I'm back!

Sorry for the wait. I know I said that we'd hear from Edward but he decided to give me the silent treatment this chapter. I tried for days and got nothing. Let's stick with Bella.

BPOV

Flashback

"Daddy?"

'Yeah, kiddo?" he asks, tucking me into bed.

"What was your first date with Mom like?" I smile.

"Oh, dear," he rolls his eyes and laughs at me. "Again?"

"Yep," I nod in earnest. I already knew the tale of the horrific first date my parents went on all those years ago. I just liked hearing it.

"It was a Friday. I'd been nervous all week. I racked my brain for days on where to take her. From the moment I saw your mother I knew she'd never go for the ordinary. So I thought...and thought...and thought some more and I came up with a brilliant idea. Brilliant," he smiles. "I remembered her telling her friend that she loved to go skating. So, I was going to plan a romantic picnic and take her skating," he snuggles into bed with me. "But..."

"God had a since of humor that day," I interrupt him. I love this part.

"Yes. Yes, he did," he laughs at me. "You see, I was so excited to go out with your mother that I forgot to check the weather report," he shakes his head.

"Uh huh."

"The second I picked your mother up it started to rain," he shakes his head. "So...no picnic. So..."

"You two had a picnic in your car."

"Hey!" he gasps. "Am I telling the story?" he jokes. I roll my eyes and wave for him to continue.

"Yes. We had a picnic in my car," he continues. "I take her to the skating rink. That part went okay," he shrugs. "At least it was okay until she fell and hit her head. It was pretty bad," he chuckles. "You get your clumsiness from your mother," he informs. "To this day, she insists that someone spilled some soda on the floor and she tripped over it."

"But you knew better," I giggle.

"Uh huh. I did," he kisses my hair. "Everyone was laughing at her and she was so embarrassed. We make an exit with what dignity we have left. We tried to. Unknown to us, the rain had frozen to sleet on the ground and I fell."

"You ripped your pants," I start laughing.

"Yes," he rolls his eyes. "I ripped my pants right down the middle. So it was your mother's turn to laugh."

"But it wasn't over," I shake my head.

"We walked back to my and found a boot on it. I had a few tickets I forgot to take care of," he braces himself for my laughter. "So, here we are...sitting alone in my car and waiting for a cab," he puts his face in his palm. "Your mother was silent the entire cab ride home. I was sure I blew it. We pulled up to her house and I apologize profusely," he sighs. "And she said..." he leads off, letting me finish the sentence.

"You've set the bar so low our second date is bound to be better than this one," I smile. "Then you said, 'Good. It saves me the trouble of having to plan some ridiculous gesture to get you to go out with me again.'"

"I would have done anything for a second chance with your mother," he grins. "Swans are persistent people. She was right."

"Right about what?"

"Our second date was much better," he tucks my hair behind my ear. "We made you."

"I love you."

"I love you too," he hugs me and turns off the light.

He called?

He called.

He called!

"Uh...yeah," I answer, trying not to sound excited. I may not have much dating experience but I know that a guy isn't supposed to know how interested you are in him. "Hey."

"Hey," he parrots me. "I've been staring at your card all day," he says with a slight laugh.

"How nice of you," I smile, pressing the button for the elevator.

"Don't give me too much credit," he replies. "I spent most of the time trying to decipher the chickenscratch you call handwriting," he jokes.

I roll my eyes and giggle. I have horrible handwriting. I always have. As a result, I tend to type most of my notes or speak with people face to face. Peter always jokes that I should have become a doctor instead of a lawyer. I didn't even think about that when I wrote my number down.

"I haven't heard that before," I snort.

"It has a vague resemblance to hieroglyphics," he adds.

"Hey," I reply, acting offended. "I don't know if we're good enough friends for you to make fun of my handwriting."

"Of course, we are."

"I'm assuming you called me for a reason other than to make fun of my handwriting," I follow Bree into the elevator.

"Yes, I did," he answers. I can't help the smile that erupts on my face.

"Well..." I lead off.

"I was calling to see if you had any plans this evening," he confesses. "I would like very much to take you on a date."

"Really?"

"Yes. Really," he laughs. "It's the least you can do. You did kind of ditch me last night."

"You think I ditched you?"

"I know you ditched me," he sighs, sadly. "I leave for one minute and you vanish into thin air."

"You seemed to have done okay."

"Then..." he draws out a dramatic sigh."I must have called at least ten different people before I got your number right. It would have been easier to find you if you just dropped a glass slipper," he finishes.

