Bella Swan is tired as she slips into the booth at the Irish Pub. She feels as if she is singlehandedly steering SAF Global away from an immense iceberg. Board members, executives, administrators, vice presidents, advisors… they all lack the clarity of vision that she possesses in this crisis, when the answer appears as obvious to her as 'bear left'… or aft… or starboard. (She cannot bring herself to make the effort to link the correct nautical phrase to her choice of simile).
"What'll you have?" a server in a stained t-shirt and apron asks as she eyes Bella up and down.
"Maker's Mark, neat, with a back of water."
"Jack Daniel's okay, honey?"
Bella presses her lips together. She could use a drink, but Jack Daniels is not okay and Bella is not one to drink for the sake of alcohol.
"Tonic water, then, with a twist of lime."
The server huffs and offers a weak smile, leaving Bella to her smartphone and her empty booth.
Of course, there are many other bars Bella could have visited that could provide top shelf liquor. There is her own bar at home, for one. If the desire struck, she could have sent Laurent out for cases of Maker's Mark. Instead, she is here waiting: a foreign pastime in a forlorn location. She is not used to waiting. Furthermore, he has left her wondering as well. Bella is not pleased.
Bella had sent word with Jake that she had an offer for Mr. Cullen in light of the fact that he was out of work. Jake would escort Mr. Cullen here to discuss the matter. Jake is reliable and discreet; he does not fail Bella, ever. Yet minutes tick by and Jake and Edward are not present. More alarming still, Bella's cell remains stubbornly silent. She will not make the call. She will not send an inquiring text. She does not need Edward Cullen. He needs her. That fact must be made clear from the beginning.
Bella's thoughts stray back to more reassuring territory, like this afternoon's board meeting. She was the only executive in the room with answers or with any pretense of a plan for moving forward. At this cataclysmic moment in time, all other multinational businesses are doubling back and licking their wounds. Sadly, caution is endemic in banking these days, and it offers a clue to the factors that have brought the globe to the brink of monetary disaster. SAG Global will not follow suit. They will calmly assess their competitors' damage and then go in for the kill. Bella remembers with pleasure how the male board members in attendance this afternoon silently salivated at her predatory plans (as men are liable to do when images of slaughter are put before them). The smattering of women present attempted to appear as bloodthirsty as their male counterparts.
Afterwards, Bella is pleased but tired. Her body calls for downtime pursuits. Whiskey would have been lovely: something smooth and warm as a reward. However, she has an angle on a prize of a different ilk.
The monitor on her desk has been dark for five days, but his eyes have managed to pierce through the haze of her memory. She aims to bring them back to life, she aims to bring them here, she aims to have them settle on her, face to face. These thoughts leave Bella's nerves firing relentlessly and she works to make certain that her breathing is slow and controlled. Her eyes are steady as she glances around at the wood paneled bar and decades old advertisements for Guinness.
She imagines that this is the kind of place he may have wandered into on his own. She imagines he might have come on his own accord and drowned his sorrows at the bar with his best friend or brother-in-law. She also imagines what it might be like if he pinned her up against the dirty brick wall out back in the alley, but just as quickly she banishes that thought from her mind. There are steps that must come first. She must remember those shortsighted schmucks from the office – they focus on the basic one, two, three of a plan, while she always has her eyes set on the prize.
Her prize. She presses her thighs together and sits up straight in anticipation, and as if on cue, albeit twenty minutes late, he walks through the door. Her prize. The tall man glances around, getting his bearings, undoubtedly looking for her. He's dressed as if for work, in a coal gray suit, white oxford shirt and silver tie. All items show subtle wear. The shirt could use bleach, the suit could use a pressing, and the tie could be put to better use.
Bella works to keep from jumping to her feet. She works to keep the smile from her face. She works to keep her hands from twirling her hair, suddenly inspired from within to act like a coy child. Jake's presence as he takes an inconspicuous spot at the counter helps her to stay in check.
After three seconds worth of infinity, Edward spots her in the booth. Bella reads the emotions on his face; he is confused, angry, frustrated and hopeful. All is as planned. But she couldn't have planned how thoroughly his living and breathing body could make her feel. It is irrational. She is playing with fire. A tiger wrestling with a trapped bear.
Edward Cullen strides towards the booth in a show of confidence and Bella rises and smooths her skirt. Edward is more than a head taller than Bella. She knows this detail, of course, but the in-person evidence of this fact leaves her heart thumping near audibly in her chest. She tilts her head and steadily holds his gaze. Inside she is alight.
"Ms. Swan?"
"Mr. Cullen."
The server chooses this moment to return, and places the tonic water on the booth between the two erstwhile executives. "You want a drink?" she asks Edward, flashing a toothy grin.
Edward visibly relaxes as he turns to the server. "No, thank you." His voice is deep and soft, filled with kindness and apology.
The server huffs, but can't help but widen her smile at the penitent patron.
"He'll have a beer," Bella insists.
All eyes return to Bella, which she feels is their rightful focus.
"I don't want -" He begins to argue, anxiety returned.
"You do. He'll have a beer."
"Any beer in particular?" the server asks the tall man, enjoying the show.
