Thanks to all my readers…writing this fic has become more fun than I imagined!

As always the characters Edward and Bella belong to Stephenie Meyer…

After giving me a quick tour of the suite, Edward led me to my own private office. Right across from his. Of course, his was nice with ceiling to floor windows and a private bathroom, but what can you do?

My first task was to brain storm. Create an outline, if you will, of what our article should be about. We had already quickly agreed it would be on stereotypes. But as I was sitting in my office, I had a brilliant idea.

"Edward," I announced walking into his office. The door was open and he was typing away on his computer, "I think I have a way to introduce our article."

He turned to look at me with his eyebrow raised. I took this as a signal to continue with my idea.

"How about we write a brief letter about what we know – or in our cases – don't know about love, relationships, and the opposite sex? Then in six months or whenever this article is finished, we write another article, column, whatever with what we have learned."

He seemed deep in thought for a moment before speaking up.

"That's actually a pretty good idea, Swan. This way it can help our readers see the benefits of subscribing to both magazines."

"Ok, I need you to be honest with me, "I began, "do you really think men will be running to subscribe to Vanity magazine?"

"You'd be surprised what men do when women aren't around," he shrugged. Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Um, watch football and burp the alphabet? Or was that just my dad?" I giggled, but he didn't look amused.

"When girls aren't home, when they're sleeping, whenever they're doing God knows what in the bathroom, men read these articles," he shrugged again and leaned back in his chair. "Not all men are wham bam, thank you ma'ams. Some do want to know what women want."

"Not all women want men to just know how to please them in bed," I retorted.

"How many women do you know would stay with the perfect man if they never got off?"

"I know one right now," I mumbled more so to myself thinking of poor Rosalie. "Listen, haven't you ever heard that expression: 'Men fake the relationship for the sake of the orgasm, women fake the orgasm for the sake of the relationship? How many women have dumped you because you were bad in bed?"

He wasn't expecting that one and started choking on air, trying to regain composure.

"None"

"…that you know of," I finished for him.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I know how to satisfy a woman."

"Any girl can fake an orgasm," I shrugged, "it's really not that hard. I mean, if this office weren't crowded with horny men, I could show you."

"No, no need for that," he shook his head. I internally smiled because I think I embarrassed him. "Why do you assume that I'm bad in bed. I mean really. If you weren't such a man hater, I might possibly be offended by this, but really I'm intrigued."

Man hater? I'm not a man hater. Plus, I don't hate, I'm just indifferent.

"You are so arrogant, it is hard for me to believe you'd actually care about getting a girl off. You've already insinuated I was a lesbian twice and now I'm a man hater…just because I don't respond to your advances."

"There was one advance and I swear to God if I would've known you'd never shut up about it, I would have never tried," he threw his hands up in frustration, but continued looking up at the ceiling, "I know your type Bella. Absolutely beautiful girl. Breathtaking, really, but I'm guessing one asshole fucked you over and now you blame all men for it."

Damn. He was good.

"This isn't about me. This is about you," I was deflecting, I knew it. "How old are you Edward? I mean, you have to be at least 30…I remember Tanya telling me she went to school with you. Why aren't you married? Face it, you might know my type, but I know your type as well. The eternal bachelor, right?"

He was just laughing, more so to himself, and shaking his head.

"Poor man fucked you up, didn't he?" he was seething and being mean. I didn't like this at all.

"Well, not that it's any of your business, but yeah, I was fucked over, so excuse me for being a little wary of men," Ouch. I had barely admitted that to myself since James and I had –officially – dissolved our relationship two years ago.

"Not men are like that."

"Are you?" I countered back.

"Oh, believe me, Bella, you have no idea."

"And unless it's article related, I won't have any idea," I shrugged and began backing out the door, "I'll be in my office."

The time was 4:59 pm and I could not wait to get out of there. I had just emailed my first day report to Tanya and was turning off my computer when Edward came into my office.

"Sorry, Eddie, all three clocks in this office say it is officially 5 pm," I started, "I'm off the clock, so whatever it is can wait until tomorrow."

"Well, I was thinking we could go out and do a little 'field study', if you will," he completed ignored the fact that I wanted to get home.

