All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight.
Thanks as always, to my beta the incredible xrxdanixrx. Check out her new story Washed Up. XO BB
A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who pre-reads this story. Much love, hun. I couldn't do it without you. XO
Let's see how the rest of the night goes, shall we?
Come, join me.
"Gambling is my drug of choice. We all have our demons."-Compulsive gambler
Edward
Chapter 5
Her fuckable mouth drops open just enough to tempt me before she shakes off my words.
"James Miller's drink is almost empty," I remark, wondering how far I can push her, and me. I know that she's putting on a good show. Like the creep I am, I've been watching. This is, after all, my VIP room, and I'm entitled to know what goes on in here.
Unfortunately, I realize how weak that rationalization is. I know it's wrong and extremely dangerous on a multitude of levels to be watching a specific employee… this specific employee… but right now, I don't really care. This woman has piqued my interest, probably because she seems genuine, honest, and in complete contrast to the women I usually meet.
Everything from her telling me she didn't think she was the right person for the job, to her being embarrassed almost at the thought of me offering to pay for appropriate clothes has been refreshing. Most women would have taken that offer and been overjoyed at the thought, more than happy to spend the money. She seemed reluctant, to say the least.
She's also been almost flawless up to this point, which is quiet honestly surprising, given my original assessment. She's even managed to keep Kate in line. I think I underestimated Bella Swan.
She nods, twisting to the poker table where James is playing. He's been losing for the past half an hour, which amuses me greatly. His drink, however, is almost empty, which doesn't bode well.
"Best get it to him before this hand is over," I murmur, watching as Jane smiles wickedly at the cards in front of her. She's never been good at masking her emotions. Her face is an open book, and James knows he's about to lose yet another hand.
"Here you go, Bella," Seth says, setting a glass on the tray at the bar in front of her and lingering a little longer than he should. Yes, I've been watching him, too. He has been entirely too attentive to her this evening, and I don't like it.
He glances at me, and I raise an eyebrow. He retreats instantly, wisely moving to the opposite side of the bar. "Off you go," I mumble, nodding my head towards James.
She levels me a questioning look that I find equally amusing and sexy, and then retrieves the tray, marching with purpose to the table. I enjoy the view… much more than I should. Her hair pulled back into a low ponytail, revealing her long neck, her creamy skin against the black dress that fits like a glove, her firm legs and how I'd like to feel them wrapped around me.
I turn back to the bar. I need to stop this shit. Maybe Emmett is right. Maybe I do need more in my life. Clearly, the company I've been keeping isn't holding my interest. I haven't had an actual girlfriend in years, a fact that I've thoroughly enjoyed, until now.
It's hard for me to find a woman who is interested in anything but the money and the lifestyle. The last girlfriend- if you want to even classify her like that- lasted a total of three weeks before it became obvious where her true interests were. She wanted to hang off my arm and revel in the spotlight. She wanted people to wait on her and felt she was entitled to a certain type of treatment simply because she was fucking me.
And that's the problem. I've never really had an emotional attachment to a woman. It's always been just a means to an end. The last five years of my life have revolved around the casino and proving to myself, to my family, and the industry that I'm actually worthy of running Oasis and am not just here because I happen to be Carlisle's son.
It's been an uphill battle. Sure, both Emmett and I did our time on the floor, in the pit, at the tables, fuck, we even managed some of the shows, but there was a perception when Carlisle retired that neither one of us were ready to take on the challenges and pressures associated with this business.
So, we both dove in head first, no looking back, taking no prisoners, working more hours in a day than any person in their right mind really should. It's easy to see why Dad had a heart attack. This business, this life, isn't for the faint of heart.
We had a point to prove, and we sure as fuck proved it, multiple times over. Success has come at a personal price for me. The fact that I'm thirty-five years old and still fucking women without even giving a shit if I see them again is really kind of sad.
Emmett got extremely lucky meeting Rose at that charity event. He's happy, and it's only a matter of time before they're married and popping out kids. And here I stand, realizing the more successful we get, the less likely it is for me to actually find that, if that's what I want. Fuck, I don't even know what I want anymore.
