Notes: As always, a huge thank you goes to Midnight Cougar for all the time she spends making my words shine. Thank you also to Paige Edwards, Lizzie Paige and Musica Daydreams for prereading and sharing input. I couldn't do this half so well without these ladies.


Blackbird

Chapter 3

. . . . .

Wearing sneakers, shorts, and a top that read BABYGIRL, Bella headed for the four-car garage behind the house. Sam, her driver, lived in the apartment above it.

"We're going to 323 Branson Lane to pick up Officer Hero," she told him, referring to the nickname her team had given Edward.

Thanks to Riley's interest in all things Edward, she'd been able to get his address. It was early Saturday morning, so Edward should be home. At least she hoped he would be.

Having made up her mind about how she could include Edward in her life, she was in a good mood. Now she just had to put the plan in motion and hope he'd cooperate.

Sam smoothed a hand across the top of his balding head and glanced over at the backyard cottage, obviously looking for her mother. He had the personality of a soap dish and followed her mother's orders like doctrine.

"We're not waiting for Mrs. Swan?"

"I don't have to be at rehearsal for another hour-and-a-half, and the shoot isn't until this afternoon," Bella said. Who scheduled a photoshoot on a Saturday afternoon after a full day's activities? Her mother. "We've got plenty of time."

She also didn't need her mother's permission for this. She was twenty-two years old, for God's sake. Of course, her mother wouldn't like it, but Bella didn't care. She wanted Edward. More than that, she felt as if she needed him. He was calm, and she needed some calm in her life. The way he looked at her was liberating, and she liked how being around him made her feel. If he didn't want a relationship with her, maybe he'd consent to being a part-time bodyguard.

As soon as Sam pulled out past the gate, the usual group of paps jumped into their cars to follow them. Bella fought the childish urge to turn and flip them off, knowing they couldn't see through the tinted windows anyway. It took a cool head to drive while being followed by reporters, but Sam was as cool as they came. So cool, in fact, that he might as well have been sculpted from ice. He drove like a deaf grandpa. She'd never seen him lose his temper, and if anything could set a man off, it would be L.A. traffic.

Bella's latest obsession was playing Candy Crush on her phone, so that was what she did until Sam spoke. "We're here."

She took in the single story, tan and brown-trim ranch home fronted by a green lawn, young palm trees, and neat shrubbery. His house was as tidy as Edward himself. A gently curving driveway led to the door of the garage, and she prayed his truck was parked inside it.

"Go get him," she told Sam with a nod.

Fingers crossed, Bella watched Sam amble up the curved sidewalk and knock on the door. Edward answered it a few moments later in a white tank and black sweats, and she gave an inner squeal. When he looked over at the car, she hit the automatic window switch and leaned out casually on her arms. Behind the parked limo, the paps were yelling as usual.

"Isa, did you really try to kill yourself?"

"Why won't you answer our questions?"

"I need some protecting," she called out to him playfully, then gave him a little smile. Hopefully, it looked a little vulnerable.

"Isa, is this just a publicity stunt?"

"Officer Cullen! Did Isa try to kill herself?"

Edward gave her a feigned look of playful scorn, and Bella crossed her legs for extra luck. Come on, Edward. She tilted her head, giving him another pointed, needy look. He turned to face her with hands on hips, with a gentle smile that grew slowly, reluctantly, into a wide gorgeous one. Then he retreated into the house.

The world ended and began again in the time it took Sam to walk back to the car, settle himself behind the driver's wheel, and finally turn around to eye her. "He's coming."

Bella sagged in relief. Although Edward's full smile had suggested his agreement, Bella had been a little worried until Sam had confirmed Edward actually was coming. She almost couldn't believe it.

When Edward came out again, he was wearing black jeans and a simple black T-shirt, looking like a demi-god with that tall, strong physique of his.

Sam got out to open the back door for him.

Edward slid inside easily, then faced her with a gentle, crooked smile. His russet hair was neatly combed, cheeks slightly tinged pink, green eyes tranquil and shining at her. Her breathing shortened; it was obvious he didn't mind being there.

