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R.I.P. Oasis

Our super-fast, super-prolific and overall wonderful beta, who has amazing skills in punctuation is called Brianna and you should all go and read her stories as well.
Big thanks to her!

Also thanks to every single one who read, who reviewed and who put us on alert. We feel very honoured!

Chapter 2 – Conscience Is Sinking In

pretend to be the best that I can be
wishful thinking
my conscience is sinking in
I'm embarrassed of myself
I turned into everything
that I hate
(Pretend To Be - Get Well Soon)

Bella Swan

"Bella," Ben shouted all the way from across the editorial office, "I need the Gateshead thing in sixty, okay?" I nodded, still typing rapidly. "Bella, you heard me, right?" I rolled my eyes and waved in his direction, "Yeah, alright." Truth be told, I was nowhere near finished with the article on Gateshead Windpower. Ben, the editor in chief, was even more nervous than me, because usually I planned ahead and had everything finished a day early. "Guess what, I'm not getting any faster with you asking me about it every five minutes." In reply, Ben slammed the door to his office shut.

Anyway, the next issue of Newcastle Weekly was out tomorrow. And my article containing the interview with Edward Cullen would be in it - come what may. Good thing, that writing was the one thing of my job I liked best. It came somewhat natural for me - I guess reading non-stop in your youth does that to you. Once I've made up my mind about what exactly to write, the words just write themselves really.

Today's hectic was getting me down, so I hurried to the fridge we had in the office's little tea kitchen to get some water and pickles. I know it's a little unusual, but pickles simply are my comfort food. Anybody else really should just stop teasing me about it and eat their chocolate bars or whatever works for them. I'm just not a sweet person. Go figure.

On my way back through the hallway, I heard my mobile ringing faintly in the distance. Quickly I jogged back to my desk, searched for that stupid small thing under all the stacks of paper I had built in the last few hours while writing. Still a little out of breath I finally found it and answered the incoming call, not recognizing the callers number on the display.

I leaned against my desk and listened to Edward Cullen naming me his little Wonderwall.

He could not be serious, could he?

I admit, we had established a friendly basis by the end of our lunch, but this was simply not suitable. A lot of adequate answers raced through my mind, abusive terms included. But in the end I decided not to go there. If he wanted to provoke me, I wouldn't do him the favour to respond to his lame attempts. I took a reassuring breath before speaking to him in my best simple and disinterested voice. We just did the interview a few hours ago, so why the heck was he calling me now anyway? I had no time for this, there was an article waiting to be finished.

I felt the need to face palm. My umbrella. I forgot all about that little thing.

Angela looked curiously in my direction, so I sat down and faced the screen, hiding my already crimson face. How embarrassing. I was giving him trouble because I wasn't able to look after my belongings properly. Before I could say anything else he offered to get the umbrella back to me. I couldn't allow that, it wasn't worth the effort. He was probably busy enough, without taking care of my umbrella. And then the conversation got odd.

Seriously, he liked to drive around? What kind of hobby was that?

Ah right, the kind of hobby an arrogant CEO would have. I rolled my eyes and stopped my mental monologue. He should just keep it or give it away, that would be the easiest for both of us and I really wouldn't mind. I was avoiding an awkward situation for both of us.

But it seemed that Edward Cullen, besides spending his time driving around and not liking things lying around in his office, also wasn't one to give in. Of all things, he had the nerve to call me stubborn.

I lost most of my self-control then and let his insult have an effect on my tone. He was making a problem, as he liked to call it, out of nothing at all. I had no more time for this pointless nonsense so I gave in; anything to end this conversation that was freaking me out. I needed to get back to work, and agreed to get the umbrella from his receptionist the next day. I slammed my phone shut and emptied my glass of pickles at once.

That however didn't turn out to be a very good idea, because I was in serious need of more pickles when I tried to finish the article. Gateshead Windpower's plans for offshore wind parks and all the things Edward Cullen had told me about the efficiency of wind energy had really impressed me. Even though I was well aware that he had only stated his memorized facts, they were good facts and I felt the need to support those things. However his call had just reminded me about his cocky behavior and that he didn't know anything about alternative technologies or things that went deeper than his superficial knowledge. So I did not bother with flattering remarks, but wrote an objective article with just the right amount of criticism.

