A/N: As always, SMeyer owns the characters, I own Newspaper Wars. Thank you to my beta Mopstyle. She had a rough week, but she is okay and all her smutty friends breathed a collective sigh of relief. We love you, bb.

~Chapter 7 – She Scores~

I awoke just after six a.m. on Tuesday morning and felt like I'd barely had a nap. Despite my ending the day reveling in the glory of my scoop, that deep satisfying sleep that usually followed eluded me. None of the details of my dreams chased me into dawn, but I had the overwhelming sense that they were unsettling. I whimpered, climbing out of my warm bed and walked straight to the bathroom to prepare for my day.

As I showered, I relished the rivulets of water streaming onto my face and down my body as they massaged me back to life. For a moment the sensory experience lulled me into the memory of Emmett and I on the living room floor. Oh God, I was so horny again. I needed to feel like that again, and soon.

But definitely not with Emmett. Emmett.

It had slipped my mind that he texted me yesterday to ask if Zeph and I would be willing to have dinner with him. He said he knew a great place for burgers. At the time, I hadn't even had the energy to acknowledge the message. Now that I had time to reflect, I was relieved. I have worried about our friendship and this was the first contact he had made since our romp on the rug.

I dried off, slipped my arms through the robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door and padded down the hall to wake up Zephyr. To my surprise he woke up easily and seemed excited to get to school. He seemed to enjoy his first day and had already made a few friends. He was chatty over his Cheerios and told me about his friend Alex.

"Well, I was nervous about PE because the teacher designated captains for a soccer scrimmage and we had to be picked," he said with his mouth full. "But Alex picked me and I wasn't even last. It was cool."

I hurried through my coffee and grabbed some toast to go, so I had time to get myself ready. Today was one of those rare days where I walked into work without the benefit of knowing what stories I would write. It was unnerving for me and I automatically reached for some comfortable clothes to soothe me. I settled on some black trousers and a blue sweater, but dressed it up with some low heels. Thankfully, I got Zephyr to the bus stop in time so I could make it to work on time.

Anxious barely touched on the skittish emotions roaming around my belly as I walked through the double doors of the newspaper at eight o'clock. The possibility of backlash from Carlisle and his competing paper had me on edge. Would the Enterprise follow up on my story tomorrow? If past experience was any indicator, probably not. Most papers avoided the gossip of being obviously scooped by waiting a week, finding another angle and pretending it was theirs in the first place.

The Enterprise was an unknown entity though, not unlike myself. I was the new kid; the ink barely dry on my business cards. I hated not knowing what to expect. The very thought of distracting Carlisle from Aro and drawing attention to myself left a bad taste in my mouth. It's true that I chose a story based primarily on the knowledge that it would embarrass the competition. I wasn't a shrinking violet by any stretch of the imagination, but I always wanted the limelight to fall on the subjects in my stories—never myself.

On the way to my desk I passed Lauren's office, I recalled our conversation yesterday and heaped it onto my morning pile of issues. Lauren, our managing editor, had limp blond hair and blue eyes, but her pointy nose and sharp tongue elevated my fear factor. As soon as Carlisle and The Enterprise were mentioned, I quickly launched into my explanation surrounding the flowers and Carlisle's declined offer for employment.

I explained to Lauren and Marcus that the story I had in the works would likely convince Carlisle that I wasn't up for grabs. I was lucky. They could have fired me on the spot. Instead they listened to my explanation. I didn't know for certain, but I think that Rose may have vouched for me. I needed to do something nice for her, but what? By some magical turn of events, I earned the newsroom rubber chicken trophy. The whole thing perplexed me.

Still, I like having the chicken.

From what I understood, most newsrooms had them. My last office had large, generic-brand can of chicken noodle soup. Some little token your colleagues unceremoniously bestowed for the reporter who landed an amazing story or went above and beyond the call of duty to get the scoop. Usually, it just embarrassed me in front of my peers.

I wonder if the chicken theme is universal, or coincidence? Journalists are such nerds.

I made a point to Google it and smiled at the yellow, wiggly legs propped precariously on the top of my computer monitor. Someone from the night desk had apparently thought it would be funny to tape a photo of Edward on its face. I giggled out loud.

"Hey chica, good shit here," Rose called from her desk, holding up a copy of the day's issue of the King County Reporter. She had startled me a little, I knew there were other people in the room, but my inner conversation had shrouded my senses.

"Thanks," I said, shyly. I got up and made my way over to her desk. "I've been meaning to ask you something, Rose."

She narrowed her eyes curiously and leaned back in her chair. "Shoot."