"What kind of field study?" I turned very slowly to look at him, trying to read his features for a tell.

"To see what women and men know about the opposite sex," he began sitting at the end of my desk, "I mean, our introduction article is a start, but we are going to do some field reporting. I want random sampling. I don't want you to interview just your friends because chances are? They probably have the same views you hold."

"Not true. I was just having a conversation about this with my friend Alice last night. She has way different opinions than I do," I turned to look at him, "about everything."

"That very well may be the case, but I think that we should get some random samples. Come on, Bella. An hour of your time. I'll even let you cut out early tomorrow to make up for it."

"And you're sure this isn't some rouse to get me to go out with you?" I was proceeding with caution.

"Promise," he help up three fingers doing the Boy Scout salute.

"Hmm, didn't peg you for a Boy Scout," I snorted.

"I was a very good Boy Scout, Bella," he cooed into my ear and I swear his voice was like liquid sex.

"One hour, Cullen," I relented. I figured this: the more research we did, the further we were to being done, the closer I was to my promotion and never having to spend more than two minutes in an elevator with him.

Because honestly? I wanted to have dirty, dirty sex with him. Anywhere. Any place. I wasn't proud of it, and I certainly wasn't sure if it was him per se, or the last time I had sex was with my neighbor Dan two years ago right after my break with James.

Sure, I liked to tell myself he was a creep for hitting on me in an elevator and calling me an asexual man hating lesbian…if that makes sense? But it was weird, because he made me feel wanted. He made my inner goddess come to life. It wasn't just him hitting on me yesterday, it was the way I felt when he looked at me. His eyes burned into my soul and he seemed to really pay attention to what I was saying. Even if it was taking subtle – or not so subtle—jabs at his expense.

And he called me beautiful and breathtaking today. I'm sure he didn't mean to say it out loud…at least at work, but he said it and I played it off, but it made my stomach do these little flippy flop things. And I'm not sure if I've ever felt that before.

"Perfect," he rubbed his hands together, "let me collect my things and we can go to PJ's."

"No, not there," he turned around to look at me, "it's too full of college aged kids. We need to go somewhere where there's an eclectic mix of all ages."

"Good idea," he mused, "where do you suggest we go?"

"Let's go to the Elando's. I've been there a couple of times and there seems to be a good mix of people," he nodded and left to retrieve his things from his office. While he was gone I took out my iPhone and sent a quick text to the girls.

Edward wants to go out to do 'Field Research'. I shouldn't drink, right? On a scale from 1 to Paris Hilton, how inappropriate am I when I drink?

The response was instantaneous from Alice.

DO. NOT. DRINK. You are like Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan's lovechild when you drink…where you going?

I quickly responded back.

Nunya. It's a new bar in town.

I sent it and was alerted that Rose had sent me a new message.

DRINK!!!!! OMG, Bella, pleaaaaaaaaaase drink. Maybe you'll get so drunk you'll fuck him and stop being such a dry twated bitch!

I didn't bother responding back to that one. The responses were typical from the both of them. Maybe I should do that article? What women know about women. It could start out like…my best friend since kindergarten Mary Alice Brandon is a complete prude and my other best friend Rosalie Hale, who've I only known since she and Alice dormed together at UIC, would tell me to give it up cause she's the opposite of a prude.

"Ready to go?" he cut into the only thoughts of the day which weren't directly related to him.

"Yeah," I reached over to turn off my desktop and couldn't resist curving my body so he could see my ample cleavage. I've slowly but surely learned to use this to my advantage. I was flat as a board and boxy with no hips until my sophomore year in college. It was weird. I literally came home for summer break between my freshman and sophomore year and grew a chest over night. Now I was the proud member of C breasts.

I giggled moreso to myself when I heard him try and stifle a groan and knew it was working. I'm not dumb. I knew it wasn't the best idea to get involved with someone I worked with. Worked for. No matter what he droned on about not being my direct superior, his family still owned this magazine.

Apparently, thanks to my mega awesome Googling skills, I found out that his family has owned various publications dating back to the 1950s. His grandfather Anthony Cullen had started up some local magazine here in Chicago in 1953. It was about three pages every month and didn't get distributed all that often, but it gathered enough of a following to allow him to expand his empire. Eventually his son, Carlilse took over in the early 1980s and with the help of his wife Esme, they introduced new magazines and recycled the old and now were the owner of Cullen Corp., which produced eleven national magazines, and three local newspapers.