My priorly researched facts about Gateshead's biggest rivals completed the report and in the end I was pretty much satisfied with the outcome, even without the support of pickles. I reread the whole thing a few times and improved some parts before I finally sent it to editing.

After that I went to check with one of our editors, Angela.

"Hey Ang, I'm finished with the windpower article, check your inbox." Angela looked up from the screen, took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes. Then she put the glasses back on and smiled at me.

"Thanks, Bella. I'll get at it as soon I'm through with Tyler's column."

Angela was the closest person I had to a friend. She was kind and intelligent and we went out to lunch from time to time or simply hung out after work.

"So I figure you're busy tonight?" I asked, offering her a sympathetic smile, as the issue had to go in print at 10pm the latest. "Not with your article, you know that Bella. I could give it in print unseen," she winked, "but however the other eighty percent of the paper still need to be edited. You have a nice evening! Maybe we could grab lunch together tomorrow?"

"Sure, sounds good. I'm leaving in a bit. Have fun!"

I went back to my workspace, cleared the mess on the desk a little and left the office. It was already late and I wasn't in the mood for any activity anyway, so I drove straight home to my two-bedroom apartment a little outside of town. Thankfully my car wasn't providing any weird sounds tonight, so I turned the radio off and deliberated the article once again in my mind. Had I been too hard on Edward Cullen and his company? I imagined asking Ben that question, and clearly heard him laughing at me. I sighed and pushed the thought away again. Ben had criticized me often enough for not having the guts to write harsh things about people. Sometimes I had the feeling that I was simply too emotionally attached to my stories.

My stomach growled as I hurried up the steps and entered the dark apartment. As I turned the lights, I permitted myself one last thought about Edward Cullen, relieved I didn't allow him to stop by with my umbrella. I couldn't imagine my crowded apartment mixing well with his CEO supermodel glory. Tormented with hunger I made myself a sandwich and settled down on the couch in my living room. Without further movement I turned the TV on and zapped through the channels, stopping on BBC to witness the thousandth re-run of Pretty Woman. The film was enjoyable as always until someone introduced Richard Gere as Edward Lewis.

Edward?

All jesting aside, how often had I seen this movie and never cared about or even noticed the name? Now I was pretty sure it was haunting me.

Before my vivid fantasy could give too much thought to Edward Cullen and his attitude towards prostitutes, I pushed the big red button on the remote and went to bed early; anything to keep my thoughts away from Edward Cullen.

Well rested I went to work early the next morning, grabbed the finished issue from a stack in the foyer and quickly looked it over. My article was on the second page and with the added pictures it filled the whole side. This was bigger than I thought it would be. I let myself take a closer look at the photos of Edward Cullen. The first time I had seen pictures of him I had been so sure he was an arrogant and boring idiot. Now that I had met him I was wondering how someone who got so passionate about something as irrelevant as Wonderwall vs. Live Forever could put on such an emotionless CEO-smile in every picture.

As I entered the editorial office I was greeted by a friendly clap on my shoulder.

"That is an amazing article you wrote there, Bella," Ben congratulated me. "I want you to research more on that subject today. People seem to love this. We already got a few calls concerning renewable energy from our interested readers during the morning. Maybe we'll do a series out of this. You could call SkyIsOpen and ask for an interview or maybe... ah whatever, I trust you. Make something good out of this. I want another report until next weeks issue," he requested and before I could answer him or make a few suggestions, he was off to his more private office and shut the door. I groaned inwardly. This wasn't what I'd hoped for. SkyIsOpen just came up because I wanted to tease Edward Cullen and figure out if he could keep his professional face through my critical questioning. I had mentioned them in the article because, well, they really did invent a great new technology, gut I felt absolutely no desire to research any technical details of turbines or something as boring. But when Ben sets his mind on such things, there was little room to negotiate, so I went for my caffeine fix and then I sank down behind my desk, unwillingly researching the internet and our database for anything that might be of interest.

Soon enough it was lunchtime and I happily headed out with Angela to grab a snack. Most of the time, we went to a little Café a few blocks down the street. We sat down in our usual spot and Angela filled me in with the latest office gossip. Time flew and we were already gathering our things again when I remembered the umbrella.

