Disclaimer: SM owns everything. Le sigh.

AN: "People put you down enough, you start to believe it." What movie? It happens to be one of my personal favorites, the quote fresh enough in my mind as I just watched it.

My fantastic beta Dawning Juliet had me in tears while editing this one over. Fun times and good laughs. I'm smirking just thinking about your notes on the next chapter. Thank you DJ, my messy Mojito!

Chapter Two

Two Feet on Shaky Ground

"Oh my, Beauty," Sue greeted me exuberantly as I walked over to her out of the arrival gate, my overstuffed leather satchel bag weighing down my left side. She enveloped me in one of her trademark hugs, making the bag drop to the floor. I returned her hug with both arms in earnest; I was glad to see her.

Out of all the staff members my father had employed over the years, Sue was my favorite. She quickly became someone I cherished spending time with while visiting Charlie, becoming more like an extension of my family along with her son, Seth. They say that first impressions either go extremely well or turn out terrible, leaving you with an indelible opinion—good or bad—that will last a lifetime. Susan and I clicked from the moment we met, and she has been a constant in my West coast life ever since.

Pulling myself out of her welcoming embrace, I looked around in search of my father, but I could immediately tell he wasn't there. It was probably best though, what with the paps hounding the airport. It would have been such a spectacle, and that would have cheapened our reunion. I wasn't shocked Charlie wasn't here, as sad as that might sound, and I most certainly didn't have abandonment issues. I'm sure something of more importance had taken up his morning. I shook my head, quickly trying to dispel my dampened train of thought. It wouldn't serve any of us if I let my mind go down that route. Instead, I found myself smiling towards my present company, thankful that if he had to send someone in his place, he at least knew me well enough to send Sue.

"Hey, Sue." I smiled as I shifted from one foot the other. Emotional situations weren't my thing—they made me feel awkward and uncomfortable. "Do I even have to ask where Charlie is?" I tried to come off as nonchalant as possible.

"I'll have none of that this morning, Beauty."

I scowled playfully at the sound of her nickname for me, which she knew I hated, but secretly adored. "We'll get to Mr. Swan in a minute, but first let me have a good look at you." She shoved me back a bit to stand in front of her. Quirking an eyebrow, she grinned. "I didn't think it was possible, Beauty, but once again, I am mistaken," she said, sounding like an adoring mother, which in many ways she was. "Bella mia, indeed." She chuckled.

I blushed and shrugged as I bent down to pick up my satchel, not liking all the attention, even if it was only Sue. She must have seen it in my face and took pity on me.

"Well then, let's go and get your things so we can hit the road. We can avoid the morning rush hour if we hop right to it."

"Then we'll be home in no time," I said, snickering. "What you see is what you get. This is it." I held up my rather large, bulky bag. "Hopefully the moving company isn't delayed and everything else will arrive in a few days." I shrugged, not particularly caring. I had enough outfits to last me through the rest of the week; besides, I planned on getting some more California weather-appropriate outfits. I was sure my system would be sent through a shock coming from the freezing temperatures into the blistering heat. Fantastic, I thought to myself.

Sue frowned and turned to lead the way out towards the car. I reached into my bag and grabbed my New York Yankee's fitted baseball cap and quickly threw it on my head along with my Ray Bans. Everyone at some point flies into LAX. It's a breeding ground for the unfortunate photos that grace the tabloid covers, featuring you at your utmost worst after having endured long hours on a stuffy plane. Unless you wanted a run-in with the paparazzi who will no doubt be waiting for you, along with some asshole asking the most mundane questions possible, it was best to try your damnedest to disguise yourself while keeping your head down and walking as fast as possible amidst the flashing lights. Six hours of air travel were just enough time for a pap in NY to tip a pap in LA. Before you knew it, it became a full blown gang bang at LAX, and you were stuck right in the middle of it. Nothing "O-face" worthy there, especially if you were lucky enough to catch a cat nap on the plane and forgot to wipe the remains of drool off of the corners of your mouth. I've heard it's happened many times.

