Hey there! So...here we go, on with the show.
107yearoldvirgin and BellaSunshine preread and Kas90 and BellaSunshine beta'd. If you haven't read their stories, Strawberry Wine (Kas90) or A Thousand Leaves (BellaSunshine), what are you waiting for?
Many reviews have asked for a Rose POV. That won't happen right now. Maybe at the end of a story, or maybe for a Fandom Fights _ piece. We'll see, but I just don't find her story all that interesting, in the books or for the story. I'm not saying no, just not right now.
I'm going to ask a small favor from you guys. I love your reviews and I respond to every one of them. However, if you have your PM's turned off or post anonymously, I can't write back! You guys ask great questions, and most of the time I won't answer them because of plot reasons, but I do try to answer every review if I can.
I've been chasing my kid at a park all day, and I'm exhausted. A lot happens in this chapter, so i'm gonna post and go take a nap.
I feel stinging on both sides of my cheeks and I slowly open my eyes. I see Alice roll hers while Jasper looks like the damn cat who swallowed the canary, and Tiger Woods...well, Tiger is staring at me like I'm the next Rachel Uchitel.
I sit up slowly, and my head throbs slightly, but my shoulder itches really fucking bad. So much for itchy nipples. I look between Jasper and Tiger, and it dawns on me.
"Oh shit! It's my time already?" I can't breathe, and a panic attack is settling in my chest.
"No, not yet." Tiger shakes his head and laughs.
"What are you doing here, then? I thought Alice worked for you, not Jasper."
"Alice does, but I don't work for him. We're golfing buddies," Jasper clarifies.
"I didn't expect that. It makes sense, but still..." My mind wanders to whatever else is going on.
"I stopped by because I had a feeling that you were going to have some questions for me."
"Yeah, no shit."
"Bella, I may be a lot of things, but you will watch your language around me. I have given you everything you've asked for; the least you can do is give me some respect." Tiger's eyes have gone from yellow to red, and holy shit, it's one of the scariest things I've ever seen.
"Yes, sir." I feel a force take over me, and my head automatically bows. I don't like this feeling of being controlled. I didn't like it when boyfriends did it in the past, and I sure as hell don't like it now. The only difference now is I don't have a choice.
"Now, my child, what are your questions?"
"Why are you Tiger Woods?"
"I don't see why not. It's only fitting seeing as how a round with Jasper was on my schedule."
Well that makes sense, but I still have so many more things to ask.
"So why Andy Taylor when you first appeared to me?"
"He's a familiar childhood icon for you; he creates a sense of safety and provides positive memories from your younger days." Again, he gives me another reasonable answer. It's strange how calming his influence can be.
"What's with the wonky nipple on my shoulder?"
"Silly little girl." I frown at the fondness in his tone.
I don't appreciate being talked down to, but I know if I say anything, I'll be in a heap of trouble.
"It's my mark that you made a deal with me and only me. It keeps others, such as Alice, near you in case you get into any trouble."
"Like bodyguards?"
"Exactly," Alice chimes in.
For the first time, I take in the positions of where everyone is sitting. Jasper and Tiger are sitting adjacent to each other on the couch, and Alice...well, Alice is sitting at Tiger's feet, and he's lightly stroking her hair. If I didn't know any better, I'd think she was purring. Scratch that. She is making a glottal sound, like that of a cat. Weird.
Tiger flashes a blinding white smile at me, and yeah, he uses Crest White Strips. If I had the balls, I'd tell him to lay off for a while because that shit isn't good for your enamel.
"Why did Rosalie Hale have the same mark as me?"
"I've already answered that question."
No, he didn't.
Oh. Oh! Shit. Okay. I take a deep breath and steady myself as I get a refill on my coffee. My hands are shaky, and I don't think it's a great idea, but shit, I need it. Maybe put some Bailey's with my Coffeemate.
"Jasper says that Rosalie dying wasn't my fault."
"It isn't. It was her own fault."
"Can you explain, please?"
He smiles at my manners. "Her time was up." He shrugs and adjusts his red Nike hat. "You had made your deal. Your deal was to ultimately have what she did. Her contract was older than yours; therefore, your wants and needs take precedence."
His words hit me like a ton of bricks. I stagger backwards when the second panic attack in five minutes kicks in. "So what you're saying is that-"
"If someone wants what you have, after you've obtained everything you wanted, then your time is up."
