Rosalie P.O.V
"Sometimes when you lose your way, you find YOURSELF." ― Mandy Hale, The Single Woman: Life, Love, and a Dash of Sass
I took half of a vacation day the next morning, not because I was distraught or anything, but because I needed to go for a checkup immediately. I was still on birth control from college, so that was a small positive, but birth control did not prevent STDs, STDs that I did in fact show up negative for. I didn't mention anything to Bella either. I was not a careless person. I did not have one night stands in bathrooms unprotected… except for the fact that I had.
After my appointment, I showed up to work promptly at 1 and was immediately trailed from my departure of the elevator, by one of my co-workers, Angela. She walked up to me quickly, a binder in hand.
"How are you feeling?" she asked casually, pulling the binder open.
"Fine, thanks."
"That's great. I'm glad to see you back so soon. This place can't run without you," she half laughed, "We have four outfits that need to be looked over and 50 photos from last week's photo shoot that need to be narrowed down immediately. The budget for this month's magazines' covers is in your email for approval and that needs to be done tonight. The first day of casting models was a total bust. We just got several new pieces that need to be approved. We also need your proposal for your editorial piece anddd your father called- twice."
I paused and she stopped immediately after me.
"I'll deal with all of that," I took the binder from her hands and smiled quickly, before turning back to the direction my office was in and partially sprinting to it.
My office was on the fourth floor of the five story building. It was made up of burgundy carpet, floor to ceiling windows, towards the back and the basics of an office. There was a bookshelf to the left. The center of the room was where a desk sat. The desk was almost always covered with binders and swatches and sticky notes. It was also where my office phone was housed. Against the wall was another desk, but this one was more of a computer holder. It was one of those desks with a built in compartment for a printer and several cubby looking components at the top. I collapsed in to my rolling chair that was always housed comfortably between the two so that I could turn from one desk to another and picked up my office phone. I dialed my father's number quickly and put the phone to my ear, holding it in both hands.
My dad answered on the second ring, "Hello?"
"Dad! Is mom okay?" I blurted out.
"Yes, of course!"
I let out a large amount of air and collapsed backwards in to my chair, allowing one of my hands to fall off of the phone.
"That's great, dad. Is there a reason you called twice?"
"Yes- yes there was Rose sweetheart. I'm having a gathering tonight- a couple of old acquaintances and some new ones. It'll be a couple of powerful men and their wives. Hell, maybe even their kids."
"What does that mean for me?" I spun my chair around and powered on my computer.
"I need you to host tonight, keep the women occupied while the men and I handle business."
"You have ladies around you all day. They'd be happy to host."
"I didn't ask them- I asked you."
"I have a lot of work to get done," I spun around again and picked back up Angela's binder, sitting it in my lap and opening it.
"You are my only daughter. You carry my blood. It needs to be you."
"I understand. It's tradition. Nothing is more sacred to family but-"
"But they won't respect anyone else."
"I'm sure that's not true." I grabbed up a pen and spun back to my computer.
"Wear a dress and be here for 7:30."
"Dad-"
"Guest will arrive at 8."
"Dad-"
"I'll see you then."
"Dad!"
Annnd he hung up. Beautiful. I ran a hand through my hair. This was fine. I could handle this. Nothing else could go wrong. I signed in to my laptop and cracked my knuckles, before grabbing some sticky notes from beside my computer monitor.
The day was rough to say the least. I created the month's budget and then spent the rest of my day running from the fifth floor which was the official fashion department to the third floor which was housed by our writers. The floors of the building were arranged by importance, the least important on the 1st floor and the most on the 5th. The first floor in fact wasn't even really worked on. The first floor was more like a lobby. There was a television room, a few bathrooms, and a long spread of food, that was changed basically six times a day. The only people who really worked on the first floor pertained to food. There was a constant bustling that was associated with the first floor, either you were rushing to work or you were rushing to get food to return to work.
The second floor of the building was cubicles and cubicles of people answering phones. Our calls had to go somewhere before they were patched through. Without an extension your call automatically went to the 2nd floor where if they deemed you important enough to interrupt the higher ups you would be patched through. If they did not, they would take a message and have it emailed up. The second floor was not a very private work place. People were divided in cubicles, sure but it still just seemed crowded. Our friendliest partners were on that floor, the one with the white carpet and no private offices.
