Notes: Thank you for all of the reviews and comments you've left me on this story. Please know I treasure each one. While I write for myself, it's wonderful to receive feedback, which makes sharing it so much more enjoyable.
A huge thank you goes to Midnight Cougar for her editing magic. I think she spends almost as much time on my chapters as I do. Also, big hugs to Paige Edwards, Lizzie Paige, and Musica Daydreams for prereading. If this chapter is as good as I think it is, it's because of all of us.
Blackbird
Chapter 2
. . . . .
There was a zoo of people outside his house.
As Edward drew close enough, the crowd of people began scattering and raising cameras, and he realized they were reporters. He pulled the truck into his driveway past the various jumble of parked cars on the street and frowned. So, that must have been what Bella meant about his fifteen minutes of fame. How people dealt with that kind of chaos on an ongoing basis eluded him; he certainly couldn't have. Not even out of his truck yet, and they began yelling at him and aiming their cameras his way, creating one hell of a public disturbance.
"Officer Cullen!"
"Officer Cullen, over here!
"Officer Cullen, one shot please!"
Amid all the overwhelming camera strobe lighting, he eyed them with displeasure, especially when one of them had the gall to walk up his driveway.
"Officer Cullen? Steve Sams with the National Enquirer."
Yes, he recognized the man from the press conference he'd just left. Apparently, the reporter had ace research skills to have learned his address and then beat him there. "You're trespassing," Edward said firmly, trying to ignore the annoying camera flashes. "I've already said everything I have to say."
The man held up his hands in apology, then proffered a business card. Edward hesitated, then decided to take it—if for nothing else, so he'd have proof if an arrest needed to be made.
"I'll pay you twenty-thousand off the record," the man said as the reporters continued to yell at Edward, their cameras still flashing. "Fifty for an exclusive." At Edward's expression, he shrugged. "You hit the lottery, man. No shame in that."
It sure didn't feel like winning the lottery, Edward thought. It was more like "no good deed goes unpunished." And while he wanted to order them all away, he had to be conscious of his own image. If things went according to plan, one day he'd be dealing with reporters himself. Edward turned and quickly made his way up the driveway to the front door. Once he was inside, they'd quiet down.
"The offer's good until the truth comes out," the man called after him. "And it always comes out."
Jake, his German shepherd, met him at the door. Thank God for the dog door at the back, which meant Jake was able to relieve himself when needed. But it still annoyed Edward that he would have to skip his usual nightly stroll with him. He bent down to greet the dog and reluctantly let him lick his face. "Yep, yep, yep," he said. "Hi-ya back."
He had over thirty voice messages on his phone.
"Hi, this is Nina Grimes-Stuart. I'm a producer with Entertainment Tonight. I'm trying to reach Officer Cullen. We're doing a piece on Isa and what happened to her earlier this evening."
Delete.
"This is Emery Holmes with the L.A. Times. One of us didn't show up—"
Delete.
"I'm Peter Townsend with Inside Edition—"
Delete.
He decided to delete the rest of them without listening–damned if he'd contribute to this circus–then went into his bedroom. As he removed his firearm, handcuffs, Taser, and other equipment, he looked up at some of his favorite quotes framed on the wall above his dresser.
If you cannot do great things, do small things in a great way.
If you are not part of the solution, you're part of the problem.
Pain is temporary, quitting is forever.
He was a big believer in quotes and had Post-it Notes of them in odd places because who knew when he'd need the inspiration. Especially considering his line of work where he saw the worst side of people. Dealing with the public, as he did, it could be too easy to fall into feelings of hatred or contempt, and it was an ongoing battle combating those emotions. The quotes helped keep him centered.
After he changed into comfortable sweats and a T-shirt, he went to the living room and turned the TV on as he made himself a sandwich. Even then, he couldn't escape from what had happened earlier tonight. Rachel Brown with ABC News was talking about Bella, too. The words Falling Star appeared in the lower left of the screen, as different clips of Bella's video with Kid Culprit played, then there was one of her accepting the Billboard Award.
Edward studied Bella's face closely as she accepted the award, looking for any kind of sign that she was unhappy, but he couldn't see anything. She must be a consummate actress, he thought.