"So if, I don't know, Jessica Stanley wants what I do, then I'm going to die so that little wh-" I see the warning look Jasper gives me, and I change direction. "So I'll die so she can take over?"
"Exactly. You're a very bright girl, Bella. You don't give yourself enough credit." His focus turns from me to Jasper. "When do we tee off?"
"We better get going," Jasper says, and Tiger nods in agreement.
Something occurs to me.
"I have one last question, sir." I want to spit the last word out, but I know he'll rain hellfire on me if I do, so I bat my eyes and wait for his permission to speak. Asshole.
"If you're Tiger Woods, won't the media be wondering why you're in Seattle instead of at another tournament?"
"Bella, I can be whomever I want, whenever I want. More importantly, only those who've met me can see me, but only when I allow. Any more questions?"
I shake my head, and he answers with an affirmative nod. Douche.
"You need to get going," Alice pipes up, as she's clearly broken out of whatever spell she was under, and moves to my room.
"I didn't even get to eat yet," I half-shout in protest.
"Maybe you shouldn't have been asking stupid questions and cramming something decent in your pie-hole instead."
"I hate you!" I yell.
"It's mutual, you skinny bitch! Now get your ass over here and put on a blue blazer before I end you."
"Ha," I boast as I brush past her. "You can't do shit to me until someone else does."
"I have no doubt Jessica Stanley would trade places with you if it meant dry-humping Edward Cullen."
"You wouldn't." My eyes widen, and I feel truly threatened for the first time.
"No, I wouldn't. She isn't as weak-minded as you, or as selfish."
"That's just mean." I slip into the clothes Alice laid out, and I look fantastic, as usual.
"It's the truth." She tosses - more like throws, a hairbrush at me, and the weirdest thing happens. As I brush out my tangles, my hair becomes perfect, slightly wavy with just a hint of curl. Normally it'd take me at least twenty minutes to get remotely close to how it looks now. Jessica Stanley can suck it. Her frizzy hair would never stand a chance against me now.
"He didn't deserve you before your change, you know," Alice says from behind me. She's in different clothing, and her quick changes no longer surprise me.
"Who didn't?" I ask, applying makeup, which is going on flawlessly, just like last night. I'll never get tired of this.
"Don't play stupid; it doesn't fit you anymore."
"I know you're talking about Mike. Maybe I just want to hear you say it."
"You could have had better revenge by living well, but instead you waste your soul away on vain and useless, fleeting things that are only temporary."
My eyes meet her through the mirror, and she has a look of sadness that I've never seen before.
"I've only got one life to live, and I'm gonna do my best to make the most of it," I counter. She shakes her head and looks...disappointed?
"You still don't get it, do you?"
"Apparently not."
She sighs and walks away. I finish with my makeup and stand back to take one last look. I'm wearing a black and white pattern skirt with a black button-up and one of my new pairs of Louboutin heels. I love the red soles. I've always been drawn to them like a moth to a flame. Now I own more than I'd ever thought I would, and this makes me so, so happy-almost downright giddy.
I'm ready for my interview, and I know I'll make a great first impression. I don't know how I'm going to react when they give me Rosalie's job. Do I take it in stride, or should I practice my surprised face? I make a couple movements with my mouth a,nd I realize that my surprised face resembles that of a blow-up doll. An actress I am not. But I could be if I wanted it bad enough. I'll just let it come naturally and see what happens.
Alice and I pull everything together, and as we're walking out of the building, I see Edward getting into his car. He rolls down his window and tells me he's looking forward to seeing me later. I don't miss the way his eyes go up and down my body, either. His cheating whore of a dead girlfriend had one hell of a body, but I know mine compares because we have the same "stylist." I promise to call him when I'm done and lean through the window to give him a small peck on the cheek. He gives a silly grin, and I watch as Felix steers them into the Seattle traffic.
We walk around to the parking garage, and Alice tosses me a set of car keys. The key-fob doesn't look familiar. She grins and tells me to click it. The lights to a sleek, black Mercedes, similar to the one from shopping yesterday, light up, and I squeal as I jump up and down.
"Consider it an early congratulations present from Jasper and me." She rolls her eyes at her own wording.
"Why do you say it like that?" I'm pissed that she's raining hellfire on my parade.
"I don't want to fight," she says and lets out a loud sigh.
"Me neither." I give her an anaconda hug as my appreciation. "I love it. Thank you."