I couldn't help it. I laughed. Bree raised an eyebrow and shook her head at me like I was an idiot. I heard her stifle a giggle of her own. It was getting awkward.

"Well," I turn my body so it's not facing Bree. "While I am flattered you went through so much to call me...I can't help but be a little taken aback at your proposal," I step out of the elevator. "It's such short notice. I could already have plans."

I didn't but he didn't know that. Once again, I see Bree roll her eyes and follow me to the car waiting outside for us.

"You do have a point," he says sadly. "Lunch?"

"I actually have a meeting with a colleague," I look at Bree. "Plus, I have a pretty important engagement this evening. I'm sorry," I pout.

"Damn," he answers. "I should have know a woman as beautiful as you would have plans."

"Yeah," I pause. "I'll text you my address. I'll be expecting you at 8," I smile and hang up the phone.

The smile stays on my face and the limo drives off. It starts to hurt and I can practically feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. My hands fly to my face. I hate blushing in public. It's a tell. I don't like people knowing my emotions. Bree suddenly finds the flashing scenery interesting. She's making an effort not to look at me. Then, she starts to giggle.

"What?" I ask, taking my hand from my mouth.

"Nothing," she struggles to say.

"Tanner," my smile falters. "I like to laugh too."

I hate it when people laugh around me and I don't know what for. I don't know why. It just bothers me.

"It's just..." she starts. "I really didn't expect you to...I don't know...act all..."

"All what?" I cross my arms.

"I don't know...girly," she shrugs.

"I hate to spoil it for you but I kind of am a girl."

"It's just you're always so," she leads off and starts acting stern.

"I get it," I huff.

"We're here," Dave announces, as the car pulls to a stop.

"Great," Bree smiles, jumping out of the car.

I should have left my purse in the car.

I look around and am shocked to see the least. I spot two hobos. One is talking to himself and the other is peeing on the sidewalk. A woman who I assume to be a prostitute smokes a cigarette on the corner. Apparently, she doesn't approve of how I look at her.

"What are you looking at, bitch?" she hisses.

"Do you really want me to answer that question?" I bite back.

"Come on," Bree gently tugs my arm inside.

The place is pretty much a hole in the ground. However, the food smells delicious. Bree is greeted by the staff.

"Hi, guys!" she waves back at them and moves directly to the table in the center of the place. "This is my boss, Bella," she introduces me.

"Hello," I smile.

"They have the best Korean tacos in the world," Bree smiles.

"Hey, girls," a woman blonde red spiky hair and one of those hole piercings in her ear greets us. "The usual?"

"Yeah," Bree nods. "Thanks, Cree."

"I'll have that too," I make it easy. I don't really know what to get. "I'll have a Coke," I add.

"When I was in undergrad I used to come here to study," she informs. "I know it's a bit skecthy but the people here are pretty great."

"Whatever keeps the thoughts flowing," I take a sip of my soda.

"Bella?" she asks, as a plate of weird looking fries come to our table. I nod and take a small bite. It's sweet, spicy and savory. It's fucking delicious. "You're not much older than me. How did you get to be partner?"

I look up from the plate and try to decipher the motive for her questioning. She's either attempting to pick my brain or looking for gossip. Her face quickly falters to one of insecurity. She realizes that she may have overstepped. I decide it's a bit of both.

I'm sure most people think my marriage to Peter was a career move. They feel I wanted all the prestige without doing the work. Those people can go fuck themselves. If I just wanted prestige I wouldn't be working. I married Peter because I loved him. Besides, most assume that Shephard & Assc meant the both of us. It didn't. Peter was the only chief partner until yesterday. He just took value in my opinion because I was his wife and his best lawyer. Honestly, I think he gave me the partnership because he was afraid I'd leave the firm and take all the good talent with me. It doesn't matter. I got my name on the door. It deserved to be there anyway.

"I assume you've researched me," I ask. She nods. "I got to be partner because I deserved it," I look her in the eye. "I married Peter a little after he started on his own. It was only logical that we be in it together...not because we were married but because I was the best lawyer he had," I add. "Anybody who says otherwise is just bitter that I'm 10 years younger than them with a higher salary and my name on the door."

I roll my eyes. This happens frequently.

"O-kay," she says, startled at the intensity of my answer. "I just wanted to know. I just think it's amazing that you're so relatively young and have achieved so much. I can't imagine..."