"She's on a roll with three number one hits with rapper Kid Culprit, and a Billboard Award tonight for top song. But is Isa a casualty of her own success? Earlier this evening, witnesses report she was hanging off the balcony of her luxury suite at the Sofitel Hotel in Beverly Hills. Following the incident, Isa made a statement at a press conference at the hotel."
The scene changed from Rachel's face to Bella's where she was standing in a room in front of numerous microphones. It was a bit of a shock to see himself a few feet away, his face expressionless as he listened to Bella talking about never mixing champagne, a balcony, and five-inch stilettos. She went on to thank Edward, even going so far as to press her lips against the side of his cheek. He remembered the kiss with a myriad of emotions: surprise that she'd done it, embarrassment, and a twinge of pleasure, followed quickly by anger over the manipulation of the whole press conference. Then he shook himself out of the trance–she really was a beautiful girl–and switched the TV to the Sports channel.
It wasn't until he went to bed that the regret came about how he'd left things with Bella. He'd deliberately hurt her by his reply; he had seen it in her eyes. He couldn't account for the reason why he'd answered the way he had, other than the fact he'd been angry and confused that she and her people were sweeping everything under the rug. It didn't make sense to him.
Then again, the whole night hadn't made sense. His attraction to her despite everything that had occurred didn't make sense. And in his world, either things and people made sense or he got rid of them.
Even more disturbing were the thoughts of Bella that followed him into his dreams: her terrible despair; how the drag of her weight pulled him forward and he'd fallen hard against the railing; the forceful pull on his side and arm when he'd stopped her from falling; the feel of her hand beginning to slide out of his; the sight of her below him . . . twelve stories high. Either he dropped her and she fell to her death, or he missed catching her arm and she fell to her death.
The anguish he felt each time he'd lost her woke him up gasping for air more than once. Every time in his dream, her vulnerable brown eyes abruptly woke up to the danger she was in, and her arms would flail, reaching for him as she fell farther and farther away.
It was a rough night of sleep.
. . .
Bella's punishment for attempting suicide continued the next morning. Apparently, it was going to be an ongoing theme for a while, so even though she felt a pang in her chest each time it was brought up, she knew she'd better suck it up and get used to it.
"We have to talk about it," her mother said. "Everybody else is. The faster we make people see it was a misunderstanding, the faster we can move past it. Right now, we've got nothing to hide, all right?" And with that in mind, her mom agreed to let the Good Morning America people come and have two minutes with her.
Wearing a white and gold flowered mini dress that matched the blonde streaks in her dark hair, Bella put her game face on as two men came into the suite's living room and began setting up their equipment. It really had been a mistake, she told herself, so it would be easy to project that idea. But damn it to hell. She did not want to be talking about it.
Get over it. Suck it up. You did this thing, now you have to make it right.
"Three, two, one," the camera guy said and pointed to her, and Bella posed for the lens. Bright eyes, face open, and attentive, small smile in place. She heard Kathrine Guthrie, the Good Morning America host, talking to her through the earpiece. Was she OK?
Bella dove right into it. "Excessive drinking is no joke and I just wanna apologize to all my young fans."
"I hear you," Kathrine said. "And they're listening to you. So how are things otherwise? You're a Billboard winner."
Bella smiled widely, even laughed a little for the camera. "I know, right? My first album drops in a couple of weeks, and it's crazy. I can't wait for the world to hear it." She actually got to record a number of songs solo. It was liberating to feel as if she was a singer and not merely a backup performer or masterpiece model for Kid Culprit.
"Rumor has it that it could be the biggest debut by a female artist, even with the decline of album sales," Katherine said almost drolly. Ah, there was the reporter trying to get a reaction.
"You know, that would be amazing," Bella said smoothly. "But really, I just wanna sing." Take that, Katherine Guthrie.
"Well, good luck with everything. Very scary stuff," Katherine said, getting in yet another dig. Clearly, nothing was forgotten yet. "We're glad it all worked out for you."
"Thanks." Yeah, thanks a lot. Sorry I didn't actually fall so you'd have a real story.
"And we're clear," the camera guy said.
Because she was a glutton for punishment, Bella decided to see what they were saying about her online. There were a few messages of support, but plenty of digs about her drinking, her clothing, and her singing. She winced; one of them even read, If I sang like Isa, I'd have jumped off the railing, too.
