Thank you to everyone who fanned, followed and reviewed the first two chapters of Never Say Yes. It's been a huge uplift. Because of my hectic weeks, the only time I will get to write will probably be on a Friday afternoon or sporadically over the weekend. This chapter is shorter that my other two, on account of a head cold. So please be patient until I can update and write lots.I will see your reviews and follows, they come up on my email, and I will reply the best I can to them throughout the week. This story, don't worry all you Jasper/Alice/Esme/Carlisle lovers, they will be in this story. And yes, this story will be riddled with drama, romance and some unexpected twists. And lastly, I promise that this story will not be abandoned.

Recap: Bella is one of the bosses at a newspaper in Seattle, where she lives. For an Olympic special edition, she is paired with the one, the only Edward Cullen. After a heavy, blurry and dysfunctional night with him that she can't even remember, she is started to develop feelings for him. But is it just attraction?

Chapter 3.

I remember laughing. And having a really good time, as evident by my hangover headache. I sat in my lounge room, chewing over some salty extra-butter popcorn, a Swan hangover remedy, and watching an episode of Frasier or the early morning channel. I could hardly remember last night, but I guess I had fun. My lips felt bruised, so I had either been punched or had a fleeting hook-up. I shuddered, how embarrassing. I was probably the laughing stock of the work function. I could remember where I was, how I got there, but not who I was with or what I did. Or how I woke up, sprawled on the island in the kitchen, my head hanging off the edge, my neck and shoulder hurting like high hell.

Emmett was sleeping in his room with Rosalie, they crashed here after the party, and I could hear his snores and her light breathing. I was still in my dress, so my fleeting hook-up didn't go past first base, and I was thankful. After my Frasier episode finished, I flicked across the channels to the news program. Nothing important was showing, except the celebrity edition. The normal celebrity scandals were on, but it made me drop my popcorn. There was a video showing of a celebrity with brown hair getting a tattoo in a parlour, a dress too short for my liking. What a slut, I thought. Her back was to the camera, but a man with brown hair was standing with her, laughing their heads off. The news reported spoke, 'Edward Cullen and a mystery girl was spotted at a tattoo parlour late last night, but who is this mystery women Edward Cullen has added to his long line of female suitors, is the question his fans want answers too.'

Edward Cullen? As in, my employee Edward Cullen?

He has fans?

Are they blind, I snorted to myself.

I rewound the news report, and paused.

'Emmett, get out here!'

I heard a bump, a slap and a 'aw hell' before Emmett and Rosalie emerged, Emmett sporting a black eye, Rosalie sporting a scowl that should be branded.

'What happened to you?!' He all but shouted.

'What happened to your face?' I retorted, wanted to know who had delivered a black eye of that magnitude.

'I have no time for jokes now Bella.'

'What? No, I'm being serious. Who gave you that black eye?'

'Oh, someone you don't know. What happened to your neck?'

'What are you talking about?' I jumped up, and ran to the mirror on the opposite wall of our lounge room, and screamed.

'I got a tattoo? How did that happen?'

'You tell us,' Rosalie jumped in, eyes popping out. I ignored her and studied the tattoo, secretly pleased. It was a tattoo of a cherry blossom, the branch snaking from the end of my shoulder blade and finished right under my ear. It wasn't directly into view, but if I tied my hair up, you could see it clearly. The pink small flowers were delicately placed. I was thankful it wasn't infected, so I had clearly had it done at a licenced place. Although I had possessed a hatred for tattoos throughout my childhood, having a beautiful one like this had changed my mind.

'That will have to go, Bella.' Emmett declared, grabbing the phonebook that lay next to the microwave in the corner, and started flicking through.

'What? No way.' I instinctively reached up to cover it, wincing where the skin was still raw.

He looked up from the phonebook, eyeing me like I was stupid.

'You think people will take you seriously if you have that in view? And you scared your body. What would your parents say?'

Honestly, Renee wouldn't mind. She had a love of tattoos, but thought it innessicary to get one. Charlie, on the other hand, would bust a vein. But he would respect my decision, he was too afraid of messing up his relationship with his only daughter the way he messed up his marriage.

'They'd be fine with it. And I could wear high collared shirts and jackets.' I lied smoothly.