"Good morning," he said, and she wanted to curl up inside his voice.

Bella felt lighthearted, as if she was a schoolgirl with a crush. "You didn't really think you'd seen the last of me, now did you?"

He tilted his head back and laughed.

. . .

Later, as Bella ran through her Best I Ever Had dance routine with Jonas at his studio, she reveled in the comfort of Edward's presence. He was sitting in the far corner, a black exclamation against one of Jonas's stark white couches, and she felt his gaze like a caress against her skin. Hands clasped casually against his stomach, an ankle across a knee, Edward was the epitome of ease. Each time she met his eyes in the mirror, her heart would stutter and she'd have to smile.

He always smiled back.

After rehearsal, it was back home so Angela could dress her for the next thing on today's agenda: an appearance at Martin Luther King Jr. Hospital to meet with Brandon Cassel, the terminally ill child whose wish was to meet her. For this, Bella wore a simple navy and white-trim mini dress with a square neck collar, and a pair of wonderfully flat navy shoes. As she looked at herself in the mirror, she thought she looked appropriately subdued to meet with a young fan. While her makeup was minimal, her long, wildly-colored hair, which now fell in orderly waves down her back, was unusual enough to make an impression. When she came out of the dressing room, she could tell Edward approved by the slightly stunned, pleasant look on his face.

Bella felt the urge to go to him, to kiss him. What would it feel like to be held in his arms?

The MLK-LA Hospital generally hosted the lower income bracket, and Bella planned to donate twenty thousand dollars to Brandon's family to help defray their medical costs. As she rounded the corner to Brandon's room carrying a big, plush teddy bear with a pair of Beats wireless headphones on its head, she had to take a quick breath to steady herself at the sight of the tiny boy with the oxygen tube in his nose.

"This is Teddy," she told him as she settled herself gingerly on the side of his bed. "You must be Brandon, and I'm Isa."

Brandon's brown eyes and mouth were wide. Although Edward, her mother, and a photographer were also there, he only had eyes for Bella. He was simply agog. "I know," he cried weakly, his words punctuated by heavy inhaling. "You're here!"

"I am, and I came just to see you," she answered. "How are you doing?"

It wasn't until she left his room that Bella was able to breathe easily again. Little shivers of empathetic stress still gently shook her deep inside. Although she didn't have children, she knew there couldn't be anything much worse in the world for a parent than to see their child suffer, especially when it was a congenital heart defect and it was difficult for the child simply to breathe.

"You did great back there," Edward said and brushed her upper back soothingly.

She looked up at him with a weak smile of thanks. It was so good to have him—

"We'll have to hurry to make it back home in time for makeup and dress," her mother, always the manager, said as she stepped up between them, forcing Edward's hand to drop.

Afterward, the tension was thick and uncomfortable between her mother and Edward in the limo. Her mother's face was stony every time she looked at Edward, but Bella was relieved to see he seemed wholly unaffected by it. Still, Bella wished, not for the first time, she were able to drive herself around alone, to be normal. To be stuck in traffic, and to be unhappy about it like any other person.

Once Bella was back home again, she changed into another costume for the local news channel interview; this time, she dressed in black slacks and a white ruffled shirt, very business casual except for the low cut of the top. Around her neck and upper chest was a webwork of silver filigree with a huge onyx circle at the center. Apparently, while her mother wanted her to show a subdued front, she didn't want viewers to forget Bella's popstar image.

The interviews went well enough. Bella simply rehashed everything she'd already said about the balcony fall and her upcoming album. It was the fact that she had to be on and camera ready that seemed to take a toll on her social and mental strength.

"We have to show everyone that you're carrying on as usual, that there's nothing wrong at all," her mother had said, and so she scheduled Bella's days accordingly. It was beyond tiresome, though.