I find myself shaking my head again. Bree is smart. She wouldn't work at my firm if she wasn't. However, her lack of confidence is...astounding. Either she has NO idea of how bright she is or she's fishing for a compliment.

"Listen," I stop her. "You'll never get anywhere second guessing yourself like that," I lick my fingers. "You must know your worth. If people catch a whiff of insecurity they'll eat you alive. You should..."

"Oh my God," Cree gushes. "Your ex came here last night with that cunt," she informs.

"Yeah," Bree looks down at her plate and messes with her napkin.

"The one with the red and frizzy hair," she nods. "I have no idea what he was thinking. She looks like a cat," she hisses, refilling our drinks.

"His loss. Right?" Bree mumbles, looking at me from the corner of her eye.

I feel uncomfortable.

"You're so much better than Victoria," the waitress continues.

Why does the name Victoria sound familiar?

"She's always looking down on everyone. Excuse me but not everyone got to go to some fancy shit college," she rolls her eyes. "Anyway, I hocked a huge loogie in their tacos," she smiles.

A loogie?! I scream internally. I wonder what their health score is.

"Don't worry," Cree pats my shoulder. "Your stuff is okay."

"Thank you," I cringe, sipping my soda.

"Anyway," she shrugs. "They'll be sick before the end of the week."

"Thanks. I guess," Bree nods.

"Let me know if you need anything," she waves and goes back to the kitchen.

That was interesting. I look at Bree. She's gone back to her trademark move of avoiding eye contact.

"How do you expect clients to trust you if you can't maintain eye contact?" I ask.

"It's just..." she huffs. "Victoria thinks she hot shit because she stole my fiance."

"Eh..." I wave it off. "Fuck them both. Success is the best form of revenge," I shrug. "Your ex will regret the day he left you. The slut will get hers. Karma tends to be a bitch to those who deserve it," I remind her.

"You met her," she seethes. "The red hair first year with Jane? That's her."

I think back to yesterday and remember Victoria's evil gin in Bree's direction.

I cringe at the information. This could make things messier. Jane and I already hate each other. Add the Bree/Victoria angle and things get crazy. This can wither go two ways. Bree cowers or she acts like a woman scorned and kicks Victoria's ass. I'm eager to see which is which. I'm hoping for the latter.

"You'll just have to make Victoria regret the moment she decided to fuck you over," I offer my glass for a toast. "We'll start with Jessica Newton," I smile.

"Deal," she accepts my gesture. "I'll be the Mike to your Harvey," she grins.

"Who are they?" I ask. "What firm do they work for?" They can't be that good. I haven't heard of them.

"You haven't heard of Suits?"

"Uh..."

"That show on TV," she looks at me like I'm insane.

"Ugh..." I roll my eyes. "I don't watch TV." I'm so behind on everything. I stopped trying to catch things on their first run. I live on Hulu and Netflix.

"You should," she nods her head. "Don't worry. You're Harvey," she assures me.

"Is that good?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

I spent the rest of lunch giving Bree advice on how to approach some of her assigned cases. Bree was very intelligent. I just hope she didn't get the 'deer in the headlights' syndrome in court.

We lost track of time and Dave had to practically break the sound barrier to get us back to the office on time. Peter greets me and rushes me to our next meeting. The client is on his fourth marriage. We go through the whole 'I want an iron-clad prenup...but don't want my fiance to think I don't trust her and am trying to screw her over...but I don't want to have to give her any money if we divorce' conversation for what feels like the thousanth time.

It's like pulling teeth.

Dave drops be off at my apartment building at 6:30. I shoot Edward a text and start to get ready.

My nerves take control and I find myself utterly clueless on what to do. I've never actually been on a 'date.' Not really. I mean Peter and I hung out before we got together. However, I can't pinpoint our first date. We started out with me picking his brain about his past experiences over coffee. The next thing I know, I'm awkwardly losing my virginity on his couch. Presto! We're going out. I never experienced the excitement, nervousness or jitters that went along with a first date.

Even though Peter and I were married we didn't date. Not really. I was at a complete loss.

What do I wear? A dress? What length should it be? How much cleavage?

What do I say?

I need help. There was only one person I could call. I faceplam myself and look at the Birkin I never got to wear and make the call.

"Hello, beautiful," Kate chirps into the phone.

"Come and get your purse, bitch," I give up. "I need your help."

"Really?" I can her smiling through the phone. "What time is he picking you up?"

