Bella POV
It took me all of two minutes to realize I should never have ventured out to the bar with a perfect stranger. The second we entered the smoky, dimly lit building, I felt my heart drop to my stomach. I had never been one for bars, or crowds, or smoke, and loud, metal music which echoed through the room did nothing to calm my nerves.
"Do you see Mr. Hellchase anywhere?" I asked the blonde man, who still had hold of my hand, "Is he already here?"
"You could say that." He answered with a cheeky grin, and I realized with a sudden, horrified start what those words meant.
"My goodness," I cried, as I jerked my hand from his grip and stumbled backwards, "He's you! Er, you're him! I'm so sorry, truly I am, for all the trouble. I never meant-"
"You were late," the man- Mr. Hellchase- said scornfully, as his long, thin fingers wrapped around my wrist, "You wasted my time. Did you expect to get off just like that?"
"I'm sorry. I really am. It was an accident-"
"It doesn't matter much anyway," Mr. Hellchase said with a dismissive wave of his wrist, "Now that you know who's who, and I know you're sorry, why don't you join me for a drink?"
There. That was it. Alarm bells started up in my head, and a shiver of fear worked its way down my spine. Something was very wrong here; some thing in those dark, dark eyes was so deeply, deeply wrong...
"I should get home," I said softly, as I tried to wriggle my hand free of his grip, "It's very late, and my husband- he'll worry, see. He worries very much, and he'll stay up until I'm through the door, and that's not good for him at all."
I was babbling, and I knew it, but the heat of his gaze had me in a fearful fluster and I could think of nothing but how best to escape, and fast.
"He'll be so worried." I repeated once more, in a whisper, and winced as a shadow crossed Mr. Hellchase's face.
"Go if you want," he said darkly, and, with a flash of irritation, I realized he sounded very much like a rude little boy who had not gotten his way, "Go on home to your husband. I only thought that we might talk now, and get to know each other. For the job, see. I've not picked my translator yet, and I felt you might want another chance. If I'm wrong..."
He finished with a shrug, and moved his eyes pointedly towards the door. My breath caught in my throat.
"You mean you're still hiring?" I asked, as a wave of relief rushed over me. Perhaps I had been wrong about this man. Perhaps I'd been unfair. If he was willing to give me another shot after the blunder I made, surely he could not be a terrible person. "You'd still consider me?"
"I would," He said silkily, as he gestured to a table, "I most certainly would, Miss Isabella. Now then, shall we?"
James POV
I returned home late, far past midnight, and pulled into the drive with an enormous grin on my lips.
What a wonderful evening! The lady Isabella- Bella, she had told me shyly, over her glass of mineral water- had to be the most intriguing person I'd met in my life. From our conversation I had learned of her love for classical movies and theatre, and great English literature. Admittedly, these were not things I knew well. I'd not picked up a book since I dropped out of high school at seventeen, and I couldn't imagine what joy one could derive from such a dry hobby. Still, Bella intrigued me.
More than that, I liked her. I genuinely liked her. There was something deep and good about her, something in her soul. I could see it in the way she spoke warmly to the bartender, the way she picked up the napkin of a drunk who'd dropped his plate, the way she fretted over her husband-
Husband.
I did not like that word at all. At least, not with her.
It disturbed me, honestly, to think of her with a man. Some schlub of a man, sloppy and lazy, with a menial job and no appreciation for his jewel of a wife. But Bella loved him, or so she said, and so he surely could not be all bad.
But I did not want to think of that now. I did not want to think about the husband to whom she went home, nor what they did when she arrived, cold and shivering from the night, and how he took her in his arms-
"Probably he doesn't know how to pleasure her," I thought angrily, as I slammed my car door shut, "Probably, cad that he is, he just takes what he wants and leaves. The poor sweetheart, to never know what its like to be with a real man!"
On some level, I understood my fury was irrational. I had no claim to Bella. I'd given her the job, yes, naturally, but beyond that, there was nothing much I could do.
On the other hand, I thought with a wicked smirk, as I shoved my way into the house, I'd spent a lifetime clawing my way to where I wanted to be. No one had ever handed me anything: I acquired what I had because of steely determination and a sharp, brilliant mind. I'd wanted to be where I was, and so I am. I wanted to leave that terrible tin- roofed shack of a home, where my mother drank herself into a stupor each night and my father dealt whatever he could get his hands on: I wanted to leave, and so I did, and they've not seen me since. I wanted to escape the hunger and the poverty and the filth of my childhood, and so did, and have not looked back. I wanted power; I wanted control, and so I grabbed it and held it close. Now, I want Bella. I want her sweet brown eyes and warm, pink- lipped smile. I want to her the twinkle of her laughter and the kindness of her voice. I love that she's so good, so smart, and so- so (so what?)- everything. Everything I hadn't realized I wanted, and I did want her. I wanted Bella Swan. And so I would have her.