Also, as luck would have it, Carlilse and Esme had two sons – Edward and Emmett. When I googled Emmett's pictured, you would've thought the stork dropped him at the Cullen's posh mansion. Edward looked exactly like his father with his mother's features. They both had this beautiful carmel color hair and dark green eyes. I think the correct term is "Drop Dead Fuckhotness". Emmett was pretty damn handsome, but he looked like he hailed from my family rather than his own.

Both boys were in their thirties. Edward, coincidentally who didn't tell me his age when asked, was 32, and Emmett was 34. Emmett had been working at Health for a good ten years since it first came into publication. As for Modern Men's, it had seen it's fair share of editors, but Edward's name had only been attached to this particular magazine. Which meant he either was formerly working somewhere else or living off his trust fund. Which apparently, I'm guessing, was huge because I googled "Esme Cullen" and it turned up results for "Esme Platt" and the "Platt Family", who founded a chain of hotels and were bought out in 2003 by the Hilton's for an estimated 80 million dollars.

I'll go with the trust fund idea. Unless he got fired everywhere he worked for hitting on anything with a pulse.

"Yep," I was brought out of my thoughts and swiftly walked by him, purposely brushing my hand against his package oh so innocently. I pretended to blush and looked up at him, "sorry."

"Sure," he was biting his lip and it was really fuckhot. This was turning out to be my own social experiment and was super, super fun.

Edward led me to the parking garage and handed the valet his ticket to retrieve his car.

"Do you not live in the city?" I was puzzled. The website stated clearly that Esme and Carlilse lived in the suburbs and Emmett and Edward lived in the city.

"No, I do," he met my confused expression with his own.

"Oh, but you drive to work? You drive in this shiteous traffic?" Ok, public transportation in Chicago is the grossest, most annoying thing ever. But no matter how many delays I discovered, I wouldn't risk my life driving downtown during the business day.

"Yep. Public transportation isn't my thing."

Snob.

Before I could respond with something cutting and witty, a black car emerged. No, not just a black car. A black Bently. The only Bently I had ever seen was on the episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians.

"Have a good evening Mr. Cullen," the kiss ass Valet said holding the door open for Edward, but he didn't get in. Instead he walked around to the passenger's side and held it open, gesturing for me to get inside.

"Thanks," I responded. Who knew Edward Cullen could be a gentleman for anything other than a little ass? I mean, he wasn't getting any tonight. From me. Most likely. I saw him pull out a rather large bill and hand it to the sixteen year old wearing the red vest and then Edward climbed into the car beside me.

"Ready to go?" he asked, buckling on his seat belt and waiting for me to do the same.

"Yeah," I just heard the buckle click into place when he roared the car into drive.

We soon found out Edward Cullen is THE reason I don't drive in Chicago. Cutting people off, speeding, and causing general mayhem was his driving style.

"Slow down," I braced my hands in front of me on the dash board, "I know you think I'm a man-hating shrew, but holy fuck I'd like to get married and have children some day."

"What?" he glanced at me and quirked a brow.

"Slow the fuck down, Edward. I don't want to die at 25!"

"Calm down, we're already here," he slowly pulled up to the valet at the bar. It took me a full minute to brace my shaking legs and calm my racing heart and get out of the car. When I turned to open the door, I noticed he was holding it open for me already. This is where wearing a skirt could have worked towards my benefit. I could've flashed him cooter and made him into a bumbling, incoherent man, and proved my point that all men are idiots.

But then I'd be proving Alice right. And she was right, I had to be taken seriously. Perhaps I should stop with the boob flashing and crotch grazing. And I definitely, definitely shouldn't sleep with him tonight.

We walked into the crowded bar and Edward held onto my elbow the entire time we were making our way towards the booth.

"What are you doing?" I put my hand on his chest to stop him, "a private booth? No buddy, this is field research…so get a move on."

I turned and walked in the opposite direction towards the bar. If we were going to interview people, we needed to not be off in our own little world.