He didn't looked convinced, but let it drop. For now. He placed the phonebook back into its place.

'High collars are so out, Isabella.' Rosalie interjected, a class A crappy attitude on perfectly. 'What did you get me up for? Some of us have people to impress. A boyfriend to stay thin for.'

Another mockery of my single life. 'At least I don't have to slather my skin with product to get respect,' I snapped, and Emmett scowled at me.

'But, beside the point, I saw this on TV this morning. If you think I make bad choices, Em, wait until you see your oh-so-popular cousin.'

I pressed play on the TV, and sat smugly on the couch, wincing when my neck made contact with the leather.

I didn't get the reaction from them I expected.

'My cousin, Bella? Seriously?'

'Edward Cullen? You landed Edward Cullen? You?' Rosalie and Emmett's incredulous tones made me side track.

'What did I do? This about your cousin, not me! And no, I did not land him.' I exclaimed, replaying the report.

It started to click. I realised just how dense I was.

Bruised lips. Tattoo. Drinks. Laughing. Work function. Cars. Streets. All bubbling down to one person; Edward Cullen.

'Oh, f-'

Emmett went go get some raw steak for his face.

'Do you think this will cover it?' I strolled out of my room, into our lounge room, wearing a work jacket and a high collared dress shirt, my long hair pushed to the side of the tattoo. The hair covered the most on my neck.

'Bella, it's a tramp stamp. Nothing will cover it. But I suppose it will work.' Emmett said, not looking up from his laptop as he finished a proposal for James, his boss to put into the NY Times, outlining a Seattle exclusive sight into the Olympic Games.

'Okay, be a judgemental, unsupportive co-worker,' I muttered under my breath as I strolled out of the room, grabbing my flats to wear, outlining my average height. I grabbed my keys and shoved them into my jeans.

'You want a ride to work today?' He offered, shutting his laptop closed.

'No thanks, I'll ride the bus with Newton.'

'Newton? As in Mike Newton, what, do you like him now or something?'

'No, he's just friendly.'

'You'd ride the bus, something that you refused to do and started a petition against to the get the bus lines closed and stop polluting Seattle, for Newton? Isn't that challenging your views, B?'

'No. I don't think so. And that bus was purposely polluting fossil fuels, I know it.'

'Do you have any evidence to support that claim?'

'Not of recent.'

'Then you have no case.'

'No shit, Sherlock,' I laughed as I opened the door.

'Dig deeper, Watson.' He muttered as I closed the door.

Newton was his friendly self on the bus, telling me about how much fun he had with a girl named Lauren at the work function, his date. Even Newton wasn't single. That made me depressed. I was careful not to let him see my tattoo, not because like Emmett, he would think I was challenging my views, but because if he saw it he might piece together the whole Cullen scenario. Although I had my doubts that Newton was actually that bright, but he could possibly watch the celebrity channel.

Apparently Cullen was a celebrity. I didn't even know that when I did my original google-stalk. As Newton and I sat in comfortable silence, I took out my phone and again, googled the name, Edward Cullen. Several sites came up, and it became apparent that apart from being a male seductress, he played Baseball before he had an injury of sorts. Ironically enough, he was at an Olympic level when he was injured. That would explain the muscles and his interest in the sports column, and even his competitive nature. I watched a clip of him making a homerun, in a game at Florida, where Renee lives. The way he moved gracefully as he hit the ball, rounding the bases with speed like a gazelle. The camera did a close up of him as he ran, his face transfixed in utter concentration and the urge to win. I couldn't help wondering how that nature would transform into other things, things that made my head spin. How did I miss that in my original stalk? He really was a celebrity, fans all over the world. I recalled our conversation yesterday, when I caught him on his phone. I basically told him to stop with the phone-sex. How embarrassing, I should have bowed or something to him.

Newton and I got off the bus together and walked the short distance to the office. I saw, amongst the mixture of professional business cars and cute little buggies, a flashy, money dripping silver Volvo in the parking lot. It was probably the most expensive machine in the lot, next to Emmett's jeep.

Living with Rosalie, you pick up on her abnormal habits. Like doing a Marsha Brady routine with her totally fake blonde hair. One of them is collecting as many Car and Driver magazines as possible. I took a photo of this car, looking forward to seeing her drool and beg at my feet to see this car again.

