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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.
Thank you to the following people: Flyaway Dove, my wonderful beta extraordinaire; angelicwish, who has gone above and beyond the call of duty to provide this insecure writer with feedback; Lita for making me beautiful banners and being awesome in general; Vicky my new LA pal; and last but certainly not least, to Jen – she makes me smile all the time.
Ok, gang. Settle in – this is a long one. It's the first day of the conference, so work is the focus. But a good nightmare always makes it interesting, no?
Chapter Seventeen: The grind
In my dream, it was dark and foreboding as usual. I was running frantically through the woods, roots tripping me, moss causing me to lose my footing, branches snagging my hair and clothes. It was always the same -- same place, same faces, same horrifying sense of dread and fear and abandonment.
As I reached the first clearing, I looked down to find that I was -- as usual -- dressed in a now-torn business suit. I knew what was coming next, and my dream-self cringed as Sam appeared, with three little children in tow. All of them looked like their father -- the bronze skin, the dark eyes and the kind smile -- and the two boys had Sam's cropped black hair, while the little girl's onyx locks flowed freely down her back. Sam's eyes fell on me and his hand reached back instinctively to stop his children's advance and protect them from me, the stranger. As recognition lit his features, Sam's eyes were gentle and sad. His expression always made me cry in this dream; I felt the hot tears spill over my cheeks. A sob ripped through me and then they were gone, dissolving into the green backdrop like a mirage.
I turned away from the scene and started running again. Minutes or hours passed and then I was walking down a long hallway, my shoes clicking against the wood floor. Once again I didn't have to wonder who'd be waiting at the other end, and I didn't bother to look down at my attire: this time a dress and apron that made me look like June Cleaver. James had his back to me, cigar smoke curling around his blonde hair and toward the ceiling and he was laughing obnoxiously at something on TV. The ice in his glass clinked as he took a drink of his scotch, and then he turned to me and I shivered. A pair of shrewd, frost-blue eyes processed my appearance, judged and found me lacking.
His eyes narrowed and his thin lips curled back over his teeth as he sneered at me, "Well, where the fuck is my dinner?"
It was, like always, all I needed to hear before spinning on my heel and running. Tearing off the apron and kicking off my high heels, I ran until my lungs threatened to burst; I ran until his dorm room door was in front of me, cracked open in a silent warning that something was off. But I never heeded it.
Slowly I pushed through, walking into the room, which was dimly lit by the moonlight pouring through the window. It took my eyes a moment to adjust, but then I saw movement -- that distinct motion of two bodies together -- on Paul's bed, and I gasped and clamped my hand over my mouth. Over the years, the girl's face had changed and then become vague and featureless. Paul's hard features were still as clear as the day he broke my heart.
His head snapped up, me having alerted him to my presence, but he made no attempt to apologize for the woman writhing beneath him. Paul's black, beady eyes bore a hole in me as he continued to move with her and it made me physically ill. When he was finished, he lifted his hulking frame from his whore and stood in front of me -- all six feet, five inches of him. He bared his teeth at me, and I watched as his entire body shook with rage.
"What…are you…doing here," he seethed, breathing heavily. "I told you not to come."
I stammered and stuttered, apologizing pathetically for a crime I did not commit. Through my mumbling and tears, I watched as his meaty hands balled into fists at his sides.
"Leave. Now, Bella," he ordered. "I don't want you here. I don't want you."
"Paul, please," I begged, reaching for him. Like a wounded beast, he yanked his hands away and moved so that he was out of my reach. He had fire in his eyes and I couldn't make sense of it.
"No! Bella, just go," he bellowed. "If you don't, so help me…" And one claw of a hand raised back, poised to strike. Again I turned and ran, blinded by tears and sobbing. My heart ached for all of them, despite the circumstances. As I ran -- back in the dark forest -- and tripped and slipped and stumbled, I mourned the family I'd never have; I cried for the wife I would never be; and paid tribute to the ultimate betrayal on my heart with my own tears.
"Please God no," I moaned. "No more. No more! Please."
With a gasp I bolted up in bed, clutching my pillow, my eyes struggling to process my surroundings. No forest. No Sam, James or Paul. I was alone. In my hotel room. In Chicago. With Edward in the next room. Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was just after 3 a.m. It took a few minutes for me to regain my breath and slow my pulse, and in that time I deduced that Edward was still sleeping next door. The hotel was quiet, with the exception of the mechanical noises of the ventilation system, the soft buzz of the lights in the hall and the drone of the ice machine around the corner as it kicked on. It's amazing what you can hear when everyone else is asleep.