Bella's Airport Lesson #1: There are no coincidences. If you got shot at LAX, it means someone sold you out, and odds were until you went into hiding, they were going to follow you around and hound the hell out of you. Why, you ask? Simply put, everyone is completely batshit crazy. Every single human being is fucking insane, and they have nothing better to do with their time. And to think people paid top dollar for that shit.

Getting to the car was quick and painless, and I thanked whatever god(s) had answered my silent prayer. Throwing my bag in first, I plopped into the back seat of the car and sighed. Sue shuffled in after me. A potential crisis was once again avoided.

"Welcome home, Miss Bella," Tom—our driver—said from the front seat as he maneuvered the car out of the parking spot. He was a pretty cool dude, having worked for my dad for about five years, also doubling as security when the need arose. Tom had had to fend off paps or anyone who got in his way on several occasions. He was "built," I guess you could say, in his late thirties to early forties, but didn't come across intimidating in the least. I guess that was why my dad kept him around—his unassuming attitude caught others off-guard. No one would ever guess that your driver was also a secret ninja.

"Thanks, Tom." I smiled, looking back over at Sue. "It feels good to be back."

"That's right, Mr. Jenks. Our Beauty is here to stay. Finally." She chuckled, as did Tom.

"About time, if I do say so myself," he replied fondly with a nod. I caught a slight smile on Sue's face; her eyes were trained forward on the back of Thomas' head. Looking back to the front of the car, I saw a similar smile tug at the corners of Tom's lips as his eyes had locked with Sue's in the rearview mirror.

A bubble of laughter slipped from my lips as they both looked away and cleared their throats. And cue the blushing! Whoa!

Did Sue have the hots for Tom? As if I'd been heard, she glanced at me with narrowed eyes and shook her head at me before turning to look out the window. Oh, how cute. The cougar has her claws out! Who would have thought she had it in her? If I didn't love her as much as I did, I'd have teased her relentlessly, but I kept it to myself. If Sue was digging on Tom, then good for her. I wasn't one to judge, especially since I'd had three relationships—total—all of them complete and utter failures. It wasn't like guys were lining up around to block for me with security warding them off with pitchforks. I wasn't biased, but then again, I wasn't overly confident in myself either. I was working on it, but it was easier said than done, especially within the circles I traveled. Having the media dub me "average" might have had something to do with that, too.

I was all for "when it happened, it happened," and I didn't plan on changing that any time soon. For one, I wasn't going to go flaunting myself around LA like your typical A-list Hollywood bombshell, that was for sure. "Average" worked for me.

"Do we have time to stop at a Starbucks, Tom?" I asked hopefully, adding a megawatt smile for effect. It always worked on my father. What I really needed at that moment more than anything was coffee, but knowing Sue, anything that would take us off-course for even five measly minutes would give her a coronary. It was stupid of me to ask; I had a feeling that wouldn't be happening any time soon. Sleep had become scarce these past few days as I tried to fit in as much time with my East coast friends and family as I could on top of packing. What I would give to feel the rush of caffeine.

"We are dropping you off at The Beverly Hills Hotel. They have a coffee room there; you can get something while you wait. Traffic is moving well and Rebecca said that they would probably run late, but it shouldn't interfere with your lunch plans."

"Why is dad at The BHH?"

"Your father is finishing up some morning interviews that, unfortunately, he couldn't postpone. A few members of his cast will be there as well. He's in full promotional mode for his upcoming project."

"Oh." I sighed. So much for thinking Charlie bailed on me for something detrimental and life-threatening.

I felt a tight grasp on my left hand and looked up to see Sue smiling. "He tried," she said knowingly. "And there are worse places an interview could take place, Beauty. Just enjoy a few moments to yourself this morning and unwind after your flight. You look tired, dear, just relax a bit. I'm sure—"

"Yeah, sure, sounds great, Sue," I mumbled, stopping her from making any more excuses for Charlie. I turned my head to the right, out of her line of sight, and watched the streets rush by in silence.