Grinning, I walked into the office.

I signed in at the front desk and clocked in, and took the employee elevator up to the fifth floor, sighing as I watched Newton struggling to get his ID badge to work.

With a familiar ding, the doors opened to the fifth floor.

I walked the distance to my office, scowling as I saw a plaque that was much straighter and bigger than my self-nailed one, under my own plaque, reading, 'Cullen's Office.' I had an urge to unscrew the nails and show Cullen exactly where he could nail his plaque. Plastering on a fake smile, I opened the door.

Edward was sitting at the desk, powering over his laptop, earphones in his ears. I sat down across from him and turned on my own computer, made back in the middle ages, and waited for it to load. Electronics hated me. I tapped my nails on my desk in a rhythmic pattern, and started to swear at Edward's laptop, pleased at this opportunity while he couldn't hear me.

'Can I help you, Sailor?' He smiled, and I jumped in my swivel chair, avoiding his eyes. I didn't realise he could hear. He sounded pleased to catch me off guard. I jumped up, and sort of curtsied at him.

'Sorry,' I exclaimed, not looking at him. I was toying with the idea that he didn't remember last night at all, because he was doing the silent treatment so well.

'It's okay, you're computer looks to be made in the dark ages, and jealousy is something I'm used to.' I could hear the smugness in his voice, and I didn't like it at all. After taking crap from bullies in my middle school and high school years for not having the best technology, clothes, boyfriends, I had formed a hatred for all people who acted like they were the best thing in the world.

'Are you serious? Do you not hear yourself?' I asked, turning to face him. 'Do you think you're better than everybody else because you are famous?'

'No, I think I'm better than everyone else because I'm actually good at what I do.' He looked at me subjectively.

'Do you think you're better than me, Cullen? Is that why you give me the silent treatment? You're the boss?'

He smiled at me, and I dug my nails into my palm. 'If you say so.'

I groaned at him, and he coughed.

'At least I didn't have to rely on my cousin to get me this job.'

Oh no he did not just go there. I flung my hair over my other shoulder in aggravation, watching his eyes expand and mouth fall open. I realised a second too late that he had seen it. My tramp stamp.

'You're the girl I hooked up with?' He asked incredulously. I was getting really sick of this response from everybody. What, did I have a gnome taped onto my forehead?

'I'm guessing so. I had a great time, I can assure you.' I said sarcastically. 'Scarring my body has always been a life-long dream of mine.' I plugged in my own headphones, and ignored him. I caught a bit of his swearing, until he mumbled something I almost didn't catch.

'It looks hot.'

'What?'

'What?'

'You just said it looks hot.'

'I think that's undeniable wanting and desire talking from you.'

'Dig Deeper Watson, because that statement is absolute shit.' I retorted, quoting Emmett. God love him.

Edward and I called a truce over the day. Basically, we ignored the topic of our 'hook-up' at all costs, and didn't even speak to each other. I was happy with this arrangement, and even though I caught him glaring at me occasionally, I didn't let it get to me. His moronic ideas of wanting and desire from me clearly made him mad, or maybe it was my response? I didn't understand guys like him. I hardly even knew what kind of category he belonged to. A Mr Mysterious. A mythical creature that you only hear about in stories.

During my lunch break that I spent talking to Newton and Angela, and occasionally Jessica, I kept getting flashbacks of the night, blurry but still identifiable. I remembered Edward and I kissing, and boy that was a kiss to remember. I was glad I was partially sober to remember it. Just thinking about it made my knees start to shake. Sometimes over the day when he moved, his muscles would flex and I would remember running my hands up and down his shoulders, his stomach, his back…

And then I would remind myself of his male-seductress/ whorish ways and snap out of it.

As I was walking back to the office, I received a text from an unrecognisable number. I didn't even have to read it to know who it was.

Miss Swan, be a doll and invite Emmett over for dinner tonight with his favourite cousin. He needs to catch up with the family.

Love, Sailor.

Aware of Emmett's disturbing and emotionally stressing family history, I replied with a little something Charlie, the police chief of Forks, calls gusto.

I decided to go home early that day, stopping to pick up groceries, some tears leaking out of my eyes on the drive in the back of the cab.

What had I gotten us into?