I lay back down and as my head hit the pillow I thought I heard the soft click of a door open and close. But then there was nothing. For a few minutes I considered knocking on Edward's door and asking him to help me fall asleep again. I had slept so soundly that night, after he woke me from my nightmare. But I couldn't bring myself to get up. I wouldn't do that to him or me. And I'd been having these nightmares for years and had managed just fine.
So I rolled over and pulled the blankets up to my chin. Think happy thoughts. My mind drifted to thoughts of Alice and Jasper, to Esme and Rose, and then to my dad Charlie. I'll have to call him this week. We haven't spoken in a while. And Renee too. If it weren't for Phil keeping her busy, she would have been jamming my cell phone with her texts and voicemails. Soon after, I fell back to sleep.
***********
"Hello?"
"Ms. Swan, this is your 5 a.m. wakeup call."
"Oh, thank you."
"You're welcome. Have a good day."
Before I could fall asleep again I put the receiver back on its cradle and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. Monday. Ugh. Slowly I rose and then stretched, wishing I could get another few hours of sleep. I trudged to the electronic keypad and turned up the heat, and then made my way to the bathroom. After a shower, I felt a bit more alert and ready to face the first day of the conference. Luckily today was going to be occupied by the obligatory morning welcome and then day-long sessions and workshops. Later this afternoon Edward and I would be manning our "booth." I called the front desk and asked them to send someone up to gather our materials; the convention staff had set up our booth the day prior, but someone was arriving this morning to collect the rest of our belongings before the start of the conference.
Wearing jeans for an entire weekend had thrown me off; it felt good to be wearing a suit again. Less than an hour later, I was dressed and ready, my hair tucked smoothly into a bun and my seamed stockings pin straight, leafing through the conference packet and itinerary, when someone knocked on my door. Edward. Automatically I smiled, and then arranged my features in a business-like façade before answering the door.
"Good morning Edward," I said. He stood at my door in his coat, a brown bag in one hand and a tray with two coffees in the other. His smile was warm and his eyes were bright, and I couldn't help but smile back. And Edward smelled like muffins.
"I thought you might be hungry, and figured a good breakfast would start the day off right," he said. "Do you like blueberry muffins?"
"Love them," I said, stepping aside to let him into my room. Edward deposited our muffins and coffee on my "kitchen" table and draped his coat over a chair. Again, he seemed to survey my quarters like he was looking for something. Apparently satisfied, he turned to me.
"So…heat working okay now?"
"Yes, thankfully," I said, digging into the bag and extracting an enormous, warm muffin. "Where did you get these? They're still warm."
"I ran out a few minutes ago and there's a small bakery around the corner. They claim to have the best muffins in Chicago, and it's only the best muffins for Isabella Swan, so..." As I took a hefty bite, he leaned over and kissed my forehead.
"Mmmmm….fnks," I garbled my reply. Edward folded himself into the chair opposite me, opened his coffee and blew on the top of it. I watched, transfixed, as his lips pursed again and again, before he lifted the rim to his mouth. Damn it. Scolding myself yet again, I stuffed a chunk of blueberry deliciousness into my mouth.
"Did you, uh, sleep well?" he asked me over the edge of his coffee cup. For a moment I panicked, fearful that he'd heard me talking in my sleep last night.
"Um…fine. You?"
"I slept okay, but woke up a few times," he admitted. "I don't like sleeping in hotels. Prefer my own bed, you know?" He didn't say anything more about my sleeping habits, which was a relief. I simply nodded in agreement, because my mouth was again full of muffin. When we finished our breakfast I thanked Edward again and threw away the empty bag and coffee cups.
"We should probably get going soon," I said. "I'd like to get over there early to inspect the booth setup, and there's bound to be traffic this morning." He agreed and stood to put his coat on.
"I'll be right back; just need to stop back in my room for a minute," Edward said, striding toward the door. While he was gone I brushed my teeth and put on my coat. When I opened the door he was back, and before I could ask him if he was ready, he pulled me to him and pressed his lips to mine. Damn. Those lips could bring about world peace; I was sure of it. He urged my mouth open with his tongue and there we were, making out at 6:30 in the damn morning in my hotel room doorway. My briefcase dropped to the floor as he leaned me backwards. My limbs felt like Jell-o and I wondered how the hell I was going to get through the day without kissing or touching Edward.
"Now that was a proper good morning kiss," he said, standing me upright and stooping to pick up my briefcase. He placed an affectionate peck on my nose and grinned like he was proud of the obvious aftermath of his kissing.
"Hmmm…" was all I could muster. Good one, Bella.
"Come on, let's go," he suggested. He took my hand and led me to the elevator.