"Bella." Sue attempted to reason with me once again.

"So how has Seth been?" I asked, cutting her off and changing the topic. She sighed before answering.

"Wonderful. He's just about wrapping up the end of his college years; he graduates this May. He already has a few companies offering him internships. He's going places, that one." Her voice was filled with pure pride and joy.

"That's fantastic!" I really did like Seth. He was the man of the house from such a young age and tried his hardest to take care of his mother after Sue's deadbeat husband up and left them. It was perfect timing, I guess you could say, although I'm a firm believer in "nothing is a coincidence." My dad needed a new chef and Sue needed a job to support herself and her son. She and Seth filled a void in the house, and the rest was history, as they say.

"He will be so happy to see you," Sue continued, interrupting my trip down memory lane. "It's all he's talked about for the past week now that he's home on holiday break. He is secretly hoping you will let him sneak in an interview as well." She winked.

"I don't—"

"Just promise me that when the time comes, you'll give it a thought."

"Okay," I agreed, offering her a smile.

"You're going to love the house. It's all decorated for the holidays, and I know Christmas is your favorite time of year."

Christmas. Great, I thought sarcastically. I hadn't even begun to put a dent in my shopping. At the rate I was going, everyone would be getting gift cards. I instantly felt horrible and selfish. My mother was—once again—spending the holidays abroad with Phil. In an attempt to come across as a doting parent and one-up Charlie, she'd always sent over the most outrageous, inappropriate gifts to make up for her absence, items that either wouldn't fit—wrong shoe size, coat size—or were completely useless. Too bad Renee failed to get the memo: I didn't do tacky.

"Christmas." I tried to smile, but I'm sure I just looked constipated. Sue raised her eyebrows in question.

"Just caught me off-guard is all." I chuckled half-heartedly. "I still can't believe it's only two weeks away."

"Well, I'm sure you'll have more than enough time to find some gifts for everyone." She patted my hand on the center console.

"How do you know I wasn't just counting down the days until your traditional bake-off?" I giggled, raising a brow. "Tom will agree, won't you Tom?" I motioned towards the front.

"Highly anticipated and delicious," he said as he nodded. "It's my favorite time of year for a reason, Miss Bella. It only comes second to the annual snowball fights." He grinned wickedly.

"You're still the victor there, Tom." I laughed, shaking my head as everyone else began to snicker. It didn't snow in Beverly Hills. I often complained as a child visiting for the holidays that the season wasn't right if it wasn't cold and there wasn't any snow. Sue had to reassure me that Santa traveled worldwide and didn't require a snow-covered landing strip. Living in a director's house hadn't changed her views on the diluted, fabricated illusion that Hollywood painted for young minds. I didn't understand at the time and didn't care once I woke up to see that Santa had managed to make it over to the West coast, my greedy little fingers digging into the pile of presents underneath the tree with renewed hope.

"Your apple pies are pure sin, Sue." I wiggled my eyebrows to emphasize the last word.

"Anything in mind for what you might get Charlie?" she asked. She was quick to deflect, but she didn't fool me. Her cheekbones still glowed with a slight blush.

Touché! You could never get one past Sue, that was for sure. She could read anyone like a book and smelled bullshit a mile away. I never stood a chance. It was better to remain quiet than to try and lie yourself out of a bind. Even people who seemed to have their shit together, she pegged them for a crappy liar with bad acting skills, kind of like my dad. It was freaky, if I was being honest.

"Don't you worry about your pie, Miss Bella," Tom said from the front with fondness in his voice. "Miss Sue has been cooking up a storm for days in honor of your arrival. She wouldn't hear of having you miss out on spending the holidays—"

"Tom!" Sue interrupted abruptly, a panicked expression overtaking her carefree demeanor. "We're running ahead of schedule by a good twenty minutes, at least. There is a Starbucks coming up right off Sunset. I could use a quick pick me up as well, come to think of it."

"Sure," he agreed, signaling to get over into the right lane, looking as confused as I felt.

