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Disclaimer: S. Meyer owns all things Twilight. I just decided it was time to shake things up a bit in her characters' world. And I wanted a bitchy Bella, so here we go!

Oh, and all of the references used in this story in relation to the advertising and marketing company and accounts are only used here for entertainment purposes; no copyright infringement intended.

A special thanks to my whiz of a beta, Flyaway Dove (Awesome Amanda) who is training me well in the ways of shorter paragraphs. She's also great for cutting up my sentences into more manageable bites. Yum!

Thanks also to angelicwish for helping me learn the ropes and to Selita – you know why chickie!

Chapter Seven: Let's try to get along

EPOV

I was up bright and early Saturday morning; I hadn't slept at all the previous night. My dreams were short, frequent and every time I awoke in a cold sweat, panicked and feeling like I had missed something important. What the fuck?

The last dream had me running through an empty hall with a bunch of fucking locked doors, and I frantically yanked on each one until, finally, one opened. Except when it did, I came face to face with Isabella Swan, and it swiftly became a nightmare. She stood there tapping her foot, arms crossed, staring me down like I was a disobedient servant or some shit like that. I just stood there like an idiot, and then her expression softened and she opened her mouth. And it all went to fucking hell.

"Edward, don't you love me," she asked, her big brown eyes expectant. "I love you so much. I know I've been horrible to you, but I only want you to be perfect."

Oh shit. I am definitely up the creek now. I didn't know how to respond. She confused the shit out of me, all nice and pleading and beautiful, and I held out my hand to her in trade for words. She took it and stepped closer to me so that our faces were less than an inch away.

I could feel her – her breath, her want and desire for me, and something else – and without thinking I closed the distance and pressed my lips to hers. She immediately responded and seemed to mold her body against mine. We melded and I couldn't tell where I ended and she began. It was all full of fire and it consumed us both. When she broke our kiss she had fire in her eyes still, and her expression changed again. She looked…hungry.

And then in a flash I was lying on a table and Isabella, my beautiful, bitchy boss from hell was cutting into me with a cake knife. The dream was like some cheesy 1980s music video – Isabella cutting herself a piece of Edward cake – and when I woke up I had to jump out of bed to shake it off. Fucking gross, kid. Sometimes I really freaked myself out.

I showered quickly and dressed in jeans; she had said, after all, that she didn't expect me to wear a suit today. I pulled a dark blue v-neck tee over my head and then just for good measure, I added a dressier work button-down but left it unbuttoned and untucked. After grabbing a breakfast bar and my coffee off the kitchen counter, I sprinted out the door and started my car.

My briefcase – where I had tossed the office keys – was still in the backseat of my new car, and when I pulled into the garage at work I reached for it and then ran up the ten flights of stairs. Might as well get in a little cardio. It wasn't yet eight o'clock, but I knew she was there already; the Audi was parked in her spot when I pulled mine in next to it. Esme had told me it would be fine if I used her parking spot for the day. I let myself into the quiet office and found my boss in the conference room. Suddenly my strange and rather disturbing dream came back to me, and I had to shake my head to clear my thoughts.

Isabella was sitting at the table, but not in her usual place at the head of it, of which I immediately took note. She had her head bowed over a pile of papers, glossy brochures and a few mock-up boards with drawings. A pencil was tucked behind her ear, and for the first time I saw that she had really cute ears. What? Have a thing now for ears, eh? She was dressed in jeans and sneakers, and had an oversized button-down shirt on with it knotted at her waist. Probably an old boyfriend's. Why do I care? Her hair, for once, wasn't in a tight bun, and loose strands escaped the messy pile atop her head and tickled her neck. Her very long, graceful neck. Damn. What the fuck is wrong with me? She had one leg tucked under her, and she was biting on a pen, completely unaware of my presence.

I took the fleeting moment to appreciate her natural beauty, when it was unencumbered by her business attire and biting tongue. She really was beautiful, and I found myself wishing I could reach out and tuck one of those loose strands back into her ponytail. Yeah, except she'd probably bite me and then stab me with her pen. My nice dreamy Isabella and the one before me started to blend, and I imagined her real lips on mine, her real hands in my hair and on my ass, and her real body and how it would feel against mine.

"Good morning Mr. Cullen," her voice cut through my horny haze like a fog horn. "Thank you for being prompt." She smiled at me, and for the first time that I could recall, it seemed…natural. I think my mouth opened slightly at the shock, and she paused, looking at me until I shut it.

"Good morning," I managed, moving farther into the room and to the other side of the conference table. "Where would you like me?"

Can I tell you where I'd like you? Shit.