"Have you seen the hashtags?" Bella asked her mother. Then she perked up when she saw breakfast had been set on the coffee table. She was starving.
Her mother sighed. "Stay off Twitter. We just want to push mainstream media, and stay out in front of that, okay? We've got Ellen in forty-five minutes." Bella liked Ellen; it was more than likely Ellen would try for an encouraging spin to combat last night's fiasco. If so, she'd probably be the only news outlet to do so.
With a sigh, Bella pulled the thick white cloth napkin onto her lap. Just as she was about to fork up some of the scrambled egg whites, her mother swept the napkin from her lap and removed the hashbrowns on her plate. Fine, no hashbrowns for her, but a taste would have been nice.
Her mother was on the phone, and from the sound of it, was talking to another editor of a tabloid news outlet. "No, I mean if you . . . if you'd just do what I told you. No. No." Her mother was getting angry, but nothing was unusual there. "You're making it seem like I'm asking you to split an atom. Just don't use that word."
That's right, Bella thought. Just call what I did an accident. It was going to be a real challenge to outrun her actions. As if the remembered pain of it, of coming so very close, wasn't enough to keep her awake at night.
Later that afternoon, suicide-gate became even more evident when she and her mother were forced to wait for a long while in Brave Record's conference room for the vice president. When he finally did appear, her mother was spitting nails.
"Laurent, we've been waiting for forty minutes."
"I apologize," Laurent said, and it was evident it wasn't exactly an apology. Tall and whipcord thin, Laurent had sharp, hard blue eyes, and a buzz cut. He was Trey Mattingly's right-hand man, and wielded his power accordingly.
"This is supposed to be a strategy meeting," her mother continued. "Where is everyone?"
Laurent gave Bella a hard look. "We're holding off on releasing the album."
He might as well have set off a bomb; all the air was sucked out of the room for long moments. "What?" her mother ground out. "Why?"
Laurent was still looking at Bella as he spoke, and she wanted to curl up and hide. "I didn't snow you, so don't snow me, all right?"
"She got drunk! She did something stupid. So did Britney, so did Kanye. You want me to give you a list?" her mother defended.
The man finally switched his hard gaze to her mother, and Bella could breathe easier. She was relieved, again, that her mother was on her side. No one could handle an argument quite like Renee Swan.
"The blogs are all saying suicide attempt."
"Of course they are," her mother bit out. "So?"
"So?" Laurent's gaze was back on her. "Isa is supposed to be the girl every guy wants, and every girl wants to be. We're selling fantasy here, and suicide ain't sexy."
He was killing her; Bella had never felt such stark shame and panic over the attempt until that moment. She felt like Laurent was staring all the way to the back of her skull, and finding all her insecurities and ugliness. If Brave Records didn't release the album, she might as well kiss her career goodbye. If that happened, she really would want to die. It would mean everything she'd gone through, everything she had endured over the years had been for nothing.
"No, this is ridiculous," her mother barked. "Where's Trey?"
"He's in New York," Laurent replied dismissively.
Trey Mattingly, who was the number one rapper in the US at the moment, and the owner and president of Brave Records, had taken Bella under his wing and agreed to sponsor her for a couple of albums. This was supposed to be her first. Did he even know what his right-hand man was doing, threatening to drop her?
"She put this damn label in the game, and this is how it's going to treat her?"
"We put her on Kid Culprit's three number one records," Laurent snapped at her mother.
"Are you saying I had nothing to do with that?"
Which was the wrong thing for her mother to have said, and Laurent's eyes went glacial. "Renee, you are her mother. That is the single qualification you have for sitting in this room."
Bella didn't often see her mother cowed, and she squirmed nervously in her seat. Renee Swan was a force to be reckoned with; everyone knew that. But Bella knew you couldn't keep that force down for long, and her mother quickly bounced back.
"Trey gave Bella a million dollar signing bonus," her mother said with soft steel in her voice. "You add to that the cost of recording, mixing, mastering, marketing, and promotion, and he's in it for about two mil." No joke, her mother knew her shit. "He's not going to see any of that money back without album sales."
Laurent remained silent; he was also a force to be reckoned with, and he was just as pissed as her mother. Making people who'd screwed up sweat was probably a favorite pastime, especially when it came to someone like her mother, with whom he'd always had a contentious relationship.
