Two

"I'm mortified Rose," I lean back into the lounge, burying my face into my hands, "he was so hot and I insulted him without even realising who he was."

"I bet he loved it," she laughs, "men like that love when women walk all over them. He probably went into that rich man, CEO office and bent you over his desk mentally."

"Why do you need to go there?" I look at her.

"Because I've had a drought lately," she shrugs, "Tinder isn't doing it for me lately. Every thought is sexual right now."

Rosalie has been my roommate for two years. Best friend for a year and half.

The first six months we struggled to get along. She had a boyfriend who I still believe was actually a human gate to hell. He would leave the milk out all the time.

When she dumped him for cheating on her, she cried and I held her. It kick-started a new phase in our relationship. Now it sometimes seems as if we have our own language.

"We literally just bumped into each other. That's it, Rose," I shake my head.

"And then you shit on his entire profession and company," she laughs, "and he laughed about it! Any other man might have chewed your ass out. He was into you."

"He was laughing at me, not with me," I glare at her, "besides it's not like he used his CEO power to hire me again - after I'd told him he was brainless."

"Yeah, not a hirable quality," she bites her lip.

Tears begin to pool in my eyes again as the weight of the day begins to crash down on me.

"What am I going to do, Rose?" I wipe at my eyes furiously fighting the tears, "I'm a mess. Why did I come here?"

"For the same reason everyone else does," she shuffles closer to me, pressing a hand against my back, "You chased the big city and it's spitting you out. But you're worth swallowing. Don't give up. We'll find you a job babe. Until then I can handle rent for a few weeks."

"I don't want you doing that," I shake my head.

"Babe, please," she sighs, "you're always taking care of me. You take care of me when I'm sick and you always kill the bugs. Let me do this. I can handle it. You've got this and I've got you. We'll apply for jobs, we'll get you back out there. New York will not only swallow, but gag on you."

"Enough with the blow job analogies," I laugh loudly, "besides New York is a lady."

"Fine, you'll eat it's…"

"Don't," I yell out, cupping her mouth with my hand.

She licks my hand, slobbering all over my palm. Which induces fits of laughter that I needed more than absolutely ever.


The best part about my job had always been the convenience. I lived just a few blocks away.

Rosalie's aunt owned our Manhattan apartment. We paid her rent, she lives it up in Germany somewhere. She rarely calls and makes demands. We rarely call and ask for repairs. It's a good thing we have going. We've never missed rent (which she heavily discounts for us thank god).

All she really asks of us is to keep the plants alive.

We've killed two, but we found similar replacements. She'd never notice the switch.

Rosalie wanted to follow in her aunt's footsteps of art curation. So she works at a local gallery with hopes of moving up the ladder. Every time I've been to visit her it seems as if everyone is ogling her instead of the paintings.

Anyway, my point is I only had a 10 minute walk to work each morning.

I didn't see why I should have to give up my favourite coffee shop because my boss had artistic differences about a veil.

So I took a booth, I sipped my coffee and began to work on my resume. My AirPods are blasting Taylor Swift.

I don't hear it right away. But I feel the weight shift on the table as someone takes a seat across from me.

"Oh. That's taken," I look up, remove an AirPod and narrow my eyes.

"By who? Wouldn't be one of my readers… I'd hate to have you endure a brainless conversation," he teases, "I saw you while I was in line and thought I'd check to make sure you're okay."

"My hands are fine," I hold them up to show him the already healing grazes.

"Dignity?" He asks.

"In tact," I shrug.

"Wow. Even after you bitched about your boss to your boss?" He brings his coffee to his smiling mouth.

"Ex boss. I quit remember," like a child I roll my eyes.

I wasn't about to divulge the truth about being fired. He'd probably rarely see me after this. He didn't need the real story.

"Bella, right?" He takes a swig of his drink, his gaze holding me hostage.

"You stalked me?" I scoff.