"Wherever you feel comfortable is fine," she answered. "We're going to be here for a while, I'm afraid."

As I sat down and opened my briefcase, she informed me that after getting mock-ups and other materials from the marketing team late last night (they had been left in her office), she realized they all needed to be reworked. I groaned in frustration and also with the knowledge that for the first time since I had arrived at Swan & Platte, I had failed to deliver. And I hated that. After all of the meetings we had both had with the team, how could this have happened? Running my fingers through my hair, I tried to apologize.

"I'm sorry Ms. Swan. I don't know how this could've happened," I began. "I met with them and specifically directed them according to your feedback on the originals. They all seemed to comprehend the changes that needed to be made. I, uh…."

She looked down at the materials in front of her and then looked up at me again with a smile. I almost shit myself. Twice in one hour? Don't get ahead of yourself man.

"Mr. Cullen, please don't apologize. It's not anyone's fault; I think the marketing team and PR team need to communicate more effectively with each other, which is ironic," she said. "I'm sure you adequately explained the changes to the marketing team, but it's clear from these that the others felt strongly about their original concepts. I'm going to have to speak to them about this on Monday."

She wasn't mad at me, I realized incredulously. What alternate universe did I fall into this morning? Was it because it was a weekend, or was she actually trying to be nice? I wasn't sure and was frankly too confused to explore it further, so I figured it would be safer to just stay the course. Maybe if I continue to stay still the big, bad monster lady won't see me. Then I remembered what she had said and sprang to action.

"Please, let me speak to the PR staff," I said. "It's my duty to work with them, and ultimately my responsibility to resolve any artistic and creative differences."

For what seemed like an eternity, she studied me with a stony expression. Maybe I was hallucinating. Looks like the bitch is back. But then she surprised me again, and nodded her head, another loose tendril of chestnut hair falling from her ponytail.

"That's fine."

We dove into our work after that, me on one side of the table, and she on the other, and after a few hours we had made quite a bit of progress. We worked well together, I realized reluctantly. She and I seemed to think alike, so I'd start on an idea and she'd finish my thought aloud, or she'd start making a sketch of how something should look and I'd complete it.

There wasn't much conversation, but it was a comfortable near-silence. Around lunchtime I stood up and stretched. My back was starting to cramp, and my ass had fallen asleep. As I reached my arms overhead and paced on my side of the room, Isabella also stood and attempted to neaten her hair. She pulled out the rubber band and as her chocolate locks tumbled down, I stopped mid-stretch. God, I love her hair. I want to run my fingers through it, caress it, and tug on it.

Absentmindedly she flipped it away from her shoulders and leaned back, and I nearly lost my shit. Her breasts tantalizingly peeked out over her white tank top, her neck was exposed and as she stretched I got an eyeful of creamy skin revealed at the bottom of her shirt. She twisted her hair and then piled it atop her head once more, wrapped the band around it a couple of times and then looked at me.

Pull it together man. She's your boss, and your bitchy boss from hell, too.

Then my stomach growled, and distracted me from the growing tightness in my jeans.

"Um, would you like to get something for lunch," I asked, unsure of how to proceed in this sort of working-on-a-Saturday-with-your-hot-boss situation.

"Actually I knew we'd be here for lunch, so I took the liberty of stopping to get sandwiches," she said.

I love you. Shut the fuck up! The yelling in my head was getting to me.

"I hope you like roast beef and turkey subs, pop and chips," she offered. My stomach answered its approval of the meal, and I nodded. She disappeared and a moment later reappeared with a basket full of food for us. She could have suggested I fend for myself; she could have made me work through lunch. This woman intrigued me to no end. And confused the shit out of me.

We ate in silence at first, but once my stomach had been silenced my curiosity was awakened, and I was dying to know more about her. What harm would come from asking a question or two? I took a deep breath and hoped she wouldn't jump across the table and stab me with her plastic knife.

"Thank you for bringing lunch. This is delicious," I said, easing into my plan of attack. She shrugged her shoulders but said nothing. "Ms. Swan…do you, um, mind if I ask you a personal question?" She stopped chewing and looked up at me with alarm in her eyes. Feeling the need to reassure her, I backtracked a bit. "No, I meant…I was just wondering how you and Esme got into this business."

Phew. Okay, down girl. I wasn't going to ask you your bra size. Or how long it's been since you got laid. She visibly relaxed some, and told me about how she and Esme had become friends in college, and how they had started their business with a few local mom and pops, scraping to make it work. Talking about it made her happy, I could tell. Then I decided to explore a little further.