I explained Angela the situation at hand in a couple of sentences, leaving out all the stupid details and told her, that she had to go back to the office without me. Before our ways parted she gave me one more confused look and then I was off, walking the short way to the Gateshead building. There was no rain to be seen and just thinking about parking my car in one of those tiny spots near the company gave me a headache.

Around fifteen minutes later, the big automatic glass door of the office building opened and I went right to the reception desk. The same woman as yesterday was sitting there, her smile towards me way more fake than the day before.

"Miss Swan, right?" she remembered. "I've read the article you wrote."

"Oh, you did?" I said a little hesitant, because due to her tone I wasn't sure if I wanted her to comment on it any further.

"Yeah, I did," she stated not even trying to keep her polite smile in place anymore.

"That's...uhm... good? I guess," I tried as an answer, not sure what to respond. "Anyway, I just stopped by to grab my umbrella. Mr. Cullen wanted to lodge it at the reception," I finally said, to get to the point and leave as soon as possible.

"Umbrella?" she hissed disbelieving as if she wanted to question my mental health.

"I left it with Mr. Cullen yesterday and he insisted that I should pick it up," I said, although it was already clear that he did not hand it over and the receptionist had no idea what I was talking about. She raised an eyebrow and studied my face.

"If you left your umbrella with Mr. Cullen so you can show up here again, I have to disappoint you. He's in a bad mood right now and you are probably the last person he wants to see. So if this umbrella isn't made out of gold you should just turn around and never show up again," she insisted and I could feel my face get red with embarrassment and anger. Was this because of my article? It wasn't that bad, was it?

"I didn't leave it with him on purpose, if that's what you just implied," I felt the need to clear up, "but I want it back nonetheless," I continued, nowhere near ready to leave this hell-hole without that umbrella. If this was some sick game of Mr. Cullen I needed to cut him down to size. "Thanks for your help," I added with dry sarcasm,"I know where his office is."

Without another glance at her I turned on my heels and headed for the lift. I pushed the third floor button and because I was already nervous and pissed-off I didn't mind the tightness of the elevator so much this time.

When I exited the cabin, I realized I should have listened to the directions towards the headquarter of cockiness once more. I couldn't remember which way I was supposed to go, so by instinct I turned right and looked for a sign where his office might be. There wasn't any and after awhile of walking around I gave up and peeked into the next best open door on the hallway. A tall, brown-haired woman was standing in front of an empty desk, answering the phone. This was probably not her office because she told the caller that some Mr. Barth wasn't here right now and asked if she could pass something on to him. She recognized me standing in the door and smiled politely at me, gesturing me with one raised finger to wait for a moment. At the same time she was walking around the desk and towards the computer, typing at super fast speed. "I'm terribly sorry, but I can't find any record of that transfer right now," she spoke again, her voice sounding doubtful. "Would you please repeat to which account exactly?" She deeply wrinkled her forehead while writing something down on a notepad, "Yes, I see. So, there is a number missing and you need Mr. Barth to confirm the transfer to you." She stared intensely at the notepad while she listened to the answer on the other end of the phone. "Could you possibly repeat the name of the recipient and the amount for me, please?" I felt a little awkward still standing there and took a step back, but she again gestured for me to wait. "Yes, of course. I'll make sure Mr. Barth returns your call as fast as possible. Thanks a lot."

She said her goodbyes, ended the call, mumbled quietly to herself and then took her notes and got up.

"I must apologize," she said, turning into my direction.

"No worries," I answered with a shrug.

"Is there something I can do for you? Are you looking for Mr. Barth? I'm afraid he's not here right now," she asked with a friendly smile.

"Oh no, I didn't even know this was his office. Actually I'm a little lost right now. I was looking for Mr. Cullen."

"Ah Mr. Cullen, sure. Do you have an appointment?" she asked, her friendly face replaced by a slight frown.

"Uhm no, not exactly," I answered honestly.

"Now, this is an unexpected pleasure!" someone suddenly called from behind and I turned around to face a good-looking blonde tall guy around my age. "I'm James Barth, nice to meet you," he friendly introduced himself, holding out his hand for me to shake.

"Oh, nice to meet you, too. I'm Bella Swan," I replied shaking his hand. He gripped mine a little too tight and I was certain he was mad because of my article as well. For a moment I even thought about leaving without facing Edward Cullen at all. Measured by his employees he probably was the epitome of madness by now.