Next up was the Vibe cover photoshoot. Bella noticed her mother visibly chafed at sitting next to Edward; she made it clear by the way she angled herself away from him that he shouldn't have been included. But for once, Bella didn't allow her mother's disapproval to affect her mood. In fact, her mother's attitude sucked.

As Bella sat on a clear art deco chair in tiny shorts and hooded zip jacket, posing for the camera, she made sure to aim more than a few looks Edward's way. He seemed fascinated by what was going on, his eyes a bit wide as he watched her, and she was flattered and thrilled.

"Yeah, use that hood," the photographer said, drawing her attention back to him, and she flashed Edward a playful smile.

"Gonna move the chair for a second," the photographer said, and directed his assistant to remove it.

Bella stood and began to smile seductively and move provocatively, trying to give the man with the camera what she knew he wanted. Because she was inherently shy, it had taken her a long time to learn how to pose for a camera. With more than thirty photoshoots over the years, Bella had finally become a pro at them. The trick was to keep moving.

"Are you getting full body as well?" Bella heard her mother ask.

"Yes, I'm getting full body," the photographer replied, then to Bella, "Gonna need you on the floor now, all right?"

Bella moved to the floor, then arched her back, tilting her head back . . . seeing Edward, trading another smile with him.

"Isa, eyes back over here," the photographer directed. "Beautiful. Show me. We wanna see you."

Bella gave the camera a look, tried to pour her soul into her expression. Unzipping the jacket, but keeping it closed.

Keep moving, act natural, project sex, but don't try too hard. You're posing for Edward. Have some fun. Show him what he could have.

"Exactly, a little more of that."

No thoughts, just give the camera what it wants, use my eyes.

"All right, let's lose the jacket."

She tensed, holding it closed, and couldn't help glancing at her mother. Bella wasn't wearing a bra, and without the jacket, would be nude except for the tiny shorts. She didn't want to give up the jacket. Explicit poses made her feel cheap.

"Can we lose the jacket?" the photographer repeated.

Her mother raised a finger at Bella and nodded her head. There were so many people there, at least fifteen bystanders—magazine staff, photography people, lighting crew—all of them watching Bella's every move.

Get rid of the embarrassment and shame, you aren't you now.

Bella took a breath, whipped off the jacket, and held her arms across her chest, alluringly she hoped.

Keep moving my arms, but not so much that my breasts show. Move my hands. My feet. Pout. Look free and unconcerned. Keep my chin up and angled. Keep moving.

I'm tired.

Think of Edward. Kissing him. Feeling his touch.

"Exactly, a little bit of that. Yeah, that'll look gorgeous. Thank you, perfect. Angle your body a little toward me . . . there we are, that's it."

Bella didn't think she could go much longer. She was in excellent shape, but her muscles were feeling the strain and beginning to shake from all of the unnatural positions she was putting it through.

"This!" the photographer cried. "This is it. That's the cover."

Her mother moved over to the photographer's TV screen to examine the coveted shot.

Bella wilted. A moment later, a bottle of water hung by her face. Edward stood beside her, holding it out with a small frown. It looked like he was upset for her, and she felt a sting of embarrassment. Maybe he thought she should have refused the photographer's request. She shrugged the jacket back on and took the bottle with a grateful smile.

Both fans and paps were waiting for them as they exited the building. The feeding frenzy seemed to be growing. Bella felt like an animal in a cage as they made their way to the car. Even with the added protection of her two security people, Edward still had to shield her from more than one person.

"Isa! Oh my God, Isa!"

"Are you an item now?"

"How does Kid feel about this?"

"Isa, come on, right here!"

Almost panting from her rush to get to the car, Bella fell onto the seat and leaned her head back, closing her eyes. She was absolutely drained.

Warm fingers wrapped around hers. Opening her eyes, she saw that Edward had taken her hand in his, and she was suddenly filled with sharp longing. Until she'd felt the comfort and strength of his touch, she hadn't realized how much she'd needed it. She couldn't ever remember someone touching her that way without wanting something in return. When her gaze rose to his and read the intensity in his eyes, she tightened her grip. This time, neither of them was smiling.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Don't let go.