"8"

"Shit," she hisses. "Start on your hair and makeup. Hair down. Natural makeup with a splash of color...red. Definitely red. Then, put all of your borderline slutty clothes on your bed. I'll be there in 30. We're cutting it kind of close."

I follow instructions. I take my rollers and barrel iron and create a retro 1940s look with a bold red lip. I finish just as Kate knocks on the door. She has on Strawberry Shortcake pajamas. She even has on strawberry shaped slippers.

"Nice start," she gives me a thumbs up on the makeup. She walk to my bed and sifts through my clothes. She finally decides on a black dress. The bodice is sheer with a thick black stripe going across the chest area. "This," she hands the dress to me. "No bra." The dress fits me like a glove. It's a good thing I chose not to wear a bra. The back of the dress opens into a slight keyhole that takes up most of the back of the dress. Kate tosses me a spiked bracelet and shoes with spikes on the strap.

"Fabulous," she winks. "Your boobs look amazing in that dress," she compliments.

"Thanks," I give myself a once over and agree.

"It's boring at my house," she takes all of her belongings out of her purse. "I'm gonna crash here so I can grill you on your date when you get back," she informs, placing her things in my...I mean her new Birkin bag. "You didn't think I was going to forget. Did you?" she laughs at me. "It matches my pajamas," she models her new bag in the mirror and gives herself a kiss in the mirror.

"You couldn't wait until I left?" I ask, trying not to ruin my makeup.

I really wanted that bag.

"Nope," she shakes her head. "I heard it calling my name from the elevator. KAAAAATE...KAAAAATE...wear me with those Jimmy Choo pumps you saw at Bergdorf's last week...We'll make for a great splash of color," she teases me.

"Bitch," I pout.

"If it hurts too much I won't wear it around you," she tells me with mock sincerity.

"Liar," I cross my arms.

"I should bet you..." the sound of my phone ringing interrupts her taunt.

"Ugh," I flick her off and answer the phone.

"Ms. Swan, there is a Mr. Mason in the lobby for you," the front desk receptionist says.

"Oh," I glance in the mirror. "Okay. I'll be down in a second."

"Make sure you have a sexy entrance," she messes with my boobs to make sure they're sitting up right. "Remember that you're a sexy, smart, successful woman. Don't take any shit. I don't care how hot he is," she pumps me up and ushers me to the door.

"Yeah. Yeah."

"Go get him," she smacks my ass. "I want you coming home disheveled," she closes the door.

I step in the elevator and scrutinize my appearance the entire way down. What if I'm too dressed up? He might be taking me to a place like Applebees or something. My outfit is totally inappropriate. I should have gone with jeans and a nice top. Are my feet starting to hurt already? Fuck! I should have worn flats.

What if I say the wrong thing?

What if he's boring?

What if he thinks I'm boring?

What if he does one of those fake emergency calls in the middle so he can leave? Oh my God!

People don't really do that. Do they? I mean it would be so obvious because everyone does it in the movies and on TV.

But...if you want to leave someone with no intentions of seeing them again it wouldn't matter.

This is doomed for failure.

I feel my armpits start to get damp.

FUCK! I'm sweating.

I slam my face down into my palm. This is ridiculous. I can defend a man on trial for murder. Ask me out on a date and I become a fucking invalid.

*Ding*

The door open and I see a tall figure in the distance. I can tell it's him because the man in question has a fantastic ass. I remember Edward having a nice ass. Arnold, the receptionist, points to my direction and he turns around.

Wow.

He has on a blue button down shirt, black slacks and what looks to be a blazer draped over his arm. He waves at me. It's like I'm floating. I don't remember the feeling of walking over but before I know it I'm standing in front of him.

"Hey," I manage to voice out.

"Hi," he replies, scanning my body. "You look...stunning," he compliments. "Really."

"Thank you," I find myself blushing. My face is so hot you could probably boil an egg on it. "That was nice of you," I nonchalantly drape my hair over my cheeks.

"It's not nice if it's true," he smiles, moving his hand to the small of my back. A shiver runs down my entire body. Edward quickly looks down at our contact and stretches his hand.

What was that?

"Ms. Swan, I hope you're ready for..."

"Bella?" Jane asks, stepping out of her car. "Who is this?" she asks, undressing Edward with her eyes.

Back off, bitch! He's mine.

"This is Edward," I snake my arm around his waist. "He's my date."