Edward and I boarded one of the charter buses transporting people from downtown to the convention center, and within minutes we were standing outside of McCormick Place. The glass and stone structure was architectural yet inviting, and once inside we found our destination easily. Our display booth was perfect, which made me happy, so we made our way to the other exhibit hall where we'd be spending most of the day. Edward stayed close to me but didn't touch me, which I appreciated and loathed at the same time. He seemed to sense how much the conference was weighing on me and that I needed to keep a professional distance.
As the hall filled and the din of voices grew louder, Edward looked at me while I fiddled with my pen. I turned and smiled at him, and then forcibly stilled myself when I realized I was fidgeting. As the lights lowered a few times to settle the crowd, he leaned over so his lips were at my ear.
"By the way, you look beautiful," he whispered. Thankfully the blush that crept up my neck and into my cheeks was camouflaged by the dim lighting.
"Thank you," I replied, turning to take a good look at Edward. As usual he was dressed impeccably in a black suit and thin black tie, which complemented his lean and tall frame, and the green-blue shirt peeking from behind his jacket brought out the traces of bronze in his hair and the blue flecks in his eyes. Not that I should I have been studying him enough to know that they were there.
After the official welcome our sessions began and Edward and I got wrapped up in what each of the speakers had to offer in the world of marketing and PR. My philosophy had always been that there was always something to learn, a better and more effective way in which to complete a task. This conference was as much a learning experience as it was an opportunity for us to illustrate why Swan & Platte was one of the best firms in the business. Lunch offered a chance for networking, so Edward and I split up to work the room; for me especially, it provided me with the option of surveying future competition.
Privately, Esme and I had discussed expanding our reach and opening up another office on the West Coast or possibly in the Midwest. During the past year she and I had added cities to our list of possible satellite sites: Portland, San Diego, Phoenix, Denver and now Chicago. At each conference we'd attended I'd paid special attention to the other firms, their people and the business atmosphere in the city. That would be another item on my agenda this week. Exploring the city alone would also hopefully give me time to accomplish other, less savory, tasks -- including not spending time with Edward.
As the last session concluded later that afternoon, I permitted myself another prolonged glance at Edward, who was still sitting beside me. His long fingers appeared to caress his pen as he wrote down some unseen notes, though I knew it was my overactive imagination. While he wrote I observed the hint of stubble along the line of his jaw and across his upper lip, and he blinked his emerald eyes often because of the dry air in the room.
Edward, in my eyes, was a suit-clad deity; some aberration of God's creation. He was too perfect – a misplaced angel in a damaged world. He was much too kind; he was intelligent and funny; he was passionate and tender; he was a gentleman and a friend.
And anyways, I did not deserve him.
Jolting myself out of my daydream, I uncrossed and crossed my legs, forgetting how close Edward was sitting; as the side of my calf brushed against his pant leg, a pang of desire raced through me and I clenched my thighs tightly to stifle the tingly feeling between them. Damn it. I grimaced and shifted my gaze from my feet to Edward's now-stilled hands, and then to his face. His eyes were on me and his full lips were turned up in a lopsided smile, as if he knew exactly what was going on next to him.
"Hi there," he said softly. He slipped the pen into his leather portfolio and closed the folder. People all around us rose from their seats, gathered their belongings and made their way to the exits but we stayed seated, oblivious to them. "Long, day, huh. Want to grab some dinner after we're done at the booth?"
I wanted to say yes to Edward. After watching him at different times throughout the day and sitting so close to him for the rest of it, I was aching to have time with him so we could talk more, laugh more and kiss more. But it would have been counterproductive, so I shook my head.
"I'm sorry Edward; really, I'd love to have dinner with you," I said somberly, standing and modestly stretching. "But I need to make a few phone calls after we're done tonight, as well as some obligatory things to do before it gets too late." It was a lame excuse, but it was all I had.
"Oh…sure. That's fine," Edward said, visibly disappointed. Then his eyes lit up and I knew he wasn't going to take my refusal as readily as I'd hoped. "Well, when are you going to eat, then?" Shit. Didn't think of that.
"Um, I'll order room service when I get back to the hotel," I countered as we exited the room and walked toward the ballroom with the displays. Ha-ha! "Honestly, Edward, I don't when I'll return and it might be rather late."
"Well, I'll wait for you then."
"That's really sweet of you, but it'd be easier if we just did our own thing tonight, okay?" Please just make my life easier and agree. Please.
"Okay, okay, waving the white flag," he said with resignation as we reached our display booth. "So, are we going to split up or take shifts?"
I instructed Edward to stay on one side of the display booth; I would remain on the other. Thankfully the exhibit only ran for two hours tonight; tomorrow and Thursday would be three. The two of us fielded questions from passersby, handed out brochures and greeted everyone who walked past. For the first time, however, it did not hold its usual allure.