The third floor was dedicated to the editorial department. It was a floor much like the one I worked on, except the elevator created some sort of invisible line. Everyone on the third floor who worked to the right of the elevator worked on the written part of magazine. They were the writers, editors and idea givers of the company. To the left of the elevator were the visual people. They were the ones that chose models and then sent them to us for approval. They were the people that took the 300 photos from a shoot and turned them in to a simple 50 before they were sent to "the powers that be". They were the people that drew out clothing designs and developed pictures. They were photographers, artists and dreamers. The entire third floor was taken up by passionate, creative talent and when you walked on to the floor, you understood that. The carpet was yellow, bright yellow. The smell of paint was always in the air and every once in a while someone would run up to you and ask your opinion on a color or picture or a change of word choice and then they would run off again. It wasn't unusual to enter the floor and be met with a mix of nearly 12 different songs, because everyone happened to listen to their own music when they were chasing their muse. The floor was what happiness would look like if it wasn't a feeling.
The fourth floor was designated to people like me. We were the floor that did what needed to be done. We were the people directly below the head of the company. We were the people that could do any of the previously named jobs. We were the people that made sure all of the other floors had what they needed to be successful. We were the floor with accountants, booking agents and distribution moguls. We were the floor that went out and chose colors for fabrics and then had them ordered at the best price for the best quality. We were the people that approved of the third floor. They would sketch or choose a model or write an article, and then it would come to us in order for us to approve and send it to the main boss, but we also took care of them in exchange. If they wanted a newer better paint or imported paper or a pink that matched the color of their highlights for the week it was our job to find what they needed. We were the floor that could spent the day dressing models, or fetching coffee for the models. We were the people pleasers.
The fifth floor however, was the floor that made everything real. Sure the fourth floor approved the clothes and the models. We approved the photographers… but the fifth floor was where the models were dressed in what we chose. It was where our magazine was all tied together. It was there that the articles and pictures were all put together and a rough draft of our magazine was put out. It was there that we would dress models and send them to our boss to be approved or denied. It was where our creations were made physical. They weren't just fabric or drawing or an outfit or a person with features we enjoyed, it was art. It became our livelihood. It was something that we had all come up with. It was where each month's issue was born.
My day was busy to say the least. I was constantly running back and forth- to the point where I had to put on a pair of tennis but at the end of the day I was still walking out of my office and locking the door behind me at 7. By then the 1st and 2nd floor were already completely dormant. The other three floors had slowed down significantly since the departure of the owner of the magazine.
My father had told me to dress nice. However, he had also told me to get to the house by 7:30 so I ended up heading straight to the home he and my mother shared from work. I had worn a simple black dress to work that stopped at my fingertips with some matching black heels. My hair was in a donut on my head, even though I was sure stray strands were falling.
When I pulled up to the house there were men standing outside, three of them to be exact. It was 7:24. I took my extra 6 minutes to apply some lipstick and eyeliner and let my bun loose before climbing out of my car and going to the front door. I didn't knock. Instead I just pushed the door open. My father didn't "summon" me very often, but when Carlisle called and told you to come over, you went. My parents lived in the middle of nowhere. They liked to be away from everyone. I hadn't decided if it was that way because they disliked people or because it made it easier to spot your enemies coming with nothing but open field around you.
"I'm home!" I called and stepped inside, pushing the door closed behind me.
"Darling!" my mother, Esme called from the top of their spiral staircase, a wine glass in one of her hands, "I'm so glad to see you!"
"Mom! You're out of bed?" I quickly took the steps, two at a time to reach her.
Esme was a strong woman, mentally and emotionally. She had to be when being married to my father. He was a man surrounded by sin and pain and yet she'd dealt with all of it. She had always been my father's rock- up until she'd gotten extremely sick during my high school years. The doctors hadn't given her much time, but yet here I was 10 years later and she was still alive and kicking. It was amazing what money could do. My mother, however, was very much at peace with her impending fate. She had lived longer than she expected- and she always stated that her disease was her punishment for all the horrible things that she and my father had done to so many people.
I embraced my mother and then gave her a once over. Her hair was free, flowing around her and she was dressed in a lovely white dress with interesting beading at the top and that stopped at her knees and some silver heels.
"I'm happy to see you Rose, honey. Your father is in his study. He has guests," she explained.
"It's fine," we kissed each other's cheek before I grabbed her wine glass, "You shouldn't be drinking," I laughed.
"It's not the alcohol that has me feeling down these days," Esme sighed, "Walk with me," she tilted her head towards the stairs and I nodded.
"Your father and I are getting older, dear. You understand that, right?"
"Of course. Everyone gets older," I started down the stairs with my mother on my heels.
"Well, were you aware that your father got shot?"
"No, I was not," I said calmly, without looking back.
It was not the first time that my father had been injured in his "line of business".
"Well, he was and he's being feeling very- human lately."
