With everything going on in the world, this story is purely for laughs. It's borderline crackfic and in NO WAY should it be taken seriously. Yes, Bella is a little immature, but it is who she is. Not every twenty year old is the future CEO of a huge company. She does have a serious side to her and we'll see it in a bit. If we can have Emmett being the jokester in every story, I'm sure having a funny Bella is fine, too. Just sayin'.

Also, I'm British. I sometimes use British words, it's what I do LOL

Me Woman, You . . . Idiot

I was out shopping when I was very little with Mom and Dad. I was minding my own business, as you rarely do as a kid and Dad said 'She's so tight, she squeaks when she walks' as we walked past a woman. I had no idea what he meant. I'm glad I didn't understand it back then, but now, well, now I'm confused.

This could be down to the author being polite, or not, but why is every woman so tight? A virgin I get, but if you're writing about a mother of 2.4 kids, who is over thirty years old, she's not going to be that tight. Don't get me wrong, it's not like throwing a sausage up a street, but it's just not going to be virgin tight either.

Again, make the story believable. The same goes for if you mention in every sex scene that she's 'wet'—the reader will be rolling their eyes before you know it. There are other ways to explain how the characters are aroused, you just need to think. When I read countless times that the woman is so wet, I want to send the author an umbrella!

Repetitiveness is bad enough with wording, but when the sex scenes become sex for the hell of sex or filling up a chapter, it gets a bit much. Same as when the characters are flawless in their looks, behavior, and clothing.

Men are always brooding, smirking, etc . . . and the women are always swooning after him, glaring at him, or giggling like a little girl in the playground.

Expand!

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"I'm starting to hate Grandmother even more, even though she's dead," I ranted to mom as I scrubbed. "I mean, who on earth imports one of these things and not leave instructions on how to care for it?" I vented a little more. This was getting ridiculous.

I was currently scrubbing the hell out of the range cooker. Sorry, an AGA, according to the company I spoke to this morning. After they told me off for asking which coal to use – apparently, I'm supposed to use wood – they booked me in to have it serviced in a couple of weeks.

I had to admit to them that I hadn't used it yet. They advised me not to use it until they'd had a look at it. The thing scared me, so I resorted to using my slow cooker, microwave, and my Halogen cooker.

"Your grandmother only wanted the best in her house. Obviously, she's got the roll-top baths, but have you seen all the fireplaces? Imported from England," mom didn't sound impressed.

"Bloody hell!" I cried out as I scratched my hand on a handle.

"You're sounding more and more like Ron Weasley each day. Still have the films on repeat?" Mom chuckled.

"For background noise purposes. I feel like I'm rattling around in this place. Having some noise on calms me a little. Plus I love how he says certain words."

.

We are open for business!

Well, we weren't 'live' yet, as he called it, but the renovations were finished, and the staff had returned for their first day. It would be another two weeks before we had the printed magazine out for publication. In between now and then, there was a lot of re-launching press and other marketing things going on. I kept myself away from that as much as possible. While I didn't mind a few pics here and there, opening my mouth often proved dangerous. I ended up saying words that shouldn't be printed.

To go from a small, printed magazine to what we had now was mind-boggling. My face ended up on posters and postcards in shops. He was advertising me as a refreshing way to look at books. I'm not sure how I feel about that.

"Princess, will you please pay attention," Bossman grumbled. He always looked so sexy when he pretends to be tired of talking to me like a little kid. I was surprised when he didn't give me a hard time over his credit card, but it wasn't like I actually gave him a chance.

With my new idea brewing in my mind, I'd all but stormed into his office and launched into a big speech about books and how bad they were. Poor man just sat there with a pained expression on his face as I explained all the crap I'd read over the previous week and how I now needed a cleaner of some sort to rid my brain of the words.

"Honestly, what possesses a woman to name her vagina honeycomb? Okay, so we've all seen things like honeypot, love tunnel, et cetera, but honeycomb? That's what bees make out of wax, right? Waxy sticks of bee spit covered in honey. How in the hell is that sexy? It's not. And I won't even start on what some people have called a dick. Bucket, anyone?" I started reeling off a list of things that had bugged me when reading, and by the time my epic speech was over, I think I'd scared him into submission.

Now we were sat in his office while we fine-tuned my idea. I just wanted to do a write up each week about what bugged me, but he didn't think that would come across so well. He wanted facts and figures, and opinions from other people.

"Four-point seven percent are young females . . ." he started to say, and I couldn't keep my laugh in anymore. "Why are you laughing?"

"I'm trying to work out who in the town is the point seventh percent of a female, and if they should go to therapy or not. I think I have a good idea who that could be, though." I grinned wickedly, and he rolled his eyes.

"You need to pay attention, Princess. This was your idea, so you must know what you're going on about. The last thing we need is complaints about you getting information wrong."

He was so damn hot when he huffed and puffed at me. I liked seeing his strict side. It made me feel like a naughty schoolgirl. Can girls have spank banks? I wouldn't mind him being my teacher for the night.

