SMeyers owns Twilight and its characters, but Newspaper Wars is all mine, baby.

A/N: So this is my fourth chapter in a week and I love this story already. I just wanted to dedicate this chapter to my favorite FanFic authors whose work has inspired me to reach out of my comfort zone. They don't really know me, but their stories have made an impact on me in some way and I am forever grateful. DefinatelyStaying, hunterhunting, WinndSinger, Tby789, and AngstGoddess003, this one's for you.

~BPOV~

Walking through the parking lot entrance to Gas Works Park, I suddenly got excited to see Emmett. The last time we saw each other was when I spent a week in Forks six months ago over Thanksgiving. I saw Em's tell-tale calling card in the parking lot and chuckled at his MUSCLMN license plate as I walked by. All through college he tinkered with restoring his 1970 Plymouth Hemi Cuda, and for a graduation gift to himself he painted it metallic silver. The personalized license plate was just a finishing touch. I teased him mercilessly at the time, telling him that he better keep up the rigorous workouts because otherwise, I might be tempted to buy him a new license plate more akin to Seinfeld's ASSMAN.

Even from a distance I could see he still had nothing to worry about. Deep in thought and leaning against a concrete park bench, Emmett was looking out over Lake Union.

Closing the distance between us, I snuck up behind him and leaned up to his ear and breathed, "Penny for your thoughts."

He was startled for a moment but quickly recovered. "Bells!" He pulled me into his massive arms and squeezed me so hard I couldn't breathe. "I've missed you so much." He eased out of the hug and took a step back from me and had a huge grin on his face. "You look absolutely ravishing, as always…"

I quirked my brow and smiled, "You too, beef stick. I brought you dinner, but I'm not sure what I'll be able to salvage from my bag after that bear hug."

I sat down at the bench and pulled out a slightly smooshed pair of pastramis on rye. I rarely visited Em empty handed, especially since food was his weakness.

Without so much as a warning, he launched right into nagging. "So, you gonna tell me why the hell you took this job at the fucking King County Reporter without consulting me?"

"Well, it was the only business reporting position that was open in Seattle that I could find after Renee …." I trailed off. I may have been actively grieving, but it didn't mean the subject wasn't hard to talk about. If anyone understood where I was coming from, it was Emmett.
"It's all there was Em, and it was time for me to come home." I looked down at my sandwich and fiddled with wrapper to avoid his accusing eyes. "Not to mention, Marcus upped the pay they were offering originally and threw in a new laptop and cell phone to boot."

He grumbled under his breath and crossed his arms on the picnic table.

"I just wish you would have talked to me about it first, I could have saved you a lot of heartache." I could feel the vibrations of his leg bouncing under the table nervously. "You're too good for that paper Bella–this is a step backwards for you."

Heartache? Great.

I sighed and nudged him with my shoulder. "There you go, trying to protect me from myself again. I mean c'mon, Em, how bad can it be? At least I get to hang out with you."

"Yeah … well, I wish I could be all hunkey dorey about this, Bells, but remember what happened the last time I warned you about something?" he said, picking at his sandwich.

Here it comes. For being such a meat head, he had a memory like a vice.

"You hooked up with that fucktard Newton!"

"Okay, Emmett, calm down. You're starting to draw attention." I blushed, noticing two women checking Em out as they passed us on the footpath with their dogs. I gave him a knowing smirk before launching into my misgivings. "Look, I've already been privy to a few signs that have triggered my warning signal. Regardless, the reality is that for now at least–I'm stuck."

"Aro's paper is a slick publication. It's got all the bells and whistles of a modern, cutting-edge newspaper, but it lacks consistency and a solid reporting staff. The end product is nothing but a rag that isn't worth the paper it's printed on," he said.

"Well don't hold back how you really feel or anything, Em. I'd hate to be the cause of your indigestion later." I took a bite of my sandwich and winked at him.

"So uh, is this dinner considered fraternizing with the enemy?" I joked. "Do I need to worry about Cullen running your underwear up the flagpole as a sign of what happens to those that cross enemy lines."

He punched me in the arm. "You wish you could see my underwear, Bells," he said, following my gaze to the girls stalling at a nearby spot. They were–not so stealthily–stealing glances at him. He leaned in and whispered, "They don't hold a candle to you Isabella." I shivered at his use of my whole name. He moved his hand under my hair and drew circles under my ear with his thumb.

I smiled shyly at the flush that came up my neck and to my cheeks; silently grateful that I was wearing a blazer today, so he couldn't notice the instant goose bumps that covered my arms. Normally, I felt pretty confident about myself, but it has been a rough week with the move, and the cluster-fucked job situation.

"Is Mike still fucking with your head?" He shook his head and went back to eating his sandwich, like he didn't need an answer to the question. "When are you going to open your eyes and see that there are a lot of men who would kill to wake up next to you?"

Whoa. Damn. If he wasn't talking with his mouth full, I so would have had to change my panties over that one.

Emmett's lacking table manners gave me a chance to take control of the conversation. "Why Em? You offering?" I challenged with an evil grin and laughing eyes.

"Ahhhh, there's the feisty Bella I know and love." H wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head.