"I am deeply impressed," Mr. Barth stated seriously while his intense stare made me a little uncomfortable. But he had provoked my curiosity.

"Impressed?" I enquired not really sure what he might be talking about.

"Yes, well done article. I enjoyed it very much," he complimented.

"Really?" I asked doubtful, "I guess you're the only one around here to feel that way. The receptionist didn't seem to like it that much."

"Well, not everyone around here is able to take well-founded criticism I guess," he said apologetic, "some people just react a little emotionally, it's nothing personal."

I really didn't know what to say to that, because honestly I didn't really know if this wasn't personal at all. Also I didn't take compliments very well. So I just nodded briefly.

"So, do you want me to get you to Mr. Cullen's office?" the woman from earlier rescued me. She had been quiet for the past couple of minutes and looked at me expectantly now. I was about to take her up on her offer, when Mr. Barth addressed me yet again.

"Oh, you're doing another interview with Mr. Cullen then?" he asked smiling. Yeah right, I needed to face Mr. I-am-too-rich-to-hand-an-umbrella-to-the-receptionist again. Getting compliments from James Barth didn't seem too bad in comparison.

"Oh no, no interviews today. He's got something that's mine," I said not really in the mood to tell him the whole stupid story. He would probably think I'm plain dumb and since he just complimented my work I didn't want to risk that. Mr. Barth offered to take me to Mr. Cullen and I gladly accepted - I was so lost in this building that I appreciated all the help I could get.

Edward Cullen

When I arrived at work the next morning, Jessica, our receptionist and general dogsbody, handed me the newest edition of Newcastle Weekly immediately. The usually brand new paper was crumpled as if the whole office had already skipped through the pages at least once. Jessica mumbled something about the second page and that swans were arrogant animals anyway, but I wasn't in the mood for her gossip this early in the morning and headed straight for the elevator and to my office.

I threw the paper down on my desk, walked around it and fell into my executive chair with an unmotivated sigh. Interpreting Jessica's facial expression, I wasn't sure if I wanted to read the paper at all.

Just as I was about to have a first look at the anticipated, and at the same time dreaded, article by Isabella Swan on page two, the ringing phone interrupted my intentions.

Esme.

"Edward, have you read the newspaper already?" she asked, her voice low and a silent accusation already evident in her question.

"No, not yet. I was just about to read it when you called," I replied, sinking further down my seat.

"Did you really say that the windbelt technology isn't cost-efficient?" my mother inculpated. "And did you tell the reporter that Gateshead is developing something similar? You do know that that's not true, don't you?"

"Yes Mom, I might have told her something like that, although I'm sure she exaggerated. But yeah, the interview didn't really go all that well. I guess it wasn't my best of days." I tried to qualify my statements, but of course I knew I had royally fucked this up. The anticipation towards reading the article converged to zero, while dread dominated my bundle of feelings by now.

Esme's breaths came steady and deep. She wasn't mad. She never was. But her hope that someday I wouldn't screw up anymore and manage this company just fine, never died. And she sure as hell must be disappointed in me, although she had never openly shown it. But plain anger would be so much easier to handle than her silent disappointment in me. I handled anger before with Carlisle himself and could do so again. But it wasn't in Esme's nature to be angry with anyone.

After I had finished my degree a few years ago, Carlisle instantly offered me a job and expected me to take it, which I did like the good son I was. All my studying had been because of him and his business in the first place. He made me his assistant and I was expected to be a good boy and learn from him how to handle the company properly.

It was pure torture. I tried my best. Really. But obviously that wasn't nearly enough. And he told me so every damn day.

Then the accident happened and we never had the chance to talk about our situation and sort things out. From that moment on, I tried even harder to get the things to work out okay at the company, but apparently I still sucked and wasn't even able to give a proper interview.

"Sure son, don't worry," my mother interrupted my train of thoughts. "Maybe you could call the paper and ask for another interview to fix this?"

"Yeah Mom, I could do that," I answered, leaving out the fact, that Bella Swan was about to show up anyway in a few hours.

"I'm just concerned Edward, your Dad worked so hard for this." Her voice vibrated slightly, like it always did when she thought about Carlisle. I couldn't stand this right now, so I quickly excused myself and hung up shortly after. Yeah, I was the worst person ever.