"What—"

"You said you'd enjoy a cup before you met with Charlie, dear. I'll be wired for the rest of the day, but I'll go for one as well." Sue rarely drank coffee.

Acting 101. I aced that class. Sue's eyes were bright with excitement and her nerves betrayed her as she twiddled her fingers in her lap.

Pulling over to the curb, Tom swiveled in the front seat to take my order, causing me to laugh as he shuddered and mumbled a quick "Hope I get it right" as he got out. The car fell oddly silent. Charlie had been acting strange during the past few phone calls, but he'd reassured me he had a few surprises up his sleeve for when I arrived. He refused to discuss them over the phone. I'd bet his bank account that Charlie's gag order forgot to include his driver.

"How are Claire and Henry doing these days?" Sue asked, avoiding my blatant "gotcha" stare.

"Good," I said as I smiled. "They're doing really well these days."

"That's nice."

Ten minutes later I found myself hugging Sue goodbye and promising to catch a ride home with Charlie or to call for Tom to pick me up. I still hadn't figured out transportation and needed to head to the dealership pretty soon. I had no idea what I wanted, and already I felt exasperated at the thought of having to get a car. Having lived in New York City, not only had there been no need for a car, but securing a parking spot usually involved a knife fight, sought after as it was. I did have my license though, and during the summer, my grandfather would throw me the keys to his classic 1957 Chevy Bel Air. "If you can parallel park this boat, you can park anything, Bells," he'd say with a hearty laugh. How right grandpa Rich was. I could squeeze anything into any old spot without hesitation. I couldn't see how it'd possible to live in LA and not have my own car; just one more thing to add to my list while I'm here.

The sight of the Beverly Hills Hotel, also known as the "Pink Palace," was something to behold. The sheer opulence—dignified as it was—of the historical, luxurious hotel was breathtaking. It reflected Hollywood's Golden Age—my personal favorite era—and it purposefully remained in that era, staying faithful to the original architecture and interior design. The hotel had been carefully renovated to preserve its supreme level of comfort and flair. I couldn't help but smile as the history buff inside of me rummaged through its past guests. If these walls could talk.

Howard Hughes—aviator, business tycoon, filmmaker, and philanthropist—lived at the hotel on and off for thirty years. He could afford it though; he was one of the wealthiest people in the world. As a maverick film tycoon, he gained prominence in Hollywood in the late 1920s, making big-budget yet often controversial films. My father said he was insane, and he was—literally. But he was also great. I guess it was true what people said: there really was a fine line between genius and insanity.

Unfortunately, the glamorous Hollywood legends were gone, and along with them went its Golden Age. I couldn't help but transplant myself back in time as I stood off to the side of the grand lobby. Marilyn Monroe probably stood in this exact same spot at one point; that was something I couldn't even wrap my head around. I never wanted to forget who I was and let the glitz and glamour get to my head. I was perfectly fine with being the average Bella Swan. I was still humble, still grounded. Nowadays, you'd probably spot Lindsay Lohan or Paris Hilton prancing through the hotel, and that wasn't saying much. How the place still stood after a run in with the likes of them was beyond me.

"Good-morning, Isabella," Rebecca greeted me stiffly, startling me out my daze.

"Hi." I nodded in return. "You must be Rebecca," I inferred, extending a hand forward to shake hers. I had never met her, but I'd spoken to her a few times when she took messages from me to give to Charlie. Sad, but true—it was an easier and a much more assured way to get a message through to him by going through one of his assistants rather than trying to get him directly.

She eyed my hand for a moment before smiling genuinely and shaking it. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Isabella. Mr. Swan talks about you all the time." I was sure the second part of her statement wasn't really the case, just something she added along with a generic smile to take the awkward edge off.

"You as well, Rebecca. And please, call me Bella." Rebecca was easy to read, and I had a feeling, unlike Charlie's prior PAs, that we'd get along fabulously. She was young—perhaps a bit too young—but then again, this was Hollywood; she could have been in her forties, and I wouldn't have been the wiser with her tall, slim figure, flawless skin, and long, shiny black hair.

