Five minutes, I can't be exactly sure but my guess is five. Eight if I'm completely mistaken, it's harder to judge the flow and passing of time with eternity stretched out before you. Nevertheless, from my frenzied leap from the roof to my return, approximately five minutes had passed. I considered leaving the apartment a few times, but I was unable to force myself into action. I tried thinking of destinations, going to the office, to one of my other apartments, a damn bar at this point would be better. But I still couldn't get my feet out the door.

I needed a distraction, something to take me away from tonight. I usually play when I'm this preoccupied, but I know if I had an instrument in my hands I'd smash it to bits in frustration. So here I sit, back in the same chair I was in when I was waiting for night to fall, stewing. Not accomplishing anything that would bring me out of this irritation, just existing as I watch the night pass by.

The smell, that's the first thing I noticed as the sun rose and woke me up. Groggy and disoriented I pull myself up from my bed, realizing I'm still in my clothes from the night before I walk into my bathroom and shed them. Giving them a quick sniff I realize I've found the smell. As I toss them into the hamper I notice the rag tied to my arm, looking at it closer I see it's actually the remnants of a very nice shirt. I undo the tie and start to pull it off but I'm stopped by a twinge of pain. I turn my arm over and see the blood stained into the shirt.

Gingerly I pull off the shirt, wincing every centimeter of the way as the scab is pulled off in some places. It's a long gash, I flex my hand and move my arm around, but nothing seems to be damaged. I think back over the night, and there's nothing. I can't remember the cut, how I could have gotten it, or where the make-shift bandage may have come from. I only remember coming home from work and then there's nothing, just fuzz where a memory should be. I must have passed out on the bed in my clothes; I suppose I did have a rough day yesterday.

I finish reapplying the bandage, head into the living room and see my answering machine blinking with a message. I press the play button, for a moment forgetting that my agent was going to call me if he had gotten any good news. A rush of excitement hit me as Steven started talking. One company wanted to meet: Old-world Records. I'd never heard of it before but any opportunity was a good one at this point. As soon as the message finished I picked up the phone and dialed his number. It rang for a long while and I was starting to get nervous when he finally answered.

"Well, Miss Swan! I didn't think it'd take this long for you to call me back, I was getting worried!" he says sarcastically.

"Hi Steven, sorry I didn't get back to you last night. I got home last night and just passed out; I must have been more tired than I thought." Trying to play it off as no big deal I laugh nervously into the receiver, it doesn't work.

"Are you okay? Are you sick? What happened yesterday?" sounding genuinely concerned.

"Oh, I'm sure it was nothing, just tired from working all day." Which could be true; running tables for nearly ten hours on a Friday night can tire anyone out.

That seemed to placate him, at least for the moment, and we start talking. He had been on a call with the secretary at Old-World to set up the meeting. We are going to have lunch on Thursday with the CEO Edward Cullen.

"He's probably the youngest exec I've ever dealt with, actually not too much older than you. He's kind of eccentric and really doesn't sign a lot of people so consider your self lucky." He started telling me, "You'll probably feel a little leery around him, but honestly, I think it's because he's so good looking."

"Is he really?" I was intrigued that any man would admit openly that another man was good looking.

"Well, yeah; though I've never heard of him dating or married or anything."

"Really?" I paused for a moment; it struck me as odd that a good looking businessman would have absolutely no prospects.

"Yeah, I asked him about it once; he just said he hadn't found the one yet."

"Well, that's kinda romantic I guess." I replied.

"I suppose; well, anyway. I'll call you later this week and we can touch base then. Great job kiddo, I'll talk to you later."

"Bye Steven, thank you so much!"

I hang up the phone, glancing at the clock I realize it's almost noon and I have to be at work at one o'clock. With a drawn out swear I rush into my room and dress for work. I dash out the door with visions of a fancy lunch and a good looking man running through my mind.