I looked around the newsroom to make sure no one was within earshot. "I get the feeling that Lauren is pretty harsh when she wants to be, at the very least she doesn't look kindly on the possibility of defection. I guess the secretary downstairs read the card on those flowers and I was barely back to my desk before being hauled off to explain myself. Did you have anything to do with my being let off with a warning?"

"Yeah, well, just don't let it get around the newsroom. It would mar my already perfect reputation as a hard ass," she said, grinning. "I just knew that if I could find out about Carlisle's hope to steal you away, then Lauren would too. I told her over lunch a few of the things you shared with me. Not the part about your kid, but I spilled on what he said to you in the email and what I overheard of your phone conversation with his secretary. It wouldn't be fair for you to take the fall for something you didn't do. 'Sides, I was serious about avoiding your fucking beat like the plague. I won't be stuck writing that shit again, and I may have said something to that effect to Lauren."

I laughed, but my mood darkened immediately when the implications of a conversation like that dawned on me. "Rose, you have balls of solid steel. I have a feeling that went over poorly. Regardless of how it turned out this morning," I said, pointing at the paper on the desk in front of her. "I'm not comfortable with you sticking your neck out for me like that. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

"This paper needs me, Bella, and if they don't like me speaking my mind, then they can find someone else to cover my beat," she said, getting her back up. "They can't fucking do any better than me, and they damn well know it."

She was right. Rose was a rock star and she was young and energetic to boot. She could work anywhere. "Well, thanks."

"Yeah, well, I didn't do it for you, sweet tits," she said with a wink, putting her headset on in preparation for making her morning beat phone calls.

I shook my head and smiled at her and headed back to my desk. Rose was a hard ass, but she had let her wall down for me. Even if it was just a little bit. This business isn't easy, but I realized I had just made my first new friend since I'd crossed over the King County line. My curtain of funk slowly lifted and I started up the computer. My first order of business was to read the competition. A little piece of me was still nervous that the The Enterprise had been tipped off and got wind of the Cullen prodigy expansion.

Nothing. Today's business page was lead by fluff. I rolled my eyes at the 55th anniversary of the bakery chain they ran. For a city like Seattle there were copious opportunities for quality business news. They did run a quarterly report from a local bank, reporting updates on their repayment of the stimulus-generated federal TARP funds. I had received that press release earlier this week as well, but there was nothing surprising so I held it to run as a brief later in the week.

I opened up my own copy of our paper on my desk and traced my finger over Edward's face. As obnoxious as I found Jake to be, he had an inalienable talent for capturing the essence of people in his photographs. His impish grin. His sex hair. The look in his eyes that made you feel… special—almost like you were privy to the inside joke roaming around in that pretty head of his. I knew that Edward had an insane schedule yesterday, yet he found the time to allow me to have art run with my story. For a reporter, securing art, or photographs, was half the battle. A perfectly strong news story could be buried in the B section if you didn't find a way to provide the designers on the night desk a way to lay out the pages attractively. For layout designers, long stretches of gray copy was the kiss of death. Frequently, nothing longer than the length of a dollar bill is read.

Why did you do this for me, Edward? I silently asked him. Why did he allow me to embarrass his dad?

He was so angry yesterday when I mentioned Carlisle.

My breath caught when he reached out and rubbed my cheek bone with the side of his forefinger.

"You're sure that is all you're looking for, Miss Swan?"

I blinked and pushed aside the arousal that threatened to betray me and my irritation flared.

"Are you and your Dad tag teaming or something? Well, if you were hoping for some sort of pervy three-way thing, you can just forget it. I'll quit my job first. Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Cullen."

Edward got to the door before me and held it shut. "Will you just stop and shut up for minute? Look, I'm not interested in starting a war with my father over this expansion, but that is where it ends. What are you talking about, a three-way? Far be it for me to turn down an adventure, but I am certainly not one for sharing–especially not when it's my cheating, bastard father." His jaw and fists clenched.

The anger rolling off him was palpable and I was grateful to not be the object of his scorn. However, I was incredibly effective at bringing it bubbling to the surface. I wanted to calm him down. I wanted to smooth that creased spot between his heavy brows. After I get the story.

I let go of the door knob and turned around to face Edward, painfully aware of his close proximity. His left arm leaned against the door above my head. My breathing hitched and I felt a little drunk on the increased pace at which my pumping heart surged blood into my veins.

"So, you'll do the story?" I asked, quietly.

He bit the inside of his cheek, contemplating my request. I could almost see the wheels turn as he weighed the ramifications of the decision in his head. Edward's green eyes settled on mine. They were guarded.

"Only if you'll tell me why… why is this story so important to you that you would barge into my office and ask this of me, knowing it would put me in a difficult position?"

I was embarrassed. Normally, I used gentler, friendlier tactics to entice a story subject. I had been so focused on clearing my name at work, proving my worth and getting back at Carlisle for casting me in a suspicious light, that I hadn't even considered the beautiful man that stood before me. Edward had reason to be guarded. I was a menace.