Right after I hung up, the phone was ringing again. Some business partner was highly interested in the new technology we were seemingly about to develop. Since I had no idea about this at all, I gave him some lame excuse so I wouldn't have to elaborate right now. Excuses were the one thing I was getting good at.

And that's when my thoughts came back to Bella Swan. Last night on my piano bench with her damn umbrella in front of my eyes, I thought I needed to ask her out. I thought there was something about her that I needed to figure out. But today everything was different. She was responsible for my mother being disappointed, for our partners to feel left out of things and for me being utterly confused.

I looked at the paper again and opened it carefully as if afraid a jack-in-the-box might jump out of it. The whole page was full of Gateshead Windpower. The pictures she had used were old ones. Alice, the fiancée of my best friend Jasper, shot a few of them. There were no words to describe Alice. She was always in motion, never relaxing, never sitting down. I often wondered how she managed to keep the camera still for as long as it takes to make a good picture. But she was pretty successful in her job, having her own little studio. We often hired her for promotional shoots and the like. There was one of me at some trade fair in London and a few of our turbines and windmills. I had seen all of those before, so I finally began reading the article.

[...] Though he won't reveal details, Edward Cullen, CEO of local Gateshead Windpower, says his firm is developing a new technology itself. But since SkyIsOpen is already working on turning their promising prototype into reality, it seems more likely that Gateshead Windpower will only finish second best. Ironically Cullen, obviously undeterred by the apparent challenges of the possible replacement for his company's turbines, adds that the windbelt technology is "only half baked and not cost-effective so far". […]

I read the lines once, twice and a third time. Bella Swan hadn't believed anything I said. From the first moment she asked me about our new technologies, she knew exactly what she was doing and let me walk right into her trap. Truth be told, I was a much too willing victim, but she manipulated me nonetheless. She took advantage of me struggling with the right words. She knew I had been lying and now she wrote everything down, because she knew how it would affect me and the company.

What was the matter with her anyway? I hadn't even seen her again and my feelings towards her were changing so fast, my brain wasn't able to keep up. It was still a mystery why there was any kind of feelings towards her in the first place. After all she was just a girl, messing with my life.

At first I had kept her umbrella in my office, because I wanted to see her again and maybe tease her with some new nicknames. Now I was keeping the umbrella just to piss her off. I knew that was the worst idea ever and I had just promised Esme to get this shit right again, but I couldn't help myself. I was mad and she was the one to blame for it.

I folded the paper and stuffed it together with the umbrella back into the drawer of my desk. That worked perfectly the other day. Well, at least for about half an hour.

For the next hours I answered a few more calls and intensified my research on the windbelt technology. I even called one of our engineers and asked him about some of the details of our products and instructed the head of our development department to build up a team of capable people to concentrate on new technologies. I still had no real idea what I was doing, but I had a feeling that something needed to change if we wanted to stay in this market. After I was done with everything and had a pretty good knowledge about the things going on, I was for once satisfied with myself and the work I had done. Lunch was well-deserved this time. Before I headed out, I tried to call Jasper, but as usual he was busy with his young patients. As a consequence I went alone and occupied myself with forming plans on how I could annoy Bella Swan further and simultaneously get her on my good graces again. This however seemed to be quite impossible.

After a semi-satisfying meal, I headed back to the office and waited for Ms. Swan yet again. I knew I hadn't said a concrete time, but it was already late afternoon and she should have been at my office by then. Maybe my plan wasn't as good as I thought it was. Maybe she was more stubborn than I expected and just went away without her umbrella once she realised it wasn't at the reception. Or maybe she wouldn't show up at all.

And then someone knocked softly on my door. Before I could answer, the door burst open and not the expected Bella Swan strolled in, but James Barth.

"James," I greeted surprised, "come in, what is it?"

He came further into the room and behind him trailed my gorgeous Bella. My animosity towards her disappeared instantly. One glance into her deep brown eyes and I was disarmed. My eyes darted from Bella to James and back. Why did they come in together? This wasn't how I had planned this. I wanted to talk to her alone. I needed to get rid of James.