"Mr. Cullen?" I turn in the direction of the female voice behind me that snaps me out of feeling sorry for myself. The ever eager Kate. If she didn't work in this room, I wouldn't even know who she is. She eye-fucks me briefly before remembering how to speak. "Can I get you a drink?"
I chuckle at her. If I wanted a drink, I'd just get one myself. "No. Thank you. Though I think Mr. Biers is in need of one." I nod in the direction of Riley's table. He's smirking, his fingers circling the rim of his almost empty highball glass repeatedly. Riley is on a winning streak.
Kate flusters, waving down Seth and ordering a refill of bourbon and water. At least she knows what drink he likes. I try to ignore her, listening as Seth mixes the drink behind me while I watch Bella at James' table.
James' mood has shifted considerably, aided no doubt by the fact that Bella is still standing beside him, her hand on the back of his chair. What the fuck is she doing? The reality is she's not doing anything wrong. She is, in fact, doing exactly what I told her to.
Still, anger or something equally dangerous courses through me as I watch James take his eyes off his cards and stare at her, motioning for her to lean closer to him. I can't remember the last time I felt this way… if I've felt this way. I don't like how he's looking at her. If it was Kate or someone else, I wouldn't give a shit.
He whispers something to her, and she nods her head before moving quickly back to the bar. Kate breezes past her without acknowledgement, heading to Riley's table with his drink.
Bella bites down on her lip, seemingly in frustration as her cheeks flame. "God, he's an asshole," she mumbles, clearly flustered.
My blood boils at her words, at what he could have said to upset her. "What did he say to you?" I practically hiss. I'm not below kicking him out of here, high roller or not. It is my room, after all.
"He wants me to bring him the bottle of scotch. He doesn't think it's Macallan's," she grumbles, waving Seth down.
My eyes dart to James' table, his focus now back where it should be, on the cards in front of him and not leering at my staff. Kind of like you were? I wasn't leering, I was… admiring. Right… keep telling yourself that.
"I'll take it to him," I practically bark.
Her eyes widen at my tone, and then she narrows them at me. "I would actually prefer it if you didn't," she says boldly, her defiance landing firmly in my dick.
"And why would that be?"
"My credibility kind of gets shot if my boss does everything for me, don't you think?" She lifts an eyebrow to me. It's fucking hot as hell. She's standing up to me, taking control of the situation. This is new. Most people wouldn't dare question me at work. I like it… I like it a lot more than I know I should.
"Well, by all means, be my guest." I motion to the Macallan's bottle that Seth has set on the bar.
She sets the bottle on the tray, promptly marching back to James' table with determination. Yes, I definitely underestimated Bella Swan.
WC
The rest of the evening drones on without incident. It would actually be excruciatingly boring if it weren't for the fact that I get to enjoy discreetly watching Bella as she works the room.
Watching her on a monitor isn't nearly as interesting as seeing her in front of me in the flesh. However, she seems intent not to make eye contact with me, almost as if she's deliberately avoiding me.
I've kept myself busy, discussing mundane business ventures, commenting on the weather, and committing to golf later in the week with Aro Thompson, retired founder of Thompson Oil, who now lives for three things; golf, women under the age of thirty, and the Twilight Room.
A terminal bachelor, he is destined to live out his retirement alone. His bed is warmed by a revolving door of women, and while that sounds like one hell of a way to live your life, it is in reality, kind of pathetic.
As I sit and talk with Aro, who is extremely pleased with his one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars in winnings, I see a lot of myself in him. He was thrown into the business at an early age and is known for his ruthless business tactics. I admire his drive and persistence. But as his twenty-something mistress for the night runs her hand down his tailored black Armani suit, I feel nauseous. I don't want to be sixty with a twenty year old hanging off my arm. The thought is actually repulsive.
It's almost two in the morning when Aro leaves smugly and with the usual fanfare. Bella fetches his arm candy's shawl from the coat check room, calling down to the lobby to ensure his car is out front.
I watch her stealthily, thinking about her description this afternoon of a glorified waitress. I dismissed the analogy at the time, but now I wonder if that was closer to the truth than I would like to admit. Still, I need somebody competent to manage this shit; although, I'm starting to think her talents could be put to better use elsewhere. Get your mind out of the gutter, Cullen.