"Bella," she called, typing furiously on her Blackberry before looking up to address me again. "Your father has been delayed, but he shouldn't be too much longer. If you want, you can sit outdoors by the pool in one of the cabanas, and I can have someone sent over to take any drink requests you might have." She was competent, I'll give her that. "I heard the Mojito Pops are absolutely fantastic," she assured me with a wistful smile. "As soon as they begin to wrap up, I can come back for you and bring you over to the Presidential Suite Bungalow. They have a sitting area outside where they have set up the interviews, otherwise I would send you over there right away, but it shouldn't be too long now."

"Thank you." I grinned at her anxious efficiency, as though I'd start screaming at her for the delay; she didn't know a thing about me at all. I was easygoing, and I wasn't about to act like a spoiled starlet who refused to be kept waiting an extra ten minutes. "The pool will be fine; just let me know when he is finished," I said with an easy smile.

"Of course. Right this way, please." She led the way with a wave of her hand. "As Charlie may or may not have had a chance to mention as of yet," she continued at a brisk pace while walking through the tropical gardens, "you will have temporary use of one of his assistants until you've had the opportunity to interview someone more to your liking to hire on as your personal staff. Charlie understands it would be too hectic and overwhelming, what with the holidays rapidly approaching and your sudden move. He wants you to feel as comfortable as possible. You are free pick to from any of us."

"Oh," I stammered, not knowing how to reply.

"We are just trying to make your adjustment easier on you, Bella," she said with a gentle smile. "You don't have to use any of us, but it would be extremely beneficial for the time being."

I nodded, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. "Thank you." I took a seat at the table closest to the French doors, hiding in the shadows cast by the side of the hotel.

"See you in a few," Rebecca replied, frowning at my choice of seating. Typing once again on that dreadful phone, she waved a server over to take my order before walking back through the French doors at a hurried pace.

I sat back in my chair and took in my surroundings, tossing my bag onto the table. The area was truly exquisite, and Sue was right—you couldn't complain much about having to wait out here as opposed to a chair in a stuffy office building. Beautiful cabanas, lounge chairs, umbrella tables, and an upper sun deck added to the aura of mystique around the hotel's pool. Numerous classic films had been shot here, and it was easy to see why.

"May I take your order?"

Looking up, I shrugged at the handsomely dressed waiter. "The Mojito Pop?" It came out sounding more like a question than a statement.

"Absolutely. Can I interest you in a fine mist of Evian as well, Miss Swan?"

"No. No, thank you," I corrected myself, trying but failing miserably at a smile. An Evian mist? Did I just hear him correctly?

"Very well, then. I will be back with your order." He nodded politely, turning in the direction of the outdoor bar.

I dug through my bag and retrieved my cell phone. After returning a few text messages with news that I'd made it safely, having had no run-ins at LAX, I sighed and put my phone back down.

"If there is anything else you require, please let me know," the waiter said, having appeared out of thin air as he set my Mojito Pop down on the table.

"Thank you." I smiled, about to pick up said pop. It looked… interesting?

"Is this seat taken?" An exuberantly high-pitched voice asked as I looked to my left and saw someone slide the chair out. Oh, my God. Not today. Please, God, not today.

"Hi, Bella! It's great to run in to you here," she squealed, reaching over to give me a loose one-arm hug. "I guess that's a given, though. I saw Charlie earlier, and he might have mentioned that you were flying in today."

"Hey, Taylor." I smiled, trying to return her exuberance. She was bubbly, overly so, to the point that might border on not being exactly right upstairs, if you knew what I meant. Either that, or she was constantly on speed. Her long blonde hair was kept down in loose ringlets that bounced at the bottom, and she sported a very fashion-forward red tube top with a matching—and much too short—red skirt. The fire-engine red outfit matched her dramatic, pouty lips. She looked like a road kill bloodstain.

"A little birdie might have also slipped," she said as she wiggled her perfectly shaped brows and leaned in closer to whisper conspiratorially, "that you just moved here. I, for one, think that is fantastic. I haven't seen you in ages! When was it? Oh yes, the Cullens' house this past Labor Day!"