"Oh nothing. The beautiful Miss Swan here got lost in the building and ended up in my office, so I offered to show her the way," he answered still grinning a devilish smile. But then I saw her lovely blush and apparently James saw that too. He immediately turned fully in her direction, smiled at her wide, broad and fake, then at me and then at her again. "She said you've got something that's hers, so maybe you should hand it over to her and then I can ask her, if she wants to go to dinner with me."

I'm not a violent guy. I never even punched someone before. But his stupid grin along with his inexcusable intentions were enough to make my hands vibrate under the table with the need to slap him and tell him to leave my office. What did he think he was doing, ruining the precious time I had with Bella and grinning like a fool while at it.

I was dumbstruck for a moment, not even sure I had heard him right, since the blood was rushing through my ears. He was not going to ask her out! Not in front of me and not at all for that matter. Her cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red, but she obviously found her voice sooner than I did, at least ignoring James' advances.

"Well Mr. Cullen, so where is my umbrella? It obviously wasn't at the reception desk." She glared at me with narrow eyes. I didn't even want to annoy her anymore; I just wanted to look at her and talk to her. No more arguing. This was so confusing.

"Right," I finally tried to clear my throat and find my voice, "I forgot to hand it over?" It probably sounded more like a question.

"So, where is it?" she inquired looking straight at me the whole time.

"Uhm I've got it right here," I said, opening the desk drawer and taking the infamous umbrella in my hand, careful to leave the paper hidden in the depth of the drawer. "But I'd like to discuss some other things with you, if you've got a minute?" I got out and forgot for a few moments that James was still standing next to her.

"If this is about the article, I'm not sure I want to hear it, to be honest," she answered as I tried to think of a topic to keep her in my office for a moment.

"Uhm yes, about the article...and something else. Would you mind leaving us alone for a minute, James?"

"Oh, of course. I'll talk to you later, Bella," he winked at her. Winked. I couldn't believe it. What was going on here? James was one of those shy accountant guys. He was always polite and friendly towards everyone, but I had never seen him flirt so shamelessly before. Well, maybe I had never really paid attention to his love interest. I normally didn't care about stuff like that around the office. Now I did why exactly? Right, Bella Swan and the unnatural attraction I felt towards her. And now we were alone again.

"So...," she trailed off.

I cleared my throat once again and gestured her to sit on the guest chair at the other side of my desk.

"Would you like anything to drink?" I asked her once she had seated herself.

"Oh no, thanks. Actually I'd like to get to the point already and go back to work," she replied still glaring at me. I called Claire anyway to bring some tea for myself, mostly to buy some time.

"Well, what's with the article?" I asked to fulfill her request and get straight to the point.

"Yeah, what's with the article?" she echoed acting all innocent.

"I had to deal with lots of business partners the whole day because of the things you wrote," I stated.

"So?" was her simple reply while she crossed her arms in front of her chest and leaned back in the chair. I was having ambivalent thoughts again. I was pissed because of her article and because of whatever was going on with James and her and on the other hand I still wanted to ask her out. As if that was even an option right after James had asked her out for dinner a few minutes ago. There was something seriously wrong with me.

"Well that's obviously your fault," I concluded, leaving my other thoughts out of this conversation for now.

"My fault?" she still acted innocent and leaned forward a little. "I just used the answers you gave me, you know." Of course I knew that, but that didn't help any.

"Well maybe you need a voice recorder after all to know which sentences to quote and which to better leave alone. Maybe the tone of my voice would've told you...."

"What?" she interrupted, which was good, because I didn't know how to go on with the sentence anyway. "The tone of your voice would've told me that you had no idea what you were talking about? Yeah, I figured that much even without voice recording. But thanks for your advice," she said sarcastically. "Is that all? Then I'd really like to go." She already started to get up, but this wasn't going to happen. James was probably still outside, waiting right in front of the door to further molest her. No, no, no I couldn't let her go just yet. Think of something, Edward. Now.

And then Claire knocked on my door and came in with the cup of tea I ordered. I was momentarily distracted when she walked towards me. Bella used that moment to stand up fully and walked towards the door. The sight of her walking away was totally unacceptable, so I jumped out of my seat and tried to say something, but in the process ran into Claire and the cup of red tea, previously in her hand, gushed over my shirt and trousers. The hot liquid was everywhere, burning like sticking needles on my skin.