"Edward, darling." Jane's arctic voice ends that thought immediately as she glides her way to the door, her barely legal distraction for the moment following along dutifully. I wonder where she picked this one up, though in Vegas, it's not hard to find extremely willing participants. When you're desperate, you'll do just about anything.
"Jane." She gives me the customary kiss on each cheek, a ritual that she tells me she picked up from the last three summers she spent in France. She smells like vodka and entirely too much expensive perfume. Jane doesn't do understated. Everything about her is over the top.
"Somehow, you even manage to make losing enjoyable," she purrs as Bella passes her expensive wrap to the boy who carefully covers her shoulders with it.
"Perhaps your luck will be better next time." I offer only mild condolences. Her loss is our gain.
She shrugs her shoulders. "Hmm," she mutters. "Come, Paul." She hooks her finger to him while Bella ushers them to the door.
As Paul fusses over her, I wonder idly what happened to get him to this point. What demon is he chasing or running from? I actually feel sorry for him. His soul is already teetering on the edge, waiting to be sucked into the vortex that is Vegas.
Once they disappear for the night, I turn back to the lone table where only Riley and James remain, deadlocked in a poker game that neither one of them want to fold on.
The room is almost empty, Bella having sent home most of the staff with the exception of Seth, who is on standby in case another bottle of Macallan's is required.
James' red-headed mistress looks exceptionally bored and ready to leave, while Riley's entertainment for the evening incessantly natters away to her.
Bella returns from the hallway, her hand covering her mouth as she fights back a yawn.
"Are we keeping you up, Miss Swan?"
"Sorry about that. How long does this go on?" she asks quietly, stopping beside me, my entire body hyper aware of how close she is.
"Until they're done."
"Which could be…?" she prompts.
"Depends. Sometimes it goes on well into the morning." She scrunches her cute nose up. "Don't worry; Riley's losing for a change. I'm sure it won't be long."
"I thought he was like a shark or something," she says, eyeing the table curiously.
I chuckle at her. She's been clearly researching; she probably Googled poker terms at some point during the day when I wasn't watching. So eager to impress. I wonder how that would translate to the bedroom. Jesus Christ, I need to get laid.
I lower my mouth to her ear, smiling as she takes a quick breath in. "Riley usually does quite well, but even the worst players get lucky sometimes. That's what keeps them all coming back."
She turns her head, her eyes widening at my words. "So, James isn't a good player?"
"He's impulsive and impatient. Two things that generally don't work in your favour when you're playing poker," I explain, my eyes lingering on her exposed shoulder. This dress is perfect for her; understated and elegant. I wouldn't mind seeing it in a heap on the floor in my bedroom.
"But they are working for him tonight?"
"Yes… they are tonight."
She hums, cocking her head to the side as she watches the hand play out, which right now, I couldn't give a shit about. I've never wanted a round of poker to end so badly in my life. The end of the game means the end of the night, which means I finally get more time alone with her.
"Quads… nicely done, James." Riley's voice echoes through the room as I tear my eyes away from Bella to the table.
Riley stands, reaching across the table and shaking James' hand firmly. "Until next time," Riley says, while James smirks, trying extremely hard to rein in his euphoria. "Harry, always a pleasure." Riley drops a plaque on the table in front of Harry, who nods politely, gathering the cards methodically.
Riley holds his arm out to his now sullen looking fuck for the night. She scampers to him, wrapping her arm around his waist. He keeps his head held high as they step down to the hardwood floor and make their way to me.
Riley comes from money. His grandfather started Biers Investments half a century ago. It's one of the most successful firms in the country, and now, Riley is biding his time until his father retires and he can take over the reins, something he is anxiously looking forward to.
He's done his time trading on the floor, handling multi-million dollar accounts, kissing ass where you have to. I think he lives for the day when he can walk into a room and finally state he is a CEO.
He is a seasoned professional and typically the best poker player in the room. His loss tonight is unusual, and I'm sure it's not sitting well with him; not that he would ever admit it.
Still, whether he wins or loses, one thing is certain… he will be back. They always come back.
