Hey, y'all!
I survived Tax Day and lived to tell the tale and post a new chapter.
As usual, Alice's White Rabbit, Midnight Cougar, and SunflowerFran wield the red pens.
RobsmyyummyCabanaboy and Deh are my plot coaches and shoulders to cry on. I am a tinkerer, though, so any errors left are my own boo-boos.
A note on Bella's decision to go to Moor Lodge. She's new at being a full-time author. It would be daunting to manage her job as Edward's PA, which is a 24/7 gig or pretty close to it, and her obligations as a writer to make her publication deadline. To her, going into "seclusion" for a bit makes more sense than trying to bite off more than she could chew.
Also, if you're still skeptic, check out another well-loved fic titled "Tangled Up in Blue", or google the phrase "writers' retreats". There are tons of establishments that cater to writers who want to shut themselves off from the world to finish their books and meet their deadlines in peace. If I put something in the story, there are generally two reasons for it: a) if fits the story and what the characters would do, and b) I researched it to see if it makes sense. Just because YOU wouldn't do it, it doesn't mean NOBODY would.
That being said, on with the show. I'll see you on the flip side.
BCG CHAPTER 38
BCG
We're at Morton's for lunch, and for once, it's not just the two of us. Emmett and Rose are joining us since she's in L.A. for a round of job interviews.
Once she started casting a wider net, job offers have been pouring in. Now, she's on a roadshow of sorts with back-to-back meetings set up in New York and here by headhunters who've been all too happy to help her career along.
"I'm as amazed as you are, BeeBee. For a minute there, I thought my going all Beatrix Kiddo on Asshole Extraordinaire would reflect badly on me, but it's not been the case so far. To the contrary, they say it vouches for my assertiveness," Rose quips with a wicked grin over her second glass of Prosecco.
"Assertiveness or balls of steel, Rosie?" Of course, my brother chucks the politically correct term out the window without a second thought.
Edward is following the conversation, but contributing little to it. It may have something to do with the fact that this afternoon Seth will be flying solo for the first time because I have a meeting with Victoria.
"Don't let your other clients or your ninja agent hear you say that, Em … or they might threaten your balls of steel for consorting with the patriarchy. And don't forget we know you're not, in fact, that much of an arse."
Ah. He speaks.
"Balls, schballs, Wonder Boy. I might not be using the same words as you enlightened people, but we both know a stunt like Rosie's wouldn't have flown as well a couple years ago. She would have been labelled as a troublemaker. Some of those old-fashioned suits in London still did. 'Confrontational' is the word they used, I believe."
Em has a point. Double standards happen everywhere, and this town isn't immune to them. Times may be a-changing, but not so fast. Someone might get equality-induced whiplash.
"I just have impeccable timing, Em, let's face it," Rose counters.
"That you do, Rosie." His answering grin and waggling eyebrows wouldn't pass muster as PG-13 with film censors.
I stifle a groan while Edward facepalms, reaching for his own glass of Prosecco. The third one. Not that I'm counting.
"What's the matter with you? You usually watch your alcohol intake before read-throughs. You sure you don't need to switch to Pellegrino?"
"Someone's nervous," Em throws in with a singsong voice full of mischief.
"Sod off, Emmett."
After being almost silent through lunch, the multiple glasses of Prosecco, and now his clipped tone, clue me in to the fact that Edward's stress-meter is teetering on the edge of DEFCON-1, and he might need an intervention. We're sitting at a secluded table at the back of the restaurant, far from the windows. But who knows whether someone wouldn't sell us out to the media if Edward Cullen had an outburst in broad daylight at a renowned celebrity haunt.
Headlines of potential mental breakdowns would hit screens worldwide before we even settled the check. What worries me more than the tabloids is the underlying question: what brought this on? Is it really about Seth, as I suspect? Or is there more to it?
"What's wrong, Edward? Truly?" I thread my fingers through his, and he responds, gripping my hand tighter and turning to face me.
"I'm just being a git. Forgive me, love?"
"I don't even know if there's anything to forgive, Edward, but I'm concerned. What's making you so jittery? I thought you were getting along fine with Seth."
He runs his other hand through his hair and proceeds to torture a loose thread in the hem of his napkin. "I am, I am. I like the guy."
"Right. How's the pup doing?" Emmett, with his own impeccable timing, chooses this exact minute to butt into our conversation.
"Who's the pup?" asks Rose.
"The pup has a name. Seth Clearwater. He's Edward's new PA."
"New temp PA." Edward never misses a chance to remind me of our deal.
"And what's wrong with this chap?" prods Rose, who's been through a slew of assistants over the years but knows how to hold on to the good ones.
She's already devastated that her latest one at Wolfrock won't follow her in her next venture. First, because Rose's future is still up in the air, and second, because the lady in question is now … Jasper's assistant. Mr Genius hasn't gone postal on her once since she started a month ago, so things are looking up in that regard. I was in stitches when Russ called to dish the dirt on it last week. Looks like White, Devlin & Hale's HR Manager flat out refused to schedule any more interviews for the position. When Caitlin made it through the first week without a crisis, the HR lady went down to the Ten Bells for a pint. At lunch.
