AN: Again, much thanks to Tayci for being my own personal test reader and editor (I'm overly prone to typos). She's been extremely helpful and supportive and her advice has been much appreciated! So, please, read on and enjoy!!


BPOV

The ringing of my alarm clock ripped through the fuzzy headache that was still throbbing through my temples after Saturday night's booze fest. I barely even remembered the events of yesterday although I know it involve hugging the porcelain throne for a while at some point while an extremely helpful Jake held my hair and helped me back into bed. I smacked irritably at my alarm, slapping it three times before recalling that I had never set the damn thing in the first place. It was my phone that was ringing. My hand groped wildly across my bedside table before I picked it up, catching it just before it went into voicemail.

"'Lo?"

"Miss Swan? Bella Swan?"

I put a hand to my head. "Yeah, that's me."

"Good morning, this is Angela Weber form Cullen Publishing. Do you remember me?"

I sat up quickly, suddenly wide awake, my heart jumping into my throat. "Angela! Yes, of course I remember you! How are you? Are you calling with good news? Please tell me you're calling with good news!"

She laughed. "Of course I'm calling with good news. Great news, in fact. The executive editor himself would like to set up a personal interview with you."

"What?! That's fantastic! When, where? I'm so there!"

"You'd better be! You won't get another chance like this. I mean, normally applicants have to go through several layers of lower management before being granted an audience with the executive editor, but it was so weird, he just pulled your folder right out of the pile and told me to set up an interview. You must have some résumé!"

I hadn't realized there was anything quite out of the ordinary about my résumé but I praised whatever gods of the business world had brought it to the man's attention. Hot damn, it was about time I got a break. Man, when Alice is right, she's right. She'll get such a kick when she hears about this. Angela was still talking and I quickly wrote down the time for the interview and gladly accepted all the advice she offered me. We chatted for another minute, then she rang off stating she had a lot of work to attend to. I stared at the phone for another full minute, then jumped off the bed and pumped my fists into the air. I couldn't believe it. Cullen Publishing! Maybe my life was taking a turn for the better after all.

In my excitement I rushed down to the garage to tell Jake the good news, completely forgetting my previous vow not to go down there in any state of partial undress. Luckily it was just Jake and one other mechanic this time, and I had known Seth for years. I wasn't bothered to be seen in my sleepwear by him. I flew down the stairs and across the floor.

"Jakey!"

"Bella, what did I tell you about wearing shoes down here? You're going to slice your feet wide open."

I jumped into his arms. "I don't care! I just got the best news! I could bleed half to death right now and I wouldn't care!"

"Whoa, what's going on?"

"I'm getting an interview with Cullen Publishing." I shook him. "Cullen Publishing, Jake!"

He wrapped his arms tight around me. "Wow, Bells, that's awesome. This is huge. They're even bigger than…that other place, aren't they?"

"Hell's yeah, they are. They practically rule the publishing industry. Oh, Jake, I'm so excited. Can you imagine if I get hired there?"

"Well, they damn well better hire you, cause I could get used to seeing this smile on your face again. And they definitely would be idiots not to, anyway. You're a fantastic editor. I guess we're opening another bottle of champagne tonight?"

I groaned. "Not on your life. I think I drank enough alcohol this weekend to last me the rest of my life."

Jake laughed. "Yeah, you and Alice sure did tie one off the other night. I don't know how either of you even managed to walk from the cab to the door."

"Don't ask me. I can't remember anything past the fifth tequila shot."

Jake picked me up and carried me back across the garage, setting me down on the second step up. He swatted me on the butt.

"All right, Legs, back up with you and stop distracting my crew."

"Oh, it's just Seth. I'm no distraction to him."

I playfully blew Seth a kiss. He blushed adorably and chuckled a little.

"I think you could distract any man with blood running through his veins—especially in those PJ's. But congrats on the interview. It sounds awesome."

I laughed, hugging myself even as I bounced slightly on my toes. I felt so keyed up, so suddenly full of energy. Who knew that the best cure for a hangover was the adrenaline rush of unexpected good news?

"Thanks, Seth! How about I bake you guys some chocolate chip cookies? I'm in such a good mood right now I can't help but share the love."

"That would be awesome. You know I have a weakness for your cookies."

I laughed. "I'll be back in an hour." I caught Jake's look. "With shoes on!"