"Edward." He holds his hand out, and I shake it firmly. "Not my night tonight."
"I hope you enjoyed the evening, regardless," I reply.
He nods at me. "I always do." He cranes his neck around me to the coat check room.
"I'm also enjoying Angela's replacement." I feel my jaw clench at his words. "Where have you been hiding her?" he asks quietly.
"Bella has been with us for a while."
He hums. "Hmmm. I'll bet she has."
I turn my attention to the mini Barbie beside him. "I haven't had the pleasure of meeting your guest, Riley." She's your typical Vegas girl… tight dress, tighter body, a shit load of make-up on, and probably not a neuron firing in her pretty little head.
"Oh, yes. This is Brianna," he says, finally remembering the fact that she's beside him.
"You can call me Bree," she says happily. Of course I can.
"Bree. How lovely to meet you."
She blinks up at me.
"Bree, Edward Cullen. This is his casino," Riley explains.
Her eyes widen. "Like the whole thing?" Her high pitched voice rises impossibly higher.
Riley shakes his head at her, looking annoyed. "Yes."
"Wow! My roommate has tried out to be a showgirl like eight times here," she blathers.
"Here you go." Bella's voice ends Bree's attempt at a conversation as she hands her a shawl.
"Thank you, Bella," Riley says, his hand intentionally brushing over hers as he lifts the shawl and passes it to Bree, his eyes never leaving Bella's. "Will you be here on Thursday, as well?"
Bella looks at me questioningly, and I nod. "Yes. I'll be here," she says, her lips curving into a satisfied smile.
"Good." He holds his arm out in Bree's general direction, and she attaches herself to it like the leech she is. "Until Thursday, then. Edward." He nods to me and Bella escorts him to the door while I try to get a handle on the foreign feeling coursing through me. I shouldn't give a shit about the way he looked at her, but I don't like it.
"So, I finally win something to talk about in Edward Cullen's casino." James' voice brings me back to reality.
"You've won plenty in my casino, James." I hold my hand out, and he grips it, shaking it solidly.
"Yeah, but this feels so much better than winning down there." He says the words as if the casino floor is now somehow beneath him. Trust me; he's spent hours and hundreds of thousands of dollars in there. While this is only his second time in the room, he's been coming to the casino for the last two years, at least three times a week.
He started out like most of them do; an innocent trip to the casino with a group of friends. You wander in, pull a few levers, you try your luck at blackjack, you drink, you lose a couple of hundred dollars, and you leave.
Then, something brings you back; the adrenaline, the draw, the pulsing lights, the belief that next time, it will be different. Maybe next time, you break even, or if lady luck is shining, you might even win a bit.
James won fifteen thousand dollars his next time. He made more in a couple of hours than he could make in four months, working construction for the good city of Las Vegas.
He had a job; an honest, hard working, get your hands dirty job. But given the right mix of excitement, want, and greed, it doesn't take long before your real job, your real life, becomes a fading memory.
Suddenly, those minimum payments you were making on your credit card bills are obliterated in a single night. You feel relief, you can get ahead, and if you just come back one more time, you can win big. You've convinced yourself. The logic, the truth that in the end, the house always wins is irrelevant. And now, it's too late to turn back. You're hooked, and James most definitely is.
He's gotten lucky tonight. Extremely lucky. James is not a good player. He's erratic and usually makes impulsive decisions, letting his emotions rule in a game where it pays to be calm and patient.
"I think I'm going to enjoy your little room, Edward," he says as Victoria practically jumps up and down beside him with excitement over his win.
"I hope you do." I nod my head to Laurent, a signal that he needs to leave his post at the door. "Laurent can escort you from the cage to your car, if you like. You're leaving with quite the take tonight."
I know James will be all over this. He'll get his substantial cheque from the private cage in the room and then take the walk through the lobby where I'm sure he'll make it known just how much he won tonight. It's his shining moment, and he'll want to make the most of it.
His eyes light up at the thought. "That would be great," he says, trying to sound all cool and like he doesn't give a shit.
Bella appears beside me with an obnoxious white fur wrap, handing it to Victoria. She sticks her nose in the air and takes it from Bella, wrapping it around her shoulders.