"Nothing, nothing … he's just …"
"Oh, quit your whining, Wonder Boy. Seth's cool. He's just not Bella."
"Do you know him, Em?" That's news to me. But then again, it's a small world, this show biz.
"In passing. He got in touch with me last year. His boss needed a personal trainer. I had to turn him down, but from what I've seen, Seth's a smart kid. He'll do well."
I smirk at the word "kid." Seth is a six-foot-six hulk of a guy, but he's twenty-two, so of course, to Emmett, he's a kid. Also, the way he's telling it, there must be a story behind it. Edward senses it and jumps on it straight away.
"How come you turned his boss down?"
"As a rule, I don't work with sleazeballs. That, and BeeBee was due to visit in a couple weeks. I wanted some free time to hang out with my baby sis."
"Uhm." Edward stares at Em with a pensive, speculative look in his eyes. "I didn't know you were that discerning with your clients, Em."
"As discerning as you are with picking your movies. It's my portfolio, Wonder Boy."
Touché. Point to my brother again.
"My monkey man is brawn and brains, you people," Rose says, with an unmistakable look of pride in her eyes.
After that, the conversation wanders away from Seth, Em's portfolio, Edward's mood, and branches off into ten other topics, as it's wont to happen when a bunch of people who have a lot of catching up to do sit down at the same table for the first time in months.
"How's this round of interviews going, Rosebud?" She's been mum about the whole thing so far.
"Well, I can't name any names yet because I don't want to jinx myself, but this morning looked promising."
"You've been stingier than usual with details, Rosie." Em wags a finger at her with mock reproach.
"You know why. I really can't say much. A word leaks about any of these positions, and the Dow Jones may or may not tick one way or another. Not on my watch."
"You sound like you don't trust me. I'm hurt." Emmett doesn't always insist on knowing the ins and outs of Rose's job because he understands the constraints of confidentiality, but I bet he can't wait to hear where Rose might end up, especially if it's on this side of the Atlantic.
"Does the phrase privileged and confidential mean bugger all to you, Emmett Charles Francis McCarty-Swan?"
"Uh, talk dirty to me …" he murmurs with a grin, nuzzling her neck more intimately than table manners allow. Emily Post would not approve.
"Charles Francis, really?" Edward stage whispers in my ear in mock horror, interrupting the two lovers' banter. "Also, are they always like this?"
"He's named after the Admiral, not that he likes to be reminded of it. And yes, disgustingly so."
"Look who's talking," quips Emmett from across the table, throwing his napkin at me.
"And this is why I can't take you anywhere, brother. I hate to break up this party, but I'm wanted elsewhere."
"Nope. You're also wanted here with me." Edward cuts me off with a kiss to my temple and winds an arm around my waist after standing up to say our goodbyes.
"You know I couldn't get out of it. Two hours tops. I'll meet you at the studios when I'm done."
He nods, then levels his forehead to mine. "I love you. You got this. Go rock her socks off." His mantra has changed a bit over the last two weeks, but it's always there when I need it—before every meeting, conference call, or editing/brainstorming session with Vic. He's my rock.
"Thank you. Love you too. Don't give Seth a hard time. Much."
"I'll try. Stay safe. Beware of sneaky photogs. And hurry back to me, love," he whispers to my awaiting lips. His emerald eyes, blazing in their intensity, roam over my features as if he were looking at me for the last time. Awe and longing.
"Always, EC. Duty calls you too, you know."
"Right."
He turns to Rose and Em, who've made themselves scarce throughout our little PDA. "Don't worry about the check; it's my treat. I'll walk Bella out. See you tonight, folks?"
Em tries to argue about the check, but Edward waves him off. There's a reason we always get the best table at Morton's. Edward's monthly running tab constitutes a significant chunk of their business, and the built-in celebrity sightings bring them more patrons to boot.
"All right, Wonder Boy. But I'm grilling tonight, then. My treat. Eight p.m. work for you both?"
We both nod and wave our goodbyes.
Seth meets us outside the back entrance. Per my instructions, two vehicles are waiting. In one SUV, Tyler's driving Seth and Edward to his read-through, in the other, Eric will drive me to the offices of Fireblaze Publishing.
"Hi, Bella. Good afternoon, Mr Cullen, sir."
Seth is unfailingly polite if a tad stiff with Edward, whose detached demeanour might be a contributing factor for Seth's attitude. Case in point, the man's only greeting is a curt nod.
"Seth, you have everything you need for today, don't you? Any questions?"
"Yes, to the first, no, to the second. It's down at Lightsource Productions with Riley Stephens's people, correct?"
Of course it is. This guy's memory is nothing short of photographic, which is a tremendous help in this job because Edward's, on the other hand, is a sieve on his best days. Selective brain and all that. If he's nervous like today, it has more holes than Swiss cheese.
"On both counts, Seth. Keep up the good work. I'll see you …"
"… when you're done at Fireblaze. I'll try to corner Mr Stephens's PA; there are a couple of scheduling hiccups I want to nail down before we all skip town."