But Bella wasn't where she was for nothing; she had the formidable force of her mother at her back. "In a couple of weeks, she's performing at the iHeart Music Awards, and millions of eyes are going to be on her. And I'm telling you, by the end of that night, no one's going to be talking about a balcony," her mother announced firmly.
"So you say," Laurent drawled.
"No, I guarantee it," her mother shot back. "Her album's going to break records. You know that."
Laurent's mouth twisted. Such a bitter lemon he was sucking on . . .
"Be the hero," her mother said. "Tell Trey to keep the release date."
Bella almost reared back in her seat when Laurent's hard gaze met hers again. His reply was for her mother, but directed 150-percent at her. "If she doesn't kick ass at that show, if she doesn't change this conversation, I will personally drop her from this label."
It was a threat that left bite marks on her soul. So. Bella needed to mix up her routine, then. Nothing less than perfection would do, just as she'd been brought up to be.
No problem.
. . .
Out of the corner of his eye, Edward noticed a video of Bella playing on the wall-mounted TV. The ticker tape on the screen read, She's the lead story at every local affiliate. Almost a full twenty-four hours later and the news outlets still couldn't stop talking about her suicide attempt. He felt a sharp sting of remorse for her. It seemed like a lot of pressure to be dealing with when she obviously already had too much, and he wondered how she was holding up.
". . . how do we build on this?" his father was asking, and Edward abruptly returned to the conversation. They were at the Whiskey Bar on Wilshire Boulevard discussing the next steps of pursuing Edward's city appointment because everyone happened to know who he was right now.
"Councilwoman Russell is going before the grand jury in a couple of weeks," Rosalie Hale explained. As the Assistant to the City Attorney, she was aware of all legal cases that involved Los Angeles. But she also operated as Edward's unofficial campaign director. "Word in the room is that she will be indicted. When that happens, we'll go after her seat." And with that, she looked at Edward pointedly.
He tried to hide his shock. "Isn't all this a couple of years ahead of schedule?" he asked. If he was elected as Councilman, that meant his impending promotion of detective at work would be moot.
"Opportunity can't tell time," she replied gamely. "Politics wants fresh faces. They're looking for stars, and you, Edward, are a star." Because he'd saved Isa Swan from a balcony fall and was still currently in the news, was the unspoken message.
"You could do some big things," his father added. "A lot bigger than your old man."
"Now we need to hone your message, and we need to get some funds, fast." Which meant his campaign slogan of Your Voice for Positive Change needed to be clarified so they could gain the interest and trust of those who could fund his run for Councilman. And dropping that advice, Rosalie guided them farther into the room, closer to a group of dark-suited men gathered in the corner.
"Let me introduce you to Marcus Ridley Thomas, Los Angeles County Supervisor."
Edward met the silver-haired man's gaze head-on and shook his hand firmly. At first, it was all about the handshake and the way you met someone's eyes. "How are you, sir?"
Not really a smiler, Marcus looked like he meant business. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, young man."
"Pastor Caius, I would love for you to meet Officer Edward Cullen, the son of Captain Carlisle Cullen."
Edward traded another look and handshake with the friendly looking black man. Edward must be tired; at first, he'd heard the words Pastor Pious when Rosalie spoke. He bit down on a smile.
"Edward, let me cut to the chase," Rosalie said to the group of them. "We live in a whole different era now where you can take advantage of social media—you can take advantage of what's happening when it comes to YouTube. But you have to take advantage of this hot media moment, because it may not ever come back the way it is right now."
Edward hid a wince. He really disliked the idea of capitalizing on something that probably caused Bella Swan a lot of heartache. When Rosalie began addressing more of the same to his father and the men, Edward decided to move across the room to the bar; he needed a drink. "I'll be right back."
"What can I get you?" the female blonde bartender asked as she eyed him appreciatively.
"Guinness, please."
On the TV mounted behind the bar, a news show reporter spoke with clear sarcasm about how Bella got drunk and fell off the balcony of her luxury hotel. "Her publicist just released a statement," the man said with a smirk. "And it says, Isa loves life and music. She simply had too many celebratory drinks."
The bartender slid his beer over on a napkin. "Get you anything else?"