"I'm bored, James. Can we go?" she asks, sliding her hand up his arm.
"Yeah, sure, babe." He holds his hand out again, and I shake it. "Until next time, when I take some more of your money."
"I look forward to it." I squeeze his hand tighter, a silent message that next time, I hope he won't be so lucky.
WC
"Thank you, Harry. Good job tonight," I say, clapping him on the back as he gets ready to leave.
"An interesting night, sir," he replies. "I can't believe James won against Riley."
"He got lucky."
He nods. "You've got that right," he says. "Are you inviting him back on Thursday?"
"Of course I am. I want my money back."
Harry laughs, and we say our goodnights. I'm thankful for Harry and his wealth of experience. He knows this town extremely well, and I can always count on him to help make the players feel at ease.
I move back to the bar, sitting down on a stool while I wait for Bella to finish getting changed. Seth has finished his OCD bar clean up and finally moves out from behind it.
"You don't have to wait for Bella. I can make sure she gets home," he says brazenly. I'm sure he'd love nothing more than to take her home.
"That's okay, Seth. We have some business related matters to discuss." I level him a look that instantly makes him nervous.
He darts his eyes to the door and then back to me. "Okay, see you Thursday, Mr. Cullen," he mumbles.
"Have a good evening."
I watch him tuck his tail between his legs and scurry to the door, leaving me finally alone in the room with Bella. I turn back to the bar, studying the liquor bottles that line the glassed wall.
I know this is dangerous. I shouldn't be sitting here waiting for an employee like some seventeen year old kid. I should have left a long time ago. But somehow, what I should be doing doesn't really matter.
"You're still here." Bella's melodic voice drifts to me, and I turn my head to see her standing in front of the employee break room, a black Prada bag draped over her arm, her hair out of the ponytail and trailing down over her shoulders.
She's changed into her standard uniform, her cheap shoes back on her feet as she holds a series of bags in her hands. She's fucking stunning, and I stare back at her speechless.
She shifts nervously, and I slip off the stool, moving slowly to her, never breaking eye contact. "I was just leaving, actually." I motion to the door, and she smiles up at me before walking to it.
I open the door for her, and she steps out, looking up at Peter and smiling. "Have a good night, Peter," she says quietly, pressing the arrow for the elevator.
"Bella. Mr. Cullen," he replies, his protective stance at the door never faltering.
I stand beside her, staring at the elevator. "Is your boyfriend picking you up?" I ask, glancing down at her as the elevator dings and opens.
"I don't have a boyfriend," she states, leveling me a stare. "Something tells me you knew that already." Her expression changes, as if she knows she's out of line, her eyes darting away quickly.
I try hard to hide my amusement of her answer. Of course I know she doesn't have a boyfriend. "No boyfriend, huh?" I hold the elevator door, and she steps in, moving into the corner.
"I don't suppose you would know what that feels like," she teases as I punch the code for the lobby.
"Miss Swan, what are you trying to say?" I lift my eyebrows to her, enjoying seeing her squirm while the elevator starts its rapid descent.
She flushes, but keeps her eyes locked to mine. "Just that you seem to be with a different woman pretty much every time I see you."
I'm intrigued that she seems to know that not so impressive fact. "Spying on me, now?"
"No. I think that's your area of expertise," she replies dryly. She really has no idea.
"Well, at least let me walk you to your car," I offer.
"Thanks, but I don't have a car. I take the bus," she says, shrugging like that's no big deal.
I furrow my brow. "The bus?" What the hell is she doing taking the bus at this time of night, or at all, for that matter.
"Yeah, you know, the big blue and white things that go up and down the street twenty-four hours a day?" I never used to like sarcasm. I think I've just changed my mind. Normally, this kind of attitude coming from an employee would annoy the fuck out of me, but I can't deny the fact that coming from her, it's a massive turn on. It's completely opposite to the normal reactions I typically get from women.
Usually, they're like little lost puppy dogs, hanging off my every word and eager to please. Unfortunately, that means any attempt for me to have a meaningful conversation goes nowhere.
"At this time of night?"
"I take the bus every day, so why should tonight be any different?" she asks.