I sighed and swallowed thickly, trying to dislodge the lump in my throat. "You're right. Can we sit down? I can… I need to explain."

I'm not sure what he expected, but his eyes softened a bit. Edward motioned for me to sit on the couch situated in the corner of the office. I set my bag on the floor and my hands fiddled nervously with the hem of my skirt. He placed himself at the opposite end, on the edge of the seat, and waited for me to continue.

First, I reminded him that I was new to the King County Reporter. I relayed the conversation I'd had with Carlisle in front of my editor and Aro at the chamber dinner, and the follow up email exchange and conversation with Carlisle's secretary.

"I have a friend who works there and he—in a moment of lunacy—suggested to your dad that I was a solid reporter and would be an asset to the competition. I found this out less than an hour before I was introduced to Carlisle. Who knows, maybe all of this was my friend's fault…" I said, frustrated.

"By the afternoon, he had sent a gaudy flower arrangement to me at the newspaper with an open, attached note that sent my editors reeling and questioning my loyalty to the company," I explained, still staring at the hem of my skirt. "He almost got me fired, Edward. Look, I'm sorry to drag you into this but I need this job." My voice squeaked a little. This was the most humiliating experience I've had to endure in recent history. It was going to take a lot of booze to scrub this memory from my brain.

At least I didn't cry.

"Some friend," he said with a humph.

"Tell me about it, I could kill him for sicking Carlisle on me," I said, getting worked up all over again.

Edward's grimace turned to a smirk and he said, "Well, I wouldn't spend too much time worrying about it. Carlisle doesn't need much convincing when it comes to sticking it to Aro, or erm… making a move on an attractive woman. Particularly if he can accomplish both in one fell swoop."

He thinks I'm pretty, I thought. My inner Aphrodite did a happy dance. I cut the festivities short. I was on deadline for Christ sake.

"When you told me about your expansion at the chamber dinner on Friday, I immediately thought it would make a great Seattle success story. When your father embarrassed me… I—I wanted to embarrass him back I guess," I stuttered. "What could be more embarrassing than finding out about your son's success on the front page of your competitor's paper?"

I looked up at him expecting a tongue lashing. Instead he was had a slight, sideways smile.

"Are you always this disarmingly honest, Miss Swan?" He squinted at me in curiosity.

He didn't wait for my response. Edward sat back in his seat and lifted his long tie away from his body, before smoothing it over his chest. My eyes followed it down his chest, to where it fell just below his belt.

Jesus. Focus, Swan.

My eyes snapped to his and I could see the glint return to his eyes. They were littered with flecks of brown, blue and gold.

He was mesmerizing and obviously used to open staring.

Without explanation or pretense he offered up a gift. "Alright, Miss Swan. What do you want to know?"

I cut my "clip" from the newspaper and wondered if I'd sufficiently expressed my gratitude to him. One thing was certain, Edward Cullen was a conundrum. All I usually needed was an hour, a few well thought out questions and, from there, I let my instincts guide me to the heart of a story. But yesterday it felt like every question I asked led to three more. The story was about a confident young man who skipped out on his family's dream of manning the helm of their media conglomerate, so he could bike across Europe after college. For a year he lived the nomadic life of a Gypsy, traveling from one country to the next, searching for what type of a future his business education would buy him.

His story wasn't unusual, but for a man born with a silver spoon in his mouth, it was a rite of passage. He wanted to find his own way. When he returned to the states, Edward went to work for the giant Seattle sporting goods store, REI, and managed sales in the cycling department. His college buddy, Jasper Whitlock, managed the backpacking and hiking section and helped him get the job. Seeing the need for more local touring opportunities, the pair joined forces to form what eventually became Seattle Cycle Tours. Six years later, their entrepreneurial pursuit led them to their current expansion. The plan was to expand the company to cater to tourist interest in guide-led summer hikes and backpacking trips at Mount Rainier, and in the Olympic National Park—primarily around the Ho Rainforest. To fund the expansion of the company, Edward and his partner had retained the majority of shares but would sell off the remainder on the open market.

The prospectus had been circulating the local investment banker circuit and, I announced in the story, the stocks were now available on the New York Stock Exchange. For small businesses, this was a huge and scary leap of faith. Once you went public, it was like you let a piece of yourself go. Investors are hungry—greedy even—for a get rich quick opportunity. Once you opened the flood gates and accepted their money, they owned you, and had the capacity to sell you down the river if growth didn't click along at a steady pace. For Seattle Cycle Tours, the ability to pay down debt and invest in new equipment and a larger fleet of vans to carry bikes, equipment, and passengers to trail heads was a necessity.

