Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Note: During the IM sequence, the screenames are supposed to have the 'at' signs and .com, but they would not save correctly, so just pretend that they are there. Sorry for how long it has been since I have updated, but life got really crazy. I hope to post at least once a week from now on, but no promises. Also, please vote for your favorite stories on ./. None of my stories are nominated because none of them fit the categories, so this is not self-promotion but all of the authors who have been nominated deserve the love, and it is a good way to find more good fanfiction, which is becoming more and more rare.

Elevators, Blackouts, and Strangers

Chapter 9- Poetry in an IM

Bella

The monotonous, shrill sounds blaring from the alarm block beside my head jolted me from my dream-filled sleep. Though I did not remember the prescise visions that graced my internal sight, there was nothing within me that doubted what the shapes and shadows that slipped through the grasps of my memory formed. Rubbing my hand on my face, I felt my mascara smear around my face and fingers as I tried to recall recent events. What day was it? Monday was the day that the author failed to show for work, and Tuesday was the day that Angela had called me in to check on my office, while the other office woman checked out the window-washer, Jacob.

As the memory of Jake's nearly see through undershirt gave me a warm, tingling smile, I slid out of bed and strode to the closet. I withdrew a gray skirt that ruffled at the bottom, and a silky pink blouse that may have belonged to Rosalie at one time or another. It was not uncommon for the three of us to 'commandeer' each other's clothes, especially when ill-fitting the owner or having been chucked to the back of a drawer doomed to collect dust for who knows how long. After the steam from my shower began to dissapate, I dressed myself with a towel around my dripping hair and stepped into a pair of dangerously tall, grey seude Manolos that towered with a stable, thick heel.

I blow-dried my hair, I read the notes left by Alice and Rosalie the night before.

Bella Babe-

Make sure you look hott today so you can knock your partner off his feet--assuming it is a guy of course--and not Newton

Give me a ring if you want to meet up for lunch

-Rose

I grinned at the prospect of not eating lunch alone, and at the author being someone other than Mike. Of course, my imagination stretched itself to who the author could be, not who I hoped it would not be. There was only one person that would suit the job in my opinion, and I did not even know his last name.

"Edward." I murmered, enjoying the sensation of his name rolling off his tongue. So soft, so velvety, and yet a subtle edge undetectable until only it is heard. My eyes were closed, and my heartbeats intensified as I willed myself back to the candle-lit elevator, with his eyes beside mine, his nose tracing my jawline as I steadied my breathing. Leaning in closer to me, his lips grazed against mine, and his fingers carressing my neck as our entire bodies began to touch. My mind stretched beyond what it had ever done before, blurring the edge between memory, and what I wanted to happen in the future.

I shook my head, hoping to shake out the relentless fantasies that made me ashamed of even thinking them, no less wanted to do them. Telling myself that it was normal, and anyone who met Edward would be crazy not to be thinking the things I thought, I read the note written by Alice on the mirror.

Bella,

You need to buy new clothes. You have worn the same things you did two weeks ago, and for someone of your salary that is unacceptable. We are going shopping, whether you like it or not. I have duct tape. Pink duct tape, of course. Kidnapping has to be stylish if I am going to b doing it.

And I bought band-aids. And gauze. And burn cream. And liquid stitches. You should be fine until the end of the month.

Love ya,

Alice

"No no no no noooooo." I moaned at the prospect of shopping. I knew when Alice insisted on adding to my wardrobe there was no going back. She would have her way, as she always did. It was something that she and Rosalie ahd in common; they were both spoiled with having whatever they wanted. The difference between them was, however, that Rosalie was given anything she wanted, while Alice hunted it down, and would not rest until it was hers. In a way, it seemed like she was more deserving because of her motive, but they were both so good to me that they earned what they recieved. Earning everything worth having that could fit in our apartment, our out of the budgets of whoever gave them their gifts.