"No," he spurts his coffee out slightly.

He coughs out a laugh, grabbing for a napkin to wipe his mouth. Only he could make spitting out coffee graceful. Part of me wishes he'd spat it on my ches…

"Your coffee lid says your name. I can read," he taps the top of my coffee with his index finger, stealing me away from mental images he could likely have me arrested for.

"Why are you even talking to me," I huff out, trying to keep my focus off that incredible face.

"I felt like I came off rude yesterday," he leans against the table, "I thought about it all evening last night. When I saw you sitting here I knew I should take it as a chance to try again. To say sorry. I'd been in a rush to meet with my father and I guess I was stressed."

"You did," I shrug, "you were rude. Why were you coming into work at midday. You're new at the ceo thing and you're already late?"

"Today is my first day," he smirks at me, "my father officially handed everything over. There was an email to my understanding a few weeks back that was sent company wide. I've been interviewed a fair bit about the shift to a new CEO."

"By Oprah?" I quirk an eyebrow.

"More like The Financial," he shakes his head.

"Why would you want to be CEO of a dying industry? No one buys magazines," I take a sip of my coffee.

I'm trying so hard to not show how desperately interested I am. Every facial feature is perfection.

"I have ideas," he smiles at me, "my father's done terrific. But in my hands I think Cullen Publications will be in innovative hands. Dad knows that too."

"So long as they're not crash tackling members of staff on the street," I tease.

He motions to my computer ignoring my jab.

"What've you applied for so far? Maybe I could help. I know people," he offers, "I'd try find you something in my building if you'd like. I'm kind of a big deal over there."

"Actually I thought I'd ditch my journalism degree for cage fighting," I glance at my laptop screen, "I also applied to be a stunt double, a stripper and oh do you know what a professional hugger would entail?"

"I'd say it'd end kind of like how the stripping would," he laughs, "you're funny."

"If you don't laugh you'll cry," I look up at him, unable to fight my smile.

"Well I am positive you'll find something. Maybe you could try standup comedy," he grabs for his coffee, moving to slide out from the booth, "I better go. My brainless readers need me."

"Wouldn't want to make them wait," I nod.

"Edward, by the way," he motions to himself, "if you need to pop me down as a reference."

"You don't even know me," I scoff.

"Yeah, but I had my assistant stalk you this morning. I particularly loved your article about the bride with two grooms. Your journalism hid the toxicity of my company well," he winks at me, "I'll ensure to tell the professional cuddlers about your can-do attitude when they call for that reference."

I watched him leave, shocked. Not just by this whole interaction, but by that magnificent ass. I didn't know a man could have one like that.

Was I being punked? He took the chance to mess with me both times now.


I stayed an hour more. Genuinely unsure of what to take from the interaction that had just played before me.

As I begin to pack up my things a woman sitting at the booth behind me, disrupts my attention. She sounds distressed.

"Well, she was my maid of fucking honour. What am I meant to do? I have no one," she sounds like she's crying, "the wedding is weeks away and I'm going to look like an idiot."

I look over my shoulder subtly. All I can see is the back of her. Black, short hair. Sunglasses sit on her head, and she's resting her forehead into her hand.

"Babe. I just think we should elope," she sighs, "this whole wedding thing is too much. And I'm only doing it at this point because your mother insisted. I love you. That's all that matters. I struggled to make friends in high school. I don't have cousins. I'm adopted. I just feel so lonely."

She sniffles. My heart breaks slightly for her. I could relate. Before Rose I was in a similar boat. Girls could be assholes.

An idea smacks me hard in the lady balls. Before I can stop my feet, they're shuffling me out of my booth and toward hers. She's hanging up as I approach her.

"Hey," I say sympathetically, "I didn't mean to eavesdrop at all, but I overheard you. You just sound so upset. I wanted to just say I hope you're okay and ask if there's anything I can get you."

She looks up at me, tears wetting her lashes, rolling down her cheeks.