"Date," she smirks a grin so mischievous it would give the Chesire Cat a run for his money. "That's..." she leads off. "Quick," she finishes.

"We should go," Edward joins in. "It was nice meeting you..."

"Jane," she shakes Edward's hand. "I'm sure it was," she puts her glasses on and enters the building. She's planning something.

Shit.

"Woah," Edward sighs. "She's a bitch. Isn't she?" he jokes.

"The biggest," I nod. "She's the Voldemort to my Harry," I tell him.

"Ouch," he escorts me down the street. "I made us reservations at Clove for 8:30," he whispers in my ear.

"Fancy," I respond with a shiver going up my spine.

Clove was one of the nicest restaurants in town. I'd read a couple of articles about the place over the past few years. It's even been featured on The Food Network.

"I have to pull out all the stops for a beautiful woman such as yourself," he opens the door for me.

"I thought you did that by spending every waking hour deciphering my hieroglyphic-like handwriting," I tease him.

"Oh, no," he pulls off. "That was to prove my persistence. This date is to prove to you how awesome I am," he winks at me.

"Hot? Yes. Mysterious? Yes," I chuckle. "Awesome? eh..." I shake my hand in a so so manner.

"That's what the date is for," he repeats himself. " You made me think about you all last night and today. It only seems right that I invade your thoughts," he glances at me. "It only seems fair."

I know every word he's speaking is game. However, I can't help the blush and smile that creep up on my face. I brush some hair over my cheeks.

"Hey," I shrug. "It's not my fault. I have a magnetic personality."

"Well..." he starts off. "Uh..." he pauses for a second and looks at me. "Shit. You stumped me."

I look at him in confusion.

"Stumped you? How?"

"I was trying to think of a sexy comeback about magnets and opposites. I couldn't think of one that didn't sound totally lame," he confesses.

"I would have accepted 'opposites attract'" I answer, trying not to laugh.

It was pretty lame.

"See?" he shakes his head. "It's embarrassing."

"Yeah," I admit. "It's pretty bad."

"It's not as bad as telling you that your shirt makes your arms look nice," he laughs at me.

Shit. I was hoping he forgot.

"Really?" I blush at the memory. "Asshole."

"If it makes you feel better that was the sexiest attempt at a cheesy pick up line ever," he smiles at me and parks the car.

"Thanks. I think," I raise an eyebrow.

The restaurant seems to be packed. People are waiting on the sidewalk to get seated. I hear a a violin in the background. I peek in the outside eating area to see a musician's corner and a beautiful fountain. Bulb lights hang from the sky to give the appearance of an Italian villa.

"Don't worry," Edward assures me. "I have connections. We won't have to...oof!" he stumbles, as someone bumps into him. He falls into some shrubbery.

"Watch it, asshole!" I yell at the man who rushes away. "Are you okay?" I ask, helping Edward up.

"Yeah," he brushes himself off. "People are dicks," he hisses.

"Who are you telling? I'm a lawyer," I chuckle. "Most of the people in my profession are dicks. Women included."

"I've heard," he limps to the front desk.

Edward was right. We didn't have to wait for a table at all. The hostess sits us in a round booth on the wall. The restaurant is really nice. The motif from outside carries to the inside. There is greenery everywhere with beautiful tile flooring. The fountain in the center of the floor matches the one I saw outside. The smell of fresh baked bread fills the air and I'm afraid Edward heard my stomach growl.

"This is nice," I state the obvious.

"I was scared that you may have been here before," he admits. "Nothing is worse than going on a date somewhere you've been a thousand times."

"It could be," I nod.

Honestly, I wouldn't know. Peter and I never really dated. We only went out on obligatory romantic events like Valentine's Day or our anniversary. Romanticism is not Peter's strong suit.

"I'm sorry this is such short notice," he apologizes. "I work crazy hours. This was the only time I had off. Plus, I didn't want you to forget about me."

"Please," I give him the side eye. "You have to know that you rank pretty low on the 'forgetful' scale," I tell him. "Those eyes. That smile," I raise an eyebrow.

"My hair," he finishes my statement.

I chuckle at his compliment to himself. He knows he's attractive. How can he not? I can tell that he doesn't define himself by how he looks.

"Your humbleness astounds me," I touch my heart.

"What?" he runs his fingers through his hair. "Ladies love the hair," he leans his head over to my shoulder. "Go on. Touch it," he invites me.

"Really?" I ask, looking around. Edward is wagging his head at me like a golden retriever. Everyone is staring. "Now?"