"I'll trust you to handle it. You have the cheat sheets?"
"On my iPad."
He knows the industry and the job. After two weeks of him shadowing us, I've stopped feeling guilty for ditching Edward. Seth has worked for other clients of Angela's before to pay his way through his Master's degree at UCLA's School of Theatre, Film, and Television. With experience and a vested interest in the industry, he is perfectly capable of handling both Edward and the job. Now, if the guy actually talked to his own PA, it would be a definite improvement. Baby steps.
"Sir, we have to leave now or we'll be late."
Another nod. "I'll join you right away. Let me talk to Bella for a second."
Seth nods back and gets into the car after saluting me.
"He's really good at this, Edward. Give him a chance, please."
"What's this I hear about cheat sheets?" he asks, his eyebrows scrunched up in an incredulous frown.
"Cliff Notes to Edward Cullen, Bella Swan's edition. A what to do if of sorts. For my sanity, yours, and Seth's."
His answer is an inarticulate grunt. "Good. I guess. Don't give out our secrets, though, love. Okay?"
"Strictly professional info, Cullen. Strictly professional."
"Fair enough. I gotta go. I guess," he concedes, when Seth emerges from the SUV, clearing his throat.
"Give him a chance. This situation is not his fault."
He opens and closes his mouth twice, then nods.
"I love you, EC. Go knock 'em dead."
"Love you too, BCG," he replies with a last kiss before finally following Seth into the waiting vehicle.
He turns to look at me again, closing the door with a wave and a wink. Maybe, just maybe, this afternoon with Seth will go without a hitch after all.
###BCG###
Edward
I've been acting like a prick about and with Seth. My BCG, ever observant, has called me out on my shitty behaviour. I'm being a moron because, to be quite honest—and I'm not prepared to admit it out loud—I do feel a bit of impending separation anxiety about Bella leaving.
I know better than to blame her; she's hardly leaving me in the lurch to go get her jollies on a deserted island in the tropics. But I'm resistant to change … and very reluctant to being without her. I do have some shreds of objectivity left though, which lead me to confess that the pup—sorry, Seth—has been absolutely on the ball from day one.
"You do seem to know your way around here," I tell him in earnest while he navigates with ease the labyrinthine hallways of the studio lot. I used to get woefully lost here when I started out. He doesn't miss a turn and greets everyone we run into. He knows everyone's names—from exec producers to the lowest rungs on the ladder.
"Thank you, sir."
Then it hits me. He's always polite but distant. Mr Cullen this, Mr Cullen that. Sir this, sir that. All the time. The guy isn't clueless. He knows I don't like this state of affairs one bit. Heaven forbid he might quit thinking I hate him. Bella would have me by the balls if I ran him off—and that would lead to a sorry state of affairs indeed: pissed-off girlfriend and no PA. Maybe I should try getting off my fucking high horse and let the kid in on a secret—I'm not that much of a pretentious wanker, as a rule.
"Enough with this 'sir' nonsense, Seth. Call me Edward, please."
"As you wish … Edward," he concedes, trying it on for size with a hint of a raised eyebrow. As I suspected, he's on to me. Of course. Bella would never hire an idiot.
"Bella's brother mentioned he's met you."
"Well, not exactly. We talked on the phone a couple times. Ang … Ms Weber put me in touch with him. He was very helpful."
"Though not as helpful as you wished. Or so I've heard."
"Well, let's just say I'm glad he didn't shoot the messenger. He would have had good reason to do so."
I can't help a snicker. Seth is not only smart; he's diplomatic. He knows better than to name drop or berate anyone in the industry while walking down the hallways of a production building at one of the major studios in town.
This bodes for an intriguing story. One that deserves more digging. Later, though, because we just reached our destination.
Despite all my clingy antics with Bella, we're early for the read-through and no one's here yet. It seems we're in luck. Or, more likely, it's just Seth's organisational skills and Bella's training. Does he really know to pad my schedule to allow for "Bella time" in between engagements?
"I didn't think we'd be here so early."
"We're not. We're right on the dot," Seth replies, checking his watch.
"Uhm." Some Hollywood chaps are sometimes on an alternative time zone where punctuality is a matter of opinion. I know because I once lived in that time zone too. Not anymore.
Guess we have time for some digging after all.
"So, explain to me that bit about 'shooting the messenger'."
"If I must. But don't take it the wrong way, s … Edward."
I can't blame him for being wary of me. This is the most I've spoken to the guy in two weeks without Bella's prompting and without being spoken to. I raise my hands. "I promise I'll be good."
He chuckles. "In this job, sometimes it's difficult for other people to separate the assistant from … the assisted. I—or Bella, for that matter—speak for you, act for you when we call people asking for this or that. What we do as assistants reflects on you, but the reverse is also true. Mr Swan was my twentieth phone call in that particular instance. He was the only one professional enough and kind enough to let me down easy."
