Disclaimer: We still own nothing, while Stephenie Meyer owns it all.

Thanks again to ilsuocantante for reading this.

Chapter 1 – You And I Are Gonna Live Forever

lately did you ever feel the pain
in the morning rain
as it soaks you to the bone
(Live Forever – Oasis)

Bella Swan

I know, I should be used to the rain by now. I'd been living in England for 25 years, which translated to all my life. But still, running around with an umbrella all the time and getting wet anyway wasn't my idea of a perfect day.

Puddles and I, we just don't get along very well.

Of course the rain wasn't the real problem I had to face. Today was just one of those days I questioned my decision to be a journalist. I was downtown to research for my next article for Newcastle Weekly. I've never considered myself as a people person; always more of an observer, which is probably what allowed me to be a decent journalist. However, journalism wasn't only about observing, it had a lot to do with taking action. I wasn't so good at that part.

On top of feeling uneasy about my upcoming appointment, I couldn't find a decent parking spot near my destination. Consequently, I had to park my rusty car in a side road and walk the few blocks to the building of Gateshead Windpower. The drenching rain fit perfectly with my mood as self doubt was dripping heavily into me.

Taking a deep breath I tried to focus. Gateshead Windpower specialised in renewable energy and was one of the biggest companies in town. Ben, my boss at the paper, and for some reason a firm believer in me, insisted that our readers should be informed about all the background behind such an important and respectable business. To be honest, I couldn't see the respectability in the company at all. Sure, wind power is a good thing, but I was pretty certain that the main goal of this company was to make money and not to save the world from global warming. Just like any other company.

I was supposed to interview the firm's CEO, Edward Cullen. Of course I had done research on him in preparation for my article. I was quite good at research. I guess I got that talent from my dad, Charlie, who had just retired from being a cop. Even so, there was not much to find out about Edward Cullen beside the obvious "went to university, became CEO after his well respected father died" blurb. However there were pictures of him. A lot of pictures actually.

He looked like someone who would just prove my point. He wasn't bad looking by any means. Not at all. Actually he was really handsome. But in every single picture I'd seen he looked bored out of his mind while wearing a formal black suit. Just like he couldn't care less about all those great windmills he was selling. No passion for saving the world with his products. Nothing. It was all about making money for him, I could just see it in the lackadaisical expression on his face. Still I was afraid his more than good looks would intimidate me enough to ruin the interview. That or he'd actually bore me out of my mind.

When I finally arrived at Gateshead Windpower, my jeans – thanks to the rain – were soaked through up to my knees and both of my arms were a little damp. Lovely. I shook my red umbrella in front of the door before I walked into the warm and dry building. A quick glance on my clock told me I was already a little late. Just my luck. A young woman was sitting behind a wooden desk at the side of the foyer and I figured I could ask her where I needed to go.

As I approached her table, she looked up and plastered a friendly smile on her face. "Hello Miss, how are you?" she asked in a formal but kind voice.

"Fine, thanks," I replied automatically, not for a second considering how I really felt.

"How may I help you?" the receptionist went on with business.

"My name's Bella Swan and I'm from Newcastle Weekly. I have an appointment with Mr. Cullen," I answered her, smiling politely myself.

"Of course. Just take the elevator to the third floor and turn left. You can't miss his office and I'll let him know you're here," she said as she grabbed the phone beside her and dialled a short number.

I thanked her and turned around toward the elevator. A few moments later its doors opened and I walked in. I have this thing with small, enclosed places. I'm not really comfortable with lifts, but I usually brace myself enough to not scream and run away as fast as possible.

I pressed the button for the third floor and anxiously watched the numbers turn at the digital display. I counted the drops of water from my folded umbrella, building a tiny puddle on the floor. Thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven... The doors opened at last and I was about to hurry out of the cabin, when my way was blocked by a tall man.

"Um, sorry," he said, stepping aside and making room for me to go past him.

"No worries," I answered and that's when I looked up at the man's face.

There he was, standing in his black suit and of course looking incredibly gorgeous, Edward Cullen. He looked down at me, his green eyes sparkling, then grinned a little and motioned for me to go forward so he could get into the elevator.