"You know you want to," he wiggles his eyebrows. "Please? My neck is starting to hurt."

"Fine," I run my fingers through his hair... his shiny, soft, voluminous and spiky hair.

He has great hair. I want to run my cheek over it.

Would that be too much?

"Wow," I gasp. "You have better hair than I do. It's not fair," I sigh.

"You have better legs," he reasons. "Also, you have boobs. Boobs trump hair any day of the week," he uses his position to stare at my chest.

I admit. I was flattered. I have a nice rack. They're not particularly big or small. A respectable C cup.

"Okay," I tug him upright by his hair. "You've seen enough."

"Hello," our waitress smiles. "My name is Carter," she introduces herself. She leans down to our eye level to give Edward a pretty nice view of her chest. Bitch. "Is there anything I can get you?" she looks him in the eye.

"I'll have a raspberry martini," I order, wrapping my arm with Edward's. "He'll have a Jack and Coke," I rest my head on my date's shoulder and give Carter the fiercest bitch face I can muster.

"O-okay," she backs up and straightens her clothes. "I'll get on that."

"Yeah," I snuggle into Edward. "You should."

Bitch.

"Ouch" Edward whispers and starts to chuckle.

"What?" I turn to look at him. "We're obviously on a date and she's shoving her chest in your face."

"Hey," he raises his hands in mock surrender. "I'm not judging. I liked that you metaphorically peed on me. It's sexy."

He smiles that crooked smile again and I momentarily forget that I'm mad. Momentarily.

"Whatever," I shrug. "She's a fucking bitch," I look at her. She's staring at Edward from the bar and trying to point at our table nonchalantly. Great. Now the bartender is looking. "You're not giving her a tip," I notify him.

"Rawr," he growls, sending chills to my pussy.

I wonder if he does that in bed?

I'm such a slut. Kate would be proud.

I feel my cheeks go red. That's the third time today. That's got to be a record.

"You have a cute blush," he runs his nose across my cheek.

"Oh God."

"You've been doing a terrible job of hiding it," he teases, tucking my hair back behind my ear.

"Shut up."

"I wonder if it glows in that dark," he asks.

A soft buzzing sound interrupts our banter.

"Sorry," he quickly checks his phone. He looks at my and looks back to his phone and mutters a quick "Shit," before putting the phone back in his pocket.

"Is something wrong?" I ask.

Oh God! He's doing the emergency phone call. I can't believe this is happening. I start gathering my things. I'm going to leave with a shred of...

"No," he denies. "It's my daughter. She's got some sort of stomach virus. She just blew chunks all over my new sofa," he pouts.

Thank God.

I'm such a spaz. Nobody does that.

"Yikes," I cringe. I can't imagine someone spewing vomit on my sofa. It's chenille.

"Yeah," he chuckles. "That's my girl," he smiles, like he's thinking of her.

"She's beautiful," I tell him, remembering the cute copper headed girl whose picture he showed me last night.

"Thanks," he takes out his phone to show me more pictures. "She's my world," he beams. I giggle at the photo of the little girl with cake all over her face. "She had her 5th birthday a few weeks ago," he informs, showing another shot of her hugging a life sized Barbie doll.

"What's her name?"

"Elizabeth," he grins with pride. I can tell that she means everything to him. My dad used to smile that way with me. "We call her Lizzie for short. She's named after my mother."

He starts telling the story behind each adorable photo. Elizabeth seems to be a sassy and precocious little girl.

"Your mom must be so proud," I smile, looking at the pictures.

"She passed away," he mumbles, putting his phone away. An uncomfortable silence envelopes the table and I know I must have overstepped.

"Oh. I'm sorry," I apologize. "I didn't know."

"It's okay," he waves it off.

It's not okay. I can tell by the look on his face. I screwed up.

"So..." I lead off, looking at my food and trying to think of something to say. "Are you from..."

"Sorry," he sighs, looking at his phone again. "It's work."

Work?!

Shit! He is doing the emergency call. This is perfect...just perfect.

"If you need to leave," I start gathering my things.

"No!" he touches my hand. "It's just that I'm working on something. I can't have anyone messing it up," he looks down at his plate. "It's nerve-wrecking."

"I know," I nod my head. "Sometimes, I feel like the associates can't wipe their asses without me."

"Have any of them ever needed help?" he leans forward, as if he's expecting some gossip.

"No," I chuckle. "I'd fire them before they finished their sentence," I gasp at him. "Ew."