One thing you have to know about Taylor: when she had the floor—scratch that, she always had the floor—you were lucky to get a word in during one of her mindless, ongoing rambling monologues. It was best to just sit back and act like you were paying attention. I should have ordered something stronger; maybe I'd take that overpriced water misting after all.

I had met Miss Swift a couple of years ago at one of the award show's after parties. Throw in some on-again-off-again, not so discreet relationships with a few actor friends we had in common, and she began to pop up all over the place, always seeking me out, much to my dismay. Taylor wasn't exactly a new face among the Hollywood crowd, but to give the Prada-wearing devil her due, she had moved up the fame ladder rather quickly, and we started to run in the same crowds. Not that I was one to talk—I was usually only in attendance because of my father, having not hit the big leagues yet myself. That being said, I had to give the girl credit.

"You ran into my father?" I asked, suddenly interested in the conversation.

She nodded. "I'm waiting on Jake," she said, taking a sip of her fruity umbrella drink. "He's doing some interview for a new movie he was cast in."

"Oh—"

"He looks so cute," she squealed. I resisted the urge to cover my ears against her near-supersonic screeching. Tone it down a few notches, please. "You have to see him, Bella! He's been gearing up to play this role for like, ever! Putting more hours in at the gym, as if that's even possible—obviously he has to, since he's required to take his shirt off a lot during the movie. He's chiseled to perfection in my book!" She laughed, seemingly giddy at her good fortune. "Aren't you the least bit excited about your father's new movie?" she prodded. "It's going to be a hit!"

"I haven't had a chance to talk to Charlie about—"

"Oh-Em-Gee! You're going to absolutely adore it," she gushed. Where the hell was that drink? I wondered, holding back an eye roll while considering bashing my head on the tiled tabletop.

"So you and Jake are—"

"Yes! It was destiny. You know us." She smiled a bit too sweetly. "It was all Cullen's fault anyway," she grumbled, getting lost in thought—a very dark place, by the looks of it. The name instantly piqued my interest. She wouldn't be talking about Edward, would she? I doubt she meant Alice or Carlisle, so odds were, it had to have been him.

"Edward?" I asked, hoping she'd indulge me and talk more than she should—a first.

She nodded flippantly. "We went out a few times. He wasn't my type. If I'm being honest at all, I wanted to make Jakey jealous at the time, and Cullen kept hounding me, so I finally took pity on him and gave in." I was skeptical about her being the one chased after in this scenario. "He is a slobbering mess in the tongue department as well," she said with a malicious snicker. "Dreadful kisser." She cringed at the memory. Well, that sealed it. There was no way Taylor had hooked up with Cullen. I was able to attest to the fact that Edward happened to be a fantastic, toe-curl-worthy kisser. Too bad he was a complete asshole. But that was an entirely different story.

I hadn't heard any rumors of Cullen dating Swift, and usually had there been any speculation, truth notwithstanding, the tabloids would have run with the story. I'd seen her openly flaunt herself in his direction dozens of times, all of them unreciprocated. I laughed to myself. Taylor Swift had most certainly never dated Edward Cullen.

Taylor's love life had made headlines on more than one occasion; her breakups and subsequent breakup songs even more so. I personally thought she should have tried dating Bruno Mars at one point. The most likely melancholy duo, borderline suicidal, would have been truly heart wrenching. On second thought, it was probably best they had never dated. I'm not sure the pharmaceutical companies would be able to produce enough Prozac to keep those two from going full-blown emo.

"So Cullen—" I was interrupted yet again, unable to get to the gushy, fabricated story she'd spewed. Shucks. It sounded quite entertaining, perhaps even promising. Oh well.

"I think we grow up thinking the only love that counts as true love is the kind that lasts forever or is fully realized. When you have a broken heart, the first thing a stranger will ask is 'how long were you two together?' Seriously? As if your pain can be determined by how long you were with someone. Or if you were with them at all," she sneered. "I just don't think that's how it works, you know?" she said, twiddling the pink umbrella in her drink. "I think unrequited love is just as valid as any other kind. It's just as crushing and just as thrilling."