"Do you mind if I ask you another question?" She paused but then shook her head, so I continued. "Do you have any siblings?"

"No. I'm an only child," she answered plainly. "My mom and dad got divorced when I was really young. My dad never remarried and my mom only recently married Phil. But my girlfriends and Esme are my sisters. I don't know what I'd do without them." She stopped then, and I recalled meeting Alice that night at The Alibi Room. That's probably what she was remembering, too.

"Ms. Swan, I…" I began, just as she started speaking. We both stopped and she cleared her throat, and asked me to continue, her discomfort visible. "I…I'm sorry about what I said the other night. It was unprofessional and mean, and it's not something I make a habit of doing."

She smiled knowingly and then replied, "You mean, you haven't yelled at all of your other bosses and called them bitches from hell?" I grimaced at the sound of the term rolling off her tongue, and shook my head. "It's forgotten," she said. "I don't remember all of the details from that evening anyways, and I'm sure I was less than professional myself."

We stared at each other, both aware of our prior offenses against the other. Then she cut through the tension and dismissed the whole thing with a wave of her hand.

"Then we agree to forget all about it," she reiterated. Then she got up and threw away her lunch wrappers. She obviously felt uncomfortable discussing her feelings and personal life. I got up to throw away the remnants of my lunch as well, and we got back to work.

I wasn't really aware of the sun's movement in the sky, or when it finally dipped below the horizon. The lights in the office were set on a timer during the weekends, I discovered, so as dusk arrived, the lights gradually got brighter, which helped keep us focused. We worked feverishly and with determination, we didn't pause for hours. I was sitting next to her at the conference table, and at some point she had perched on the edge of the table with her feet resting in a chair, which I suppose offered her a better view of the materials we had spread all over the surface.

It felt like it had been hours since I had last blinked. I leaned back, rubbed my tired eyes and ran my fingers through my hair. Isabella, however, was still concentrating on one mock-up that was giving us trouble. I watched her furrowed brow in amusement as she chewed on her pen.

"There's something off with this one, and I can't put my finger on it," she mused. I stood up and leaned over the table next to her to get a better look. "We've been at this one for hours and it's still not right." She was frustrated.

As I scrutinized the board more closely, I became acutely aware of our bodies' proximity. I could hear her breathing, feel the heat from her body and I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. I could see the vein in her forehead protrude with her effort as she continued to stare at the paper. She smelled so good, and instinctively I edged closer to inhale more of her. I just want to touch her; I bet her skin feels soft. I just want to taste her; I bet her lips and tongue taste like cherries. I just want to hold her; there's just something about her.

Suddenly her gaze fell on me and I was caught red-handed. Like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. Her breathing accelerated slightly and her face flushed. The heat was radiating off both of us; if I just moved an inch, I'd be touching her. Just fucking do it. No! It's wrong. She's your boss. She nervously licked her lips and at that moment I decided I didn't give a shit about the consequences - I was going to kiss Isabella Swan.

And then fate intervened. The buzzing of her cell phone snapped Isabella out of her trance, and she jumped off the table and away from me to pull her phone from her bag. Breathlessly she answered.

"Hello? Oh, hi Alice. Yeah, I'm still at work. Yes. Yes. No! Okay, I'm going to go now. I'll call you when I get home, okay? Can't wait to hear all about your date. Hanging up now. Bye." She closed the phone and, blushing again, she looked back at me. God, I love the way her skin does that, giving her away.

"Alice," I said simply. She nodded and sat back down in a chair a few from mine. The moment was gone. Whatever had almost happened between us had passed. Damn it.

We decided to leave the final mock-up for Monday, and I offered that it might also become clearer after I spoke with the PR team. I checked my watch and was surprised to find that the entire day was gone.

At seven o'clock Isabella told me to go home, and she started straightening the papers and materials. There was something hanging in the air over us. It was elusive and it bothered me. My conscience was conflicted, and I was preoccupied with my thoughts. Isabella Swan was my boss, first and foremost. But I couldn't deny my attraction to her and my growing fascination with the inner workings of her mind. Such a hard exterior, but underneath that…definitely a mystery.

This woman had fashioned herself into a very successful president and CEO, and she was judged because of that. If she had been a man in the same position, I was sure she would have been deeply respected and viewed as a go-getter. But because she was a female, people feared her and no doubt considered her harsh and even mean. She was a cut-throat bitch in the eyes of many around her, and I realized with chagrin that I was one of them. Chastising myself for my behavior, I vowed to try not to judge her again and simply do what she asked of me.

"Mr.…um, Edward...?"