Edward Cullen glances between the CEO of the company that he was very recently fired from, to the middle-aged woman with the grease-stained top. "Brooklyn Brown?"
"Comin' at ya'." She winks before leaving.
"It's on me."
The man chuckles bitterly under his breath. "I'd think so."
"Have a seat."
"You mean we're not going to stand all evening?" he asks, sliding into the booth. He is nervous, but he plays smooth well. Bella is pleased as she takes her seat and temples her hands on the over-varnished tabletop. Edward leans back and stretches his legs and his feet reach clear to her side of the booth. She presses her thighs together, her body fitting neatly between his legs, like prey between jaws. It is such a lovely irony, Bella feels compelled to smile.
"You have an offer?" Edward asks, and just like that there is a crack in his smooth façade. His disarming eyes radiate despair. He is being eaten up from the inside out. Bella marshals what she knows about the man as she prepares for the set-up.
"I'm not here to offer you your job back."
"What then?" he asks quietly as if he's holding his breath.
"Frankly, you don't deserve your job back. You lost your position fare and square. Once upon a time you showed signs of brilliance, but you've lost that spark and it's not within my job description to help you find it. I run a multinational financial services firm. There's no room there for charity."
"What are you offering then? Why am I here? I can -"
"You can no longer do anything for me professionally that Mr. Hughes and Mr. Cody cannot."
"I'm the one who trained them."
"Exactly. You've dug your own grave, Mr. Cullen. You should have been more mindful while you were employed."
"I don't think you understand, Ms. Swan. There are… extenuating circumstances."
"Which is why you're here."
"Excuse me?"
"You have an overdrawn savings account and you've drained your 401K early, despite the tax penalty."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm the CEO of the financial institution you bank with, Mr. Cullen. You have a mortgage payment coming due on your home. You have two weeks left on your health insurance before you'll have to pay out of pocket."
Those clear green eyes, those eyes that have pierced right through Bella Swan's gut and wrung her from the inside out, those eyes she was desperate to see in person – they go wide and become damp. She watches red blotches bleed into their whites. She watches Edward Cullen's adam's apple slowly bob in his throat.
The server returns with a pint of beer but leaves quickly, repelled by the tension radiating from the booth.
"What do you know?" Edward asks quietly.
"I've told you what I know. You're a man on the edge. You should have taken care."
"I do take care," he nearly roars as he pounds his fist on the table. The sound of his voice is guttural. Patrons turn to stare and Edward Cullen focuses meekly at the table, embarrassed by his own outburst.
"Not well enough," Bella remarks.
At first Edward keeps his eyes on his beer glass and his fingertips trail in the ring of condensation it's created. "I didn't take enough care? I didn't take care enough?" Edward's head snaps up and he is glaring at Bella. "You know what? Fuck you, Ms. Swan. Fuck. You. You're as ruthless and insane in person as you are from a distance. I should have known better than to subject myself to whatever the fuck this is."
Edward begins to abruptly slide out from the booth but Bella jumps to her feet and lunges across the table, grabbing hold of Edward's wrist. They are both stunned into stillness. Bella is acutely aware of the rise and fall of Edward's chest. Edward is acutely aware of Bella's suddenly exposed cleavage. They are both startled by the warmth and burn of her skin against his. They are both awakened to what could happen in the other's proximity.
A moment passes and Bella lets go. She stands erect. She pushes her hair behind her ears.
"I'm a busy woman, Mr. Cullen," she begins quietly. "You are a man that has only five shares of Apple standing between his old life and one of destitution. There are no tech jobs to be found in this market. There are food pantries and walk-in clinics. And then there is my offer: I want you at my disposal. I want you to play my game. Once weekly."
"Excuse me?"
Bella slides a finger across the table towards Edward. She lets her fingertip trail through his pint glass's puddle where it runs in a circle until it finally arrives at its destination and barely brushes Edward's thumb. Her insides hum to the tune of his breathing. She is pleased. She sees in his eyes that he understands. She has chosen wisely, as always.
"I have a wife."
"I know."
"I love my wife."
"Most men do."
"This is harassment."
"You're no longer under my employ. This is simply a deal between two adults. One with means. One without. One who's willing to meet the other's needs."
"I have a wife," Edward repeats.
Bella takes a deep breath. She slowly raises her head and makes certain to gaze at Edward Cullen head on... to make certain he understands. "I know, Mr. Cullen. There are things I could offer her that you never could."
"Fuck you, Ms. Swan. Fuck you."
Edward grabs his leather briefcase, slips out of the booth and strides away without looking back. Jake makes eye contact with Bella from across the bar, silently asking if he should follow. Bella shakes her head. Edward will find a cab. He will take time. He will stew.
He will inevitably relent.
A/N: SereneInNC is my beta, Obsmama is my pre-reader & I'm so freakin' grateful to have them both.
This isn't my typical subject matter. High finance? Manipulation? Shame? Who knew?
Thanks for all of the reviews! Tell your friends to take this story for a whirl... then have an amazing Memorial Day weekend if you live here in the states. (Have a regular old amazing weekend if you live abroad.)
XXX ~BDC