"Isa apologizes to her fans and will continue to be a positive role model. 'Positive role model,'" he repeated dryly. "That's a quote, folks." At the look on the announcer's face, Edward felt a sudden, surprising urge to punch him.
"No, thank you," he said to the bartender.
Thirty minutes later, Edward strolled down the hotel hallway to Emmett, who was guarding the door Edward had stood outside of last night.
Emmett eyed him in surprise. "What are you doing here, man?"
Edward handed him the cup of Starbucks vanilla latte. Emmett took it with a big smile; it was his favorite. "You know I love you like a brother, right?"
"Good," Edward said. For as long as Edward had been a cop, he'd known Emmett. He'd trained with him four years ago, and they were friends. He hoped Emmett was feeling friendly now. "Because I need a favor."
The look on Edward's face finally registered, and Emmett gave him a sidelong glance of, you're batshit crazy. "Oh, man, come on," he drawled and gave Edward's suit the once-over. "You got dressed up for nothing."
"I just need to see her for a minute."
Emmett shook his head. "You know I can't do that."
Edward pressed. "I'm asking you to."
"You really want to see her?" Emmett asked with a sigh.
He did. Making sure Bella was okay had become a priority. "Yes, I do."
"Then go wait at the curb with the rest of the groupies," Emmett answered, tilting his head back and giving Edward a cop's no-nonsense look.
Damn it. Not that he wouldn't have done the same thing in Emmett's position, but damn it. Half-playful, half-angry, he reached out to retrieve the cup of Starbucks, and Emmett moved it away.
"Hey! Go on."
So Edward went to stand outside the Sofitel Hotel with the rest of the circus. It was a new low for him, but he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep without checking on Bella one more time.
. . .
"The cop is waiting to see you," Riley murmured. He and Angela were helping pour Bella into their latest creation: a gold and rose iridescent mini dress with a fringe-only bodice.
Bella resisted the urge to move the fringe into place over her breasts and let them do their thing. Another crudely racy outfit to project her image as sexual plaything. Great. "The cop?" she repeated. Did that mean—
"Yes, the cop," Angela said with a smile in her eyes. She was a romantic. "Officer Hero? He's waiting downstairs."
"Mmm-mmmmm, what I could do to him," Riley crooned.
A bubble of excitement and consternation rose in her stomach. Officer Cullen was here to see her? Why?
It took every ounce of patience she had to let Riley and Angela do their thing, when all she wanted to do was to burst out of the room and run headlong downstairs. She had a couple of interviews to do tonight and had to look fierce and untouchable, in her mother's words. Barely dressed in a shiny slip of fabric spelled out vulnerable and wanting to be touched to Bella, though.
Forever later, Bella snuck out a side door of the hotel and waded without announcement with her security team of two onto the barricaded pavement. She had trouble spotting Officer Cullen at first because he wasn't in his cop's uniform, but that reddish-brown hair of his was difficult to miss. Of course, as soon as she recognized him, somebody else behind the barricade recognized her.
"Isa!"
"You look beautiful baby!"
"Right here, Isa!"
He was standing with his back to her, eyeing the paps that were calling out to her.
"Heard you were looking for me," she said, and he swung around quickly. He looked different in his navy blue suit, certainly more approachable. Of course, now that she wasn't blinded by her emotions, she could see how gorgeous he was. As the paps continued calling, she motioned him behind the barricade, away from them.
Bella saw his not-so-polite gaze drop twice to her barely clad chest, and wanted to giggle. She inwardly praised the outfit she'd cursed only a while ago. Though why it mattered, she didn't know.
"Yeah, um," he managed, then returned to his straight-laced footing. "I just wanted to apologize for the way I acted after the press conference. You didn't deserve that."
Bella swallowed as she noticed that his green eyes were fringed with lashes nearly as thick as hers. Then, as she registered what he'd said, she felt her face go slack for a second. Offering her an apology was the last thing she thought he'd say.
"And, uh," he added, then noticed something behind her.
"We're late." It was her mother.
"Just a minute," Bella told her.
Her mother didn't budge, however; she just stood there staring at Officer Cullen.
"Please," Bella said.
There'd be hell to pay later, but Renee finally backed away.
Bella looked back up at him; he was taller than she'd realized. Since he'd offered her an apology, she did the same. "I'm sorry you had to lie," she said quietly, meaning it.