I was looking at him, dumbfounded. I probably lost eighty percent of my brain function because I couldn't think anything straight. When my brain had recovered slightly I finally wondered why the hell he was going into the elevator when he was supposed to meet me for my interview at this very minute. Just before the doors closed again, I waved my hand in front of the door mechanism to stop it from closing.

"We have an appointment," I stated flatly, trying to keep the confusion out of my voice.

"Oh yeah? Unless you're very tasty and called lunch I don't think that's true," he answered, a smug smile on his lips.

I swallowed hard, not really sure what to make of his behaviour. "Actually, I'm called Bella Swan and you are supposed to give me an interview for my article." Wasn't he supposed to be professional?

"Right, the reporter for Newcastle Weekly?" he remembered, looking at his watch. "I believe that our appointment was about fifteen minutes ago. You didn't show up on time. Now I'm hungry and out to lunch. Just make a new appointment with Jessica at the reception," he said casually and I felt my mouth fall open.

Was he being serious? His gorgeous face suddenly didn't look anything but arrogant and snotty, but still it was perfect, which annoyed me even more. There was no way I'd let him ruin my mood for no reason at all.

"Excuse me? I'm here now and I want my interview," I said, not wanting to reschedule the appointment and definitely not caring about politeness anymore. I had zero patience and probably exaggerated a little by pointing my umbrella at him. Well, if he could be an ass, I could be one too.

The doors of the elevator were about to close once again so I quickly entered the cabin and stood right next to him. As I realised how close I was to his body, and how small the room suddenly seemed to be, I stepped aside and leaned against the mirrored wall of the elevator. I was looking down at my feet, which were still very wet. With eyes glued to the floor, I noticed him leaning forward, grabbing past me and pushing the button for the parking garage floor. He sighed deeply.

"Well, you're kind of annoying, but if you are so determined to ruin my lunch break, you are free to accompany me to the restaurant. It's always a little boring over there."

I began to contemplate my choices. He was the most arrogant and unfriendly person I had ever met, but that was exactly what I'd expected, so no big deal. However, he was also the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. None of those pictures I googled did him justice. Even with the arrogant attitude on his face he looked outright amazing with his messed up hair, those deep green eyes and his stupid superficial looking suit. Anyway, going to lunch with him to keep him from boredom was the last thing I wanted to do. But the prospect to get this over with quickly was just too good. So I made my decision.

"Thanks very much for inviting me. I would love to ruin your lunch!" I said, looking him straight in the eye while sarcastically mocking his earlier tone. He seemed surprised that I actually accepted his offer but nodded briefly and remained silent.

We exited the elevator and I followed him out into the dark parking garage to his shiny silver car, which fit him perfectly. Good-looking, but boring. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye before he went right to the passenger seat door, opened it and made an overly dramatic hand gesture for me to get into the car.

"Please have a seat," he said and I wasn't really sure if he was serious with his chivalrous gesture.

I figured he wanted to get on my good side again for being so rude and arrogant before. After all, I was going to write an article about his company and he was the one responsible for public relations. So I let him have his fun and got into the car. I fumbled with the seatbelt and before I had fastened it, he was seated beside me and started the car.

"Where are we going?" I asked as he drove out of the garage, my feet stretching towards the warm air circling the foot space.

"Marco Polo. They've got some great Pasta over there. I hope you don't mind Italian food?"

"No, I love Italian, but would it matter if I said I didn't?"

"Probably not," he chuckled, "but you won't find out for sure, now that you already told me you don't mind."

"Yeah, right," I said, not feeling the need to talk with him any further before we would reach the restaurant. Apparently he was through with the talking as well, because he decided to turn the radio on. I looked out of the front window, envying him for his car's soundless wipers. One of the main reasons I listened to music in my car, was simply to drown out any weird car noises.

Edward Cullen wasn't the type being bothered by things like that.

He began to thump his fingers on the steering wheel absent-mindedly. I realised which song was on; Oasis' 'Wonderwall'.

"Seriously?" I asked him laughing quietly.

"What?" he asked, turning his head in my direction.

