Chapter 8

Edward awoke to a tune in his ear, and stirred at the sound of music. Peeking through one eye, he glanced at the phone on his pillow and jumped when he discovered the music was indeed his ringer.

He fumbled several times, yanking the cellular phone off the charger and answering it before looking at the screen.

"Hello? Hello?" he answered quickly, attempting to answer the caller before his answering machine came on.

"Is that how you talk to your boss?" a smooth voice filtered through the phone.

Edward cursed as he bumped his knee against the wall, and then again at his lack of poise.

"Oh, um, sorry Miss Isabella. I apologize. I was, er…." He trailed off, not wanting to appear lazy for sleeping on a Monday afternoon. Although the night sky sifting through his window alerted him that it was now dark outside.

He pulled the device away from his ear and saw that it was past eight. He had an appointment at nine and Harry, the company's driver, would be pulling up at any moment.

"Never mind what you were doing. I need you to come meet me at my place in thirty minutes," she ordered hastily.

Edward held back his confusion, appreciative that their communication was over the phone rather than in person. "Uhh, Miss Isabella. I can't. I have an appointment in less than an hour. With Mrs. Florence James."

He could practically see the rolling of her eyes through the phone. "Never mind that. Change of plans. It's already been taken care of. Thirty minutes Mr. Cyllen. See you then."

And with that came the silence of a dial tone. He muttered to himself, wondering what she could possibly need. He was indebted to his boss, but he was now out thousands of dollars. Mrs. James was the wife of the school superintendent. He wasn't happy to be gallivanting around with married customers, but still.

Money was money.

And he needed it. Badly.

Edward quickly jumped into the shower, and dried off, not bothering with his hair. There was no calming his copper and blonde coloured locks. They had a mind of their own. Not wanting to appear disheveled in front of his superior, he put on his best black slacks and green collared shirt. He finished the look with a simple matching tie and leather black shoes. His pay at Twilight also included a clothing budget, but he kept most of those items in his car. There was no way he could explain to his mother how he obtained Gucci shirts.

Grabbing his wallet and phone, he tried unsuccessfully to leave his bedroom unnoticed. His father was sitting on the couch, watching a static television show with glassy eyes. The former treasurer's assistant was currently unrecognizable, for several days' worth of unshaven hair covered his face.

"Where you going, boy?" he asked drunkenly, taking another swig of cheap beer.

Edward rushed towards the door. "I'm meeting my friend, Alice."

He kept his voice hushed, trying not to alert his mother who was probably in her bedroom.

"Huh," he grunted and then put out an arm which stopped Edward in his tracks. "You stay away from them rich folks, you hear me? Nothing but trouble. They put you in jail and then won't bail you out. Fucking richies."

Edward was no stranger to his father's futile advice, often discounting his resentful mumblings. "Be back later, Dad. And take a shower. You smell horrible."

Fortunately for Edward, it was only until Harry had held open the limo door for him, that Carlisle threw his beer bottle against the door.

"Fucking richies."

O.O.O.O.O.O.O.

The drive to the costlier side of D.C. took over thirty minutes, and Edward helped himself to a glass of wine inside the limousine. He had no idea what Isabella wanted, and he was positive she was going to rip him a new one for something he had done. It seemed she only kept him around because he made her funds, but she constantly gave the impression that she was annoyed at him for one reason or another. He hoped he wasn't getting fired, or worse yet, replaced.

Edward tapped on the limousine's divider and Harry let the glass down in between them. "Mr. Clearwater, are you waiting outside? I'm not sure how long I will be here."

The older man chuckled, and Edward noticed him tipping down his rearview mirror to look back at him.

"How many times have I told you? It's Harry. I was given instructions to drop you off. That is all. I have to go pick up Angela in a few minutes."

Edward apologized. "Sorry Harry. I'm just used to formalities, that is all."

"No problem. Relax son. I'm sure she just needed to talk to you. Although…"

Harry trailed off midsentence, not finishing his statement.

Edward's nervous heart pounded faster. "What? What is it?"

"She's never had me drive someone over to her apartment before. Did you do something?"

Edward thought long and hard. He had already been reprimanded for speaking to Emmett, but he couldn't think of anything else that would anger Miss Isabella. He made sure he was on time for all his appointments, dressed in the manner in which he was told, and always treated his customers with respect.

"Not that I know of," he finally answered, and groaned.

Whatever it was, it couldn't be good. This night was doomed to fail, and now he had to spend the last few dollars in his pocket just to get home.

Harry noticed Edward's dismayed expression and attempted to appease him as best as he could. He had been driving Miss Isabella's employees around since her business first started, and before that, her father. The De Luca family had been good to him, and in return he was faithful as well.

"I'm sure whatever it is, you will be okay. I've known Isabella since she was a little girl. Don't let her scare you."

On that note, Harry pressed the button and the glass returned to its upward position. He was never one to mingle in the family affairs.

Which was quite a feat.

There was more than one occasion in which he had to clean up Mr. De Luca's incidents in the back of his limos.

Blood was a difficult substance to wash away.

Edward downed the rest of his wine and looked out the window as Harry pulled onto Franklin Boulevard. This area was where the elitist lived, every building spotless; every vehicle priced no less than fifty grand.

Harry finally parked in front of an apartment complex, a luxury high rise located in the heart of the city. He opened the door promptly for Edward and gave him final instructions.

"The top floor," Harry said. "Ring her doorbell twice. Once short, the second time long. Otherwise, she will not answer, whether she sees you or not."

Edward frowned at the odd orders.

"Security reasons," was the only answer Harry offered, and hopped back in the driver's seat to pull away. "Good luck."

With only his pride intact, Edward entered the lavish building and gasped in awe when he entered the lobby. Every inch was covered in marble, with gold trim to highlight the area. He quickly waved to the woman at the front desk and found the elevator.

His palms were sweaty and he wiped them against his pants, taking a deep breath as he pressed the top number, twenty-five. The elevator music did nothing to calm his nerves. It finally beeped; alerting him he had reached his designation.

When he stepped out, confusion, then amazement covered his features. Isabella didn't have an apartment on the twenty-fifth floor; her apartment was the twenty-fifth floor. Well, it was more of a condominium, the hallway reflecting the downstairs waiting area.

Edward did as he was told, and pressed the doorbell accordingly. He heard stiletto heels clicking, and when the door opened, Edward struggled for air.

Clad in only a lace robe and meager lingerie that was barely held together by mere ribbons of silk, stood Isabella. No bra caused her full breasts to spill forth, and her panties crossed in a design that barely covered her bottom half.

She quirked her eyebrow at him, and walked into her condo, expecting him to follow her. Edward swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and shut the door behind him.

This is it, he thought. This is how she's going to do it.

She's going to fuck me, then fire me.

She's going to fucking fire me.