. . .

It was obvious Bella wanted his company, that she didn't want to be alone, so Edward stayed for dinner when she asked. After the stressful, busy day she'd had, he was feeling an odd urge to offer comfort where he could. He also wanted to spend more time with her, just the two of them, without her overbearing mother. That lady was a real piece of work, the way she treated Bella. He'd never met such an unmotherly mother, and had stifled an urge to call her on it more than once.

Renee Swan also seemed to take personal offense at his appearance, but it was likely because he'd made it obvious he couldn't be bought when he'd returned the torn up check. The woman didn't trust him, didn't like him being around her daughter. And because she didn't, it only seemed to feed his protective instincts.

Bella's part-time cook had left dinner warming in the oven. They carried plates of roasted chicken and green salad to the back of the house, with its all-glass-view of the decorative pool and fountain outside.

Once they sat, Bella scooted closer to him on the couch, as if she needed his proximity. She was tiny in stature, and couldn't have weighed much more than a hundred pounds, but his side burned from her nearness. He tried not to stare as she brought a fork up to her bee-stung mouth; he was fascinated by the shape of her lips. Her upper lip was slightly fuller than the bottom, making it look like she was puckering up for a kiss.

Soft music played from invisible speakers as they ate, trading glances and smiles.

It was a little intrusive, but she couldn't seem to stop looking at him, and he vacillated between gentle discomfort and desire. He hoped her interest was genuine and not based on the Superman complex his father had mentioned to him.

Finally, he had to ask. "How do you go like that every day?"

Bella shrugged and ate the last of her chicken, placing her plate next to his on the coffee table. "Normal's different for everybody, I guess. I'm not the one jumping in front of bullets."

He smiled inwardly, because he'd been taught not to jump in front of a bullet. Although he'd helped with her security today, he wasn't a bodyguard. "It doesn't exactly work like that."

Her eyes were soft and luminescent as she gazed at him, her expression one of gentle puzzlement, as if she was trying to figure him out. "So why are you a cop? Trying on Daddy's shoes?"

He resettled on the couch, moving an arm back along the headrest, close enough to touch her hair if he wanted. "It's all a part of the plan."

"The plan?"

There was no reason not to tell her. "Political science major, law enforcement, then politics."

Her mouth dropped. "For real?"

"For real," he repeated, and inclined his head, studying her closely.

Bella didn't seem put off by his plans; rather, she seemed fascinated.

"I want to be someone who makes a difference, you know?" he spoke quietly.

Her face transformed from shock to laughter. "Well, I'm gonna be calling you about everything. The pothole in front of my place. Suspicious activity in front of my gate. Parking tickets."

He smirked. She was joking, but none of those issues would be something he'd likely be able to solve for her. "You might get your feelings hurt."

"You can't say no to me," she insisted with an adorable pout.

While there was probably a grain of truth in that, he still teased her with his reply. "Try me."

"Kiss me," she said softly.

His heart jumped. "No."

He saw her face fall. Even a playful rejection cut her like a knife; he'd forgotten how fragile she was.

Before he knew what he was doing, he'd closed the gap between them, raised her chin with a forefinger, and pressed his mouth against hers. He'd meant it to be a short kiss, but the feel of her soft lips and breath lured him in closer until they were suddenly kissing each other's mouths open as though they were starved for each other. Until he'd kissed her, he hadn't been aware of how much he'd wanted to.

"Come on, boy."

She moved her face away with a wince and grabbed the remote.

"Come on, boy.
Come on, boy.
Nah-nahhhh-nah."

It was one of her songs and she was embarrassed.

"No, I want to hear it," he said, his voice a little rough. "Hold on."

"Come on, boy.
Put your face in this."

"Put your face where?" he asked.

She closed her eyes and laughed in a pained way. "Look, I didn't write it, okay?"

"All right."

Interesting that she was embarrassed about the songs she sang.