His beautifully wide mouth twisted. "I don't like doing that."
"Boy Scout, huh?"
He gave her a hotly cool look of recrimination. "'Truth is the only safe ground to stand upon.'"
"You just eat a fortune cookie?" she joked. He was so proper, it was adorable.
He smiled at her, and her breath caught.
"No, it's a quote," he said. "I'm kind of big on quotes."
She didn't know what to say after that, and simply smiled at him. Beautiful, clean-cut him, different from her as could be. But he'd come to see her.
"Hey, Isa!"
"Isa, beautiful, look over here!"
"Anyway, that's what I came to say," he continued softly . . . and then even softer, "And to see if you're okay."
Her heart was thudding painfully. He still cared what happened to her. "What's your name, Officer Cullen?"
"Edward. Not Ed. Just Edward," he drawled with another one of his killer smiles.
"Well, it's nice to officially meet you, just Edward," she said with a smile that felt a bit tremulous at the corners.
A beautiful, high-end, dark gray truck pulled up alongside him at that moment and stopped. When the valet exited and rounded the front of the truck, Edward passed the man a tip. "This is me," he said slowly, reluctantly.
Bella felt the same reluctance. She didn't want this time with him to end yet. The light feeling in her heart was something new and welcome. "Are you busy?"
"Why?"
Meanwhile, the paps continued to yell, breaking into their bubble rudely. And this time, they were going for the jugular since she was ignoring them.
"Have you been to rehab yet?"
"Isa! Are you suicidal?"
"Are you planning on another suicide attempt?"
"Jesus," Edward said, giving the crowd a fierce scowl.
She grasped his arm, propelling him toward the truck. He caught on quickly and opened the passenger door for her, helping her inside like a gentleman. As they pulled away from the curb, Bella saw her mother's shocked face in the rearview mirror. The calamity ahead pulled her attention away as the pap's yelling and camera strobing increased. They darted out in front of Edward's truck to try to snap photos of them, forcing him to brake, then brake again. Bella bowed her head and covered her face with a hand until they were finally free.
"You've really got to get these windows tinted," she told him. As long as she lived, she'd never get used to those parasites.
He gave her a gentle look of commiseration. "So, where am I going?"
"How about Benny's Tacos? Get some food to go?" she asked, almost giddy with her escape. "Please. I'm starving." If she was going to hell, she might as well do it thoroughly.
Edward did some quick maneuvering, trying to get them out of the paps' sights so no one could follow them, and Bella studied his profile in appreciation. He had strong, well-shaped features that made him look very masculine, and then there was that amazing jawline she'd admired before. Wow. Face tense in concentration as he eluded the piranhas, he looked lethally sexy.
Feeling her stare, he glanced at her and her eyes dropped to his hands on the steering wheel. He had nice, wide-shaped hands that looked muscular and capable, with a gorgeous, thick-banded silver watch on his wrist. He was obviously in great shape, neat, and very well put together, she thought with a sigh. She wondered what a level-headed person like him thought about someone like her. Probably that she was nuts. And then, as she remembered last night's suicide attempt, she realized with a pang that he probably did think she was nuts. But she shook it off—after all, he'd come for her tonight to see if she was okay.
Now that she was with him, she was more than okay.
Edward stopped at the drive-thru on Manchester, then drove them out to Pershing Drive past the airport until he came to the end of the road, where he pulled up at a fence. As they dug into their food, a plane began slowly ascending. From where they sat in the truck, it looked like it was coming right for them. Bella began sinking lower and lower in her seat until the plane finally roared past.
"Wow!" she cried and swiveled to follow its path. "So what's this spot?"
He just gave her a secretive smile.
"Your mom and dad used to bring you here when you were little?" she asked, making a guess. "And you'd dream of all the places you were going to fly to?"
"I just like watching the planes," he said, wadding his napkin and dropping it into his cardboard carton. He'd eaten like a polite madman—big, neat bites, gone fast—while she was still picking at her nachos. "I still don't get why they don't drop," he added.
Bella huffed out a laugh. "You must be real fun to sit next to on a flight."
"I've never been," he replied.
She about swallowed a chip whole. "You've never been on a plane?"
"I'm not about putting my life in someone else's hands," he said firmly.