"I never thought about it that way. Thank you for telling me." It makes me realise once more how grateful I should be that Bella didn't give up on me all those months ago when I was a clueless sod. It makes me wonder how many of my past fuck-ups she smoothed over behind the scenes without me even knowing. "Sounds like whoever your boss was at the time left quite the trail of scorched earth behind them."
"You can say that again."
"Bollocks, now I'm curious. Do tell."
He shakes his head.
"Ugh, come on. Do I know them?"
He nods.
"Don't make me beg. Come on."
If I didn't know any better, I'd say he's enjoying this, on the sole basis of the perfect pearly white smile he's sporting.
"Not here. Walls have ears," he explains, jerking his head towards the end of the hallway.
Right on cue, a gaggle of people approaches the meeting room. I spot Riley and his perpetually bedraggled assistant Heidi, who follows him around armed with a clipboard and a water bottle.
"Edward, my man! Good to see you. How's it hanging?" he asks with a customary one-armed hug/shoulder pat.
"Good. I've been looking forward to this."
Behind Riley's shoulder, Heidi flashes Seth a dazzling smile. He takes the cue to greet her. Then Riley notices him.
"Clearwater, is that you?"
"In the flesh, sir. Might I steal Heidi away for a minute once you get started?"
Riley nods at Heidi, and then turns to Seth again. "As long as you give her back. Nothing serious, I hope?"
"Nah. Scheduling crap. Small potatoes."
"Very well, have at it. Shall we, people?" he asks, addressing the group of fellow actors who just assembled around us.
I turn to Seth. "I'll see you later, Seth."
"Don't forget this, Edward." He hands me a bundle of papers from his messenger bag. My script and my notes. Of course. Might come in handy. As I said, the kid does know his shit.
After the door closes, we all take our seats at the U-shaped table. My designated spot is beside Riley. While everyone gets situated, Riley turns to me.
It's the second movie we'll be working on together. By now, I know and respect the guy. I also know how he operates. The look he's giving me exudes a million questions.
"Where's your Bella today?"
"Scheduling conflict." We're on the way to becoming good friends, but I'm not about to dish out Bella's business in a room full of people. Loose lips sink book deals.
"And she's letting Seth handle you? She must trust him. Do you?"
"He holds his own."
"But you're still pulling your sullen Cullen face. What's up, buttercup?" Riley has a way with words. Almost as much as Emmett. Almost.
"Well, in strict confidence …"
"Don't make me pry it out of you, Cullen. I just want to make sure you're at the top of your game. I trust you with my baby here." He cuts me off, patting his copy of the script with an almost loving gesture. He co-wrote the script and fought tooth and nail to have it financed and to have me on board. He deserves more openness from me about this.
"Bella's book deal is going forward. And now she needs to get the book ready for publication. So Seth will be my acting PA the whole time we're in Vancouver filming, Ri. She's not coming with me."
He whistles. It flies under the radar, drowned out by a cacophony of disjointed conversations around the room.
"I've heard about the book deal," he confesses with a wink. This guy has more informants than a spymaster. Talk about well connected. I'm a hermit amateur by comparison. "Are you two okay, though?" he asks with a concerned look.
"Yes. The trouble in paradise blind items are rubbish. It's just … she needs time off for this. I can't expect her to be at my beck and call forever. This is her big break."
"A plethora of couples in this town have careers like yours, and they make it work."
I can't help a rueful snicker. "And the current divorce rate is?"
He raises an eyebrow in response. "I didn't know you two were that serious yet."
The door flies open in a flurry of movement and noise, which saves me from an impromptu confession I had no idea I was about to spill. A string of frantic apologies tumbles out in a polite, harried voice with a slight Eastern European accent. That voice belongs to a tall, blonde girl with eyes so blue they could pass for violet. I have a vague recollection of meeting her months ago at an audition, but any other detail right now escapes me. Selective memory strikes again.
Riley chuckles under this breath and motions to the only empty seat at the table, on the other side of him.
"Irina, nice of you to finally join us." His tone is teasing but not unkind.
The newcomer nods at him, drops a huge bag by her chair, and then parks herself on her seat. I turn to face her from my perch beside Riley. She blushes and stammers through her next words.
"You … you must be Ed … Edward. Edward Cullen. Of course you are—idiot me, it says so on the nameplate," she murmurs, almost to herself, still blushing furiously.
"Guilty as charged. Nice to meet you," I reply, extending my hand in greeting.
She clasps it, and the shade of her cheeks graduates from rosé wine to strawberry daiquiri. What's wrong with this girl?
"Nice to m … meet you too. Irina Antonov." She finally introduces herself, and the stammering disappears, probably because of the withering look Riley just shot her, which I caught out of the corner of my eye.
She's going to be my screen partner on this job. I knew she'd been cast, but after the audition, I never saw her again. This is her first big Hollywood job, but she's built an outstanding resume on Broadway, which is the reason why Riley cast her in the first place. Our screen tests months ago pointed to immediate on-screen chemistry, and her being a "fresh face" convinced Riley to sign her on.
"I remember you." I'm trying my best to put her at ease. I've been in her shoes before; I know how nerve-wracking it is to be the newbie on the scene. Especially when you know how much is riding on a project, and your name will be on billboards across the country in about a year's time or less, depending on how post-production goes.