Grimacing at the shattered coffee-maker, I left half an hour earlier than usual in order to hit the Starbucks down the street. I ordered my usual drink, but even the alluring smell of coffee could not keep my thoughts from returning to Edward, and the strange feeling of being watched fell over me. I began to wonder if I was suffering from paranoia. Hurrying out of the suddenly creepy coffee shop, I slid through the glass doors and walked toward my office.

I stood in the marble lobby, waiting for the elevator to make its way to the ground floor, and at the same time hoping it would never come. The last thing I wanted was for my sanity to be compromised by once again, being held in the same space that held so many events that were important to my life. As much as I wanted to deny it, I knew the day that I forgot about Edward would be far in the future, if ever. It was not something you forgot, but that you just had to plow through and try not to remember as you get married to another man in ten years. It was the sort of thing you write in a diary for your children to read about when you die. It was a could-have-been, but never was. This was something I was determined to accept, and until I got over the man in the elevator, I would have to convince myself that he was not worth getting hung up on. I was horribly wrong of course, but I could lie to myself better than I could to the people around me, or so I hoped.

The bell rang from above the golden doors, and reluctantly, I stepped into the elevator. What made it less akward was that I was not alone. That same factor was what also made it more akward than if I had been alone. My hands trembled, and frustrated tears collected in the corners of my eyes. The buisiness men who occupied the space looked at me with strange expressions from the sides of their eyes, slowly inching away from me to the side as they pondered my sanity. If only they knew I was thinking the same thing.

It was just an amazing kiss! You are never going to see him again, just enjoy the memory, and get over it Bella! I mentally screamed at myself. Knowing I would never have to face Edward again comforted me, giving me an odd sense of solace in sweeping the problem underneath a metaphorical bed and never having to deal with it again. Sure, the mess was not really clean, but it did not show, and it did not get in the way. That would have to be good enough for now.

The doors parted, and my feet seemed to move faster than the bit of coordination I had to allow me to walk upright. My heel caught in the crack between the elevator doors and the floor beside it. With my foot anchored to the metallic strip below and my body being yanked downward, my arms flew above my head as my hands clawed the air for something to grasp. With no luck, I squeezed my eyes shut and prepared myself for impact. Though my body collided with another solid object, it was not quite as hard as I expected it to be. Slowly opening my eyes, I saw the coorporate carpet inches away from my face, and a long arm curled around my torso. My rescuer pulled me back up, and freed my foot from its trap. I was always against animal cruelty, but I now had a particular sympathy for those who were unfortunate enough for their feet to get stuck in steel traps.

Collecting myself and sending my fingers flying through my hair, I thanked the man who had saved me from making a face plant into the carpet.

"Thanks." I began. "I am Bella Swan, and you are?" I asked as I straightened out my shirt, still not having looked up at the man.

"I know who you are." The voice answered. My heart sank within my chest and my stomach churned. Shit.

"Oh, I didn't see you. Thanks Mike."

"You haven't changed much Bella. Still..." He paused as he looked into my eyes, making me feel self-concious.

"What? Still clutsy you mean?"

"No. I was going to say still as beautiful as ever." From that moment I wished I hadn't said anything. Was it his goal in life to make me feel more akward than was normal for me? Or was it to practice his so called pick up lines? Hundreds of girls would have gone weak at the knees at these words, but even those of the poets of the ages said through the lips of a man unwanted were nothing more than the cheesy lines in a Hallmark card. This was no different. I supposed I was a little biased, considering who my 'rescuer' had turned out to be, but I could not help but think that Edward could spit out curses as Rosalie did, and the sound would be more enxhanting than anything Newton could say.

"And you are...just the same as ever. So, is this what you were talking about on the phone?" I asked. I now had no doubt that he did, in fact, work here.

"You know it! It's my first day here. Geez, sucks about the blackout, right?"

"Um, yeah, totally sucked." I lied through my teeth. Thankfully he was dim-witted enough to not be able to detect it. "Is your office on this floor too?" Please say no, please say no...