"Now I know you don't know anything about this," she said, and switched the channel. But she was wrong because the voice was highly recognizable.

"Nina Simone," he told her and arched an eyebrow.

Bella flashed him a look of approval, then focused on the song. "That voice. All that . . . pain and power. Like she lived every lyric."

It was true, Nina Simone was a force taken too soon. He remembered reading that she had bipolar disorder, which had ultimately killed her, so it was more than likely she had lived every painful lyric.

"I wish I could have songs like her," Bella mused, and the longing in her voice tugged at his heart.

"So write one."

"No one cares what I have to say," she scoffed, pain written across her features.

His gut clenched. What had Renee Swan been telling Bella all these years that she would feel this way? Her voice was beautiful. She was amazing. Didn't she know that?

"I'm listening," he said simply.

Her head rose, and for long moments, she studied him as one would an archeological find, as if she found him both fascinating and unimaginable. Finally, she stretched out a hand to him. "Come with me," she said.

He took it, enjoying the spark that raced up his back at the contact with her skin.

They walked around to the front of the house and up the wide staircase to a room. Her bedroom, and although it looked as if she had yet to unpack, there was a full set of silver aluminum luggage shoved against the wall. At the foot of the bed was a gray leather trunk, and that was where she took him. He sank to his knees beside her as she opened the trunk and removed a shoe-size box with a lid. Sitting back on her heels, she opened it, then offered the box to him.

Inside were numerous pieces of paper that he could see had writing on them. "What's all this?"

"Lyrics," she whispered. "They come into my head all day long." Choosing one from the pile, she held it so they could both read the words, and she began reciting what she'd written.

"It's not my business what you had with her.
And now I see that you're not free of her.
And I was foolish to compete with her.
But my fractured heart cries choose me."

"That's beautiful," he told her.

And then he felt the urge to lighten things because she was still much too sad. "You know, I've seen letters from crazy people, and they look a lot like this."

She gave him a look of surprise, then started laughing, and he wanted to kiss her again. So he did. For long moments, he kissed her hungrily, trying to tell her without words how special she was. Her fingers threaded into his hair, her thumbs caressing his jawline. The way she kissed him back was intense and all consuming, and he was breathing heavily as he reluctantly pulled back.

"I've got a meeting," he said softly, regretfully. It was actually a dinner, but he didn't say that since he'd just eaten with her. "I'm sorry, Bella, but I've got to go."

The hastily covered-up look of pain in her eyes at his words cut him unexpectedly deep, and he wished he didn't have a dinner meeting. Their steps were slow as they took the stairs back down to the front entrance, hands entwined and swinging between them.

"Look," he said, as they reached the door, "it's not like I follow this kind of thing, but what's up with you and Kid?"

Her gorgeous eyes lowered to the floor, and suddenly, he had a bad feeling.

"We're, uh, sort of together," she said quietly, painfully.

"Together?" He pulled away from her hand.

This time the tears in her eyes angered him. "It started as a label thing," she began apologetically.

He couldn't help repeating her again. "A label thing?"

"For press."

"So you operate like that?" he asked coolly, furiously angry. Damn her if she led him on.

The tears in her eyes were replaced by panic. "Look, I should've said something, but I didn't know what was up with us before."

"And what is up?" It couldn't be much of anything if she was with another man.

Her mouth was moving, but nothing was coming out.

"I've got to go," he said, and pulled open the front door, moving beyond it quickly. Too fast for her to catch him.

"Edward," he heard her cry after him.

As he'd suspected before, Bella didn't make sense. The two of them together didn't make sense. He should have trusted his gut, damn it.

. . .

Bella couldn't sit still.

She paced from the front windows to the back, over and over. How interesting and sad that her beautiful surroundings felt so gray and empty without Edward. She kept seeing the hurt, angry expression on his face, kept seeing him walking away from her. The panic of losing him, even though she'd barely had him, hit her in waves.

Was she going to lose the best person she'd ever met—and that was how she truly felt, she realized—because she hadn't told Edward about Kid? But Kid meant so little to her—they barely had a relationship as it was. She remembered the text he'd sent her that night after she'd tried to kill herself.