It was another stark difference in their lives. Obviously, he was in control of his. "That's funny," she drawled, unable to hide her discontent. "My whole life's in someone else's hands." Sitting there in her dark thoughts, she was surprised when she felt cloth brush her shoulder, and saw that he had shrugged out of his suit jacket.
"You look cold," he said, and dropped it across her shoulders. As the warm weight of it encircled her like a hug, Bella shivered in pleasure. He kept taking her by surprise. She wasn't used to gentlemen in her life, she was used to yes men or powerful men who wanted something from her. Or, in her case, from her mother, since everybody knew who held the reins.
"So, what's it like," he asked a few moments later, "being on stage, feeling all those people adore you?"
It was a question she'd never been asked before. Bella remembered a year ago when she'd performed at the Greek outdoor theater there in Los Angeles with its gently ascending stadium seats. A crowd's reception and mood had a lot to do with the type of performance she gave, and that day, they'd felt intimate and welcoming. To date, it was her favorite concert. "It's a crazy high. Better than any drug."
He looked fascinated by her answer, which made her wonder about him, too. "What's it like for you?" she asked.
"Me?"
"Saving someone's life," she said, gentle as a kiss.
He leaned his head back against the headrest and gave her a soft look. "A crazy high. Better than any drug," he answered just as gently. They traded a long look, and her heart was going wild in her chest at the look in his eyes.
And then he ruined it. "I think you should get some help."
Bella tore her gaze from his and looked out the windshield. "I'm okay."
"Are you?"
"It was just a stupid, drunk mistake," she ground out, feeling embarrassed and angry. Here she was feeling attracted to him, while he was worried about her mental health. It was a rude wake-up call. Maybe she was misreading the signs that he might be attracted to her, too. Maybe someone as sensible as him couldn't be attracted to a messy someone like her who'd tried to kill herself.
"Don't I look okay?" The one thing she had going for her was her appearance; it had always hid a multitude of problems. She didn't look at him to see how he received that crack, but his silence spoke volumes. She wasn't fooling him.
Bella leaned forward to snatch her drink out of the holder. As she brought it to her mouth, she felt something thick sticking to the side of the cup and removed it. It was a business card.
Steve Sams
NATIONAL ENQUIRER
Her blood filled with ice. "What's this?"
Edward didn't even look surprised or guilty. "A reporter gave it to me."
"He's from the Enquirer," she told him accusingly.
"I know," he answered slowly. "I haven't told him anything, Bella."
She was on the verge of angry tears. Was he playing her? And what was she doing, getting into his truck? Shit, she should have known better.
"How much to keep your mouth shut?" she heard herself demand in an ugly tone.
"What?"
"Give me a number and my mom will write you a check."
"No, wait, this isn't—"
"I guess even Boy Scouts have a price, huh?"
"I didn't ask for any of this," he said, beginning to lose his cool edge.
"How much?"
That was when he lost it. "I don't want your money," he growled, and she abruptly realized he wasn't playing at all. It was his tone of voice and the stricken look on his face, as if he just couldn't believe she'd think him capable of that. But it was too late; she'd already done the damage.
In the silence of the cab, Bella heard him start the engine and fasten his seatbelt. So he was just going to take her back now? Trying to stem her tears, she kept her gaze focused to the side.
"Seatbelt," Edward said.
Bella felt like an embarrassed child who'd misunderstood an easy math problem in front of the entire class. She wasn't used to feeling stupid or to losing her temper as she'd just done. What was it with this guy that had her so off-kilter?
"Seatbelt please," he repeated.
She yanked it out, then clicked it shut with a dramatic sweep of her arm. Still smarting over the misunderstanding between them, Bella figured she might as well continue acting like a two-year-old.
"One nine oh five Sunset Canyon," she ground out.
"What's that?"
She heard his wary confusion, and dared to look at him. He was calm. Not mad or impatient with her.
"Where I wanna go," she told him. It was her new place, and for some reason, she wanted him to know where she lived.
It was quiet on the way there, the tension thick between them, and Bella was nearly heartbroken over it. Luckily, it was a short drive, but also unfortunately. She still didn't want her time with him to end.
"Come and see it," she told him, once they'd pulled past the gates, and he'd stopped at the bottom of the blue-lit stone steps that ascended to the glass front of her home. There was a motion sensor built into the front drive, so all of the lights were on. She could even see they'd hung some of the magazine ads she'd been in over the years on the wall behind the glass. No, that wasn't pretentious at all.
