Cullen?" I ask as calmly as possible trying to mask the disappointment in having to end the call so soon.
"No, thank you, Bella. You've been most helpful." He sounds genuinely grateful. That's a rarity in this business. I'm just a voice on the other end of the phone to these business types who are just going through the motions, booking hotel rooms for their clients or for business trips. Edward is different though, and I know I'll fantasize about that voice for a long time...
One week later...
I return from lunch and sit down at my desk, yawning. My colleague, Rosalie, goes on break the second I get to my desk without even looking at me. She's such a bitch that I rarely say two words to her in any given week. She's overly competitive with our earnings, too; when our total reservations numbers are posted, she rushes and writes down the amounts. She scowls and takes her anger out on the poor telephone if she's been beaten, and acts smug the rest of the day if she was the highest earner of the day. I really feel like asking my manager if he can authorize me changing desks to be as fucking far away as possible from her, but then I laugh at my ridiculousness.
What am I, in the third grade? Fucking suck it up, buttercup.
I log into the phones once again and put my earpiece in, awaiting my next call. I don't have to wait very long.
Beep.
"Good afternoon, and thank you for calling Premiere Hotels. This is Bella."
"Oh, hi, Bella. I believe we've spoken before. My name is Edward Cullen."
Oh dear God. How could I possibly forget the name that went with the voice that made me want to squeal like a giddy school girl and touch myself all at once?
"Yes, sir, Mr. Cullen, how can I help you today?"
"Oh please, it's Edward. Mr. Cullen is my father."
"Ok, Edward," I reply quietly with a slight giggle. "How can I help you today?"
"I need to book into your hotel in Chicago for this Friday. King sized bed, suite if possible. Two adults. If they have the suite with the fireplace and Jacuzzi available, that would superb."
I cringe internally. He is definitely not going on a business trip this time; it's for pleasure.
While I search for his room, I scold myself for my irrational thoughts.
He's probably super gorgeous and incredibly rich. Why wouldn't he be enjoying his riches and success with an equally gorgeous and rich woman? Besides, what should it matter to me? I'm just the voice booking the room in which he'll be having his fun. And he's probably way out of my league anyway. Plain-Jane Bella has never set foot outside of the Chicago area, and works at a call centre for fuck's sake.
I find the suite in question, and again he takes it without hassle. I pull up his file and book it for him.
I try hard to hide my disappointment at booking an expensive, and very romantic room for him and his lady-friend in my voice to no avail. I can tell my voice sounds devoid of feeling and my normal professionalism.
"Bella, thank you for your help again." His voice is slightly quieter than normal. He even sighs at the end of the sentence.
"You're welcome, Mr. Cullen," I reply, trying to regain some of my lost professionalism.
"Please call me Edward, Bella. I'm sure I'll talk to you again very soon," he murmurs, sounding entirely too sexy for his own good.
I stutter when I realize that he meant he'd be calling again and would most likely be speaking to me-or at least he sounds like he's confident he'd happen to get me on the phone.
"Uh, I, uh, I'm sure. Have a good day, sir, I mean Edward." I feel my cheeks grow warm. Thank God he isn't in front of me. I would probably faint right then and there from the lack of blood to my brain-since all of it is rushing to my cheeks.
I hear him chuckle. Damned smug, sexy-voiced bastard. "You too, Bella."
The rest of the day is unproductive at best.
The sound of Rosalie's voice irritates the shit out of me every day, but today, it's fucking ridiculous. I want to reach over and strangle her with my phone cord every time she laughs her unpleasant, fake giggle for the clients' sakes, or slams her grubby fingers on the receiver to answer the call. I roll my eyes and watch her out of the corner of my eye.
What did that phone do to you, bitch?
I frequently check my BlackBerry's screen to see if I've missed a text from my best friend, Alice. Sure enough, right before the end of my work day, I see the unforgettable notification of a new text message:
Tonight. You, me, and at least 4 Amaretto Sours. Ned Divine's.
How can I say no to such an offer? Especially when Amaretto Sour is involved? I send a quick reply and prepare for my departure from the slow torture that is the Premiere Hotels Central Booking department.
Alice and I arrive at Ned Divine's at 9, looking pretty hot, I must say. I'm wearing tight low-rise jeans and a comfortable but sexy blue halter top. My death-trap heels add at least four inches to my short stature. Alice is wearing dark-wash jeans and a form-fitting red tank top with a shiny patent-leather belt around her waist.
