A/N: Rebadams7, thanks for prereading. Bella turns a corner in this chapter and I was unsure of how it translated to the page. It's amazing what a few words of encouragement can do for your confidence!
Marie's wardrobe included three slinky cocktail dresses. Late that evening, Bella picked one at random. She squeezed into the long-sleeved, metallic dress, adjusting the deep scoop neck to show more than an inch of cleavage. It had a slit that came so far up the back of her thighs that she was afraid to bend over. She flat-ironed her hair straight as the ninety four percent humidity would allow. Next, she applied dark eyeliner and eyeshadow with a dusting of silver over the top, then slipped half a dozen silver bangles over each wrist and stood nervously by the door, waiting for Masen to finish his preparations. He seemed to be taking forever. She couldn't stop herself from fidgeting, her fingers pulling fitfully at the collar around her neck. With the heat and humidity, moisture collected under the heavy metal, and her skin was starting to itch.
Bella had never appreciated the fact that beautiful men needed time to primp, too. Masen gelled his hair, groomed his eyebrows, trimmed his cuticles, moisturized his skin and polished his shoes. He dressed carefully in a neatly-pressed pair of slacks and a short-sleeved Tommy Bahama style shirt. Somehow, rather than looking like every other wealthy man enjoying a relaxing, tropical vacation, he managed to give the impression that he was itching to get back into something more formal. 'Relax' and 'vacation' were not words in Edward Cullen's vocabulary.
Masen had taken to shaving twice a day since Chicago. Smooth skin on a younger man would have looked boyish. On him it gave the impression of unswerving rigidity in his appearance; an uncompromising dedication to perfection. Lamplight reflected off his thin-rimmed glasses and highlighted the bridge of his nose and the planes of his forehead. In contrast, his brow and cheekbones cast deep shadows. He looked tense and watchful, like a man who never missed any detail, no matter how minute.
Ten minutes before the appointed time, the pair made their way down to one of the hotel's bars. Bella could feel the tug of Marie's persona, forcing her shoulders forward and her eyes down. But she was curious. She wanted to see where they were going and who they were meeting. When they reached an open booth, she snuck a quick look around the room. The bar wasn't very crowded, but there were still quite a few couples and small groups drinking, talking and laughing. It was a warm and inviting place, but she felt inexplicably cold. Suddenly she felt Mr. Cullen's fingers clamp down on her forearm.
"Sit here. Do not move," he spoke in a low, casual tone.
The silent 'or else' hung in the air above her. Quelling her natural desire to challenge him, Bella finally allowed her cover personality to consume her. She sank into the padded booth, clasped her hands in her lap and waited.
Edward Cullen returned a few minutes later and settled into the seat opposite from her with a smirk on his face. It wasn't a friendly look. It wasn't even an amused look. It was reminiscent of the expression she once saw on a young boy's face, watching as a half-crushed ant on the sidewalk squirmed and thrashed futilely before him, frying in the concentrated beam of sunlight that passed through the magnifying glass in his hand. Edward Cullen delighted in his own cruelty.
Marie's fingers twitched in her lap.
His smile widened.
"Sir. Miss. Your drinks. Are we expecting one more?" a young waiter asked as he placed three mixed drinks on the table.
"Malcolm Delancy. Should be here any time now."
"Very good, sir. Can I get you anything else?" he asked, looking from Mr. Cullen to Marie and back again.
Marie felt a heavy shoe nudge her foot. She looked up at the waiter and shook her head, forcing her lips to curve upwards into an approximation of a smile.
"I guess the lady is content. Thanks for the drinks," Edward dismissed him. Once the waiter was out of earshot he nudged her again. Harder, this time. "Drink," he ordered.
So she did. It was strong. Pineapple juice and white rum. Lots of rum. She downed half of the drink before setting it down, her fingers curling tightly around the glass as the icy fluid flowed down her esophagus and into her stomach. The cold was almost instantly transmuted into heat which bloomed out from her throat and stomach, leaving a numbness that was difficult to shake.
"Good?" her owner asked.
She nodded obediently.
"Finish it," he said, sipping his whiskey sour, never taking his eyes off of her.
Marie drained the glass and set it back on the table, feeling unsteady as the alcohol did its work, slowing her reactions and muddying her thoughts.
Right then a new voice broke in, "Mr. Cullen?" and they both looked up.
The man, presumably Malcolm Delancy, approached the table with a grin on his face. He sported a deep tan, dyed black hair and seemed very fit for a man in his sixties. He also had unnaturally white teeth, the kind of white you can only get in a dentist's chair.