"Fuck Claire, can't you pay better attention?" I cursed shocked and not able to do anything productive. Then I heard a quiet giggle from the door, but when I looked up, I only saw a shade of brown hair swaying out the room. I returned my attention back to Claire. I felt my whole body shake out of anger towards nobody in particular. "Why is this tea red anyway? I hate fruit tea. How long have you been working here? Is there anything you can do right? Damnit. Leave, now. And make me some new tea or go home or whatever. I don't care. Go!" My fist slammed down on the table beside me, the wood vibrating with the raw force.

Claire gave me one more confused look before she turned around and hurried out of the room.

It was all just peachy! Bella was gone and there was no way that I was going after her, looking as if I had just peed myself. I definitely needed a new master plan. Completely vanquished I sank back down into my chair.

The tea had cooled on my skin, but the fabric of the trousers clung uncomfortably on my legs, not stretching with my movements. As I rubbed and twitched on the material, I contemplated my options.

I could call any reporter from another magazine to write a new article about us. That would please Esme and leave Bella out of it. I would give out some nice new information that would let everyone forget the Newcastle Weekly incident ever happened.

Apart from me.

I wouldn't forget.

I could call Bella. Her article would be more reliable and overall better and it would not only please Esme, but me as well. The only problem was, that there was no motivation for her to write another one. Our company wasn't interesting enough for two big articles in a row. Not when its boss was such a useless fool.

I had to try it anyway, though I wouldn't give her a call right away. I wasn't that desperate. Yet. But what if she was going to dinner with James tonight? What if I was wasting time with being to proud to just ask her. He would tell her more about the company and probably about what an incapable boss I am. Not that she didn't already know that.

Since this was getting me nowhere, I tried to solve the problems at hand first. I heaved myself out of the chair and snuck into the next bathroom down the hall to dry my still damp clothes with the built-in blow-dryer.

While I stood, balancing on one foot, the right leg held high so the damp area of my clothes reached the heated air, the door opened and in came the person I wanted to see the least.

Quickly, I lowered my leg and straightened my clothes first and then myself, but it was too late. James had already witnessed my all too awkward position. His eyes met mine in the mirror and I nodded once in greeting. He just strolled past me, his head held high and a confident smirk plastered on his face, never faltering. The smug look could only mean one thing: Bella agreed to meet him. He lowered his zipper while walking towards the urinal and if I had considered to ask him casually about his evening plans, I dropped this thought in that moment. I knew better than to humiliate myself any further that day. In no way would I ask him about Bella with his trousers down.

I washed my hands real quick, using too much soap, because I felt quite dirty with James in the room and exited the bathroom without further glancing at him or his reflection.

There was still a dark, wet stain left on my pants, but it was easily hidden under the desk, when I fell into my chair again. To avoid another lonely evening at the piano, I called Jasper. It was time to have some nice people in my life for once. He agreed to come over that night and promised to bring DVDs and food. Perfect distraction.

As I hadn't any meetings left and had been quite diligent this morning I wasn't in the mood for more work. Instead I opened google and found myself typing the name 'Bella Swan' into the search field. People do that all the time, don't they? Google themselves, google their friends, google their employees, google their, well, person of interest. And it was only fair. After all, she obviously did her research on me as well.

The first few entries led to articles written by her for Newcastle Weekly. She wrote about political news, business stuff and I also found a few reviews of local art exhibitions and music events she attended. I read them all.

All of them were very well-written and as far as I could tell they were profound and her intelligence and knowledge was shown in all of them.

No articles on sports though. She apparently wasn't into that.

Then, I clicked through the paper's website and found a page where they introduced their employees. With pictures. It didn't do her beauty justice, but she smiled rather cutely into the camera, although it was palpable through her wide eyes that she was uncomfortable with being photographed.

In a moment of weakness I did a right click and saved that little picture of her on my hard drive. Who knew when I would see her again in real life.

This couldn't be healthy. I was practically stalking her online. I quickly closed my browser and grabbed the first file on my desk to work on. That night I was probably one of the last ones to leave the office.

I wouldn't waste another thought on Bella Swan tonight. At least she took the damn umbrella with her when she had left my office earlier.

Chapter End Notes

Thanks a lot for reading.

Who do you google?