"You're a fan of Wonderwall? I wouldn't consider you a Wonderwall kinda guy."

"What's wrong with Wonderwall?" he asked, clearly a little annoyed by my mocking tone.

"Well, it's totally overrated. All the roads are winding and the lights are blinding. That's just plain and boring. Exactly like the melody. It's absolutely predictable. Oasis is cool though. I mean they've got some good songs up their sleeves."

"And those would be?" he challenged.

"'Live Forever' for example. That's a great song!" I answered and it was true.

"Yeah it is, but I don't know how you could say that 'Wonderwall' is boring. The melody is outstanding and just because they play it on the radio and you, the radio-listening-girl you are, have listened to it a few times too often, doesn't mean it isn't a good song. The lyrics may be simple, but they're true and honest. 'Live Forever' is a good song, but, you know, who really wants to live forever? That's just a childish wish."

"How would you know what kind of girl I am? You don't even know me. And of course they don't want to live forever, that's just a figure of speech. He's singing about those deep connections, which last a lifetime and maybe even longer. You know, friendship and love," I said without thinking it through.

It was kind of weird to talk about friendship and love with some business-guy you just met. A business guy that obviously had no idea what those two words meant.

And as if to prove my point, "Ridiculous!" was the only reply I got.

I don't know where my new found boldness came from, but I guess there was something about him that made me talk more than usual. I felt the undeniable need to defend my point and put him in his place.

"That's so typical. Already you're out of words. 'Wonderwall' is the favourite song of everybody, I guess I know who the radio-listening-girl is in this car."

He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and I could feel that he was trying to prevent a wordy outburst.

"Actually that's not true. Oasis just made a survey on their website and their fans voted 'Live Forever' on the top of their favourite song list. So actually you're the one who floats with the current," he said rationally and I nearly had to laugh at his seriousness on this topic.

"Yeah, they voted 'Live Forever' because it is their best song. Simple as that! It's just because you obviously don't know anything about music that you can't see that fact," I stated and his eyes narrowed visibly. He stayed quiet for the rest of the drive, which kept me worrying. For a moment I even thought I'd gone too far... but he really deserved it, so I didn't apologize. And besides, no one should apologize for the truth.

When we finally arrived at Marco Polo I gasped. This was quite a fancy restaurant and I quickly thought about the contents of my wallet, but decided I would simply make him pay. After all it was his fault I was here. He parked in the lot behind the building and we walked the few stairs up to the entrance. For a moment I thought he might open the door for me like he did with his car earlier, but the frown on his face was still in place and clearly he wasn't in the mood to play the overly polite gentleman anymore. So he just pushed the door open and walked in and I trailed behind him like I wasn't even there.

The waitress of course greeted him by his name and seemed eagerly ready to kiss his ass the second he asked for it. I think she was a little shocked when she realised that I was actually accompanying him for lunch. She gave me a quick once-over and stuck her nose up in the air while she led us to the table. I considered calling the great Edward Cullen 'Honey' or something as sappy, just for the fun of annoying her and cracked a smile at the thought of it. Once we were seated and looking at the menu I still had that smirk on my face.

"What?" he broke the silence, clearly irritated.

"Nothing." I smiled and put my nose deeper in the menu.

He sighed deeply and laid his menu aside. The waitress, needless to say, immediately appeared, beaming at him. "Are you ready to order Mr. Cullen?"

God, I really wanted to vomit. He ordered some of the pasta he spoke of earlier and I decided I'd go with pizza. Once the waitress left, I tapped my fingers on the table.

"I think we should start with the interview now." I was anxious to get my work done, not to mention that I tended to run out of patience very easily. I quickly pulled my notebook and a pen out of my bag. I know, I get looks for that all the time, but still, I like to get my work done the old fashioned way. Which meant, of course, no voice recorder. Although, and I don't know where that thought came from, his velvety voice would probably sound pretty nice on a tape. My voice however? Not so much.

When I had all my things arranged in front of me, I looked up just to see a crookedly smiling Edward Cullen sitting across from me.

"Is this how journalists work these days?" he asked accusingly with another glance at my notebook.