"Because I know you take it, now, and I don't like it."
She takes a quick gasp in, adjusting the Prada bag over her arm. "You should try it some time. Come and see how the commoners live." She flushes, looking away from me.
"The commoners?" I ask. She nods as the elevator stops and opens. Again, I hold the door and follow along behind her as she glides through the lobby. "How much is it?"
"Three dollars for each trip, unless you want to buy a monthly pass," she snarks, smiling to the night staff behind the reception desk. "Have a good night, guys." She gives a wave to whoever is behind the desk, and they do a double take when they see that I'm with her.
I vaguely register one of them wishing me a good evening, but I'm too focused on her to give a shit, not that I would, anyway.
"Three dollars, for a ride? That's highway robbery," I say while we move through the automatic doors, the hot, dry air hitting us as we step out onto the sidewalk.
"Says the man who makes his living taking other people's money," she quips.
I chuckle at her. "I have to make a living some how."
She nods, starting down the path that leads to the street, stopping at a bus sign on the corner. I come to a stop beside her, the fountains bursting to life in the man-made lake in front of the casino.
It's amazing how many people are milling around at this time of night. Limos cruise by, happy groups of tourists stumble across the street, looking for their next thrill, and it all seems like a blur, standing next to her.
She peers down the street anxiously before staring up at me. "Well, I'm sure your driver must be waiting for you," she says dismissively. Oh, I don't think so, Miss Swan.
"That's his job."
"Waiting is his job?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow.
"Yes."
"Sounds kind of boring."
"He doesn't complain," I answer truthfully.
"Have you ever asked him?"
What is she talking about? "Asked him what?"
"If he enjoys his job?" she questions.
"He wouldn't be doing it if he didn't."
"Right, because everyone is always working at their dream job… waiting on tables, waiting on VIPs, waiting on you." I snicker at her bluntness. "I'm sorry. I know I'm being difficult. I'm just tired. It's been a long night," she mutters.
"We could always drive you home." What the fuck are you doing? You did not just offer to drive her home.
"I don't think that's a very good idea," she states firmly.
"And why would that be?"
She cocks her head to the side. "Mr. Cullen, please don't take this the wrong way, but why are you out here at two-thirty in the morning?" she asks, flipping the tables on me.
"I'm talking to you," I muse, caught in her stare.
"All the riveting conversations happen in the middle of the night?"
"You'd be surprised."
A double-decker bus glides to the curb, gasping to a stop. "This is me," she says, fishing around awkwardly in her bag.
"Ahh, the Deuce," I murmur, narrowing my eyes at the name flashing in yellow digital neon on the top of the windshield on the bus-the bus that's about to whisk her away from me. She breezes by me, boarding the bus when the doors hiss open. No fucking way she's getting away that easily.
I hop up behind her, my body brushing up against her back while she shows the driver her pass. She whips her head back to me, her eyes widening. "What are you doing?" she asks.
"I'm taking your advice and trying the bus."
She shakes her head, unaffected by my smirk. "You're insane," she says, laughing.
"Probably."
I pull out my wallet from the breast pocket of my jacket and fish out a twenty, handing it to the driver. "No change," he mumbles.
"No change?" Why am I not in the bus business?
The unimpressed driver shakes his head while I watch Bella move down the aisle. "Look, money bags, are you coming or going? I got a schedule to keep, here," the driver grumbles.
"I'm coming." Soon… I fucking hope, and preferably with her. I drop the twenty in the plastic box and follow her down the aisle to the middle of the bus.
She plunks down in one of the seats and sighs heavily, like some massive weight has just been lifted from her. She folds the Prada garment bag over her arm carefully and stares out the window, shaking her head and trying extremely hard to hide her smirk. I sit down beside her and survey the seats in front of us.
It's not bad, I suppose, as buses go, not that I've been on any. It looks relatively new, and it's clean. That's about all I can say for it. There are a couple of college kids in the seats in front of us, laughing and generally being annoying, and a balding man who looks like he hasn't seen a bed in days, slumped against the window. She shouldn't be riding this thing by herself at night.
The bus roars to life, pulling away from the Oasis and snaking down the neon strip. She sits in silence, her fingers twisting together nervously on top of the garment bag.