"Yeah, just down the hall actually." Damn it. "You, baby, are looking at the new director of custodial arts." Now, I was not a career specalist, but I was pretty sure that custodial arts were two long words for head janitor. Was this a hallucination, or could I actually be lucky enough to have a normal author, and Mike hired as a janitor? I bit my lips to keep from laughing, and looked back at Mike.

"I see. So, in lamens terms, that makes you...?"

"Well, ehm, a custodian...but I am also in charge of the others, and what goes in which closet, shifts and stuff like that. It's just until I get this new column job that opened up."

"Actually, the postition had been filled." ANother voice appeared beside me, instantly calming me. Angela stood beside me, creating a reasonable distance between Newton and myself.

"Oh. By who?" He asked the same question that I myself had wanted to ask.

"That does not concern you. What should concern you, however, is that you are an hour late on your first day, and you are not even in uniform yet. I am not even going to mention that you are not supposed to be keeping others from their work. Now, Micheal, if you want to keep this job, I suggest you start doing it. Bella, I have someone for you to meet."

Angela's threat had worked, sending Mike walking away like a dog with its tail between its legs, and his eyes drooping in dissapointment, knowing he would be doomed to work with a mop the rest of his time at The Times. Still revelling in repelling Mike, I followed Angela to her office to meet the new author. My stomach knotted and twisted in excitement, stretching my lips into a subtle smile. With the possibility of Mike being my new partner now being an impossibility, I found myself anxious to meet whoever it was.

"I'm sorry about that, Mike and I kinda went to High School together." I said.

"Don't be, I'm sorry you had to deal with him."

"Thanks for driving him away."

"I enjoyed it as much as you did. He is annoying, but he is also the only person who applied for the job after they found out there was going to be a urine test for drugs."

"Ah." I answered as we stepped behind the door to her office. Standing at the window, the white light of the sun allowed only the sight of the form of a very tall man standing before it. His hands were thrust into his pants pockets, and his hair was in careful dissaray.

"Bella Swan, meet the new author of The Arts column, Edward Cullen." My heart rose into my throat as she said this, making my hands tremble and my legs lose their sense of balance. Edward turned around slowly, his eyes widened as mine were. The sun behind him created a halo of brilliant rays around him, creating an angel in an Armani suit. His light green eyes were brilliant in their radiance; the sheer force of his beauty making me step backward into what could only have been a chair. As Edward turned around, the same heel that had imprisioned me between the elevator door and the office floor, wrapped around a chair leg, making my arms flail and my cheeks blush.

Suddenly, as if he had been by my side the entire time, Edward cradled me in his muscular arms, defying gravity's desire for me. Unlike before, his hold was firm, but not like a steel claw around my stomach. The grasp that held me close was that of a dancer, dipping his partner in a seductive move. My eyes met his, igniting a stronghold that could not be broken even if I had tried. His hand that held my head aligned with my neck began to wind itself in my hair, feeling the soft texture and the mass of strands that hung below me. His other arm rested on my back, the countours of our bones and muscles fitting like those of yin and yang. It felt wonderful in all aspects. It felt like it was supposed to be this way, as if we were made to feel each other's warmth.

Time did not freeze like it did in the movies. It was expedited, and left me begging for more time. It was right in so many ways, but it felt wrong to want. If I was destined to work with this man, it did not mean I was also destined to love him. As soon as it had happened, he pulled me upright, and steadied me by the shoulders.

"Are you alright?" Had his voice always been so silky? So enchanting? I could no force words to my lips, but could only nod. Angela rushed to my side, and asked the same question. This time, however, I could speak.

"Yeah, I think I just had a little too much caffeine this morning." Edward pulled a chair out for me in front of Angela's desk, and rested his hands on my shoulders to help me sit. He took the chair beside mine as Angela stood behind her desk. Trying to distract myself from the handsome sight to my right, I concentrated on what Angela had to say, intent on hearing every word so as to help block the words within my mind.