Bella, what the hell are you thinking! Get your head back with it!

"Bossman, what are my shoes?" I asked and leaned back in my chair to put my feet up on his brand-new desk.

"Stilettoes?"

"Wrong, for starters, no one calls them that these days. They're either pumps or heels. Normally, if they're designer, you just give people that name. What color is my shirt?"

"Red?" he asked, puzzled at where I was taking this.

"No, it's burgundy. My hair is also in a low twist to the side, but you'd say that it was a ball of mess on the side of my head. My point is, no female author should write her male lead so . . . girlie. He shouldn't know what cut her dress is or what the exact shade of her nail polish is, because, putting it simply, men don't know these things. They don't want to know. The second real men start showing an interest, their girl will never stop asking for their opinions. All men want to do for an easy life is say 'Yes, dear' and scratch their balls while watching a game," I ranted. All the while his eyes got wider.

"You need to calm down, Princess," he finally said, but I shook my head.

"But why? As readers, we are basically paying these authors to produce shit work. I don't want to read that every male character has a monster cock and can give award-winning oral sex. No virgin can deep throat on her first go and the wording, oh my God. Do I really have to read every character announce that they're coming like a freight train in every sex scene? If the sex is good enough, it should be clear to the reader in the description, not through 'Incoming orgasm approaching platform three, please stand clear of the gap!'"

Bossman stepped in as I took my next breath and demanded that we finish the rest of our conversation at the cafe, in public, which he hoped would calm me down a little more.

I did calm down, and we enjoyed a very strange lunch between us, without arguing or bitching at each other. As I said, it was strange.

He asked me my plans for the weekend, to which I replied that I would be clearing out the house and getting it ready for decorating. When I asked the same question to him, he mumbled about dinner with his family. He didn't seem very happy about that. Call it a hunch, but I had a funny feeling that he was a mommy's boy. There was nothing wrong with that, not at all, but I did find it a little funny.

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The first office staff meeting and I was already in hell.

I didn't want to be the boss of anyone, and though my feelings on the subject were made quite clear, Prick-a-Doodle-Do still wouldn't listen to me. However, I was grateful that Nancy and Gertrude weren't required at the meeting. As much as I would've liked to announce to them that I was their boss now, the big boss couldn't handle the tension between us all.

It was bad enough that I clashed a little with James the stoner, who'd been employed to give mechanical advice, and Jessica, the girl, hired to cover fashion and make-up. I had spent a solid hour explaining to the stubborn girl that I would not be changing how I dressed, no matter how much she begged. That was the hardest hour of my life, because, and I am sorry to say this, the girl was a total airhead. I'd even asked Bossman if it was possible to damage brain cells with home hair bleaching kits.

James was a flirt, but terrible at it. He acted like he knew everything, was cocky, and openly tried to 'Charm me right out of my panties.' His words, not mine. When I told him that if he tried, I'd pierce his dick with his mallet and a rusty nail, he backed off. I heard Bossman laugh from the other side of the office before he reiterated that I would do it and that James should be scared of me.

James continued to gaze at me, throwing me a wink here and there, but I soon got him to back off enough for me to work. And talking of work, my first few posts were ready to go up on the website. The Bossman even approved them, after taking out a few choice swear words which I'd tried to put in. Somehow, containing my exuberance over my issues when it came to these books was . . . difficult.

I had worked out a system of buying books that didn't involve heading straight to the low-rated ones. To start with, I made sure not to pick any books that had too many one or two stars. Also, I made sure not to read any of the reviews, good or bad. I looked at the covers which were, in some cases, horrendous, and then I read the summary. The maximum I, i.e. the Bossman, would spend was five dollars per book, depending on the length.

"Miss Swan, we're ready to start when you're ready to come out of your dreamland," Bossman said with a dirty smirk. He was taunting me.

Jessica giggled, and James threw me another wink. I slammed my actual paper book shut hard with an evil grin aimed at James before turning back to Bossman.

"Remember the coffee?" I growled then pulled the pen from my hair and watched with satisfaction when his face dropped.

Earlier in the week, I'd made the great discovery that Prick-a-Doodle-Do had a weakness for coffee, which was made even bigger when I fixed it for him. I had a special knack of getting it perfect for him after he told me how he liked it once. Since then, every time he pissed me off, I threatened to stop making him the coffee and take my machine home with me. I never thought the threat would work, but so far it was. If he used his brain, he could just go and buy his own machine. Clearly, he wasn't thinking.

"Okay, we have a lot to do with this place before we go live. All the technical issues that we had last week have been ironed out. We're ready to go in that department. This meeting is so we can get timelines agreed and posting schedules assigned. As you know, we're only posting once a week to start with, on Fridays, so I need your articles on my desk by Wednesday. The printed version will then go out on Mondays as usual so the website will be updated before the print. We're a small company, and as such, we have to work together comfortably and with respect. No taking days off here and there and no pushing your luck with the boss, either of them," he said while his gaze fell on James.