"Mr. Delancy. Join us," Mr. Cullen invited him with a wave of his hand. He made no move to rise, so Marie scooted around to the middle of the half-moon bench, effectively trapped between the two men.
"Please, call me Malcolm," their guest said with a wide, brilliant smile.
Mr. Cullen nodded his assent but did not offer the same familiarity. Mr. Delancy paused expectantly, then recovered and turned to Marie with his hand held out.
"Miss, it's a real pleasure to meet you. I'm Malcolm. Yes, I know. It's a funny name for an old guy like me." His tone was officious. Too forward. Too much like he wanted her to reassure him that he didn't look old, that he actually looked incredibly handsome, or something equally flirtatious.
Marie's eyes darted nervously to Mr. Cullen's before she took the proffered hand. Touching other men wasn't allowed. But neither was being rude. She couldn't embarrass him. She couldn't make a scene. If she did, the punishment would be brutal.
"Marie," she supplied her own name softly, flinching when their hands met.
"A pleasure," he replied in a smooth voice, seemingly unaware of her discomfort.
Malcolm didn't shake her hand. Instead, he raised it to his lips for a kiss, then set it on the seat between them and patted it gently. His hand lingered for a second too long. Marie's skin was crawling, and she longed to pull her hand away. Unsure how that would be taken, she left it where it was.
A glass tumbler hit the table loudly and she jumped, but Mr. Cullen wasn't looking at her. He was glaring hostilely at their guest.
"William tells me that you're a tough negotiator. He says you own the coastline," he cut in sharply, moving straight to business.
"Oh. Well, I can't say that I own the coastline. Palm Beach is a pretty big territory, even for me. But I've closed one hundred million already this year. I'd say my record speaks for itself."
"Does it? Have you ever heard the phrase, 'Past performance is no guarantee of future success'?" Mr. Cullen baited him.
"My financial advisor says that all the time. It's a cover-your-ass disclaimer. But we all know that a fund manager who knows his stuff and earns consistently high returns for his investors is better than his competition, not just lucky. I don't believe in luck. I make deals happen. My clients walk away from the signing table smiling every time. I've got a list of references, and it grows every week. Feel free to call them. Any one of them will tell you the same thing. I got them the house they wanted, or I sold their house, and when I did, I left more money in their pockets than anyone else could have. And I did it faster, too," he finished confidently.
Mr. Cullen leaned back in his seat, swirled his drink gently and raised it to his lips. When he set it back down, he was smiling. "Okay. Tell me what you can get for me. Here are my parameters." He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and pushed it across the table.
Marie couldn't read what he had written, but she could see the way Malcolm's eyes lit up. He was already calculating his commission check. After a few seconds, he set the paper back on the table and leaned forward.
"Eight million cash. That does put you in a very strong position. Of course we'll need proof of funds before we can submit an offer. . ."
"Done. I can have that in your hands tomorrow."
"Excellent. Well, how about I put together a list of the top four or five contenders for us to view, and I can pick you and your lovely girlfriend up tomorrow morning at 10 or so." His eyes swept over Marie's face and down her body, coming to rest on the line where metallic fabric met creamy, white thigh. He was oblivious to the murderous look on Mr. Cullen's face.
"I'll drive myself," Mr. Cullen said coldly.
"It's no trouble, really. In fact it's great to be able to share our impressions of each property before going on to-"
"I'll drive myself." Mr. Cullen's voice was louder, over annunciating every syllable.
"Well, then. Okay. Excellent. I suppose you want to learn your way around. Great idea," he said, recovering his enthusiasm gamely. "Although, I have to be honest with you, Ed-, uh, Mr. Cullen. You're not going to find a house on the water for anything less than fourteen million. Now, I know that sounds like a big jump up from eight, but I've got five different lenders that would pounce on the opportunity to compete for your business. You wouldn't believe how low rates are for super-low-risk buyers like you. You'd be stupid not to consider them."
Marie's eyes jumped straight to Mr. Cullen's face. He was angry. His eyes burned and his features had turned to stone. Malcolm realized his mistake almost immediately. He started back-pedalling, but it only seemed to make things worse.
"Then again, one hundred percent cash puts you in charge. It's the strongest bargaining position ever. Smart move. Really smart. Sock it away in real estate. You can always finance later. Step on up to the waterfront whenever you feel like it, really."
"Do I look like I need a hurricane magnet just so I can have somewhere to park my hundred-foot phallus?"