"You're welcome. We better get going if we're going to stop and get scones first. God forbid we let you loose on potential employers without your daily fix of fat, dehydrated fruit and carbs."
"Meow."
"Get in, Swan."
I salute the captain of Hell and get in. The seats are a buttery, soft leather, and I want to roll around in the backseat naked. Naked with Edward wouldn't be so bad, either.
"Don't do the naked thing until I'm out of the car, please?" Alice smirks, and I hate that she can predict what I want or say.
We get to the station, and I'm still brushing crumbs out of my blouse. It's brand new silk, and I hate the idea that a butter stain is going to be right over one of my natural nipples and out for everyone to see. Stupid scone addiction.
We reach security to get our badges, and the guards begin fumbling all over themselves for us; one even knocking his mug of coffee into his lap. He's screaming about a burning penis. Off to the side is the bank of elevators, and at the moment that the man, yells "Cock!" Royce King, owner of KING-5, approaches us. He's handsome, in a smarmy way, but his eyes have heavy purple circles underneath, and his shoulders are slumped. I remember what Edward said about Royce's involvement with Rosalie. His body language screams that he'd rather be anywhere but here, not that I can blame him.
"Bella Swan, lovely to meet you," he says, holding out his hand for me to shake. I oblige, but instead of a handshake, he kisses the back of my hand and looks at my tits. The guy's mistress just died, blowing someone else no less, and he's making eyes at me? Fucking perv. The irony of having been with Edward the night before is not lost on me. The real difference is what Edward and I have is real; I can feel it. I'm sure Rosalie felt it was real with just about everyone.
"Let's take this upstairs, shall we?" He waves his hand for me to lead the way, but I don't want to because I know he's checking out my ass. I only want one person to do that, and he's somewhere across town doing big, important business man things.
Alice follows us, and it looks like Royce is about to tell her to stop, but with one look, he stops cold and doesn't say a word when she gets on the elevator with us. The ride is silent and nobody speaks until Alice volunteers to stay in the lobby while I go into the perv's den. His office is fairly plain as far as standard halogen lighting and Berber carpet goes, but it's hard to miss the softball trophies and numerous pictures of himself on the shelves. He's Softball Guy. Great.
While he might be Softball Guy, he also reminds me of The Continental, and I'm two seconds away from asking where his velvet robe is. He offers me a seat across from his huge teak desk, and maybe he's not The Continental. He's more like Leon Phelps and he's hiding some Courvoisier somewhere.
"So, Bella, there have been a few changes at the station. We lost one of our own a couple of nights ago, so forgive me if I'm brief and direct."
I notice a sweating bottle of vodka creating a large ring on his desk. The man is getting drunk. Lovely.
"I heard, and I'm sorry about your loss," I offer. I'm sure it sounds sincere; I can only sound so phony.
"Thank you." He nods. "Bella, we clearly have an empty chair for the news tonight, but we won't be filling that position immediately out of respect for Ms. Hale. I'm sure you watch our broadcasts, so you know that Rosalie and Tanya were quite a team for the three evening broadcasts."
Smug bastard. I only watched them occasionally; I actually prefer the ABC affiliate, not his NBC.
"Absolutely," I say and nod.
"Based on your resume, you don't have any camera work, nor did you come prepared with montage, but I won't lie, you're a pretty girl, and I think you'll do nicely on camera, provided you don't have a stutter. You don't stutter, do you, Bella?"
"No," I say warily, I'm not so sure I want to work for this asshole, because it's taking everything I have not to break the bottle of Grey Goose over his head, but it'd be a waste of good alcohol when my fist can do just as much damage.
I glance at the clock behind his desk, and it's not even close to lunchtime. I don't want to be anywhere near this douche, and I can't help but think horrible things about Rosalie because she put up with this, and for what? To be famous. I had only requested to be more popular and loved than Rosalie, not to be her, not to follow in her footsteps.
Royce quickly stands, as if someone lit his ass on fire, and offers me a tour of the studio, my future office and to meet a few people on my future team. I'm excited to get started even though I won't be on the air, but I really don't care. We swing by HR and all the talking stops when I walk through, and at first I think I have something between my teeth, but I'm the reminded that this is the typical response I receive. I square off my shoulders and shake hands and smile. They give me my packet of forms and I leave, pretending not to hear the whispers.
I swear I hear someone say "So that's Bella Swan?" which implies that they know me.
I don't like it, not one bit.
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