Since opening, the company had enjoyed a breakneck growth pace of twenty percent per year. It had become an unwieldy beast, outgrowing its infrastructure. For the city, it meant an influx of money and new jobs. In the current, negative-growth job market, it was a great success. Most importantly, it was a positive story in a sea of negativity, meant to bring hope to weary, desensitized readers.

And If it means I served up a resounding 'fuck you' to Carlisle, then all the better.

I was still nervous, but Rose's support and some reflection left me feeling better. I got up the nerve and turned on my computer. Every reporter knows it's the emails that dealt the real blows. The little bit of anonymity that emails provided seemed to make it easier for people to lash out at journalists. I hated coming down off a big story only to be brow beat by the public. I also received positive emails. Unfortunately my personality precluded my ability to internalize the good and so, instead, I focused on the bad.

My Outlook indicated I had seventy-five new emails this morning. It was a pretty average morning, actually. I skimmed through the usual press releases and junk mail, before settling on something from someone named Tanya Denali. The subject line read "Disappointed in today's coverage."

I cringed and considered deleting it, but curiosity got the better of me.

Miss Swan,

Pitting my CEO, Edward Cullen, against his own father to sell newspapers is perhaps the most reprehensible form of journalism I have yet to encounter. For whatever reason, he made the decision to meet with you, without my approval. The next time you set foot in my building, be sure you have my express written permission.

Sincerely,

Tanya Denali

Public Relations Director

Seattle Cycle Tours Co.

A little piece of my happiness fluttered away. I wondered if Edward was unhappy with the story. I was still embarrassed about how it all went down and too chicken shit to call him and ask. A sudden realization that I may never see Edward Cullen again, particularly given the hostility of his PR director, depressed me.

Going back through the emails, I saw something had come through from Emmett a few minutes ago. I had forgotten that Em might fall amongst the ranks of "dissatisfied readership." I needed to get accustom to the fact that during business hours, Emmett is the enemy. The subject line read "Cullen story."

Et tu Brute?

Hey, hot stuff,

Thanks to you, the Enterprise staff is scrambling to stay out of the line of fire today. Carlisle is like a fire-breathing dragon, throwing stuff around the newsroom. I also may have earned an extra weekend shift by reminding him that I warned him about you, ha, ha… Lot of good it did me. No more kicking our proverbial asses, K, beyotch? I have a strict hoes before bros policy, but I have rankled our fearless leader so if you call here to talk to me, save me an ass chewing and use your play name.

We still on for dinner?

Em

Emmett McCarty

Sports Editor

The Seattle Enterprise

Hitting reply, I set about making sure Emmett knew where I stood.

Emmett McCarty,

Where do you get off calling me a beyotch and ho? For a man who recently had the pleasure of pleasuring me, I would think you would be a bit more careful in your assessment of me. As far as Carlisle is concerned, you made your bed. Lie in it. Oh, and of course we are still on for dinner. Zephyr has been eating like a pig lately and you're buying. I wouldn't dream of letting you off that easy.

Luv you,

Bella

Isabella Swan

Business Editor

The King County Reporter

Within five minutes, Emmett responded.

Bella,

As long as you don't kick me in the nads when you answer the door, I will pick you and Zeph up around seven.

Luv you too,

Em

Emmett McCarty

Sports Editor

The Seattle Enterprise

He didn't even apologize. Shit head. He probably didn't even wince at my handing him his ass.

I'm not sure if it was because he ruffled my feathers or if it was the "kick in the nads" comment that made me think of Rose, but suddenly I knew exactly how to repay Rose for her help and how to make Emmett squirm for his disrespectful slip. I texted Em and told him something came up and that we'd meet him at the restaurant instead.

The little devil on my shoulder chortled a nasty 'muahaha.' Getting through the day suddenly became less of a chore. I was looking forward to tonight, which meant I needed to get through the work day to get there. I dove back into my inbox to rustle up stories for tomorrow's issue.

A/N: Monster AN warning… So, Carlisle didn't make the appearance I'd previously planned, but I figured you'd like to know a little more about what happened with Edward. What did you think of Bella letting down her guard with him? It's funny, but frequently in journalism you have to share a little of yourself to get people to open up and tell their story. Trust is a two-way street and a source needs to understand your intent and when so much is at stake, particularly for Edward in this case, it's a calculated risk, but a risk nonetheless. Bella tried to make up for her transgression by helping Edward advertise his sale. We'll find out in the next chapter if she did that. Oh, and you may have noticed the title "She Scores." Hopefully you will forgive my little innuendo and take comfort in the knowledge that she scored with her story and soon enough she will "score" elsewhere. Leave me a review and I'll send you a teaser. Ciao for now.