We walk up to the bar, feeling like sex kittens, and order ourselves a drink each and stand by the bar, admiring the men coming in.
"How was your day?" Alice asks.
"How it is every day. It's a job, Ali. I make reservations for Premiere Hotels, and go home. Well, actually I listen to rude people take out their daily frustrations out on me everyday. Then I go home." I take a sip of my drink, and it runs down my throat quickly, leaving behind a chilled and refreshed taste. "Not much else happens. Certainly not life-or-death, important work." The distaste for my job surfaces in my tone, but I couldn't care less. Alice is my best friend in the world and knows my moods.
"You know, you really should consider finishing your degree. Then you wouldn't be stuck in that dead-end job." Alice gives me a knowing smile and I recall how much she enjoys telling me how to live my life. I love her for it most days, but other days I can't stand it. Thankfully, tonight is not one of the latter nights.
I feel someone beside me, no doubt trying to get the attention of the bartender. I move slightly to the left to give them better access, stepping closer to Alice. "Ali, seriously, I can't not work. How would the bills get paid? Dad's still fragile from the heart attack, and the benefits only cover so much."
Alice looks remorseful. "I know, hun, but maybe you can do part time courses."
I stare at her incredulously, getting annoyed by the conversation now. Are we really discussing this at Ned Divine's?
"And who'd pay for those courses, Ali? Me. And with what money, Ali? Mine? You know that's money that should be going towards the mortgage and the grocery bills." I sigh. "Premiere Hotels is helping me help my dad."
Fuck, it feels like we've gone over this and over this. Alice comes from money, so she wants for nothing. I, on the other hand, worked two part time jobs when I was doing my undergraduate degree. When my dad, Charlie, had a heart attack, I dropped out of school to care for him. Maybe when he gets back on his feet, I'll consider going back, but until then, it's out of the question. Charlie comes first.
"I'm sorry, Bella. I know all this, and I still bring it up," she apologises. "Forget I said anything. Let's go dance, huh?" Alice motions to the dance floor.
I shake my head, our conversation forgotten. "You know I don't dance, Ali!"
"Bella!" she whines over the music as she pulls me along to the dance floor. "You and I know you can dance just fine! Besides," she nods over to the bar where we were just standing. "There's this fine piece of man over there who's been watching you since we got here."
I look over to the bar, and I see three men who I guess are in their mid-twenties, who are each holding a beer and keep looking over at us. I can't tell what they look like, but from this distance, they seem to be attractive. I also can't tell which one Alice refers to as the 'fine piece of man' staring at me, but I shrug it off and allow her to drag me the rest of the way to the dance floor.
Once there, we dance for about fifteen minutes, surrounded by countless other people, laughing and smiling the whole time.
I look up and see one of the three men from the bar begin to walk toward me. He's wearing dark slacks, shiny black shoes, and a simple but fitted dark button down dress shirt.
The Corona in his hand still has the sliver of lime hanging off the edge of the lip, so it's fresh. He hasn't even had time to push it in and flip the bottle.
His hair is the colour of a copper penny, and it's wild but controlled, if that's even possible. I get this irrational desire to run my hands through his hair, but all the thoughts in my head take a hiatus when he smiles at me crookedly. His shocking green eyes are noticeable, even in the dim lights of the bar. They're inviting and hooded slightly. Maybe he's smashed. It certainly doesn't appear to be the case as he walks with a slight swagger toward me. It's confidence, not drunkenness. It comes off him in waves.
In my almost intoxicated state, I turn and continue dancing with Alice, pretending to ignore the gorgeous human stalking toward me. Almost as soon as I have that thought, I feel a hand touching my waist. It isn't grabby, like most drunken men's hands tend to be at bars, but it caresses. Slowly, it then inches around to circle my waist. I glance at Alice, and see she has a ridiculous smile on her face, nodding at me.
I've already finished my third Amaretto Sour, and the empty cup still takes up residence in my hand until Alice takes it from my hand and walks over to the bar to set it there. With both my hands free, I slide them down to the arm that is around my waist and run it up and down, feeling the fabric of his shirt beneath my fingertips. I have no idea about fabrics, but this feels soft and expensive.
The arm pulls back and just then, a second hand rests on my waist, and begins going with the rhythm of my swaying hips.