The next day and a half flew by in a hazy blur of anxious excitement. My restless nerves left me in the kitchen throughout most of it, leaving Jake and the guys a wide assortment of baked goods to fuel their energy throughout the workday. They were probably wondering what had gotten into me, but none had staged a complaint. I just needed something to keep my hands busy and my mind off the upcoming interview, and I'd always found baking to be rather soothing. The kitchen was a mess, of course. I was about as neat a cook as I was a painter. There was flour on just about every surface, some remaining residue from the egg I had dropped on the floor, and the sink was overflowing with dishware. It would have to wait until after the interview to be cleaned. At the moment I was too absorbed with trying to make myself look like a competent professional to worry about the massacre of our kitchen.

Taming my hair into the perfect chignon was quickly becoming an effort in futility. After fifteen bobby pins and more hairspray than one person should use I gave up and resigned myself to the fact that those few pieces of hair simply were not going to be tamed. I debated over my outfit for several intense moments before finally deciding to pull the power suit out again. After all, it wasn't as if the executive editor would have glimpsed my earlier visit to the building and decide that my wardrobe was severely lacking. I felt good in the suit and I was going to need all the boosting I could get. I matched it with the same black pair of pumps as before and applied a thin layer of makeup. Again, a small touch of mascara, a thin coat of gloss, and just enough powder to make my face not look like something out of Night of the Living Dead. I always kept it light with the makeup. Not only did I not feel comfortable wearing too much of it, but I had not Alice's hand with the brush set. Looking critically in the mirror I decided that was about as good as it would get.

I walked out of my room. Jake was up from the garage on his lunch break. He looked up and gave me a slow appraisal, following it up with a sly wink.

"Damn, Bells, not the sex suit again. You'll knock the poor guy flat."

"It is not a sex suit," I protested. "It's quite modest and professional."

"It's professional, all right. It's got Naughty Secretary written all over it."

"Jake, it does not! It completely covers my chest, the skirt's not even that short, the heels are low….you don't really think it's too sexy? Do I look trampy?"

Jake's hearty laugh filled the room. "Jesus, Bells, stop worrying so much! Of course you don't look trampy, the suit's not too sexy, you just look damn good in it! Any man would have to be half dead not to hire you."

"I don't want to be hired on the merit of my looks." I smiled slowly. "But it doesn't hurt to look good either, does it."

"Hell, no, it doesn't." He got to his feet and wrapped me in a Jake Hug. "You'll be great, Bells. You're smart, sexy, and charming. You're gonna blow 'em out of the water."

"Thanks, Jake. You have no idea how nervous I am right now."

"Well, don't be. Just go and be your usual knock-their-socks off self."

I took a deep breath. "All right. I'm going, and I'm coming back with that job in the bag!"

Fifteen minutes later I was standing on the sidewalk, briefcase in hand, staring at the building in trepidation. Oh, God, I couldn't do this. What if I didn't have enough work experience? What if they thought I was too young? What if my credentials weren't good enough? What if I tripped on the carpet and knocked his coffee into his lap? Get a grip, Bella! You've been through this before. You breezed through your last interview. They loved you! Yeah, but my last interview hadn't been with a company as huge as Cullen Publishing, and I hadn't been coming to it with such a tarnished work history. Nor did I have to tendency to engage in internal multiple personality type debates with myself back then. Fuck, what was I even thinking applying here? I'm such a goddamned fool! Was I such a masochist that I had to put in my résumé just so I could be scorned and rejected by one of the biggest names in publishing? I had to get out of here before I made a complete and utter fool of myself.

And just as I was making the decision to turn and walk away Angela looked up from her post and spotted me standing outside the glass doors. She smiled and waved, removing any chance I'd had for escape. To cover the nerves I plastered a smile on my face—which had to look something akin to the painful, coat hanger grin of the Joker—and strolled through the door.

"Bella, hi! You look great!"

"Thanks, Angela. I'm a little early. Should I sit somewhere and wait?"

"Oh, I'll call up and let him know you're here. I'm sure he'll be ready for you right away. And in the meantime you can just hang out here with me if you like. I so rarely get anyone interesting to talk to down here."

"Thanks. I have to tell you I'm really glad you're working the desk here today. I'm nervous as hell and a friendly face certainly helps."

"Pshht. You'll be fine. I'd be surprised if you don't get the job. Hang on a minute, let me call up there."

I tapped my fingers nervously on the desk as she made the call to announce my arrival. Angela was still smiling at me as she replaced the receiver.

"He said to send you up in five minutes. And relax, will you? Mr. Cullen is extremely nice and completely down to earth. He won't try to grill or intimidate you."

I gaped. "Mr. Cullen?!"