"Well, kids," Riley interrupts with a genial smile, "enough with the pleasantries. We have a job to do."
Irina nods at him and me, and just like that, for the next three hours, her initial awkwardness evaporates. We put our heads down and read through the script. After a few initial hiccups, we get our sea legs and navigate through it with practised ease. Irina may be a relative unknown here, but she knows her craft. Her delivery and comments throughout the session show she's internalised her character and done her homework. Her questions on the heroine's backstory and motivations are on-point, interesting, and a few surprise even Riley, sparking an animated discussion among the three of us and one of the EPs—the one who actually showed up today. Towards me, she's nothing but detached and professional. No suggestive looks, no innuendo on anything non-work-related when, after we're done with the read-through, we stay back with Riley to have some coffee and chat while I wait for Bella to arrive.
"Great work today, both of you," Riley says, getting back to talking shop after a short, basic get-to-know-you Q&A. "If everybody were as professional as you two, my life would be tons easier."
"Thanks, Ri. You know I don't do diva very well."
"That you don't, my friend," he replies, bumping my shoulder with a wink. He's glossing over my private mini-meltdown over Bella's impending absence. I'm just thankful he's not bringing it up in front of Irina.
Bella, accompanied by Seth, chooses this exact moment to reappear with Riley's assistant in tow; the three of them are talking and chuckling. Bella is downright laughing with her head thrown back to expose the column of her neck, and her graceful hand shields her mouth and nose to keep her from snorting. Whatever the dynamic trio were discussing out of our earshot, it must be a good story to have them all in stitches like this.
Irina, who was just about to say something to Riley, goes from slightly open-mouthed to slack-jawed in a nanosecond. When I see her gaze land on Bella, Irina's blush reappears. There's a flash of recognition in her eyes. Maybe she's been following the tabloids and has seen pictures of us together? What other explanation could there be for her reaction?
I file this away for later scrutiny and step forward to wrap my girl in my arms, back where she belongs.
"Hi," she whispers against my lips.
"Hello, love." Home. She always feels like home. This is the last coherent thought before she melts into my arms and I into hers. It's been barely half a day, but I missed her. And my lips are busy telling her all about it.
Our reunion is interrupted by three sounds: a manly throat clearing, a muted snicker, also in a male voice, and a gasp. We disengage from our lip-lock and turn to face the music.
Riley—who I'd bet is the snickerer—approaches to greet my girl. "It's always good to see you, Bella. It's becoming a rare occurrence around these parts."
"Ri," I warn him.
"What? I can't even bemoan the loss of Miss Swan's company? No offense, Clearwater, but she's prettier than you," he throws back at Seth—the throat clearer, no doubt.
"None taken, Mr Stephens. It's a statement of fact," he replies without missing a beat.
Heidi disappears with a nod and a wave in Bella and Seth's direction after Riley dumps about ten pounds of paperwork in her arms—script, notes, who knows what else.
"So, how's working with Vic Chamberlain going for you, Bella?" Riley asks while Seth gathers our belongings.
"You know her?"
"She's been kind enough to send some stuff my way in the past few months. Nothing that tickled my fancy so far."
"Riley has a soft spot for book-to-movie adaptations," I explain to Bella on the side.
"Oh. Well, Vic is … something else. A killer smile with the discipline, energy, and drive of a major general. She could give my dad a run for his money, but she's a tremendous help. I'm learning a lot."
"She's achieved the unthinkable in only three years with that little outfit of hers. Nobody in the publishing industry bet on her succeeding when she started. Not because she wasn't good."
Riley must be better acquainted with Vic than I surmised. But then again—spymaster. His contacts are far-reaching enough to tip into industries that are adjacent to filming. To wit, publishing.
"She's badass," Bella continues. "She's fierce, and I'm learning something about her instincts. She has those in spades. For the sake of my future career, I'm hoping she may never be wrong," she finishes, crossing her fingers.
"I doubt it, but have a little faith, B," he says with an encouraging smile, using her now well-known nickname, courtesy of one Miss Angela Weber.
"Thank you, Riley. It means a lot."
Throughout this exchange, I notice two other things. Irina hasn't spoken a word since Bella got here, and her gaze hasn't wandered away from the two of us. In fact, she' zeroes in our intertwined fingers. Her face contracts in a grimace I can't interpret. Riley interrupts my musings again.
"You bet, sweetie. We're gonna miss you in Vancouver, though. It's going to be up to Clearwater and me to keep Mr Grumpy Pants here from scowling 24/7.
"He's not that bad," Seth defends me.
I spell a silent "thank you" just as Bella replies archly, "No, he's just drawn that way."
The three of us—Irina excluded—collapse into fits of laughter. When we sober up, Bella finally notices Irina standing there, trying to hide behind Riley.
"We haven't been introduced. I'm …" she starts only to be interrupted by Irina herself.
"You're ... Bella. Bella … Swan. Edward's … Bella," she gushes in a torrent of breathless stutters. Starry-eyed. Star-struck, almost. She's having the same reaction Alice had when I introduced her to Chris Hemsworth at a premiere a year ago.