"Tread lightly with the flirting, Em. You don't want your oldest friend lusting after you."

"Do you hear yourself?" he teased, sounding surprised. "I want everyone lusting after me."

"Eww, Em, that's just too weird to contemplate. You are such a slut." His only response was a conceited wink as he crumpled up the sandwich paper.

We both turned quiet for a few minutes and focused on the beauty of our surroundings. The industrial relics of Gas Works Park reminded me of art I'd seen in Dr. Seuss books. It was just so out of place and out of this world looking. The red, rusty mazes of pipes were stark against the gray sky. A distinct chill had settled in and it started to get dark.

Angela's suggestion that I consider Em as a potential fuck buddy had apparently gone to my head because I couldn't help picturing him naked. He interrupted the reverie and asked me how my trip to Arizona went.

"Aweful, and… not. I don't know," I sighed. "As good as could be expected I guess." I looked out at the water and searched for something else to talk about.

"Enough about me. What have you been up to lately… besides covering sports?" I asked, hoping to avoid Emmett's latest Seahawks rant. I saw his column this morning and he is obviously deeply disturbed by a long string of player injuries and some so-called curse involving the Virginia Mason Athletic Center.

"Well, I recently signed up to volunteer one day a week at the Boys and Girls Club teaching a sports day camp this summer. I'm kind of excited about that ..."

"Get out! I don't believe it," I said in awe. "What inspired this and how are you possibly going to fit that in with your daily workout schedule, twice-a-week marathon car detailing sessions, and late nights whoring up the club scene?" I giggled at his mock offense.

"I'll have you know that I've grown up a lot since you saw me last year," he said trying not to laugh. "Now, I only detail my car once a week." It was my turn to punch him in the arm. We joked a little longer at his expense and cleared up our dinner mess. I had to get back to the paper soon and Emmett offered to give me a ride.

"So…" Emmett said with a pregnant pause as we walked toward his car. "How is he?"

It took me a moment to figure out who he was talking about, but got the drift. "Fine. He took Renee's death hard," I said, remembering the events of the past couple of weeks. "It'd been a long time since they had seen each other. So, I guess I just didn't expect that kind of reaction, you know?"

"When's he coming out?"

I buckled my seat belt and turned to him. "Tomorrow," I smiled matter-of-factly, "along with my truck."

"Cool, because we have a lot to talk about."

"Hey I never invited you, ya know, and I sure as hell will not take any ganging up on me kindly." I was still pouting when we pulled up to my work. I started to get out of the car, but stopped when I remembered something I forgot to ask.

"Hey, should I know anything about Cullen before I meet him at this event tonight?"

"Ummm… only that I already told him about you," he said with a sheepish grin. "And I might have mentioned to him that we need to steal you away from Aro. He was intrigued, so I sent him that clip of yours from the CNPA awards."

Fuck.

After that little bombshell, I got out of the car and slammed the door. Apparently he wasn't done talking because he rolled down the window and leaned forward.

"Oh and Bells–he's a bit of a ladies' man, so I'd watch my ass if I were you." Emmett laughed as he rolled up the window and pulled away from the curb.

Fuuuuuck.

-0-

In all my 28 years I had only been this nervous one other time, and that scenario involved blood. A lot of it. I took to the stairs like it was my own funeral procession. Marcus saw me from across the room and grabbed his camera. A small wave of relief washed over me at the realization that at least I wouldn't have to deal with Jake tonight. Marcus was making his rounds through the newsroom and a couple of reporters mentioned some last minute additions they wanted to fit in before deadline. I saw an opportunity, and excused myself to use the restroom.

I pulled out my makeup bag and applied some powdered foundation to my cheeks. The writing on the wall said that I was going to need it. If only I didn't turn red when I drank, then at least I could slam a drink once we arrived for a little liquid courage. Instead, I opted to add a darker shade of eye shadow for a smoky affect and applied a fresh coat of lip gloss.

Aro met us downstairs and I couldn't help but shiver when he touched my back as I climbed into his limousine. Something about him gave me the creeps and my instinctual reaction to his touch confirmed my intuition. The transportation choice was over the top, but I am finding that happens a lot when Aro and the King County Reporter were involved. I faked a pleasant smile as Marcus explained away Lauren's absence.

Lauren, our esteemed managing editor, I had seen all of two times in a week. Both of those times her lips were permanently attached to Aro's ass, so I'm guessing that is the extent of her job. It's fine really. Marcus should be the one at these events anyway. He was obviously the one who did all the work.

I tried to not fidget while we drove the six miles to the Seattle Marriott Waterfront. While I'd noticed that Marcus had a friendly face, I hadn't really looked at how his dark hair and light blue eyes gave him a slightly angelic look.

That's probably because he curses like a sailor, has a tendency to fly off the handle, and has a propensity to tell inappropriate jokes.