I turn to her, knowing I'm running out of time. I have no idea how long this bus ride takes, but it can't be that long. "I would like to meet tomorrow to discuss some changes I'd like to make to the room in time for Thursday," I blurt out.
She furrows her brow. "Changes? Did I do something wrong?" she asks nervously.
"No. You did great, actually."
"I did?"
I nod. "We can go over things tomorrow, say around lunch?"
"Oh, I um, I bring my lunch," she replies almost apologetically.
I smirk and shake my head. "Okay, so brown bag it with me."
"You're going to bring your lunch?" she asks skeptically.
"I could."
"You mean you could have your housekeeper or your cook make you lunch?" she taunts.
"I don't have a cook or a housekeeper." She raises a questionable eyebrow. "Okay, so I have a housekeeper, but she doesn't live with me, and she only comes three days a week."
She smiles, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"What do you think?" I ask. Could I sound any more desperate?
"Okay, but I have conditions," she says. The bus stops, and a young couple who are hanging off each other and giggling get on, stumbling to the back.
"Negotiating with your boss now, are you, Miss Swan?" I ask as the bus starts to move again. This bus is annoying the hell out of me. I don't know how she does this every day.
"Bella," she corrects.
"Bella." Her smile widens, and her eyes dart from mine to her fingers. "Let's hear your conditions, and I'll consider them," I say gently.
She glances at me nervously, clearing her throat. "First, you have to make your own lunch. No meals from one of the restaurants disguised as something you made yourself," she says, almost like a challenge or something.
"Done." Holy fuck, what do I have in my fridge? It's been two days since Tanya was in to clean the house and restock the fridge. I have no idea what's even in there. She hardly brings anything to begin with. It's not like I'm home enough to worry about lunches and dinners, and any entertaining I do is catered.
"And I really think you should to take the bus home tonight," she adds.
"What?" I ask, laughing. She can't be serious.
"You should take the bus home," she says, making sure to accentuate each word.
"I don't even know if the bus goes where I live."
She points up to a matrix of lines on a route map close to the ceiling of the bus. "You could check the map."
Fuck. I look up at the map, narrowing my eyes in frustration. "It looks like the buses don't go to my neighbourhood," I state.
"So, take it as far as you can."
"And then what?"
"Then you can walk," she says plainly.
I narrow my eyes at her.
"Okay, you can have your driver pick you up at the closest stop to your house," she concedes.
"Aren't you worried about me traveling the bus routes alone?"
She shakes her head, looking amused. "No."
"You wound me, Bella. How would you feel if something happened to me because of your little challenge?" I taunt.
"Crushed, I'm sure," she answers sarcastically, trying to hide her amusement of our exchange.
"Okay. I accept your conditions."
"Okay." She adjusts her bags and then stands slightly, lifting her eyes to the door. "I have to get off here and switch buses."
"Oh." I stand, moving out of the way as she shuffles to the door across from where we were sitting. What the hell? There's more of this? It's going to be three-thirty in the fucking morning before she gets home.
The bus grinds to a halt, and I have to steady myself against the seat to keep from getting jostled. The doors open, and she takes the stairs down, being careful to hold the garment bag away from the floor.
She steps off, and I lunge for the door as it hisses and starts to close, my arm pushing between the doors. They open, and I hop down to the sidewalk, staring down at her while my heart hammers.
"What are you doing?" she asks, her eyes wide while she looks at me as if I'm crazy.
"Switching buses. As much as I'd love to just ride this one up and down the strip all night, it isn't going to get me home."
"Right," she says, moving quickly down the sidewalk and boarding a different bus. I don't hesitate, climbing on behind her. She doesn't turn around this time to question me. She simply shakes her head, pulling out her pass to show to the driver.
I fish out another twenty, dropping it into the container and moving down the aisle. I sink into the seat beside her. Riding these fucking things is exhausting. "Are you sure this is your bus?" she asks playfully.
"I have no idea."
She laughs, running her fingers through her hair as the bus whirls to life. It turns off the strip, the pulsing neon lights giving way to offices and restaurants, and then a residential area as we sit in silence. I try to wrap my head around the fact that I'm essentially stalking her, now. Jesus, Cullen… creepy much?