Bella gives no hint that she's noticed. "Just Bella. And you are?"
Irina blushes. Again. "Irina. Antonov. I am …"
She trips over her reply until Riley picks up the slack. "Irina is the lovely leading lady in our little project here."
"Well, Irina, nice to meet you," Bella replies with one of her genuine smiles. The kind that would melt the Antarctic ice cap. Despite her sarcastic streak, my girl has a knack for putting people at ease with her easy-going nature and no-pretence attitude. Irina isn't immune. Her blush is past the strawberry daiquiri shade, now dangerously encroaching Bloody Mary territory.
Seth coughs again. "People, I hate to break up the party, but …"
"You're expected elsewhere. Aren't we all?" quips Riley with a slap to my shoulder. "See you in Vancouver in two weeks, Cullen. Bella, until next time."
After Irina murmurs her goodbyes with a last, lingering look in Bella's direction, we file out of the building to the awaiting SUV. Seth appropriates the front seat while Bella and I retreat to the back. She leans into my side, winding her arms around my waist. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, gathering her closer to me to place a kiss to her temple.
"What was that back there?" she asks with a hint of disbelief in her voice.
"What exactly?"
She snickers. "Hello? Were you there? It looked like Irina had trouble stringing two words together when she saw me. I hope that's not the beginnings of stage fright."
"I think your assumptions are a tad off, love. She held her own throughout the session, only to lose her powers of speech when you came on the scene."
"Come on. It must be something else."
I shake my head when she looks up at me. "Nope. That was all for you. Methinks you got yourself an admirer."
She scrunches up her eyebrows. More disbelief. Then she gets that speculative look in her eyes, like she's trying to figure something out. "Connecting the dots?"
"No, wondering if your gaydar is on point or not."
"It is." Seth's voice filters in from the front seat. It takes me a second to process what he just said.
Bella beats me to it. "Nooooo! You sure of that, Seth?"
"Yep. I have it on good authority."
Bella shakes her head with another disbelieving chuckle.
"It's unkind to spurn an admirer like that," I jibe, poking her in the ribs.
"I didn't spurn her. I was rather picturing the gossip rags trying to pin her as your new love interest once paparazzi pics of you two together start percolating from Vancouver. Because you know they will."
She has a point. Matchmaking co-stars is a trite and tested M.O. for tabloids. The studios never shoot this kind of talk down because it creates buzz for the movies. It's free press, and the studios never look unearned media in the mouth.
"You have a point. It just goes to prove they only print utter, complete garbage."
"And have an aptitude at finding loopholes in libel laws."
Not the legal jargon. Not when we're discussing that my new co-star may or may not have a crush on my girlfriend. Right then, another thought comes barrelling through my mind.
"Clearwater?"
"Yes, sir?" Old habits die hard.
"Who're you talking to, kid?"
"Sorry, Edward. What do you need?" He turns in his seat to face us.
"Something you just said there. That you have it on … 'good authority.' Care to explain? And don't think I've forgotten there's something else we need to revisit."
He grins at me. Bella sits up a little straighter to look first at me, and then at Seth with a minute shake of her head. It was a given she'd notice my newfound easy banter with Seth after the glacial silent treatment I've dumped on him in the last two weeks. She's going to grill me about this later. Much later, I hope.
"Good authority meaning I walked in on my former boss shouting in her face that she was a frigid D-word who didn't like dick. His words, not mine. And don't ask me to spell out the insult, because I won't. You can figure it out on your own—you're a smart man."
My eyes go wide as saucers. "And the source was solid enough for you to believe it?"
"My ex-boss? Not the most honourable fellow around, granted, but if there's one thing he takes seriously are rebuffs to his whole Casanova shtick. He thinks he's God's gift to women. So, all in all, yes, I believed him—and my own eyes when I saw her at the Abbey a week later, intertwined around a cute brunette."
"What an inveterate douchebag," Bella comments.
"This former boss of yours sounds more and more like the spawn of Satan. Now I really want to know who the wanker is. Especially because he behaved abominably to Irina. She's been the epitome of kindness to me so far; she doesn't deserve that kind of abuse. No one does."
Seth nods. "Incidentally, it was the day I told him where to shove that job. I'd already had issues working with him, but that was the final straw. If he couldn't be decent to a co-star in a fifteen-minute comedy show skit because of her sexual orientation, how would he behave to his own assistant if he ever found out I'm of the same persuasion?"
"Who's the bastard, Seth? Out with it. Now."
I've behaved like a dick to Seth, true, but it was a by-product of Bella's impending leave of absence. I've never had any gripe or prejudice with Seth himself. But this is another matter entirely. It's about basic human decency. Someone has behaved horridly to one of my employees—a guy I'm starting to consider firmly "in my camp"—and to a new co-worker of mine, with whom I will be spending a significant chunk of time over the next three months. Besides, Seth's professionalism and his confident, cheery attitude helped me today—and have been helping me for the past two weeks, now that I'm objective enough to see it. He's one of my people now.