"Do you have a problem with my methods? I would rather just start with my questions now," I tried to ignore his rude attempt to offend me.

"Nah, no problems, I was just wondering if you're able to ask me questions, write down the answers and eat at the same time. I mean I've heard of multi-tasking before, but...."

"I don't believe that's your concern, Mr. Cullen," I interrupted him, "I think I can manage."

To say I was annoyed by now was a great understatement. I took a deep breath and tried to continue as professionally as I could. I straightened up a little more and proceeded. "The purpose of our meeting today is to give our readers an insightful view into the work that you've been doing at Gateshead Windpower, so I will start with a few general questions."

Once I had started getting down to business I was fairly calm. From there on I hid myself behind the façade of the fearless reporter Bella Swan, while Edward Cullen seemed to get into his CEO mode. He didn't look as deeply bored as he looked in all those pictures I'd seen, but he certainly didn't put any heart in his work either. Everything he said seemed slightly recited.

After listening to his interesting, but still calculated answers, the journalist in me decided I would try to get him out of his routine.

"It looks as if there has been an interesting development lately by SkyIsOpen with their attempt to harvest wind energy differently. Where exactly do you and your firm stand on this issue, Mr. Cullen?"

I think this was a first during our interview, I really had him speechless. I did a little invisible victory dance. Meanwhile he stared directly into my eyes, like he was looking for the answer in there.

"You have been doing your homework," he seemed to play for time. "Of course Gateshead Windpower is very interested in the development that SkyIsOpen has been doing. But I'm afraid, that due to the secrecy of our own development, I can't answer your question right now."

I was guessing he had no idea what SkyIsOpen had developed. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but wouldn't the windbelt technology completely supersede the turbines your company is mainly producing?"

For a second he looked shocked. "You've raised an interesting point there," he said, getting back into his easy CEO mode, "But I'm afraid the technology you've been talking about is only half baked and industrial use doesn't seem to be cost-effective so far."

He bluffed. I could sense that. But right in that second the waitress reached our table with the food we had ordered earlier. My pizza smelled delicious and so I dropped the subject and began eating. "Mmmh." A sigh escaped my lips. It tasted even better than it smelled.

I heard him chuckle softly and I blushed a little, embarrassed. It somewhat bothered me that he had caught me off guard.

"For such a fancy place the food is really tasty." I shrugged.

"I'm glad you like it," he said honestly. He took me by surprise there. He seemed to be completely relaxed and enjoying himself.

"So," he began with steady and curious eyes. "Bella Swan," the way he said my name made me gulp, "what do you think will the weather be like tomorrow?"

Unbelievable. The Weather?

He grinned mischievously at me. I couldn't help myself anymore and laughed out loud. His dumb attempt to make small-talk relaxed me completely. He joined me laughing and our conversation continued at ease. I realised he was actually quite nice to talk to and I had a great time arguing with him about the most stupid things. His good looks really did intimidate me, but surprisingly I managed to hide my social awkwardness pretty well around him. When we were finished with our meal he voluntarily paid for our dinner without hesitating. I did the polite thing and thanked him.

Edward Cullen

It was early afternoon and I paced behind my desk in the overly ample office, waiting a little impatiently for a reporter of Newcastle Weekly, the most read weekly paper in the city. My stomach made disgusting noises already and images of delightful smelling pasta appeared in front of my inner eye. I was hungry and troubled. The latter because I just finished talking to my mother on the phone. Esme was probably the kindest woman on earth but her words always seem to make me feel guilty. It's not like she said anything to make me feel that way, I just knew she didn't approve of most of my actions.

My Dad had died two years ago in a car crash and that's when I inherited this stupid company. His death was hard on all of us. Esme didn't talk for days. She was beyond heartbroken and I considered hiring a psychologist, because I was so afraid she would hurt herself. She didn't want to hear any of it.

And me, well at first I was actually glad that I could distract myself with the work that needed to be done at the firm. But soon enough I realized that Carlisle was right all along: I was a big disappointment.