"Oh, no, not the Cullen. His son, Edward, is the executive editor. He'll be interviewing you. And don't worry that he's only there because of the family name. All the Cullens are highly placed within the company but Mr. Cullen—the Cullen, that is—made them all work really hard for their positions. They know what they're doing."

Angela's well intentioned ramblings were in no way alleviating any of my new fears. I was getting interviewed at Cullen Publishing by a Cullen. And not just a chair sitting, free-riding Cullen either. He was by all rights and purposes a skilled, hard-working Cullen sure to be full of precision and discernment. As Angela directed me up to his office on the third floor I wondered if this could get any worse. How short was my foresight….

I stepped off the elevator and turned right, heading to end of the hallway as Angela had instructed. There was a closed door just where she said it would be with a brass nameplate that read Edward Cullen, Executive Editor. I checked to ensure the hallway was clear before shaking out my arms and bouncing on my toes, like a boxer keying up for a fight. Okay, Bella, man up. You can do this. It's just like any other interview, no biggie. Just relax, and be yourself. And not your current wreck of yourself—your old, confident self. You got this! I raised my fist and knocked on the door. A soft, velvety voice called out from within telling me to enter. I opened the door and felt the floor drop out from under my feet.

There, behind the desk, sat Mr. Perfect.

"Good afternoon, Miss Swan. Please, have a seat."

Did his voice have to be perfect too?

He waved one of those long fingered hands toward the seat on the other side of his desk. You had to be shitting me. The universe could not possibly hate me this much. It had to be part of some sick practical joke. As I stood there for another moment, my face frozen in shock, I realized that this was really happening. This man, who had seen me in what had to appear to him as nothing but a quickly thrown on man's shirt, was actually going to interview me. And I was standing there staring at him as if horns had just sprouted from his head. Get with it, Bella! Maybe he won't even realize that was you in the garage.

I pasted another one of those stupid, phony smiles on my face and crossed the room to the chair he'd indicated. He folded his hands together on top of the folder I had handed to Angela the previous week and leaned towards me. It took most of my effort to keep from ringing my hands.

"So, Miss Swan, what brings you to Portland? I saw on your application that you just moved here."

"Oh, I just needed a change of venue. I spent all my childhood summers here with my dad so I feel pretty at home in Portland. I've got plenty of friends and family here, so I figured it was as good a place as any."

"So what got you interested in publishing?"

That was an easy one. "Well, I've always loved to read. Classic fiction in particular, but I enjoy just about any kind of book. I've been an obsessive reader ever since I can remember. I figured what better job is there for me than to spend all day doing what I love? It can't get better than that."

"Doing it for a career doesn't take any of the enjoyment out of it for you? You know, making it seem more like an obligation than a hobby?"

"Of course not. I get to read these books before anyone else, long before they ever hit the market. It only adds to the excitement knowing I'm one step ahead of the crowd."

"Who are some of your favorite authors?"

"Oh, wow, I don't know how to choose. There's so many. Jane Austin, Mark Twain, Shakespeare, Emily Bronte."

He chuckled, a soft musical sound that rolled over my skin. "Anyone modern?"

"Oh! Yes, of course, I could hardly be in this field otherwise, could I? There's Dan Brown, James Patterson, Rebecca Goldstein, Stephen King. And Mary Clement hasn't made much of a name for herself yet, but I absolutely adore her and predict she'll be huge in the next five years or so."

"I've read some of her work myself. We're currently in the process of trying to sign her."

I did a mental fist pump. He agreed with me! That had to be a good sign.

"Well I have to admit your résumé was fairly remarkable. Graduated a year early, top tenth percentile. Went directly from graduation to Brodwick Ink and moved your way up to Creative Director inside of two years. That's quite impressive."

"Thank you."

My voice came out somewhat husky and I swallowed painfully as the memories constricted my throat. With a few deep breaths I pushed the thoughts away.

"There were, however, some things in your record here that raised a few questions."

Oh, shit, here it comes. I ran the speeches through my head that I had rehearsed just for this moment. I would stay calm and collected no matter what his reactions. I had nothing to fear, nothing to be ashamed of. My name had been cleared, after all.

"It says here that you were forced into a temporary leave of absence. Charges of assault and harassment?"

"Those charges were dropped, sir," God it felt weird saying sir to a man who could only be a few years older than myself, "and I was completely reinstated in my position as Creative Director."

"But you left after only three weeks…"

"Yes, but only for personal reasons."

"Perhaps you would like to explain to me the circumstances of the charges that were brought against you?"