Seth throws a glance at Bella, and then back at me. "Okay. I promised. Plus, you'll either hound me until I tell you or find out some other way. Warner. I used to work for James Warner."
"Fucking wanker." Add this to the list of Warner's sins, on top of his leering and lewd comments about Bella when she first started working for me and his general arseholery.
"You can say that again," pipes Seth, turning his back to us. "One last thing. I don't believe Irina hides that she's gay, but to my knowledge, she doesn't broadcast it either."
"Thank you for telling me. I'll keep that in mind. What a fucking wanker, that Warner. But it's not like we didn't know already."
Seth briefly turns to face me again and nods with a meaningful look in his eyes.
"Angela could have him blacklisted, you know."
"No."
"No, you don't know, or no, you don't want that?" She would. Come to think of it, she probably hasn't yet because she doesn't know. Warner has an uncanny ability to show a perfectly whitewashed façade when he needs to.
"Not worth the effort, man. He's gonna blacklist himself before long."
The conversation is over. For now.
###BCG###
BCG
"I'm not really inclined to spend an evening nibbling away at crudités in Miss Chamberlain's presence. Not on your last night in L.A. before you get spirited away to the moors of Devonshire."
"Which is why I manoeuvred to make this an after-work drinks and nibbles instead of a dinner like she wanted," I counter, hoping to dispel Edward's ever-present cloudy mood. It's been getting cloudier and stormier the closer it gets to my departure for Moor Lodge—and for his own departure to Vancouver in two days.
It takes a few seconds for my words to register while he straightens his dress shirt and tie—Vic summoned us to Chateau Marmont, so Edward reluctantly agreed to ditch his jeans and Doc Martens for more formal attire. At long last, a sly smile appears on his face when he peers at me from the mirror.
"I like your manoeuvring, love. So how long do we have to stay at this shindig?"
"Couple of hours, tops. Vic and Ben wanted this to be a going away party of sorts for me and signing celebration before I go on lockdown for editing."
Edward's smile grows wider when he slinks behind me to help zip up my dress without me even asking. "What an idiot. I didn't even ask about it. Did it all go smoothly?"
I turn in his arms to kiss him. "Yes. Jasper's people here were amazing. They got me a good seventy-five percent of what I wanted in my contract. By the end of it, Ben was so impressed with their negotiation skills that he joked about jumping ship themselves."
"Seventy-five percent of what you wanted? In terms of money or overall demands?"
"Overall demands. I don't want to push too much on the money now. Under-promise, over-deliver—I'd rather not be greedy now, prove myself, and then up the ante farther down the line when I'm on more solid footing."
Moving away from me to retrieve his sunglasses just as our phones chime, signalling our driver's arrival, he whistles. "You should be my damn agent, love. You're as ruthless as Ang."
"Nah," I answer with a shrug. "Let Ang get her kicks. Those are just tricks I picked up from Jasper along the way. But overall, I'm pretty stoked. I'm starting not to feel like a fraud anymore, you know?"
He winds an arm around my waist after we walk out the door, lock it behind us, and get into the waiting SUV. Tyler nods from the front seat.
"Chateau Marmont, Mr Cullen?"
"Yes, Tyler, thank you. Pick us up—"
"In two hours, per Miss Swan's instructions."
Edward shrugs at me with a smile. "I guess we're all set, then. Will you raise the divider, please?"
Tyler complies without a word, leaving us in our own little bubble again.
"You never could be a fraud, love. What is this absurd talk?"
I lean on his shoulder with a sigh. "It's always a lingering, nagging doubt. What if I suck? What if I'm a fraud?"
He kisses the top of my head, pressing me closer to his side. "I do get where you're coming from. I feel like that every time someone yells 'action'."
"Then how do you get over it?"
"Did you feel that way when you worked with Jasper?"
As usual, my Edward is perceptive. The question points right at the core of this self-doubt I've been harbouring since Angela started shopping my manuscript around. I've kept it at bay for so long because I've kept busy at the same time. But now, the fear of failure is creeping up again.
"In the beginning, a little bit. But it all washed away somehow. I don't quite know how, but I got to a point where I knew I was damn good at my job."
"Fair enough. How long have you been writing?"
"Since before I got into Oxford."
"So how come you doubt yourself about something you've been doing for longer than anything else in your professional life?"
"Because my own judgment could be grossly skewed? Because a few bad reviews can be enough to tank a fledgling writer?"
He leans his head to the side, taking a good, long look at me. City lights flicker back in his emerald eyes as we drive through L.A.'s traffic.
"Granted, your judgment could be skewed. What about Ang, then? Or Ben? Vic? I'm taking myself out of the equation because I'll always be biased about you—I already think you're extraordinary, I don't need a critic's review to know that. But …"
He stops when I playfully shove him away but regains his train of thought quickly. "For my part, love, it never really all goes away. And it's just as well—it's human to question yourself. I once heard that only imbeciles never have doubts. Don't let it cripple you though. Some of it can be healthy, too much gets paralyzing."
"Balancing act, then?"