I knew, I should have cared more, the firm being my fathers life's work and all. Beyond that, Gateshead Windpower surely served a good purpose; wind power, environmental protection, being anti-nuclear-energy and everything. And after all I should be grateful for the leading position I got; a lot of people would kill for that job. But I couldn't help it, it just wasn't my thing. Actually I didn't really know what my thing was, but composing music would be pretty high on that list.

My father, however, had been a good, passionate man with an ambition. He initially founded the company with an associate, but the guy backed out years ago. Business went just fine so he made it his goal to get me interested in his operations and insisted that I needed to study Business Administration. And because I didn't want to let his expectations down, I did just that.

When he died in that car accident, it was a given that I would continue his business and keep it as profitable as it was before. But to be honest, I was completely horrible at it. I relied heavily on my employees with all those accounting things, had absolutely no idea about the technical stuff concerning our windmills and consequently centred my own actions around showing up at presentations, just so people kept trusting in the company and in the name Cullen. I knew that wasn't enough and I knew I should have tried harder to lead this company, but in truth, I wanted the opposite. I wanted out. Badly. And my Mom had just told me again how proud Dad would have been, if he could see me in his former position as the CEO of a big company.

I couldn't stand it anymore. My office, the always ringing phone and the fact that the reporter, with whom I needed to do an interview, was late. I wasn't interested in talking to her anyway so I decided not to wait any longer, grabbed my keys and left the office. As the doors of the elevator opened, the little reporter was suddenly standing right in front of me. Her trousers were soaked through from the rain, as if she purposefully jumped into all the puddles she could find on her way. Besides that, she was impossibly pretty with her long brown hair and her red-coloured cheeks; but I was in a bad mood and didn't want to talk to her. Not at all and definitely not about work, especially not when she started gesturing with her umbrella, spilling drops of rain all over me in the process.

Furthermore she was late and annoying, hence I was an asshole to her. That didn't keep her from coming with me to lunch, which genuilly surprised me. My first impression of her was confirmed, as she started talking about 'Live Forever' by Oasis. It was utterly bothersome. I mean, that is a good song and all, but seriously, it's not better than 'Wonderwall', which she kept insulting. Just because it's popular doesn't mean it's bad. And the she was really getting on my nerves, when she began to challenge my musical knowledge and told me that I didn't know anything about it. That was definitely worse than when she challenged my business knowledge, which she did as well during the interview of course.

Yeah, I guess that interview went really well. It didn't start so bad. She asked questions I had answered so many times before that I knew the answers by heart. It was too easy and she even seemed honestly interested in everything I said.

But then something changed and she began asking questions about some company inventing windbelt stuff and I was lost. Not only lost in the question, but also in her beautiful deep brown eyes that had a cute mischievous sparkle in them as she asked those questions. I stared at them a little too long before I realised that she was just being mean and tried to purposefully make me look bad. And I couldn't have that, so I invented things about secret product development and the cost-efficiency of those inventions by SkyIsOpen, one of our biggest rivals on the market. I wasn't sure if she believed a word I said, but at least she didn't call me out on it and even changed the subject to the delicious food. And that was definitely one of the few topics we would agree on. Marco Polo was one of my favourite restaurants in town and by the look on her face as we entered, she had never been there before.

I saw my chance in getting out of this business talk and asked her about the weather of all things. I knew that was somewhat weird, but when she just started laughing I couldn't help it and joined in. The rest of our conversation went smoothly and I wondered what it would be like, if this wasn't an interview meeting, but a date of some sorts. Maybe I would try to be funny just to make her laugh more often, because she really was beautiful when she did. Between all her annoying questions and insults, Bella Swan was an intelligent and lovely woman.

I drove her back to the office, where I assumed her car would be parked and she instantly left, waving a short goodbye. I should have ticked this off, move on to the next topic in my day, but that was easier said than done. It had felt too damn good to argue with her about the most stupid things. And about the non-stupid things like how amazingly great 'Wonderwall' truly is. Someday she would be convinced that this song is nowhere near plain and boring. I was sure of it.

I sat in my car in the garage under the office building for a few more minutes to get myself concentrated on business again. There was a lot to do. I had a meeting coming up and needed to research this windbelt technique Miss Swan had mentioned. It really was embarrassing to know nothing about my company's industry when she obviously did.