"How are you doing over here?" Edward asked, poking his head around the display backdrop after we had been at our posts for almost an hour. The time was dragging.
"Good," I said, smiling. "You?"
"Okay, but I have a slight problem," he confessed quietly, abandoning his side of the booth and coming to stand next to me. He was so close that our bodies almost touched, and it did absolutely nothing to improve my concentration. Still, I attempted to keep a professional air.
"And what's your problem?" I asked, terrified of his answer but secretly wanting to hear it regardless.
"I can't stop thinking about you," he said, his voice now heavy with seduction and lust. After glancing in all directions to ensure no one was walking by, Edward reached down and placed his hands on my ass and pulled me to him. If anyone happened to walk past us, there would be no doubt that something less-than-strictly-professional was going on, despite the display counter hiding our lower halves. As I attempted to protest and push him away, he softly shushed me and his hands migrated to my thighs and the hem of my skirt.
"All I've been able to think about all day is you -- your skin, your hair, your lips, your body," he breathed against my ear, before sucking on my hoop earring and earlobe. I could feel that he was quite sincere in his declaration, and struggled not to moan. "You have no idea the things I want to do to you." His talented fingers slipped under my skirt. "You've been teasing me all day with these damn stockings, and….ugh" -- he said when he discovered my garters -- "and these…so I am going to tell you exactly what I'd like to do to you."
My eyes rolled back and I tilted my head, oblivious to the entirely inappropriate situation that we'd created. My brain was a TV on the fritz, full of loud static. Just as my vision cleared enough for me to look over Edward's shoulder, I saw someone round the corner of a booth a few down from ours, heading in our direction. Damn it. Quickly I stepped away from Edward and smoothed my skirt. The sudden movement prompted Edward to turn in the direction of my gaze and simultaneously adjust himself as the man approached.
He was older, wearing an old suit and worn overcoat, his hands wrapped around bags filled with trade show freebies. His greasy black hair was slicked back and his eyes appeared to only be focused on his prize.
"Hello," I said cheerfully as he surveyed the counter in front of me. He didn't look up or greet me, however, and I shot Edward a look with one brow quirked. When the man spotted a pen and small pad of paper with our logo on them, he finally addressed me.
"Are these free?" he asked, gesturing to the items on the table. I nodded and he scooped them into one of his plastic bags and turned to continue on his way. No "thank you" or "goodbye." And then Edward and I were alone again. I turned to make a comment about how there was always someone like that at trade shows and conventions -- trawling for free pens, magnets, candy, key chains -- but didn't get farther than opening my mouth. Edward's hands were back on me and under my skirt again.
"Where was I…" he mused while his nose nuzzled my neck. The rational side of me was horrified with the risk of us being caught like this, in flagrante, but my more reckless side was thrilled with the danger of it all, which only heightened my arousal. "Oh yes, now I remember." His fingers migrated across the bare flesh of my upper thighs, around to my ass and then between my legs. I bit my lip to keep from whimpering.
Edward shifted us so that I was facing our backdrop and his eyes could keep watch of any traffic.
"You denied me last night, Isabella," he purred into my ear. "Last night I wanted to lick your entire body, and to worship you with kisses until you begged for release." With one finger he pulled my lace underwear aside, and skillfully slid another finger across the wetness there. The air left my lungs in a woosh and my body began to quiver. "I want to make you scream my name -- only my name, over and over and over. I want you against a wall. I want you on the floor. I want you every moment of every day."
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
"Edward…," I moaned. Suddenly his fingers were gone, and he stepped back.
"Time's up," he said with a smirk. I wanted to slap him. Gaping at him like a fool, I smoothed my skirt for the second time and ran my hands self-consciously down my body, convinced that there was some obvious sign that we'd been misbehaving. Checking his watch, Edward added, "Our shift is over for today. I'm going to get some dinner. You said you had things to do?"
Edward was playing dirty. And that was my game. I narrowed my eyes at him, but he wasn't paying attention. He was making himself busy straightening piles of brochures and checking under the counters. Faker. All I could think about was continuing our little interlude. Edward's hands on me again. Screw dinner and making phone calls and checking out the city. I had all week to do that.
The lights in the large convention hall dimmed, the staff no doubt assuming everyone had left. Inspiration struck once more and I knew instantly what I must do. Edward's back was to me as he reached for his things.
This was beyond want or desire. I needed this.
A/N: Okay, okay. Please don't shoot me. I thought this chapter was getting a bit too long, and thought the sexual tension would lead up to some damn juicy lemons next chapter. Promise – it will be worth it.
This poem, as some of you might know quite well, is Fire and Ice by Robert Frost (he's my favorite poet). No copyright infringement intended.