"You could say so," he replies with a wink as he helps me out of the car and manoeuvres us through the long line of people loitering outside Chateau Marmont. By now, we both barely notice the clicking noises and bursts of light from the flashes that follow Edward almost wherever we go these days. Growing recognition for his work from critics and blockbuster numbers for both of his latest movies have raised his profile—with the expected downsides for his now non-existent privacy.
The upside of it is that the security guards at Chateau recognise him and usher us up to the podium without delay. The hostess, with the blasé indifference practised by all employees of upscale establishments in this town, greets us and accompanies us to a table where Vic, Ben, and Angela are already waiting for us.
Vic jumps up to say hello. "Finally, girl! I've been a third wheel long enough here!" she exclaims, wrapping her arm around me and throwing air-kisses in Edward's direction at the same time. Victoria multitasks even when dispensing social graces.
"Miss Chamberlain." Edward returns her enthusiastic greeting, still quite taken aback by her warm informality.
"It's Vic to you. Miss Chamberlain is my great-aunt Petunia, and believe me, you don't want to meet her."
"If you say so, Vic. So, you okay with graduating from third to fifth wheel?" Edward quips back, sitting down beside me as Vic flags a server for our drink order.
"Nonsense. You two aren't nearly as bad as them," she answers with a snicker, pointing a red-lacquered finger in Ben and Angela's direction. Seeing Angela's Iron Lady exterior slowly melt in the face of Ben Cheney's attentions has been quite an experience. Professionally, she's as much of a badass as ever, but Ben smoothed down her edges. I've never seen her laugh as much as in the last few weeks.
Victoria's wisecrack startles them out of their hushed conversation, and we exchange more greetings until the server reappears with drinks for Edward and me, asking if anyone else needs another round. Despite my protests, Victoria orders champagne. "I won't be taking no for an answer. We're here to celebrate you, after all, my dear." Her tone, though playful, brooks no argument.
Minutes later, the server returns with flutes and a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. I raise an eyebrow in Edward's direction, and he smirks. "Someone here has good taste," he answers.
When the server starts opening the bottle, Edward stops her. "I'll do the honours. We're all set for now, thank you." Taking the hint, she nods and disappears.
Before he has time to even start opening the bottle, a surreptitious cough from over his shoulder interrupts him.
"Is a lowly movie director permitted to crash your party?"
Edward turns to him in a flash, clapping his shoulder in amicable surprise. "Riley! Good seeing you, mate."
"Well, can I? Crash your party?" Riley asks again with a mischievous glance in Vic's direction. My sleuthing bone is tickled—they know each other. It stands to reason she could have … let it drop casually that we'd be here tonight. But why crash our party? Or maybe I am way off with my assumptions, and he has entirely different reasons for being here.
"It's Bella's party, so it's up to her who can crash it or not," Edward replies with a shrug. "Love? You okay with this interloper over here?"
"But of course. At least our Vic won't feel like the fifth wheel anymore. Right, Vic?" I reply, accepting Riley's greeting and throwing Vic a wicked smile. She winks back at me, unfazed.
"Well, Ri, grab a seat, grab a canapé, and grab a flute. You know the drill," Edward instructs, returning his attention to the champagne bottle.
"Where's your brother, Bella?" Vic asks when the server leaves after bringing one more glass for Riley.
"Prior engagement with his fiancée, I'm afraid. I told him to bring Rose along, but no dice. And before you ask, I don't know what they're up to. I'm intrigued."
"I guess I'll have to be a glamourous fifth wheel, then," Vic quips before turning to talk to Riley.
Once Edward's done the honours and our flutes are all full of bubbly, he circles my waist with his arm. Silence falls over our small group. It's my five seconds of limelight, in close quarters, among friends and work associates, and my distaste for being the centre of attention has me tongue-tied. Edward senses my discomfort and lovingly squeezes my waist, whispering in my ear, "Let's celebrate you, love. The champagne won't bite."
After my wordless nod, he clears his throat, and our friends all focus their gazes on us. On me.
"We're here tonight to celebrate Bella's achievement. And yes, she's got tons of work ahead of her, but if anyone's capable of acing this, it's her. Congratulations, my lovely. To Bella!"
"To Bella!" they all echo around me, lifting their flutes in salute.
And with their smiles, their encouragement, their cheering me on … I start feeling less and less of a fraud.
Moor Lodge, book editing, here I come.
Our two crazy kids will have to deal with a temporary separation. Anyone wants to venture a guess how AwkWard will deal with it?
Also, re: the conversation at Morton's about sexism in the work place. The story still takes place in 2013ish, so definitely in the pre-MeToo era, for reference. Add to that that Rose's sector - investment banking - is notorious for being an old boys' club. We've seen a conversation about this earlier in the story between Edward and Jasper, who explained to our AwkWard the ins and outs of it.
There isn't long to go till the end now, I'm afraid-so brace yourselves if you need to.
I'll see you all on Thursday on FB for teasers, and on Sunday here for a new chapter. Meanwhile, you're all welcome to hang out in LaMomo's Lair on FB (just type the group name in the search bar).