As I was about to get out of the car and start work again after the lunch break, my eyes fell on the red umbrella, which was lying in the foot space of the passenger seat. Her red umbrella. I instinctively grabbed it, took it with me out of the car and up to my office, where I laid it onto the windowsill. The windowsill under the same window I was looking at from my desk. All day long.

In the beginning I didn't care. I attended the meeting in one of the conference rooms and it was a little boring, but I got through it anyway. When I returned to my office, things got really annoying. I tried to concentrate on my computer screen but every few minutes my eyes fell on the red umbrella on the windowsill. I needed it gone. So I stood up, grabbed the umbrella and put it into the drawer of my desk and closed it.

Much better. Out of sight, out of mind.

I began my research on the windbelt technology again. There were lots of information on the internet and I finally decided to write something down to memorize it and prepare myself for future interviews. Maybe I should even go to our engineers and ask them, if this would be a good alternative for us. So I searched for a pen and therefore opened the drawer. And there it was again. The little red umbrella in all its glory. Suddenly it reminded me of the red sweater she had worn and I pictured her running through the rain outside, being soaking wet, drenched to her skin.

I needed it gone even more now. Maybe I should just throw it away! But as I imagined Bella Swan asking for her umbrella and me explaining that I threw it away, believe me that wasn't a very nice mental image.

It was pointless. I got up and paced through my office like I had done a few hours ago for entirely different reasons and eventually made the decision to call her and tell her that she should come and get it. It was still there in my hands, reminding me of our mocking conversations and her witty remarks and again I pictured myself on an actual date with her. And that was really weird, because I haven't pictured myself on a date for years by now. I think I got over this whole relationship-thing when my father died. All these feelings weren't worth the hurt you get when it's over. Although, maybe if you just keep it on the surface and don't get involved too deep... .

My carefully arranged reasons were falling apart already.

Eventually I decided I would bring the umbrella back to her and ask her out, because it was then that I realized that this little red umbrella captured my interest more than any woman had for a very long time. The only question left was, how was I supposed to get her to agree to go out with me again. Maybe I could convince her that she could use some more information about the company and maybe this time I could give her some more and even correct answers about the windbelt issue after my research. I wouldn't want to praise myself, but that was a great idea.

Perhaps I could also convince her that I knew so much more about Oasis, 'Wonderwall' and music in general than she thought. I didn't know why, but it really bothered me that she thought I was an idiot and couldn't find arguments to verify my point. And besides, I couldn't afford bad press for the company and I had the feeling that I messed things up. I couldn't do that to Esme. My pile of reasons to call Isabelle Swan was getting bigger by the minute.

I called Jessica over the intercom and told her to give me the number of Bella Swan and a few minutes later she got back to me with a work number and a mobile number. I confidently decided to call her mobile, because I wasn't in the mood to deal with her office or any other people whose name wasn't Bella Swan for that matter.

I had a little moment of doubt before I just pressed the numbers into the phone and waited for her to pick up. Three rings later her voice came a little breathlessly through the speaker and as soon as I heard her simple "Hello?" I decided to switch to flirtatious Edward and try to charmingly tease her. I used to be quite good at that and I desperately wanted to hear her laugh again.

"Hey little Wonderwall, this is Edward Cullen. We talked earlier today. About my company and, well, 'Wonderwall'." As soon as the words left my mouth I regretted them instantly. Nobody likes pick-up lines and declaring her as my Wonderwall of all things was probably the worst thing to do. I could hear the sharp intake of breath on the other side of the line as I used the little nickname for her and braced myself for some sort of outburst, which surprisingly never came.

"Yeah, I remember," she stated simply and ignored my teasing completely.

"Good," I answered, not really sure what to say next. I should have thought this through more precisely before I dialed her number. My mind raced but I couldn't come up with anything smooth to say.

"So, why are you calling?" she asked firmly before my incapability to make a conversation with her could lead to further uncomfortable silence.

"I just.... you left your umbrella in my car," I answered finally, a little unsure and no longer able to keep the confident attitude alive.

"Oh right, it wasn't raining anymore when I went back to my own car. I totally forgot," she remembered and didn't sound as annoyed as before.