"Well then, now that Bella has been stabalized" she said with a teasing smile "let's get to buisiness. You both know what is expected of you, and the guidelines are relatively variant. Bella has spent a lot of hours clipping articles you might be interested in, Edward, in addition to what you asked about. Basic protocol is that Edward writes, Bella, you edit, and if you have any problems, you both talk it over, as well as the projects. Any questions?" We shook our heads, and the musical voice beside me rang throughout the room.

"Thank you again for this wonderful oppritunity, Ms. Weber."

"Please, call me Angela."

"Thank you, Angela." We stood, and Edward turned to face me with a gleam of what looked like amusement in his glistening eyes. "Bella, I look forward to working with you." His hand was outstretched to shake mine, and struggling for coherancy, I raised my trembling hand. Our skin made contact as his hand wrapped around mine, making me gasp inaudibly. With my mouth still partly ajar, it took all of the focus I had left to grumble a response.

"Mhmm." Was all the sound I could expell. I was not fortunate enough to have been able to say 'me too', or 'myself as well'. I made a fool out of myself in front of Edward, my new buisiness partner. My hand fell from his, and the man who put Abercrombie models to shame disappeared behind the door. Still in a hypnotic state, I could not even remember leaving the room, finding myself suddenly outside the maple colored door that now had my name on a silver-colored plaque nailed to it. Expecting the door to be shut, I withdrew my key from the outside pocket of the briefcase that hung from my limp arm, and moved my hand toward the knob. Strangely, I heard giggles within the room. As I tried to unlock the door, touching the key to the knob, my anxiety increased when the door swung slowly open without having unlocked it. Peering inside, my eyes widened with the crowd that was huddled within my office.

"Such bad luck that now of all days he decides to wear an actual t-shirt." Mrs. Cope said as she swivveled around in my chair.

"Still...mm-mm-mm-mm-mm. I know what I'm asking Santa for Christmas." Nausea swept over me as Jessica stared lustfully at the window washer, Jacob, that struggled with what looked to be silly string dried onto the window.

"I changed my mind...cloning should be legalized for people like that!" Another secretary named Lauren murmered.

"We could make our own army of hott men!" Someone else added.

"Yeah, we could clone him, the actors on those doctor shows, and the blond guy I saw on the street today." A woman named Victoria suggested as she leaned hazardously over my computer monitor. Though I did not count, there must have been at least ten women crowded around my desk, staring at the man who vigorously scrubbed at the green string.

"'What is the big deal? He's just a guy!" I said, exasperated. "Everyone out!" I commanded, and all but one filed out of the tiny room, cursing under their breath.

"I have your mail for you." Jessica said, not having broken her gaze from Jake.

"Um, thanks. Since when...?"

"Since I can get one last look. Why do you have to be such a buzzkill?"

"Because I have to work here!" I said. "What is that crap on the window, anyways?" I asked only because I did not know how far you could spray silly string.

"Super string." There was a difference? "Apparently it is really hard to clean off of glass."

"Apparently." I said, temporarily mesmorized by the rippling muscles beneath the white shirt Jacob was wearing. "Please, Jess, I have a lot of work to do."

"Fine." She agreed as she sulked out of my office. Not able to concentrate with the russet-skinned man scrubbing the window mere feet from my face, I sat in my chair that was disgustingly warm from Mrs. Cope, and closed my eyes. My finger clicked the wheel of my iPod, and allowed the music to flow through the room as my other hand covered my face. Minutes passed, and all I could think about was Edward Cullen.

How could it be that Edward was the new author? I believed it with all my heart; it was true. How could I work with this man to whom I told all of my deepest secrets? Maybe not all of my secrets, but enough of those that were important enough to make a difference, and unease. Could I work with the man who had kissed me so much like they did in movies and fairtytales? How could I work with a man that I could not even talk to? If it was impossible for me to think in his presence, how was I supposed to do my job? Jacob was nothing in comparison of looks to him; his face more childish and his perfection typical.