I never let random guys dance with me, but knowing how gorgeous this man is has reduced my self control. Well, that, and I'm in a bit of an alcohol-fuelled daze.
I run my hands up his arms and lean back into him. I can feel his warm breath grazing my bare shoulder, so I tip my head to the left to give him better access to my neck. Maybe he'll introduce himself. Maybe he'll assault my neck with those perfect lips of his. Whatever he does, it'll be worth it, I'm sure.
He's getting closer to my ear. I can hear him suck in a breath.
"Can I make a reservation with you, Bella?"
I gasp.
It's his voice.
Mr. Sex-voice himself. I'd remember that voice anywhere. It's rough, probably from talking loudly over the music in the bar, but so gritty and dangerously sexy that I nearly turn around right then.
"I don't know if you remember me. I'm Edward Cullen." He still sounds sexy, but he's also apologetic for startling me.
I turn and face him. His hands remain on my hips. My God, he's even more attractive up close.
"I remember your voice," I say without thinking. He chuckles.
I must be blushing crimson by now. I can't be sure because my face already feels warm from the overcrowded bar and the alcohol flowing in my system.
"I remember yours, too, Bella," he replies, his eyes roaming over my form. "I overheard you and your friend talking about Premiere, and, well," now he's the one who looks embarrassed. "I kept listening in the off-chance that it happened to be you. I saw you come in. It happens to be my lucky night." He smiles that crooked smile again.
"Why's that?"
"Because you're so gorgeous," he whispers. I think I gasp again. He reacts to it, though. Again, he chuckles and lifts my hand to his lips. He plants a single, chaste kiss on the back of my hand.
"Dance with me?" he asks sweetly.
Before I can formulate a reply, or a rebuttal because we are already dancing together, the reservation I made for him earlier today pops in my head and I stop dead in my tracks.
"Where's your girlfriend?" I ask hotly, trying to pry my hand away from his in my drunken burst of anger. The wheels in his head process quickly; he knows I'm referring to his booking today.
"That wasn't for me. It was for my parents. I was treating them to a night out. They came with me to Chicago on business." He's genuine in his answer, doesn't hesitate, and doesn't have to think about what to tell me. He laces his fingers with mine and leans closer again. "I swear."
My anger disappears. Feelings are so fickle when you're drunk, I guess. But somehow, though I haven't known this man for more than a few moments, I know he's not lying.
"So, how about that dance?" Edward asks and squeezes my hand briefly. His eyes sparkle, even in the dim bar lights.
I nod and let him sway my hips for me. He pulls me back toward him, and his hips press into my ass. His breath tickles my ear deliciously as he breathes in and out deeply, no doubt trying to contain the arousal that I can begin to feel poking my hips.
The longer the dance continues, the more my inhibitions pour out of me. I'm becoming bold, and want to do fucking dirty things with this man. Judging by the hardness I'm feeling behind me, the feeling is more than mutual. Without thinking, I spin around and plant a small kiss upon his lips. I glance at Edward's eyes, and they are wide with shock. I think I've gone too far, but then he smiles that crooked smile that has me melting at his feet. He leans forward, pulling me toward him and his lips crash onto mine hungrily. His open-mouthed kisses send tingles down my spine. His hands leave my hips and are now on either side of my face, gently and caressing. I match his touch, and then place a shaky hand on his hard chest, while the other is now running through his wild hair. I hope to God that this man enjoys public displays of affection, because I'm pretty sure everyone a few feet away from us are staring at us now and probably getting as horny as we were. Not that I give a fuck. I'd kiss this man in front of anyone at all.
His tongue circles my lips, and then plunges into my mouth. I welcome the warmth and sigh into his mouth. Our tongues dance together, and it's so hot that I begin picturing the two of us leaving this bar together.
Edward moans into my mouth and pulls away. I whimper from the lack of contact and he rests his forehead on mine, panting after those kisses.
"So, Bella, have you ever stayed at a Premiere Hotel before?" Edward asks with a sly grin.
"No, I haven't," I say, pausing to make sure the next sentance in my alcoholically hazed head is worded exactly right. "Would you like to show me the finer features of the Premiere Hotel down the street?"
Edward smiles brightly and nods minutely. "Definitely, let's get out of here."
A/N:
Anyone want to read the next scene? Anyone want this to continue? Let me know!