"Oh no," I reach for my purse, digging through it to pull out tissues, "please don't cry."

She accepts them with a quiet thanks.

"I'm a wedding writer. Or was. I just got fired," I say, "these things can be such a stress. I'm so sorry you are going through it. Know that you're not alone. This anxiety is so normal."

"I just.. it's pathetic that at 27 I have no friends," she huffs, wiping her eyes, "none close enough to be by my side on the biggest day of my life at least."

"I can't imagine how that must feel," I bite my lip, "you know I bet you could just do without the whole bridesmaid thing."

"My husband has a full party," she looks up at me, "four groomsmen in total, including his best man."

"Shit," I mutter, "you landed mister popular."

"I have no idea how," she shrugs, a sad attempt at a laugh.

"Maybe because you're stunning," I shake my head as if she's crazy, "seriously stunning."

And she is. Petite, classic beauty. A different kind to Rosalie's bombshell, turn your head beauty. An elegant, Audrey Hepburn grace.

"He's a lucky man," I offer, "and I hope you know you deserve to be happy regardless of how many girlfriends you do or don't have. I only have one best friend. That's all I need."

"I don't even have that," she scoffs.

"Where is the wedding?" I ask.

"It's at The Plaza," she whispers.

Oh she's rich. The Plaza? Woah.

"In a few weeks?" I offer.

"Yep," she sighs, "I'm not even sure it's what I want. I thought it was once. Lavish and Princess. But these days I just want my man and a good couch."

"How romantic," I smile down at her, "I'm Bella by the way."

"Alice. Thank you for checking on me," she smiles at me, sadness still in her eyes.

"Can I buy you a coffee?" I ask.

"Oh no," she shakes her head, "I was just about to have a tea to calm."

"I'll grab it," I put down my handbag and laptop across from her, "I'll be right back."

Before she can object I dash to the cashier and order. Asking them to also add a slice of cheesecake to a plate.

When I return with a little number to tell the wait staff where we are she's texting someone.

"To make matters worse my brother's asking if he can bring a date," she growls, "the rsvp's were meant to be final tomorrow."

"Oh, don't you just hate that," I roll my eyes, "what else is going on? You need to get this vent out."

For the next hour she does exactly that. Complaining about vendors, her soon-to-be mother-in-law, her family. I listen and provide advice. I take and squeeze her hand in comfort. I be the friend she lacks.

Then she does it. What I'd hoped for but hadn't expected. She opens an opportunity for me to sincerely help her.

"If only I could have you be my maid of honour," she laughs.

"I wouldn't ever refuse you," I shrug simply, "I've never been one before, but you're a beautiful person."

"That would be weird but right?" she shakes her head.

"Why would it be weird?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Well, I'd be taking your time. You don't know me well. Surely you have a job and life," she shakes her head.

"I just got fired," I smile, "I have time. As for my life, it's fucking falling apart around me. Why don't you take my number and think about it? In fact, my best friend would probably agree to be a bridesmaid too. I reckon she and I could pull together a whole party."

"You have no idea how much that would mean," tears begin to pool again, "but I'd have to pay you. All of you. As if you're a vendor providing a service. You're time is money."

She takes out a notebook, turns to a blank page and writes my name out before handing me it to jot down my number.

"I just… maybe we tell everyone we knew each other in college," she smiles, "we can make it work. Make it believable."

"Hey. I have so much spare time. I can give us backstories. You pick out the dress and we'll be there. Call me tomorrow and we can arrange lunch. We'll need to get to know you. I'll send you something to fill out so we can study you," I push her notebook back, "we'll be the best fake friends you've ever had."

"15,000," she says to me suddenly, "to disperse among all of you."

Okay I was wrong. She is stinking rich.

"You don't nee…" I shake my head.

"I will. This could almost be a business right? Rental bridesmaids," she smiles at me.


Thanks so much for reading x