I knew I wasn't legally required to inform him of charges which I had not been convicted. He could not use my withholding of those details as a mark against me, but I felt it might go a long way toward redeeming me if I was just honest and upfront about the whole thing. It would show that I had done nothing to be ashamed of and that it was not relevant toward my qualifications as an editor. Besides, I had been prepared for this question and had already worked out an appropriate response to it.

"It was a personal matter, sir. There was another woman in the office who held an unreasonable and unjustifiable grudge against me. She approached me in my own office and proceeded to attack me. I was merely defending myself, but unfortunately for me it was only that latter part of the scene that was witnessed by another. And the harassment charge was completely invented on her part. There was no evidence of my having made any calls to her phone, and she could not produce the letters in question."

"So she hit you first and you were caught hitting her in defense."

"That's correct, sir. She launched a violent attack on me and I merely reacted out of a self-protective instinct. I can hardly be blamed that I was better at it than her."

I closed my eyes. For the love of God what had compelled me to tack on that last sentence? Had I really needed to add that? It made me sound like a common street-fighter bragging about her prowess in the combative arts. What was it about this man that seemed to bring out all my verbal diarrhea? I was usually so much better at containing it than this. Idiot, Bella! Way to make way too light of what had been one of the most serious and life altering moments of your life. And yet when I opened my eyes he did not have a horrified look on his face. The corners of his lips were actually quirking, as if he were holding back his laughter.

"Well, I can't tell you what a relief it is to learn that you are assertive and well capable of standing up for yourself. This can be an intimidating profession to be in. I can't tell you how many young and promising editors I have seen get completely run over in here."

My mouth just about dropped open. The worst black mark in my entire career history was going to work in my favor? How could that be possible? I had to be imagining it. Maybe he was just playing me, or maybe he just wanted to make it appear like he wasn't holding that against me. I mean it was illegal not to hire me because of that, but if I thought he was passing over me for some other reason…and yet he seemed completely serious when he said it. I had no idea how to respond. He continued on without one.

"Your superiors at Brodwick sang your praises, so you must have been very deserving of all those promotions. They seemed quite bereft to have lost you, in fact. I can hardly understand what kind personal reasons might have compelled you to leave such a promising atmosphere."

"The extremely personal kind, sir. The kind that I would rather not discuss but I can assure you are tremendously unlikely ever to be repeated."

"Interesting phrasing," he muttered.

"Sir?"

"I only have one more question, Miss Swan."

"Yes, of course."

"It pains me to admit that I do not have a position to offer quite as lucrative as Creative Director. Would you be willing to take a downgrade back to the level of a common editor?"

"Oh, of course, sir! I'd be willing to take any position with you!" I blushed scarlet as I realized the possible double meaning of that phrase. There's that wonderful verbal diarrhea at work once again. My eyes lowered to my hands, which were clutched painfully in my lap. "What I mean to say is it would be an honor to work for your company in any capacity available."

Edward laughed. "I think I understood the first time. Well, I think that basically concludes this interview. I'm all out of questions for the moment, anyway. I have a few other applications to look over, but you can expect a phone call either way by the end of this week. I can tell you I've been very impressed with your qualifications." He stood and offered his hand. "It's been an extreme pleasure meeting you, Miss Swan."

Feeling a surge of hope that I never expected to come out of this interview, I grabbed my briefcase with my left hand and rose to take his right hand in mine. And of course the faulty latch on said briefcase let loose once again and all my papers cascaded to the floor. I stared at it in utter disbelief. Why in Frosted Fruit Loops hadn't I gone to the expense to get a new one after the last occurrence? What else could go wrong today? And then I heard it. Edward's musical chuckle followed by a soft, "Shit, shit, damn, double damn?"

My eyes flew up to his in horror. He'd been the one to come off the elevator that day? He'd not only witnessed my complete mortification but overheard my trucker's mouth to boot! And he was looking at me with that smirk that should have come across as arrogant and condescending but just looked sexy as hell on him, and the glint in his eyes indicated that he remembered me from Jake's shop as well. All my hopes flew out the window. I had to seem like a trash-mouthed, bumbling half-wit to him. He'd probably only ever brought me here for the amusement I offered. I dropped my eyes to the floor and weakly shook his hand.

"Thank you for the opportunity, sir," I mumbled.

I stooped to pick my things up off the floor and walked out with them still clutched against my chest. I didn't bother to turn and look back as I left. I couldn't bear to see the amusement on his face. I was only glad that Angela was away from the desk when I reached the first floor so that I could make a quick and easy getaway.