"True love." I giggled, earning a scowl from her. Poor Jacob must have been pulling out all the stops while walking on eggshells, trying not to get on her bad side. No one—I repeat, no one—wants a song written about them in which they're the evil heartbreaker. Taylor's songs were completely one-sided, and her huge fan base didn't bode well for the infamous ex du jour.

"Don't mock it, Bella," she admonished. "Come to think, I can't say that I've ever seen you bring an actual date with you to any premiere, awards ceremony, or after party. And why, pray tell, is that?" she asked with a knowing smirk.

"I just—"

"No matter," she continued, holding up a hand to stop me mid-sentence. "I heard that you dated Jeremy Hall last year, and that it went south after you poured your heart out to him. I believe I read somewhere you had a mental breakdown after baring your soul to him only to have the feelings unreciprocated."

I grunted and half laughed. Disgusting. For reasons such as this, I hated the media. "That's actually not what—"

"Listen to me, sweetie." She leaned forward and put her hand on top of mine. I instantly wanted to shake her off, but contained myself. Where the fuck was Charlie? "I want you to remember that what you are doing is selfless and beautiful and kind—not having balled him out publicly after those articles spread like wild fire. I can't blame you for taking a step back from the dating scene after that shit storm. Honestly, I can't." She shook her head and cringed with exaggerated affectation. "Oh," she gasped, "and before I forget, I wanted to call you personally—I really did—to see how you were holding up, but I was so extremely busy. You understand, right? Well, obviously, as you know how it is." She chuckled. "You love someone purely because you love them, not because you think you'll ever have your affections returned. Some people actually find that admirable—admiring something for its beauty, without needing to own it. I'm all for that, sister. You should feel good about being the kind of person who loves recklessly." Please, someone, make her stop. "I think someday you'll find someone who loves you in that exact way that you need, and together you will find the 'forever' kind of love. Don't give up hope." She smiled and grasped my hand even tighter to drive her point home. She was fucking delusional!

"Bella," Rebecca called, saving me from an awkward silence that was sure to fill the space. Not that I would have been able to get a word in edgewise. Taylor couldn't have been further from the truth. Another reason why I didn't read the tabloids, obviously unlike her.

"Hi, Rebecca." I smiled brightly, grateful for her timely intervention, expelling a breath and placing the uneaten, dripping pop on a napkin. I pulled my hand out of Taylor's grasp and quickly rose from my chair, gathering my bag from the table.

"Your father is just about ready for you," she informed me. "Why don't we head over—"

"Oh!" Taylor giggled excitably. "That must mean that Jake—"

"No, Miss Swift." She shook her head, cutting her off. "Mr. Black is still occupied at the moment. I will send him over as soon as he's done, and as you have been warned previously, you are not allowed on set."

"Tsk tsk, Becky." She smirked as she clicked her tongue, turning to face me once again. "Don't forget to call me, Bella. I'm just so happy you are here! We'll do lunch, go shopping—that's first on our list, actually," she said, eyeing over my traveling attire, "and hit up a few clubs! You'll snag a guy in no time."

"Sounds good." I faked a smile and waved. "Bye, Taylor." That wouldn't be happening any time soon. I caught Becky's huff and eye roll and had to bite back a laugh that threatened to explode at the moment. My sentiments exactly. I think it was in that moment of clarity, having been pulled out of the "Taylor Bubble of Bullshit," that I had found my temp PA.

"Pleasant day, Miss Swift," she added as she turned her back and walked brisk fully towards the hotel. I chuckled, unable to hold back. Yes, I had definitely found my temp.

Author Notes: I do not dislike Taylor Swift, I just needed someone who cried about love. You can't deny she does. "Like, ever."

Another update to follow quickly if the children behave and cut me some slack so I can write more then one sentence within a thirty minute period. Sad but true story. Moving along.