I chucked although I knew exactly what she meant. My father was a reckless man. He spoke and acted before fully thinking. I reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped out of my mother's way before offering her my hand to help her down the last three steps.
"So he wants to see his perfect princess?" I joked.
"Yes," Esme said flatly and then motioned towards the kitchen area.
I followed.
"Your father wants to leave a legacy for you and whatever grandchildren we may get one day," my mother raised an eyebrow and we both laughed as we entered the kitchen and she began opening cabinets.
"I expected as much," I admitted, "So why does my father need to see me?"
"Well, he has a bullet in his arm my love," she said pulling out a wine bottle and then slamming the cabinet shut, "He's realizing that he's getting older and he won't live forever. So, while this whole meeting is very much important in assuring your future, he also just wanted you around. You're never around," she collected a glass from the dish drainer.
"I'm sorry that I don't come around," I admitted, taking a sip out of the glass I'd collected from her, "Work is just really hectic sometimes."
"Oh God, Rose," Esme took a sip from her glass, "You're still doing that?"
"Working? Yes mother I am."
"Why?" she started towards the dinning room and I followed.
"I enjoy my job. I enjoy the people and the work and the money."
"Financially you don't have to work. I don't know why you would."
"So that I can be financially stable. Dad's money won't last forever,"
My mom chuckled at me as we finally entered the dining room, where a woman, most likely their maid of the month, was setting their long dinner table.
"We both know you have more money in your account than you could spend in your whole life," she said quietly.
"Well I'll leave it for those grandkids you're always mentioning,"
"Of course," Esme smiled at me before handing me her glass and walking over to some flowers sitting by the opposing door frame.
"Mom, don't fight me on my job, okay? I like it."
"Okay," she nodded and began pulling some dead flowers out of her plant, "as long as you're happy honey. That's all that matters. Susan honey!" she called and maid #2 entered from the door opposite of us and swiftly walked up to her, "We need new plants," she explained and handed the dead ones to her, "Do something with these. Thank you."
"So mom, if I'm set for life why is dad holding this meeting? He obviously doesn't need any financial aid."
"He wants to announce a successor," she said and waved the maid, Susan away before walking back over to me taking both of the glasses out of my hand, "and you look tired, sweetheart. Fix it."
"Well I did come here straight from work," I sighed and ran a hand through my hair.
"Tsk, tsk Rosalind. What do we say about excuses?" my mom asked, drinking from one of the glasses in her hand.
"Excuses are tools of incompetence used to build monuments of nothing and those whom use excuses are nothing."
"Exactly," she paused as someone rang the doorbell, "I'll greet the guest and you- you do something about your appearance. Look like you want to be here, okay?"
"Yes ma'am," I took a deep breath and let myself out of the back door before circling around the hall and taking the stairs two at a time. I let myself in to my childhood bedroom and lightly closed the door, before looking at myself in the full length mirror that was housed on the back of my room door. My mother was right. I looked how I felt, drained and agitated. I retreated to my bathroom and opened the bottom of the sink, pulling out a makeup bag. I did an entire face of makeup this time, making sure that the bags that were under my eyes were no longer as noticeable. I combed my hair so that it now looked like a sleek wave going down my back, than a curly mess of bedhead and then I let myself back out of my old bedroom and headed towards the stairs. My father's "get together" was in full swing by then. He liked people that were on time. This was a good sign. When I reached the bottom I scanned the room. My mother was nowhere to be found, which meant she was most likely entertaining the children. That was her favorite part of all this. The area around the staircase and I was sure the kitchen, dining room and living room were all littered with people, well dressed men and women attempting to schmooze my father in to going in to business with them. And speaking of the devil, he appeared as if on cue.
"Princess!" Carlisle embraced me and then looked me up and down, "You look beautiful."
"Thank you, daddy," I smiled an actual genuine smile.
I had always been closer to my father than my mother which an outsider would have been surprised by.
"How are you?" I asked.
"What are you talking about?" he kissed me on the cheek.
"Oh just that," I motioned to his arm that was in a sling.
My father had on an all-black suit with a matching sling, a gray undershirt and a gray and black tie that I knew my mom had to have picked out.
"A simple scratch," he shrugged.
"Dad- you can't-"
"Meet my successor," he interrupted and made a come here gesture to someone over my shoulder.
"Dad-"
"Emmett, this is my daughter Rosalind. Rose this is Emmett,"
I rolled my eyes but turned around anyway.
"Nice to meet-" my voice paused in my throat as I came face to face with him- my father's successor who had just had my ass planted in a club sink as he fucked me just a night ago, "you," I finished lamely, "You can call me Rose. Everyone except my parents do."
We shook hands and my dad smiled at me and then Emmett.