Internal conflict raged through my throbbing head. A large part of me wanted to run away, and did not want to face the situation. Another part of me was embarressed, humiliated, mortified even, at the things that I told him. I told him that I liked vampires for god's sake! Not really liked, per say, but the risk of blackmail and rumors were high if not inevitable. No, Edward would never do something like that. I hardly knew him, but I knew him well enough to know that he was too much of a gentlemen to hurt my reputation, not that I really had one to begin with. At least he would not give me a reputation. However, a still larger part of me yearned to see him, to know him, to kiss him again. I knew his last name, and would see him five days a week, every week, for months, and years to come.

Would I allow myself to be content with Edward being only eye-candy as Jacob was? He was forbidden, and that made him all the more alluring. I guessed this was why office relationships never worked, worse than that, rarely were they not cataclismic. I wanted to see him again more than anything, but was it so difficult to run into him at a coffee shop, or some bar that Rose dragged me to, or on the street? Life was cruel enough to make him like candy to a child. You can look at it, but you cannot have it. It was like pouring water on the ground before a man who had been in the desert for days who had only salt to eat.

A knock woke me from my frustrations, and without thinking, yelled "It's open."

"Hello Bell-uhh, is this a bad time?" Edward walked in the door at that moment, his facial expression changing from contentness to embarressment, and unease. He shifted uncomfortably in his black suit, his fingers gently tugging at the collar of his white button down shirt. His shocking eyes flickered downward, and his jawline turned away from me.

"No, why do you say that?" I asked. Did I look in dissaray? Did I smell bad? He saw my confused face, and pointed feebly toward the window behind me. I turned around, and was instantly suprised, and humiliated. Jacob had taken off his shirt, and wiped the sweat off of his chest with it. Glistening before myself and Edward, he continued to work at the super string, making his muscles bulge even more underneath his skin.

"Oh! Uh, he wasn't like that before...maybe we should talk in the hall...and maybe I should get verticle blinds."

"That's...probably a good idea." He said before edging out the door. His innocence made my heart melt; it was as if he was from another time, a time of chivalry and courtesy. I would have given anything to live in a time when all men were like Edward, but I doubted that anyone else could be quite like him. He was this impeccable mix of old and new, of vintage and edginess. There was not one trait that he possesed that was duplicated, down to the color of his eyes and hair. I followed him out of my office, shut the door and locked it behind me. He raised an eyebrow at this action in questioning.

"Long story." Was all that I said, and he accepted it. Though I wanted to prevent any of the office women from crowding inside of my office, there was a larger crowd staring at Edward and I with their mouths agape, and as we walked down the hall to the small kitchen in the far left corner of the floor, I felt like those animals in the zoos who were constantly looked at. I hated being the center of attention, but how could I expect to blend in when this god-like man was walking with me? The New York Times building was not only attracting writers, but extremely gorgeous men. We stood around the water cooler, slinking away from the eyes that followed us.

"So" I began. "what did you want to talk to me about?" I was desperate to know, but at the same time, I feared what he might say. He shifted his weight a few times, and scratched the back of his head, both signs of worry or anxiety. How could I expect myself to remain calm while this seemingly perfect person was practically shaking in nervousness?

"Um, I just...wanted to talk to you about, you know."

"There's nothing to talk about." He paused, and tilted his head in confusion. HIs soft green eyes were focused and burning with concentrated. Smoldering with an intensity I had never seen outside of the movies, I struggled to maintain my point.

"What do you mean?" Edward asked, seeming slightly dissapointed. Of course he would be dissapointed. Any man with his status would be upset if a girl did not kiss his feet so he would say hi to her. It was ego, pure ego, and he was not as different as I thought he was. Now I was dissapointed.