Where I could drink.

And get so drunk I could potentially go home with him.

I didn't even look to see if he was following, because I'm sure he was. I looked around for a brief moment before I found my first victim.

Sitting alone at the corner of the bar, I spotted him. Probably late 20s, black hair, brown eyes. Medium build. Wasn't nearly as good looking as Edward, but most men weren't.

I noticed there was a seat directly to his left open and I slid in there. It took all of three seconds of me pretending to get the bartender's attention when Victim #1 turned towards me.

"Damn it must be my lucky day," Gross.

I turned to him and stuck out my hand. From my peripheral I could see Edward on the other side of the bar watching with caution. Good boy. Stay away.

"Isabella," I introduced myself. Usually I'd give a creeper like him a fake, but I was doing a research article which I wanted to him to fully be aware about, so I decided against it.

"Andrew," he grasped my hand and pulled it to his lips to give it a kiss.

I had no idea men still did that.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he was motioning for the bartender to come over to us.

"Sure," I replied, slinking my black pea coat off and settling it on the back of my chair before sitting down besides him.

"What can I get for you?" the bartender asked. I gave him my drink order – vodka with a dash of cranberry – and turned back to Andrew.

"So, Bella," he began, turning to face me, "what do you do?"

I turned quickly to see if Edward was still obeying his post at the opposite end of the bar. He was, but he also seemed to have a harem surrounding him. Girls were fawning all over him and immediately I pushed away the extreme disgust resonating in my bones. Note to self: interview those girls later.

"I work for Vanity magazine," I replied waiting for the light of recognition to hit him. Most people, men and women, have at least heard of it.

They just, apparently, didn't read it.

"That's a chick magazine, right?"

"Yeah," I replied drly, "a chick magazine."

I glanced again at Edward, for probably what was the tenth time in two minutes, to see if he was doing any social experimentation himself, but he was still looking our way. My constant glancing in Edward's direction seemed to have alerted Andrew because he followed my line of sight to see Edward staring at us both.

"Is that your boyfriend? Cause you're hot…and I'd totally be into a revenge fuck," he winked at me and downed his whiskey.

"No, that's not my boyfriend," I explained waving Edward over, "he's my boss. Well, co-worker, I guess."

"Well, why is he coming over here?" Andrew grabbed my arm and pulled me in closer. I could smell the Whiskey on his breath and it made me want to Ralph.

"Social experiment."

"Bella?" Edward made his way to where Andrew and I were sitting.

"Edward, this is Andrew…" I turned back to Andrew, "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your last name."

"Uhh, it's Peters…listen…am I on some show or something? Like Candid Camera?" he asked, scratching the back of his neck and looking around the crowded bar.

"No," I spoke, "Listen, as I mentioned, I'm from Vanity Magazine. This is Edward Cullen, he's in charge of Modern Men's Magazine. We're doing an experiment, if you will, and would like to interview you. You won't be compensated, unfortunately, but I would really value your opinion," Lie. But I did the Rosalie Hale original and placed my palm against his chest, trying to "show" he was important.

He wasn't. I could get any guy in here to talk for five minutes for a boobie flash.

"Sure…?" he glanced between Edward and I with a confused expression on his face.

"Edward Cullen, pleasure," Edward stuck out his hand to greet him.

"Listen, Andrew, " I began pulling out my recorder from my purse. I always carry it with me, even though I haven't written a piece in nearly three years. "I'm going to record this conversation, ok? It's strictly going to be used for research purposes. You can be as frank as you'd like during this interview. And to pay you for your time, my co-worker here will pick up your tab,"

"I didn't know that was part of the deal," Edward mumbled to himself. He had situated himself in the vacant seat on the other side of Andrew.

"Now, Andrew, this bar is a little noisy, so if you could speak clearly into the device," I considered holding up to his face, but that could be a little intimidating.

"Are you sure I'm not on some prank show?"

"Positive," I replied before continuing, "now Andrew, dear. What was your first impression of me when you saw me?"

"Honestly?" He glanced at Edward before focusing his attention back on me. "I wanted to get you drunk and take you home with me,"

Edward choked on the beer he was drinking causing me to give him a look which indicated behave.

"I'm so glad I have that effect on men," I murmured.