"I'm just checking," he excuses, taking a bite of his steak.

"What do you do?" I ask, figuring this conversation was a nice lead.

The loud clank of his fork hitting his plate signals that I must have said something wrong. Again.

"Uh..." he takes a sip of water and grabs a napkin.

"What?" I lean forward to parrot his earlier movement. "Are you Batman?

"What?" his coughing continues.

"I knew it," I facepalm myself. "I knew it. You're all mysterious and broody."

"No," he looks around and leans in further. "I'm..." he pauses. "A prostitute," he whispers, looking around to see if anyone can hear him.

"WHAT?!" I scream.

"I thought you knew."

All of the air in my lungs escapes my body and I start coughing uncontrollably. I knew he was attractive but... come on.

Oh my God!

I'm on a date with a working man.

Everyone is going to find out.

I'm going to lose all my clients.

That's what Jane was laughing about. That bitch!

"Joke. Joke," he starts patting my back. "That was a joke. I was expecting you to laugh," he smooths my back.

Oh.

"Asshole," I regain my breath.

"An honest asshole," he corrects. "I'm not suave enough to be a hooker. I'm not rich enough to be Batman either. So sorry about that," he apologizes.

"Asshole," I repeat.

"I have a handkerchief," he searches his pockets. "It's right next to my..." he leads off. "What the..." he takes his blazer off to look inside. "Shit," he hisses, checking his pockets.

"Everything okay?" I raise an eyebrow. I'm half expecting another stunt.

"I can't find my wallet," he throws his head in his hands.

"Sure," I giggle at him. He's not going to get me again.

What man goes on a date and leaves his wallet?

"Noooo," he shakes his head. "This isn't a joke. My wallet isn't in here," he motions to his jacket. "I could have sworn..."

One look at the embarrassment on his face and I know he's telling the truth.

"Shit," I gaze at all the food and drinks we ordered.

"Fuuuuuuck," he calls out.

"I can cover it," I reach for my purse.

"Bella..."

"I kinda don't have a choice," I remind him. "It's cool," I pick up my purse. My tiny purse. My tiny purse that couldn't fit anything but a compact mirror, my cellphone and a tube of lipstick. The purse that I argued with Kate about because I thought it was too small. The one I decided to bring because I didn't think I'd need anything but a mirror, cellphone and lipstick.

Fuck.

"What?"

"This," I open my empty purse so show him. "Nothing."

"Oh God," he sighs, sinking down in this chair. "What are we gonna do?" he mumbles, creating a curtain with his napkin.

"Kate," I answer, taking out my phone. I dial her three times with no response.

I have a mental image of the two of us rolling up our sleeves in the kitchen. This is going to be so embarrassing.

Unless...

No.

I can't.

Can I?

"I have an idea," I whisper across the table.

"What is it?"

"It's... a lot less classy than I'd like to admit but it might work," I sigh. "Wait here," I grab a napkin, my phone and lipstick and get up from the table.

I can't believe I'm going to do this.

"You're not coming back. Are you?" he deadpans.

"I'll be back," I assure him. "Here," I put my bracelet on the table. "Collateral."

That piece of jewelry is very expensive. There is no way I'd leave it behind. I carefully tuck the napkin in my dress and make a quick exit.

I walk as quickly as I can to the parking lot. Timing on this is crucial. If the check comes before I can get back and place everything together it will cause suspicion.

"Alright," I pump myself up and gather my dress. "Where are you little buggers?" I get on my hands and knees to search for the perfect candidate. A grin pops up on my face when I spot it. "We have a winner," I say, opening the white cloth napkin onto the ground. "Come on," I coax the huge brown and black roach onto the napkin. "Sorry, kid," I gently close the napkin and press the tip of my thumb and forefinger to crush the bug. "It's for the greater good," I tell myself, before chopping the tip of my brand new MAC lipstick. I really liked that color. "Okay," I slide the dead bud into the newly evacuated lipstick container.

"My poor dress," I pout, getting up from the ground. I'll have to get a new one. Edward seemed to like me in it. Maybe I can get one in a different color. I bet it would look nice in red.

Carter is bringing us more drinks when I make it back to the table. A huge sigh of relief comes to his face when I return.

"She was talking about bringing the bill. I stalled her," he smiles at his quick thinking. "So?"

"We'll have to see," I take out my mirror. I take out the tube of lipstick and act like I'm checking my makeup. Next, I gently tap the bug onto my plate.