U a'right? he'd asked.

In bed, she'd responded.

Wut u wearin'? Had been his response.

Bella knew Kid didn't love her and never would; she wasn't his type. Except for music, they had absolutely nothing in common. Their "relationship" was only for show, just for the press!

She'd tried to tell Edward, but the words got stuck in her throat; she hadn't been sure how to respond. He'd been truly upset; she'd seen it in his piercing eyes, read it in the set of his tense jaw. He also didn't strike her as the type of person who gave many chances. Had she just lost her last one? He definitely wasn't one for playing games, but she hadn't been playing a game. Honestly, Kid hadn't even factored into her mind the last few days. Certainly not while she was with Edward, who seemed to occupy her entire mind and body when he was around. He was still doing it now and he wasn't even there.

Bella wrapped her arms tightly around herself in a hug. Please don't let him be gone for good. I can't bear it if he's gone for good. Please, please.

She needed a distraction. Something. Anything.

There was paper in the desk drawer in the den. As Bella rifled through another drawer for a pen, a tear fell onto the page in her hand. It left a huge splotch. Then another tear fell.

Rubbing at her face angrily, she carried the pen and paper to the back room, then walked out to the pool. Settling down at the side, she dangled her legs in the warm water. It was blue and mesmerizing, just bright enough for her to see the page. While it was quiet outside, her mind was loud with words that needed to come out before they destroyed her.

Though her tears made it hard to see, she began to write furiously.

It's raining everywhere,
even inside where I am.
I'm broken and looking for you,
but you're nowhere.

Bella sniffed. That took care of what she was feeling right now, but there were still more words pressing at the back of her throat. Edward had a beautiful smile, one in a million, which had made it hurt much more because he hadn't been smiling when he'd left. She almost balled the paper up then and there, but then something else struck her.

I'm standing in the dark
with a picture of you in my hands,
and the rain is destroying your smile.
No matter, your smile is driven on my heart.

She studied the piece of paper and wiped her face. Now that he was gone, now that she was feeling his loss, what could she do about it? Could she do anything? Or was she just going to write about it?

I know what it's like without you,
your picture hung out of tune.
I'm broken without you,
and I can't go back there.

Once the words were written on the page, her breathing began to slow and her muscles relaxed. The tears were finally drying on her face. All she knew for certain was that things were left unfinished between them. It couldn't be their end.

She needed to explain the embarrassing situation with Kid to Edward. It was that simple. He might not want to listen at first, but she'd make him. She'd dig in her heels and she would make him understand. He was worth it. They were worth it.

Her mind finally calm, Bella dove into the pool, clothes and all. One lap, two laps. She went for five, then pressed herself to finish at ten.

She was okay.

Thirty minutes later, Bella was showered and in bed. She was thinking about Edward again. Now that she had a plan and was at peace, her thoughts held a sexual tone. She remembered the way he kissed her—fiercely possessive, as if she already belonged to him. And God, she wished she did. There was something about Edward that pulled all her heartstrings, that ticked off all her unrealized requirements. If she belonged to him, she'd be the luckiest girl in the world.

Bella wished he were there now, that he had canceled his meeting and stayed with her instead. Lying back on her bed with her arms above her head, she imagined he was there.

His hands held her in place as he kissed her that way he did, all commandingly possessive, then he lowered himself on top of her. His body was just the right amount of heavy, and she arched against his solid heat as her legs slid apart to accommodate him.

Her body began to throb with want. Her fingers lowered, slid into her panties.

Edward undid his jeans and shoved them down his thighs. His cock was big, thick, and hot against her wet as he slid inside with one thrust.

"Oh my God," she cried out, imagining how full she was, how deep he was, how he took quick, full possession of her body. So good.

His face tense in concentration, he engulfed her, fucking her hard, burning the blood in her veins. Don't stop. His not-so-polite eyes closed as he bent to lick inside her mouth, and she was mindless with need and want.