"Phall- uh. . . um, no! Not at all," the realtor coughed uncomfortably. "I have to admit, I'm not really a boating kind of guy, either. Why pay the upkeep, right?" he laughed a little too loudly, then took a large swig from his glass. He immediately started coughing. "My God. . . what is this?" he wheezed.
"I have no idea. I told the bartender to make something that a real estate agent would enjoy. Maybe he doesn't like realtors."
"No. . . no. . . it's great. Really. Just caught me by surprise," he rushed on, taking another drink to prove it.
"Hmm." The taciturn businessman didn't look convinced.
"So, does 10 o'clock work well for you?" Malcolm pressed, unwilling to let a quarter of a million dollars leave the table without a verbal commitment.
"Sure. Why not," Edward Cullen said, tossing a few bills on the table. "Come on, Marie. Let's get to bed."
Marie flinched, but obediently held out her hand and allowed him to help her out of her seat. She felt Malcolm's eyes on her, curious and hungry. The blatant reference to sex had completely arrested his attention.
"Take your time. Finish your drink. Order a few more if you really like it," Mr. Cullen smirked, eyeing the level in Malcolm's glass. He turned Marie toward the exit, his hand drifting down to rest possessively on her hip, far too low for propriety.
The older man turned a little green, but smiled and nodded amiably. "It's delicious. Thank you. I think I will." He raised his glass to toast them as they left the bar.
Trapped in her slave-girl persona, Bella couldn't turn and look, but she could feel his eyes on her until they turned the corner.
"Well, that was fun. I think we got him," Masen chuckled, once they were safely back in their suite.
Bella smiled her agreement, but she didn't feel right. Her hand was tingling. She couldn't shake the feeling of Malcolm Delancy's touch. She toed off her shoes and cut straight through to the bathroom to wash her hands. She dried them roughly on a towel, hesitated, then washed them again. Looking in the mirror, she barely recognized herself behind the cosmetics. She wetted a washcloth and hurriedly scrubbed the powder and paint away, leaving dark smudges around her eyes.
When she stepped out of the bathroom a few minutes later, Masen was watching her speculatively. Unable to hold his gaze, Bella hurried to the bedroom, trying to undo her zipper as she walked. It caught in her hair and she started tugging, but it wouldn't release. Her world narrowed to her battle with the zipper. She fought futilely, desperate to escape the constricting garment.
She didn't realize she was crying until Masen's hands settled on her shoulders. She froze. With slow, careful movements, he released the fabric and the thick strand of hair that had caught in the zipper before pulling it all the way down.
"Thanks," Bella muttered, as she yanked off her bracelets and tugged her arms out of the clinging material.
She couldn't get out of it fast enough. Something was wrong. Her hands were shaking. The crawling sensation was climbing up her arms making her whole body tremble. This had never happened after one of their scenes before. As soon as they stepped out of their roles, they went right back to being Agent Masen and his rookie partner. Things snapped back to normal instantaneously.
Not this time. Marie wouldn't let go.
Bella couldn't figure it out. This hadn't happened when the guard at the Idaho resort had checked her out. Then again, he hadn't touched her. And she wasn't going to see him again in less than two days. Not like Malcolm Delancy.
Bella realized that if they did succeed in earning admission to the Volturi compound, she might see Mr. Delancy frequently. Him and dozens of other creeps just like him. What if something happened to Masen? What if they failed and she was trapped in the Volturi's clutches?
She could still feel Marie at the edge of her consciousness. Personality erased. Crammed into over-sexed clothes and the role of a slave. Weak. Helpless. Terrified and alone. She wasn't letting go. It was like the imaginary girl could feel Bella's own fear, and she was clinging to it as if it were her own.
Sobbing, Bella unhooked Marie's bra, tore off her underwear and spun around in a panic. It was no use. It wasn't just the clothes and makeup. Marie was becoming part of her, and that scared her like nothing else in the world ever had.
Like magic, Masen appeared beside her with a hotel robe which he hung over her narrow shoulders and pulled tightly around her torso. Her knees started shaking. Masen stepped closer and caught her just as they gave out. He carried her two paces to the bed and sat down with her legs across his lap.
"I've got you. It's okay, Swan. I've got you."
He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing until it almost hurt. Holding her hard against him until the shaking stopped. Holding her until she could finally nod and whisper defiantly, "Yeah. You're right. We got him. We got him. . ."
A/N: Quite a few readers predicted this reaction. Unfortunately, Bella can't read the reviews for this story the way I can. :) Thank you all for reading and sharing your thoughts.