"What do you mean, what do you mean?" I asked, feeling a bit redundant.

"I just thought that you would want to...you really don't understand?"

"No. I really don't. Maybe if you actually told me what was on your mind, then I could." I folded my arms across my chest, suddenly irritated with his demeanor. I felt like an idiot for thinking Edward was so different when in truth he was just a good actor. He was an egotistical man, and I shouldn't have thought anything different to begin with.

"You're not wondering about how we can make the situation less akward? I thought that if we talked about what happened, we could ease the tension a little, or at least know where we stand." Edward leaned against the cabinets, putting his hands in his pockets like a model on a magazine cover would. A total cliche.

"Situation?" I asked with my eyebrows raised. Frustration creased his forehead as he began to pace around the tiny kitchen.

"Why are you being so difficult?" He asked in a smooth, velvety voice.

"Why are you being so cryptic?"

"Do you ever answer questions?"

"Do you?" Edward was quiet for a moment, rolled his eyes, and perservered.

"Fine. Maybe situation is the wrong word, but we can't just forget that night of the blackout. Or at least, I can't."

"And why not? It doesn't mean anything. We work together, and that's it."

"That is really all it was for you? Nothing? Is it that easy to leave behind? Am I not worth remembering?" Edward's eyes were distant, and hurt. He resumed his position leaning against the counter, but this time his arm was across his chest while his other hand was on his chin. I did not know how to respond. He couldn't be telling the truth, but then again I did not think he was lying.

"Maybe I overreacted."

"You still didn't answer my question." I could have sworn it was rhetorical, and wished it was.

"I didn't forget about you. Of course I didn't, but just because we kissed does not mean we should risk our careers."

"You think it would work out like that? It might have just been me, but I don't think it would end badly. We're different." That was what seent me over the edge. I refused to be catagorized with someone who hardly knew me.

"I used to think that, but you're wrong. You are just the same as every other con artist or playboy; I am different." With that I left, hastily, yet carefully, walked back to my office. I nearly slammed the door behind me, locking myself in my haven. Jacob had succeeded in scrubbing off the super string, much to the dismay of the women across the street who had moved from one window to another as he made his way across the exterior wall of the building. Thankful for the solitude, I leaned back in my chair and selected my favorite iTunes playlist.

I couldn't shake the feeling of guilt, remembering the saddened look in Edward's eyes. Trying to convince myself that I was right, I repeated in my mind that he was the one to blame, and that he expected me to crawl to him while kissing the floor beneath his feet for existing. Who was he to think that simply because we saw each other again that meant that I was supposed to automatically date him? Who was he to assume that? He was right of course, there was nothing I wanted more than to kiss him again, but the fact that he assumed it really pissed me off. He tried to make his intentions innocent, but I was not willing to risk heartbreak over someone I was not sure about. Though I had not suffered from a broken heart myself, I knew all too well from Rosalie that it was the person you never expected to hurt you that swept you off your feet, and then dropped you on the ground. She had been betrayed enough for the three of us, and I would not be ignorant enough to let what happened to her happen to me.

There was reason for doubt, and that was enough not to risk it. I would never regret that kiss; it could have been the greatest night of my life but that did not change anything. Edward Cullen was the new author, my new buisiness partner, and coorperate relationships were right behind dating your best friend's ex. It was not done because it was not supposed to be done, and the results were distasterous. Maybe it would have been good for a few days, a few dinner dates or drinks, but it would end, and would end badly at that. Those insignificant dates would not be worth a resentful ending to something that could have been wonderful. It was an 'if only' scenario, a fantasy at most. I appreciated that night, how uninhabited I was, how free I felt, but I would not risk the career I had built up for my imagination's rants.