"Is that a..."

"Yes," I bow my head and stir my food. "I'm not proud of it but we have no other options."

"That's not going to work," he hisses at me.

"It might work," I counter. "I've seen it work," I ask.

My dad pulled this trick a hundred times. He always liked to see what he could get away with. He didn't care that he had money. I should have known he was a criminal. However, he carried bugs in a bag with him in his pocket for occasions like this.

"Shit. Here she comes," he rests his forehead on his knuckles.

"When the time comes...play it cool," I advise him.

"It's not..."

"Playitcool," I rush out.

"How are we doing?" the waitress asks. This time she's only staring at Edward.

That's better.

Look. Don't flash.

"Lovely," I smile, stirring my pasta. I see the dead bug in the vicinity of the fork. I twist the pasta between my spoon and fork. "Actually, we spotted the tiramisu on the menu," I point to Edward. "I think we'd like to share..." I look at Carter's face and see her eyes get huge. "What?" I ask, knowing what she's looking at.

"Uh.." she looks around frantically.

"What wrong?" I ask Edward. "Is something on my...Oh my God!" I cry out, dropping my fork. "Oh my God!"

"Bella..."

"Bug," I start gagging. "Bug! There's a bug in my food," I dry heave.

"Shit," Carter moves toward me. "I'm so so..."

"I think I ate a piece of it," my voice cracks and I show Edward the pasta with the bug in it.

"What the fuck?" Edward questions. You can hear the irritation in his voice.

"Ew," I start whimpering. "Edward," I start fanning myself.

"Alright," a man in a suit who is most likely the manager appears. "I hear we have a problem."

"Yes," I point to the pasta in question.

"Oh my," he looks shocked. "I am so sorry. Is there anything we can..."

"How about investing in pest control?" Edward seethes.

I look at him. He's struggling not to smile. He's going to give us away. I bring attention back to myself.

"First Carter hits on my boyfriend. Then, I find a bug in my food," I start quivering my lip.

"Well uh...your entire bill is on the house," he smiles. "Your next meal..."

"You think we'd come back here?" Edward asks. "We came here for dinner not to be contestants on Fear Factor."

"Just come to the back and sign a waiver and agree never to..."

"Whatever," I huff. "I just want this night to be over."

We go to the manager's office. Once he apologizes for the umpteenth time, we sign a waiver and we go on our way. They even gave us vouchers for the other restaurants in their chains.

"I must admit that was a good plan," he relents.

"I know," I gloat. "Daddy always told me the best things in life are free. If they aren't, there is a way to get them for free anyway," I recite.

"A wise one," he sighs. I'm not sure if I imagine it. I think I saw him roll his eyes and chuckle to himself.

"Very," I nod.

"You sound like you have a good relationship with your father," he starts. "What's the story there?" he asks, interested.

I feel the emotion drop from my face. My father is a very sore subject for me.

"There is no story," I lie. My father's criminal history as an international criminal is not first date talk. It's not even third date talk. There is no way I'm going there.

"Come on," he nudges me. "You seemed pretty into his philosophy."

"I won't go that far," I deny. "You pick up on a few parlor tricks. It doesn't make you a disciple," I roll my eyes.

My father taught me some tricks. It was before I knew how he learned them. After I found out who he was I started to resent him for it. A majority of the bonding time we'd spent together was him teaching me criminal behavior. Nothing good came from his knowledge. I was forced to learn that lesson after my father left and took everything with him. Everything. As a result, I made a vow to be on the right side of the law.

"Still," he shrugs. "He seems pretty cool."

"I haven't seen him in twelve years so..." I lead off, hoping to end the conversation.

"That sucks," he sighs. "You haven't..."

"No," I cut him off. I use my 'tough bitch' voice that I use at work. "Drop it," I order, crossing my arms.

I hated talking about my father. I kept my father's identity a close guarded secret. The only people who know are my mother, Kate and Peter. I've always been afraid of people reactions to Charlie's profession. Kate seemed to be fascinated with his behavior. My mother can't talk about him five minutes without crying. Peter's reaction was the worst. I waited until we got engaged before I told him. I figured he had a right to know that his father in law was on Interpol's Most Wanted list. The way he looked at me was unbearable. He judged me.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"No one ever does," I huff, as the car stops in front of my building. "Thank you for dinner," I get out of the car.

"Let me walk you..."

"Have a nice night," I wave to him and hope I can make it into my building without crying.