Isabella's use of my first name jerked me back from my inner ramblings, and I glanced at her, unable to hide my surprise. Was she feeling more comfortable with me than I thought? My heart swelled with the notion, but I stifled my reaction as her face took on a more professional air.

"Do you mind if I call you by your first name," she asked. "I call all of my other employees by theirs, and you've certainly been here long enough that we can do away with some formalities. If you prefer Mr. Cullen, I am happy to oblige, of course."

I shook my head profusely and spoke before she had time to undo the little bit of progress we had made that day.

"No, no, Edward is fine," I answered. "And thank you." I didn't know what else to say. Since I knew calling her Isabella clearly was not an option, I decided to try conversation about two people we now both had in common.

"So Alice and Jasper seem to be getting along really well," I said. Well, that wasn't really a question. Good way to start a conversation shithead. But surprisingly she smiled at me and replied.

"Yes, they are. I think it's great," she said softly. "Jasper seems like a wonderful guy, and anyone who has that kind of calming effect on my friend, the Energizer Bunny, is alright in my book." I laughed at her admission. In the short time I had known Alice I knew it was true. Then I considered the other new couple in our midst.

"And apparently Carlisle and Esme are really hitting it off as well," I offered. "Carlisle speaks so highly of her. He seems enamored already, and he's not one to jump off the deep end. More like a toe in to test the water kind-of-guy." In fact, Carlisle, I was sure, was already in love with my other boss. Not that I could blame him at all; Esme was a warm, intelligent, beautiful, loving person. I couldn't have been happier for my brother, and for her.

Isabella seemed to be processing the idea of the two of them as a couple. "It's wonderful," she finally said. "I've known Esme for a long time, and people have always gravitated toward her. I'm glad she snagged a good one." She paused and the color crept back into her neck and cheeks, and I couldn't help but wonder what thoughts prompted it.

"Don't you think it's…strange that two of my friends have made connections with your friend and brother? I mean, what are the odds? Now, it seems, we have a few more things in common." She let her thought trail off, and I stopped to also consider it. Jasper meeting Alice at a basketball game, and then Carlisle getting Esme's number the night we all happened to be at The Alibi Room, was uncanny coincidence.

"Maybe it's kismet," I said, and then felt the heat creeping up my own neck, to my ears. Maybe she'd take it as a comment on Jasper and Carlisle. I hoped that if she read into it more, she wouldn't be offended and think I was making a play for her.

She'd probably fire me for sexual harassment and make sure I'd never get another job in this industry. But still, I considered the truth of my statement. Maybe it was fate, if there was such a thing.

It was late, and we finished packing up and she shut the lights off in the conference room and locked the door as I walked ahead of her. I waited while she grabbed her things and we walked to the elevators together in silence. A few moments later we stepped out and into the garage, and I saw her pause as she looked at our identical Audis parked side-by-side. Then she laughed, and the timbre of it jolted me like an electric shock.

It was a beautiful sound.

"I didn't mean to laugh," she said, regaining her composure. "It's just…we have the same car. Is yours a 3.2 liter V-6, six-speed manual transmission?" I simply nodded my head, entranced by her use of car lingo. It's like car porn; talk dirty to me some more. As if she was reading my mind, she continued.

"God, I love this car – 264 horsepower, 243 pounds of torque and zero to sixty in six seconds," she said as she dragged her fingertips along the hood. "I love the drive select system and the sound is to-die-for. Fourteen speakers, 505 watts and navigation and iPod capability? I was smitten."

So was I. Between the laugh and then the car-talk, I was rendered incapacitated. This woman completely unhinged me. I am in really deep shit now. My mind raced for something awesomely suave to say, but came up with nothing. And now she was putting her briefcase in her car. Say something, you idiot. But what?

"Umm…well, I guess I'll see you on Monday," I managed. Fucking brilliant, asshole. She opened her door and waited. Shit! What's happening? Is she waiting for me to say something? I felt the need to fill the awkward silence with more stupidity. "That wasn't too bad, today. I mean, we got a lot done. It should make things easier next week. Um…thanks." Great – thanks for making me work on a Saturday. Perfectly executed. Isabella nodded and a smile crept across her face.

"No, thank you Edward," she said. "I appreciate you giving me your Saturday." She looked nervous, suddenly. "It was…nice." And then she slid behind the wheel, shut the door and started the engine. It roared to life and its purr reverberated off the cement walls. She backed out and I watched her go, standing by my car like an imbecile.

"Nice."

As I slowly got in my car, I knew one thing with certainty: I didn't want to fight with Isabella anymore. I wanted to hear that word again.