Bella's stomach muscles clenched. She came hard, body quivering all over, slowly coming back to herself in quick pants.

That was fast, that was so fast.

Relaxed, satiated, Bella decided it was time to break up with Kid officially. Her so-called relationship with him had run its course, and it was time they went back to being only friends. The record label wouldn't like it, and her mother wouldn't like it simply because the label wouldn't, but it was her life.

And she needed it to include Edward.

. . .

The luxury restaurant on the 71st floor of the US Bank Tower with its scenic views was an impressive sight for Edward's dinner meeting, if a bit overkill. Edward thought it was stuffy in more ways than one, and not only because he was already full. Left to his own devices, he would have chosen an Inglewood restaurant; maybe some place like Flemings Steakhouse, something that would have held more appeal and made better sense for their dining companions. His father and Rosalie were obviously going overboard to impress.

Edward had just forked up a piece of jicama from his hamachi crudo salad when one of Pastor Caius's cronies spoke.

"Officer Cullen, I was more than willing to break bread with you, but I'm not sure I can support a white boy who looks like he's still in college."

Reverend Aron was as austere looking as his words sounded, and Edward knew the man was testing his resolve. He also suspected the Reverend wanted a minority for the councilperson position, in which case, Edward already had several marks against him.

"It was a twenty-six-year-old minister who led the civil rights movement," Edward replied.

The reverend straightened. "Are you comparing yourself to Dr. King?" he asked with a short laugh as he traded a glance with Pastor Caius.

Edward cursed inwardly. No, he'd brought up King because Edward was twenty-six-years-old, and maybe because King had been black. But because his intent was misunderstood, now he had to backpedal.

"Not at all, Reverend. What I mean to say is, progress rarely comes from those who are content and secure. It comes from those who've been unsettled by what they've seen."

Edward sensed his father's restlessness beside him, but he didn't dare break eye contact with the Reverend as he continued his speech. Rosalie had explained that it was vital to gain the Reverend's support, because his approval would mean Edward had the majority of the sector's.

"There's daily violence in our community," Edward said. "I have a front row seat to it. Nothing will stop a bullet like a job."

Reverend Aron aimed a sharp, telling look at Pastor Caius. It was evident he still thought Edward was all smoke and mirrors. That, or his mind was already made up that he wasn't going to support Edward for councilman. Inglewood was predominantly a black city, but did that have to mean its interests couldn't be represented by a white man?

"The SoFi Stadium is a good start, but L.A. is better when the city of Inglewood is strong, and I'm going to inspire City Hall to invest in its community. I'm also interested in incorporating ideas and thoughts from the community," Edward pronounced. "Now, the truth is, I can't win the election in this district without your support. I hope, as you become more familiar with me, I can earn your respect. In the meantime, my actions will speak louder than anything I can say tonight."

Reverend Aron took a sip of his water, then gave Edward a look of speculation. He hadn't been won over, not by a long shot. "I look forward to your actions," he said with slow calculation.

Edward traded a quick glance with his father. Yes, Reverend Aron was going to be almost impossible to win over to their side.

. . .

The next morning, Bella headed toward Kid Culprit's trailer at one of the Fox Studios backlots. Although Edward was only the catalyst, she needed to come clean with Kid and end their farce of a relationship. It was the last scheduled rehearsal day for their song, Best I Ever Had, and she wanted to have a talk with him first, to make sure there would be no weirdness between them.

"Yo, Bella," someone said.

She turned her head and saw Trey. Bella suspected Laurent had insulated Trey from the worst of what had transpired during their meeting because Trey smiled at her easily, without misgivings. He even did a little dance move in greeting.

"Hey, Trey," she answered. In the world of Hollywood singer elite, Trey was one of the good guys. He wrote and rapped his own songs, which were primarily about solving problem relationships. People often referred to him as The Shrink.

"What up, you a'ight?"

"I'm good," she said, and gave his penetrating stare a smile in response. Which he probably saw past, but he let it go.