"But that was before you spoke," Andrew continued causing Edward to start this weird choke / laugh combination and for me to wonder if he had trouble with basic motor functions.

"How do you mean?" I pressed.

"You seem, no offense, a little uptight. I knew I'd have to work really hard and I had a shit day at work today, so I didn't really want to put much effort into getting some pussy,"

"What made me seem uptight? I barely spoke to you," I was confused.

"Exactly," he replied, shrugging his shoulders, "you seem like the type of girl who gets everything she wants, whenever she wants and I didn't want to try and kiss ass," he took a sip of his drink then turned to look at me, "unless, you're into that of course."

"And you got that from spending five minutes with me?"

He just shrugged and continued drinking his beverage.

"She gives off that air about her doesn't she?" Edward spoke up.

"She does," Andrew agreed nodding his head, "She's intimidating."

"How am I intimidating?" I pointed to my chest to emphasize the I, but it just seemed to draw their attention to my cleavage.

"You just are…it's hard to explain, but everything from the way you walk to how you speak. You're very sarcastic, I can tell, and have this air about you."

"One could say," Edward tilted his head and looked at me with gleaming eyes, "that's she's a bit arrogant, no?"

Bastard! How dare he use my words against me.

"Yeah…a little rude, too. I mean, just cause I don't know your magazine doesn't me-,"

"Enough!" I interrupted holding my hand up. This was quickly going to go off topic, I could tell. So to save myself further embarrassment, I changed the subject.

"This isn't about me," I looked back and forth between the both of them, "this is about men. What men want. What men think women want."

"Andrew, tell me…as a fellow man, what do you wish women knew about our sex?" Edward asked

"You know what I wish? I wish women could ever be satisfied. You know, "he jiggled his glass to the bartender signaling for a refill before continuing, " we either don't work enough and are called lazy or work too much and are called workaholics. We either want sex too much or not enough…making them undesirable? Well I'm sorry, Jill, if I don't want to seem like a crazy perv who wants to fuck you 24/7…when they fight with our mothers we're expected to dismiss the woman who has reared us for 30 years in order to defend you…because you got sensitive when my mother told you perhaps you shouldn't wear a tube top to Sunday Mass," he continued droning on and Edward and I exchanged a look over the top of his head.

"Not all women are like that," I retorted breaking his disillusioned train of thought and earned a double grunt – both from Andrew and Edward.

"Maybe not all of the above, but at least A, B, or C," Edward shot back.

"When was the last time you were in a relationship, Andrew?" I asked softly, feeling the outburst of Jill was not coincidental or Tourettes.

"She left me for some Sox Player," he laughed quietly to himself, "FUCK THE SOX."

"How long were you together?" I softly placed my hand on his arm.

"Six years," he downed the second (or maybe third or fourth) glass of whiskey that the bartender brought over.

"And when did she…dissolve the relationship?" I pressed.

"Three months ago. She just quit her job, packed her bags, and moved in with him…I hope he gave her Herpes."

I could relate. I could definitely, definitely relate. Although a Sox player is a step up from a stripper in Vegas. "I'm sorry, Andrew. But not all women are like that. You just have to open up your heart," I gave his arm a tight squeeze.

"So you can quote me, Isabella, I wish women knew that we want to provide for you and protect you. If that means we work 80 hours a week or come off as extra territorial…we're sorry, but we're not. But if there's a problem, don't run off to the first man's bed…talk to us. We're not as barbaric as we seem," he turned to Edward, "Oh and put in your little magazine that women cheat as much as men. I'm so fucking sick of men being painted as asshole cheaters who can't keep it in their pants."

"Duly noted," Edward chuckled at him and gave him a pat on the back.

"Hey listen, Andrew…see that girl over there?" I pointed to a blonde haired girl who was falling out of her dress, "she looks easy. Maybe you'll hit home run."

His eyes lit up and stumbled out of his chair to walk up to girl in question. Edward took the opportunity to slide into Andrew's recently vacated chair.

"That was very Wing-Woman of you," he laughed and took a swig of his beer. I watched as his Adam's apple bobbed slowly and fought the urge to lick it.