Have I mentioned yet, how much of a turn on it is watching Bossman being bossy? How can he make reeling off a list sexy?

"Now, have you managed to come up with any ideas to draw in the younger crowds?" Bossman asked.

"I was thinking that maybe, in the summer, we could have an open day. I could offer my services for all the kids around here with bikes and cars, making sure they're roadworthy. Jessica could do something with her clothes or war paint. I just couldn't think of anything useful for Bella to do," James piped up, proud as punch that he got that little dig in.

"I could run a stall, and people could pay to throw the shit books at your head," I said sweetly then Bossman stepped in.

"I actually think that's a good idea. I'd bring it closer to now, so maybe offer a quick service or once over before the bad weather gets here. Jessica, maybe you could run a section on where you can find budget clothes for teens, stylish but practical for winter. Princess, you could make up winter survival bags for hardcore readers. Bookmarks, a list of recommended books, mugs, and maybe do a giveaway or two?" he reeled off as he looked to each of us. To my surprise, he sounded really sincere, and he was almost being nice. That sent weird tingles up my spine.

"I'll think about it," I mumbled, still liking the book throwing idea.

With a few more items covered, Bossman wrapped up the meeting and declared us ready to go on Monday. Then he asked me to go to lunch with him. To say I was shocked was an understatement.

"I can't, I have to go shopping for supplies," I replied. I'd finally decided my kitchen was going to be decorated first and I needed to shop for kitchen cupboards. I had even measured properly, with a tape and everything. Go me!

"Well, why don't I come along and help? I don't have anything else to do today now that we've had the meeting and they've gone home. We could grab lunch at a drive-through or something," he mumbled, looking quite cute I must admit.

"Drive-through?" I stuttered.

"Yeah, what's wrong with that?"

"Have you ever thought about what goes into those types of meals?" I asked, feeling my face cringing.

"Beef, it's one hundred percent beef. They can't state that if it's not correct."

"Yeah, but a hundred percent of which part of the beef? Ass, lips, and testicles, that's what it is. No one can offer that much beef, of good quality, for such a low price, no matter how much they get at a discount. I'm telling you, you've had more testicles go in your mouth than you ever thought possible," I answered, pleased that he was looking a little green.

He recovered soon enough and still bugged me to go with him for lunch. I gave up trying to decline, and before I knew it, we were heading into the city for food and shopping. It was very peculiar to see him sat in my car while I drove. We didn't talk, the low hum of the music was the only thing we could hear, apart from the engine of the car, of course.

We got to the city in less than an hour then he led me to a small café. It was quaint and a little eclectic with its decorations, but it was comfortable. We settled on a baked potato each with a topping, and again, we didn't really talk much. The silence was killing me.

"Do you think we can only talk when we're arguing about something?" I mused, confused that we hadn't had a tiff over anything so far.

"I don't know. We could try and talk, I suppose. If that fails, I'll think of something to argue with you about," he said with a cocky smile.

"Well, how about we talk about my posts on the website. I know you wanted to cut out a lot, but I think that will have less impact. Young people, girls, in particular, want to read something they can relate to. It's different for boys, because they always get the end result they want, albeit a little quicker in the beginning. These girls are reading stories where the virgin has an orgasm, or multiples, with her first experience. I don't care how good the man is, no man is that good and it fucking hurts, Edward," I declared. My eyes went wide as he choked on his coffee. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"You called me Edward."

Ah, shit, I did.

"This talking nicely thing isn't working. I have a good mind to cause World War Three between us in Home Depot," I muttered. It was supposed to be to myself, but his laughing clued me in that I'd said it loud enough for him to hear.

"All I ask is that you don't throw any tools or cans of paint at me. They hurt."

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Bossman was still being nice. I didn't like it and felt on edge because of it. He'd insisted on pushing the cart around, offered to help with color choices, and had even given me his opinion on the kitchen units.

It wasn't right. All I could hear in my head were his words about revenge being served cold. How cold is he talking here? Fridge cold or arctic breeze? I knew he was up to something. I just had to work out what it was and be on my guard.

"Okay, I can't take it anymore, what are you up to? You're being too nice and too helpful, and you're getting me on edge. Whenever my brother is too nice, he's up to something, and I really don't have the energy to be on my guard with you today."

"I'm not up to anything." He smirked, and I knew he was lying.

I just had to get into his mind and work out how to protect myself.

'Arse, lips, and testicles'. That's what my dad said every time we mentioned a certain golden arch drive-through.

Sorry if my AN at the top sounded a little bitchy. I didn't mean it that way, but sometimes guest reviews are nasty. :(

Next up is Edward and you get to meet his parents... That'll be interesting.

Just a tiny teaser, because I don't want to give too much away:

"Good breeding? Good breeding?! I'm not a bloody horse!