"You about to rehearse?"

"Yeah, on my way to see Kid now."

"I heard your show . . . crazy," he said with emphasis as he began walking backward from her.

Bella nodded. It had better be crazy good, or she was in big trouble. "Just trying to keep up with you," she joked. "See you later."

As she took the corner around Kid's trailer, she heard a couple of guys on his team talking. When they saw her, the man speaking cut himself off abruptly. "Man, I fell off the moped. It was—"

Their stares and silence were loud. Bella wondered if they were uncomfortable because they'd heard she'd tried to commit suicide, or because the rumor mill suggested she'd betrayed Kid. Probably, for both reasons. She suddenly felt horribly self-conscious and her shoulders hunched.

"Is he inside?" she asked hesitantly.

After a long pause, Alec, one of Kid's security members, motioned her wordlessly past him to the door. It opened with a creak.

As soon as he saw her, Kid's lanky body unfolded from the couch as he stood. Like always, his gaze assessed her body before meeting her eyes. When she was close enough, he bent down to press a kiss against her mouth, and although it was her instinct to push him back, Bella didn't think it would be a good idea.

"What up, baby girl?" he asked her with a smile. "I thought I was the one supposed to be getting in all the trouble around here."

Trust Kid to immediately bring everything that happened recently back to him, Bella thought, as he sat back down, legs splayed in a sprawl, arms resting on the back of the couch. He couldn't have looked more blasé if he tried, but it gave Bella a spark of hope. Maybe he wasn't upset by the rumors.

"Listen, um . . . we need to talk," she said.

He looked unconcerned as he ran his gaze down her body, and Bella wanted to cringe. How had she never been offended by that kind of behavior before?

"About what?" he asked.

Still, she would tread lightly; it was never fun to be a dump-ee. "Whatever it is we're doing?" she asked softly. "It's not . . . working for me anymore. I wanna go back to being just friends."

He was still coolly unaffected, face relaxed and eyes calm. "I ain't gonna shed a tear or nothing like that," he drawled, and tilted his head. "But I thought shit was cool with us."

Bella resisted the urge to laugh in his face. "KC, we texted . . . we hit it . . . and then we texted about hitting it."

A wry smile spread across his face, making him look like the young man he was at twenty-three. Kid was actually gorgeous, she thought, when he wasn't acting like a sex-crazed addict.

"That's damn near married, girl."

And Bella had to laugh. There was no one quite like him. Deep down, she felt a sense of relief, and a weight dropping off her shoulders. Kid had taken everything really well, so she had been worried for nothing.

Someone began knocking on the door. "Yo, they're ready for y'all."

Kid ignored the knock and remained still. For some reason, he was patiently giving Bella the chance to say what she needed to, giving their new relationship status room to breathe. Or, maybe he was waiting on her to tell him she'd made a mistake?

Bella held out a hand to him. He took it, then stood slowly, as he did everything.

"Hey . . . use the press," he told her. "Don't let them use you, all right?"

As advice went, it was a little too late for her. It was something else Kid seemed to have control over that she didn't. Of course, he also hadn't been caught doing anything stupid like trying to kill himself.

"Let's go get this rehearsal," he said, and chucked her under the chin.

"You know I need to nail this routine," Bella said, and winked at him. "We've got to kill it."

"Shhh." He held his finger in front of her lips. "It's the only way I know how to rock it, man."

And they would rock it. While she and he didn't mix well emotionally, they definitely did physically, at least on the stage. Together, they were yin and yang—his movements were the strong, typical male posturing, and she was the suggestive provocateur. It played well with their sexually themed songs, especially with the latest one, Best I Ever Had. She hated the song because it talked about a girl who was supposedly happily trapped by a guy; so she did whatever he wanted, and was whatever he wanted her to be. It was another in-your-face sexual song between a man with immense power and his much weaker woman, just like Masterpiece had been.

But Bella had been taught to be the best, no matter what she was doing, so that was what she was going to be.

. . .