"You know," he said, putting the bottle down, "you should practice what you preach. Not all women are cold and heartless, but also, not all men are assholes."

"You're right. Not all women are cold and heartless, but all men are assholes. It's ok…they say the greatest American Presidents all cheated on their wives."

He just rolled his eyes at that one, "Not all men cheat. I've never cheated."

"Have you ever been in a relationship long enough to even be tempted to cheat?"

The corners of his mouth twitched up, "Touché, Bella, touché."

The next hour or so was spent interviewing different subjects. There was Anna, the forty something, never married Cougar who wanted Edward's bones which earned a dirty look and step on her stiletto from me. We quickly learned that she wanted men to realize not all women want to be married and saddled with children. We also quickly learned that she could do the splits and tie the stem of a cherry in a knot in ten seconds. I quickly dragged Edward away after that.

Then there was Cindy and Bill. Married for 23 years, they had three daughters and they were out celebrating Cindy's 48th birthday.

"You know Bella," she had said, "I remember being like you in my early 20s…young, passionate, wrecked from some on again off again relationship with some prick who didn't know my worth, but then I met Bill and everything was ok."

The cynical side in me wanted to barf. The girlie side in me wanted to swoon.

"Edward, how old are you, son? Our Maggie is 22 and she's quite the looker," Cindy winked.

And then the enraged -I've only known this guy a day – side of me wanted to bash her head into the counter.

Edward politely declined and we decided to move onto our next victim. Elyse. 32, serial monogamist, single at the moment.

"So Elyse, what do you think men want," I asked.

"If I knew that, do you think I'd be sitting here alone waiting for a guy to strike conversation? I've tried everything." We quickly learned that Elyse was a Stage Five Clinger. Her last relationship ended when man in question changed his number on her. Why? Because within a week of dating, she had called and texted him seventeen times.

Seventeen.

I don't even think I texted my girlfriends that often.

As we left the bar and waited for Edward' car, I turned to him. "I feel like we're at square one…women want men to know they're not crazy, child wanting, gold-digging, cheaters and men essentially want women to know the same thing,"

"So basically…men and women want the same things?"

"I mean, I'd say pretty much they want very similar things. If we're going by the people we interviewed. I still think we need to do more research, but perhaps a bar setting isn't the best."

"Where do you suggest we go?"

"I don't know…a museum? Just…on the street? Maybe we could send out anonymous surveys. I feel like the people were being candid in there, but they were also drunk and that lets out inhibitions," I offered.

"It also allows people to speak more freely, without fear of repercussions or stereotypes," Edward countered.

"That's true," I agreed, "but I just feel like you're right…we need a more random sampling. Perhaps people who do things other than drink to wind down or help their problems."

Not that drinking your problems was something I prejudiced against. Years 21-24, I spent every weekend at Enclave getting wasted and dancing with my friends.

The car pulled to the front and once again Edward held the door open for me before getting in himself. I noticed some hoochie looking girls eyeing the car with a gleam in their eyes and turned to him.

"You can just drop me off back at The Willis Tower. I'll catch the train back to my apartment,"

" Nonsense. Just tell me where you live." So I gave him directions to my apartment. As I was climbing out the car I turned back to him and noticed his face was staring at my ass. Internally I both happy danced and cringed.

"See you tomorrow, Edward," I slammed the door and walked into my apartment building, closing the door behind me. I leaned against it for a moment before banging my head back.

I wanted him more than anything I've ever wanted in my life. He was sexy, he was smart, and he could hold a conversation. But he was right. I was a certified man-hater. I mean, I didn't hate my dad and I could tolerate Alec and boyfriend's of my girlfriends, and even the delivery driver from Giordano's because he usually threw in extra garlic bread for me, but other than that I didn't trust anyone with external genitalia.

I couldn't trust Edward. He made a pass at me within two seconds of knowing me and even knowing me a full day, he was still checking me out as I left his car, clearly openly oogling me even though he knows I'm broken emotionally. He was beautiful. Absolutely breathtakingly gorgeous. And wealthy and has a good job and drove a Bently…

Ok, Bella, stop. Clearly he didn't want to shit where he slept either.

So you're ok.

But he was looking at my ass…what did that mean?

What did it mean?

It meant that I was fucked.