"George! Good to see you, you son of a bitch!" my dad said and then patted Emmett on the back before retreating to talk to someone else.
I looked Emmett up and down. He had on a dark blue suit, with a black undershirt, no tie. His neck tattoo still glistened and he walked up to me, closing the small gap between us in a few seconds. I looked up at him and he grabbed my arm and led me around the staircase and in to a small half bathroom that rested between the dining room and the living room, quickly locking the door behind us.
"You work for my father!" I half shrieked.
"Stop," he said calmly and leaned against the bathroom door as if I would try to make a run for it.
"And your idea to get his good graces was to have SEX with his DAUGHTER?" I rubbed my temples.
I was never supposed to see this guy again, but all the same I couldn't push off the feeling that I may have been a little excited that I did see him.
"I'm going to need you to keep your fucking voice down, princess," he hissed.
"Or what?" I crossed my arms over my chest, "Last time I checked you were standing in a bathroom that belonged to my parents. You work for my family. You don't get to call the shots, sweetheart."
A brief flare of anger flashed over his face and I knew he wasn't used to being talked back to. I considered the chances that he would risk his life and break my neck in the bathroom.
"Look, what happened between us wasn't supposed to happen, okay?" he said slowly as if speaking to a child.
"Are you clean?!" I blurted it out.
"Can you PLEASE shut the FUCK up? You are loud!" he hissed, "And yes I am clean."
"Because we didn't use a condom you dumb ass,"
He rolled his eyes at me.
"I'm perfectly clean," he repeated, "I like my dick, okay? I'd like to keep having the ability to use it. My dick is taken better care of than most people, ok?"
"But you're out fucking random people without protection?" I scoffed.
"I don't fuck random bitches without protection, okay?" he snapped, "I just fucked you without protection."
"Yeah, because you just want to have unprotected sex with your boss' daughter and take advantage of her."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" he half laughed, "Took advantage of? You? Please!" he waved me off, "Last time I checked I was leaning against a wall making sure you didn't leave with a fucking serial killer and you came on to me," he closed the gap between us, forcing me up against the back of the bathroom.
We were already in an extremely limited space. His artificial smell of vanilla mixed with the slight smell of cigarette smoke entered my nose and I wasn't sure why my mouth went dry. He grabbed my waist and then lifted me on to the counter opposite of the toilet.
"You fucking begged me to fuck you," he underlined placing a hand on each of my legs, sending electricity to all the right parts of me, "You wanted me to fuck you. You wanted to suck me up and you liked every second of it," he pried my legs apart and my breathing hitched as he stood between my legs, a hand on each of my hips, "And if I wanted to fuck you now, in your parent's house you would probably let me," he slid a hand beneath my dress and ran a finger over my underwear line, "So stop acting all high and mighty," he pulled away as quickly as he had invaded my space, "because at the end of the day yeah your dad might be mad I fucked you- but you let me. I didn't force you to let me fuck the shit out of you, okay?"
I hopped off of the counter, my heart in my throat.
"So keep your little sex chronicles to yourself," he unlocked the bathroom door, "princess."
He rolled his eyes and then bowed to me and let himself out as I continued to stand there dumbfounded. That pompous asshole. And the worst part? If he wanted to fuck me in this bathroom, I probably really would have let him. What was wrong with me? I took a deep breath. I didn't like him. I was lusting behind him and that was something that could be ignored. If anything, I was just lusting after his vulgar-ness. I was raised as my dad's perfect princess. No one ever cursed at me or talked to me the way that Emmett had. It was exciting because it was different. It was exciting because it wasn't vanilla. He was strong willed and he seemed like he could control me in the aspect I wanted to be controlled in- the bedroom. He was that strong personality that wouldn't let me run him over, but all the same he worked for my father and I didn't want the issues associated with that. I had seen too much heartbreak with my mother. My father was a wanderer while my mother held down the fort. There were weeks when she wouldn't hear from him at all and that was not a life that I wanted for myself. Besides, my father would never allow it.
I took a deep breath and smoothed my dress down. I would have to deal with this. Emmett was obviously a fixture in my father's life. Besides, I had gone God knows how long without meeting him, what were the chances that I would meet him again? The thought was both a relief and a pain. I needed us to go back to strangers, but I had a name for his face now- the guy who I'd imagined in my bed most of the morning and the night after we had sex. I wouldn't have minded a repeat, but there was no way that, that was going to happen or could or even should. I couldn't deal with this right now- these conflicting thoughts. I needed to focus on the task at hand. I just needed to get through this night. I licked my lips and ran a hand through my hair before letting myself out of the bathroom and heading back to the party.