"What time tomorrow?" she asks suddenly, staring at me intently.
"I'll send Mrs. Cope to collect you when I'm ready."
"Well, what if I'm in a meeting or something when you decide you're ready?"
"Then you end the meeting, or whatever somethingit is that you're doing," I answer.
"I can't just end a meeting," she argues.
"Yes. You can." She looks at me questioningly. "Fine, I have time at one-thirty," I relent.
"Why couldn't you just say that in the first place?" she asks, laughing.
"Because this is so much more enjoyable," I answer.
She laughs, reaching up and pressing a button on the bar above us. "This is my stop." I look out the window, narrowing my eyes. It's dark out there, with only a few sporadic street lights actually working. "One of the advantages of slumming it. The bus actually stops in my neighbourhood," she says.
I stand up and watch as she fumbles with her bag and gingerly handles the Prada one. She brushes up against me on her way to door, and I have to stifle a groan at the contact.
She holds onto the metal bar in front of the door, waiting until the bus comes to a stop. Panic creeps… I don't want her to go. I'm not done with her yet.
I move beside her, lifting the Pradabag from her hands. "What are you doing?"
"You've been asking that a lot, tonight."
"I'm sorry," she says.
"I'm just making sure you get home."
"I can handle it, Mr. Cullen."
"Edward."
"Okay. I can handle it, Edward." My dick loves the way my name sounds as it falls from her lips.
The doors open, and she steps down onto the street, breaking into a fast walk immediately. I follow, walking along beside her, taking in the neighbourhood.
In the dimly lit street, there are rows upon rows of townhouses, packed together like sardines. I can hear the echo of barking dogs in the distance and see the glow from the muted light of a corner store up the street. I can't believe she walks here alone; although, to be fair, I'm sure she doesn't do it at almost three in the morning very often.
Still, the thought doesn't sit well. This is not the better part of town. Fuck, I sound like a snob, even to myself. We walk in silence, her heels clicking along the pavement providing the soundtrack, until she stops in front of a set of long wooden stairs leading to one of the townhouses.
"This is me. Home sweet home," she says.
I glance up at the house. It's generic; siding and brick, two small windows on either side of the door, just like all the others on the street. "You're not going to invite me up?"
Her smile inches up slightly. "No. You can get another bus back at the stop," she explains.
"Will it be waiting for me?"
She laughs at how oblivious I am. "No. Buses are kind of like men... there will be another along in twenty minutes or so."
"Not another one like me."
She wets her lip, her laughter fading. "Probably not."
It's the first time I've seen her falter in her attempt to mask her emotions. I hand her the Prada bag, and she takes it gently. "I'm going to pay you back, for this," she says quickly.
"You don't have to do that."
"I want to, well, actually, I need to pay you back. It just seems... wrong."
"It's just a dress and a pair of shoes."
"That cost more than I make in a month," she says.
"Well, maybe you need a raise."
"Yeah, but my boss is a real dick that way." My eyes widen at her. "Shit," she whispers under her breath. "I didn't mean that, Mr. Cullen. I know that you pay extremely well, and I don't want to sound ungrateful... I'm just..." She shakes her head, looking embarrassed.
"Call me Edward, and it's alright. You've had a long night. We'll talk about your obviously less than adequate salary tomorrow," I tease.
"Okay, well... good night, Edward."
"Good night, Bella."
She turns and practically runs up the stairs, while I watch her ass in that skirt. She drops her bag on the balcony and squats down, digging around in the bag, her jacket riding up and revealing the creamy small of her back. She practically glows under the muted light in front of her door.
It's really tempting not to go up there and help her. Right, that's what you want to do ... help her. You mean fuck heragainst the door, the railing, any surface will do; I'm not picky.
She pulls out a key and stands, scrambling to the door while I internally chant for her to look back.
Look back… come on. You know you want to.
My breathing catches as she opens the door and steps inside.
Turn around… look at me.
But she doesn't.
Chapter end notes:
So, a lot to take in as our Edward experiences something new-someone who challenges and tests him.
Thoughts?
Twitter: CarLemon