The rest of the day was spent in hiding. I tried to call it something else, but not even a thesaurus could find another word for it. I was being cowardly, but it would be worse if I ran into Edward again. Better and worse. Better because my eyes craved the sight, and worse because I knew I would apologize for something that did not need forgiving, and would no doubt make a fool out of myself. I would rather have Edward think of me as harsh than an idiot. At least he would be able to respect me. Maybe. Hopefully. Suddenly, my computer gave me a jolt as the sound of an IM rang through the space.

Muting the volume on my iPod, I looked at the IM catcher. The screename was enough to make me gasp. I clicked on the button to open the message, and sat up in my chair.

edward_cullen: Your screename was listed beneath your phone number. I thought it would be easier to talk this way, er, type.

I twisted my hair into a knot, and thought of what to write back. Inspiration hit, and my fingers flew to the keyboard.

bellaTimes: It's a little easier.

edward_cullen: Interesting screename. BellaTimes, because you work at The New York Times, and because it means beautiful in Italian, well, you know you made it up. It's a lot more original than mine

bellaTimes: Yours is more professional. Look, I am sorry about earlier. I meant what I said, but I shouldn't have been so mean about it.

edward_cullen: Don't be. I see your point. You're wrong, but I get it. Anyway, I wanted to say that it is not my say if we should be colleagues, friends, or something more, and I should have respected that. I shouldn't have pushed you, it was not my place. I understand that it would make things more...tense if we spoke in person. I thought it would make it easier if we communicated through text. More anonymous. Is that alright with you?

bellaTimes: Well, I haven't insulted your integrity yet, so it must be working.

edward_cullen: I see you have your sense of humor back. You make me laugh.

bellaTimes: It's hard not to laugh at someone who falls over chairs.

edward_cullen: You sell yourself short a lot, don't you? You don't see what I see.

bellaTimes: And what is that? What do you see?

edward_cullen: It would make you uncomfortable.

bellaTimes: Please?

edward_cullen: No.

bellaTimes: Why?

edward_cullen: Because you would never want to be face to face with me again, and that upsets me.

bellaTimes: Fine. By the way, you should have put a semi-colon before 'it was not my place'.

edward_cullen: There you go making me laugh again. The rumors are true; you are a good editor. Which brings me back to my point. I wanted to ask you your opinion on something.

bellaTimes: I'm listening. So to speak.

edward_cullen: For the first column, I wanted to do something special. You cut out a lot of events, and I found a few that were interesting. One of them was about modern art, and another was about finding inspiration in scenery and people. Which do you think I should write about?

bellaTimes: Hmm. Give me a minute.

bellaTimes: The second one. Inspiration comes before the art, or music, or literature, so why not start with that? Maybe begin with how it is formed, and how one thing, one color or sound can mean so many things to many different people. It would be a better lead-in than most columns that begin with an abrupt start, this way people can get a feel for how the rest of them will be written.

edward_cullen: Wow. I like it. I like it a lot. Why aren't you a writer?

bellaTimes: I think up ideas, but not the words. I can't think of words, but I can fix them.

edward_cullen: You're right, you are different. I've only been in New York for a few days, but already I have seen the same woman again and again. It is like a gigantic high school full of clicks, and each girl I saw fit into exactly one stereotype. You have the model, the insane artist, the buisness woman, the desperate serial dater, the stalker, and more. A lot more. Same thing in Chicago, it was nauseating. But you...you are smart, but not pretentious, you are beautiful, but not overly made up, you are unlike anyone I have ever met, and I am kicking myself for saying the exact opposite of what I mean. I meant what I said about the kiss, but I should never have put you in a compromising position. I know I agreed to keep this professional, but I can't let you think of me that way. I never wanted to take advantage of you, or claim to have you all figured out. I think of you very highly, and hope that you do of me as well. I look forward to working with you. Goodbye for now.

I had never felt more like a jerk than I did just then. Edward signed off before I could reply. It was as if I had been romanced all over again, his words sounding like poetry in an IM. There was no hiding it now; I had feelings for Edward. The question was what kind of feelings, and I hoped that it was not the roots of love.