"So...should I bring it over to you?" I wondered out loud, trying to get back the upper hand in the conversation and focusing on why I had called her in the first place: to see her again.

"What? No. It's just a cheap umbrella. Actually you can keep it or something. I have another one," she replied and by the tone of her voice she really didn't want me to come over, which just made me want it more.

"I like to drive around and it really wouldn't be a problem. I could just drop it off at your place," I tried again, hoping she would just give in already.

"Really, it's worth nothing and I don't need it. Maybe some other visitor of yours will need it someday, then you can give it away," she said, feeling clearly happy with her reasoning, but I wouldn't have any of that.

"It's just lying around here and I really don't like it when things lay around in my office. I should just give it back to you and the problem would be solved. I really don't know why you are so stubborn about this." She was stubborn, but I sounded like a freak.

I didn't like when things lay around in my office? What a stupid thing to say. And the only thing I didn't like lying in my office was her umbrella, because it was pure distraction to me!

"I didn't know there was a problem!" she said, offended, but I knew she would give in soon enough. After a little pause she continued. "Okay, fine. I'll come by your office tomorrow and get my umbrella. Alright?"

At last.

"Why can't I just bring it to your place?" I asked again, this time just to tease her a little, because I was absolutely okay with her coming to the office. I could ask her out right here as well. No problem.

"Why should you? Listen, I'll come and get it tomorrow afternoon. Could you just hand it over to the receptionist or something?" she demanded and I was a little offended that she didn't want to see me at all. Did she really dislike me that much? This was going to be a real challenge.

"Yeah, sure," I answered shortly, but couldn't hide the victory in my voice. Of course I wouldn't hand the umbrella over. I wanted her to come up to my office again so that there was no way she could get away without talking to me again. What a perfect plan.

"Alright, thank you," she said and ended the call.

I sighed deeply. That wasn't half bad, was it? Okay, she didn't exactly respond to my attempts to get her out of her serious reporter mode and I didn't even accomplish my main goal to make her laugh again, but I got her to meet me and that was all that should count. Tomorrow would be a new day and I would make her like me.

I quickly saved her numbers in my mobile phone, just in case I would need them again and realised that I still held her umbrella in my left hand. That stupid thing. I looked around my office to find another place where I could hide it until tomorrow, but couldn't think of any. I finally decided I needed to get off work and drive home.

My penthouse wasn't really far from the office building, but I didn't lie when I told Bella I loved to drive. I went to the office everyday by car. I grabbed my keys again, took the elevator to the garage, slipped into my car, threw the umbrella on the passenger seat and.... wait, what? Yeah, I took the damn umbrella with me. I guess I'm cursed or something. Great.

I started the car anyway and drove the few blocks to my apartment building. After I parked the Volvo securely in the garage, I grabbed the umbrella and took the elevator to the penthouse on the 11th floor.

I wasn't happy with many things in my life, but I really loved this apartment. My Mom did all the decorating and due to that it was warm, welcoming and homey. Then there was the big glassfront in the living room, showing a spectacular view of Newcastle. Everytime I got home in the evening, I enjoyed the colourful citylights. I could see the impressive Millenium Bridge and even a little glint of the Tyne river, which always reminded me that the sea wasn't far away. I loved being at the seaside; it seemed to be the only place where I could feel perfectly free.

In front of that window stood my shiny black 1928 grand piano, which really was the most beautiful thing in the world. Not bothering to take off my work suit I laid the red thing on the music rack, sat down for a few minutes and played some easy compositions and messed around with a few new melodies that flew through my mind.

That worked the magic; I finally calmed down a bit and got my thoughts rearranged. I left the umbrella there on the piano and went to bed early. Tomorrow would be important, and who knew, maybe it would even change my life. I didn't know at that moment how true that was.

Chapter title and songs are obviously borrowed from the amazing Oasis and their song Wonderwall.

GatesheadWindpower and SkyIsOpen are two completely imagined companies, but the windbelt is actually a real technology. We did our research homework as best as we could.

And on a personal note: Seriously, who could decide between Wonderwall and Live Forever?