"This is you?" he asked with raised eyebrows, and she enjoyed his amazement. After all, it was quite an amazing sight: three-stories of a mostly glass building with white pillars, and decorative lighting used to maximal effect. The entire first floor was lit with aqua blue lights and looked like it housed a swimming pool.
"It's my new place," she answered, and pushed open the front door.
He didn't enter, but stayed on the front porch, still and quiet, watching her. Bella had the unwelcome thought that he still didn't know what to think about her.
"So you're good then?" he asked. "You can call your people and tell them where you are?"
Bella shrank inwardly. Didn't he want to stay? "Does this mean you're done saving me?"
Edward sighed, and the sound was jagged with emotion. "Look, Bella . . . I don't know how to play this game of yours."
She took a step toward him, close enough that she could feel his body's warmth. "I know you're not going to call that reporter," she murmured.
He didn't move away, but one of his thick eyebrows rose. "Why not?"
"'Cause."
"Because why?"
Whatever he saw in her expression finally softened the gaze in his pretty eyes, and she wanted to kiss him in the worst way. "'Cause I see you, too," she said, and it was another apology.
They traded another long, lingering look, and Bella waited for him to take that extra step, to pull her mouth to his, but he didn't. He didn't. Something still kept him out of reach. Maybe there had been too many apologies between them. Or maybe it was because he thought she still needed help. Which meant he was saying no to her unasked question, no to any kind of a relationship.
"Later, Edward," she said gently, regretfully.
"Later, Bella," he answered just as softly before he turned and left.
She stood there watching until his taillights disappeared, and it felt like she'd lost something precious.
. . .
The TV was on when he walked in the door. It sounded like a baseball game. Jake came to greet him in a slow, comfortable way, which told Edward that Jake knew the intruder. When he rounded the corner, he saw his father sitting on his couch nursing a beer.
"I would have waited for you outside, but it was a little crowded," his father said. The reporters were persistently still pursuing Edward. "Jake's fed, by the way."
Edward walked into the room slowly. It was after ten. Why was his father there? He'd just seen him an hour and a half ago. "Thanks," he said. "Sorry I left earlier."
"Yeah, me, too. I thought something was wrong." His father leveled a heavy look at Edward. "Then I got a call from Miss Swan. Seems you took off with her daughter."
So that was the reason for the impromptu visit. "She wanted to hang out," he replied with a shrug in his tone. Why did he have to explain himself as though he was still living at home?
His father grinned. "How do you hang out with Isa?"
Well, he'd never believe this. "We sat in the truck and ate Mexican food."
"Bullshit."
"It's true." And their time together had been good, too, until he'd brought up the fact that Bella still needed help. Because she'd been defensive about it, he knew it was more true than ever.
Standing from the couch, his father's eyes suddenly looked very tired. "Look, Edward, I know how easy it is to be drawn to vics. They look at us like we're Superman."
Edward didn't know how to answer that. It wasn't at all why he'd gone after Bella, but his father wouldn't understand his concern or his interest. He'd ordered Edward to let her play the part she'd chosen, and he doubted his father would care that Bella's mother probably had more to do with that than she did.
His father was looking at him. "It's got to be exciting."
"That's not what it is," Edward said, but he declined to explain further. It really wasn't any of his father's business.
With a heavy sigh, his father walked to the kitchen and set the empty beer bottle on the counter with a heavy thunk. "Edward, you have to think like a politician now. Everything you do, every person you're associated with, is going to be scrutinized."
And a pop star would be frowned upon? Damn it, just because she'd tried to commit suicide and happened to need help? It was called being human.
"She's a good girl," he said, realizing that his father standing there implying that she wasn't had made his protective hackles raise.
"You didn't meet her in a church pew, son."
Edward hid his anger behind a remark. "Aren't church girls the ones you have to look out for?"
His father clapped him on the back on the way to the door. "Maybe, but we both know this one isn't First Lady material."
Jaw clenched, Edward stood staring at the door long after it had closed. His father was right, but that didn't make it easier to accept. Even so, he'd all but told Bella goodbye tonight anyway, so why did it matter?
. . .