Aro debriefed me on a few important people he was most interested in me becoming acquainted with. Marcus handed me a name tag as we stepped through the door, and in the span of a few minutes, we were flocked by Aro fans from the real estate contingent in the room. This wasn't surprising. Rose said that before dabbling in newsprint, Aro had made his mark in the business world by building shopping malls and strip malls all over the country. While Aro was occupied in talking shop with a department store representative interested in placing her glossy ad inserts in the Reporter, Marcus was able to introduce me to a representatives from Microsoft, Starbucks, a few area hospital administrators–and the Boeing CFO that avoided me earlier in the day. On the spot, I grabbed a comment from him and made my way to a quiet corner to call it in to the copy desk.

She shoots, she scores...

By the time I made my way back to the spot I last saw Marcus, he was long gone and in his place was, quite literally, the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. He was talking to a woman who appeared to be from a bank, when his eyes lifted to mine. He grinned. His unkempt reddish-brown hair looked like it had been in a fight with a comb and won. He was wearing an obviously tailored suit that looked like something from the 2010 Dolce & Gabanna line. Looking away immediately, I felt my face flush in embarrassment at being staring. I turned just a little too quickly on my heel and stumbled, bumping into the table in front of me.

His laughter preceded his question. "Usually, I just suck it up and introduce myself when I get nervous and the fight or flight instinct kicks in," the man said.

"Hmm. My first instinct is to fight, what does that say about me?" I smiled and offered my hand. "Bella Swan, new business writer for the King County Reporter."

"Ah. I'm… Edward, owner of Seattle Cycle Tours," he said.

I was intrigued. I've seen a few vans with his logo on them, loaded with bikes on top, around town this week. "I've heard of that before. So how big is your business? Have you been doing this long?"

"About five years. I have nearly 50 employees at this point and we are just about to expand our operation to include backpacking tours as well," he said as he sipped from his champagne. His piercing green eyes never left mine, and I could see a distinct trace of amusement behind them.

I was about to delve deeper and to find out more when Marcus caught my eye from across the room. His eyes were wide and he was clearly trying to get my attention quietly.

"Uh... if you'll excuse me for a moment, I think my editor is trying to get my attention," I said.

He gave me a sly grin and stepped aside so that I could move past. "I hope we get a chance to see each other again, Bella."

I stood there dazed for a moment as he walked away and Marcus snapped me out of it. "Why the hell were you talking to Cullen?" His voice was quiet but the tone of anger did not escape me.

"Wha … no," I said, looking around to find him and clear up the confusion. "He said his name was Edward."

"Yeah," he said expectantly, waiting for me to catch up. "Edward, as in Edward Cullen–son to Carlisle Cullen and heir to the Cullen Inc., media conglomerate," Marcus explained.

There goes my future babies with the sexy cyclist. Damn. I wonder how he looks in spandex…

Aro's voice trailed into my inner conversation and I lost the fleeting tendrils of my spandex wet dream. "I'd like you to meet Bella Swan, our newest addition to the staff and the woman who is going to help us bring your paper to its knees." There was a distinct trace of sneering in Aro's voice and it caught me completely off guard.

"Pleasure to meet you Miss Swan, always happy to put a face with a byline," he said as he caught my hand and kissed it, lingering a few seconds too long. Shock registered as I looked into the familiar features. "I am Carlisle Cullen, the object of Aro's ruination and publisher of the Seattle Enterprise."

The fact that Carlisle was Edward's father was simply amazing. He didn't look a day over 40 and his blond hair obviously hid any touch of grey that may have threatened to give him away. His straight nose and square jaw looked just like Edward's, but the dark blue eyes were no match to his son's green. Still, when this father and son duo was done taking the Seattle business scene by storm, there could be a lucrative future for them in modeling for Abercrombie and Fitch. They looked more like brothers than father and son, and even through their suits I could see the distinct lines of chiseled stomachs.

I think I gathered my wits about me enough to mutter something along the lines of, "hello," before he exchanged a few strained pleasantries with Marcus and took his leave. The look he sent me over his shoulder, before being swept away by a group of investment bankers, was cold and reminded me of how a cat might look with a mouse in its claws. I shook off the shiver and remembered that Aro and Marcus were still standing there.

I didn't want to play into Aro's hand, but the exchange with Carlisle seemed a little too familiar and Marcus had a questioning look on his face.

Thanks a lot Emmett.

"Well he certainly has no problem calling a spade a spade, does he?" I asked rhetorically. "I wonder how he'd feel if I scooped the Enterprise on the expansion of his own son's business on the pages of the King County Reporter?"

Aro slapped me on the back with a hearty laugh. "Bella, you are going to do just fine with us. Just fine indeed."

A/N: My dream Edward (the one featured in this story) looks a lot like our friend Rob, but 30 years old and with a lot more muscle. The interviews I've seen and read with Rob have made it clear to me that while I find his face and voice incredibly sexy, he is just a little boy with some hygiene issues. (Before you argue that the hygiene issue has been overblown, I will offer that I have it on first-hand authority from a fellow journalist in L.A. that he, indeed, smells.) Anyway, my dreamy Edward is yummy and this was only a taste. You are all in for such a treat!

Don't forget to check out some of the visuals to NW on my profile.

I've gotten lots of hits on this story already, but few reviews so I guess my question is: Do you want me to keep going? Are you even the slightest bit curious what happens with Emmett and Carlisle?