Happy Sunday! Let the games begin!

10
- one way or another -

Despite the fact that I might see Edward later this evening, I keep my attire casual since I'll be working.

I figure after the shoot I can run home, maybe shower, and do my hair and makeup. Find something nice to wear, other than the skinny jeans, basic tee, and sneakers I'm wearing.

Not that it really matters.

Battling traffic is a nightmare, and I make it to downtown LA with barely any time to spare. I park in the designated parking garage, grab my gear, and head into the ESPN building.

After I get checked in, identified, and given a lanyard that gives me the okay for being here, an associate producer named Irina brings me into the studio where I'll be shooting.

It's glitzy. Sharp edges, glass, and chrome. Behind the host's desk, the entire wall is a monitor, lit up neon and bright—SportsCenter Los Angeles plastered on the screen.

"The hosts are in hair and makeup, but they should be out soon. Maybe we can go over some specific shots we're aiming for," she says, typing on her phone while she speaks.

"Sure, sounds good."

We walk and talk. She explains there's a new co-host joining the weekly evening time slot, so they need promo shots of the anchors together, plus some content of the new co-host by himself. It'll be a mixture of staged photos, candids, and professional headshots. Earlier in the week she'd sent over a portfolio of prior shoots to give me an idea of the vibe they're going for.

She gives me some time to set up and to make sure my settings are accurate. I take a few test shots, check the white balance, and scope out the area.

"If you're having a good time, so will they, so don't forget to have fun with it," Irina says, and I'm about to tell her I will when Edward walks in.

I blink.

Edward.

My fucking husband.

My world tilts.

My brain slants.

My heart races.

I look and feel fucking blindsided, but nothing about his expression tells me that he is.

I stay in place, gripping my camera for something to keep me grounded.

He effortlessly strides toward me in a blue suit, dark tie, and styled hair that's significantly lighter than I've ever seen on him.

He doesn't look away from me for one second.

My instinct is to leave. Run. Never mind, sorry, gotta go. But I can't. He knows I fucking can't. It would be unprofessional. And the money is damn good.

After what feels like too quickly, he's just standing here. Right in front of me. His face is pensive, but his fierce bottle-green eyes give everything away.

He set this up.

When we spoke on the phone earlier today, he fucking knew he'd be seeing me later. He must have recommended me or something because he wasn't the one who booked me, someone else did.

My mouth is dry.

"Thanks so much for coming tonight," he says, extending a hand that I refuse to take. "I'm Edward Cullen."

I narrow my eyes. "Bella." Cullen.

We hold each other's gazes until someone walking into the studio catches my eye. I glance over his broad shoulder.

Tall, slim blonde, all done-up, glossed and ready for her photos to be taken with her handsome new co-host.

I already hate her.

My eyes shift to Edward.

He almost smirks.

I want to fucking slap him.

"Hi!" the blonde woman says with a polite smile. "I'm Rosalie McCarty."

I do shake her hand.

"Bella," I tell her, so tempted to add my last name just for the sake of seeing what Edward's face might do.

Would he be mortified?

Pleased?

I doubt he's told anyone I'm his wife if he's making a show to introduce himself to me.

After a beat, I decide to play fire with fire, and add, "Swan. Bella Swan."

Edward's eyes darken for a moment. Maybe I should feel triumphant for taunting him this way, but I just… don't.

He lifts a hand like he's going to run it through his hair, but he catches himself and doesn't fuck up the perfectly coiffed do. I guess I'd wondered what his hair looked like, and now, I finally have my answer—it's long and messy on top, a bit shorter on the sides, lighter in shade, and unfortunately, it looks damn good on him.

Someone rushes to fuss over Rosalie's hair and lipstick one last time. I'm about to walk away to get a quick breather before we begin, but then I remember something else I'd wondered about him.

His ring.

My gaze drifts to his left hand, and I find the gold band I put there eleven years ago.

He catches me noticing because of course he does.

I wonder if he purposely put it on for today.

I wonder if he never took it off.

Regardless, I hate that my heart feels relieved to see it there.

My eyes briefly meet his, and he gives me a pointed look like, "See?"

I keep an impassive expression because ring or no ring, fuck him for setting me up today and not giving me a chance to prepare myself for seeing him.

But I can do this.

I'll prove him wrong.

No dramatics. No tantrums.

I'm a fucking professional.

I'm about to direct them toward the desk to get started, but we get interrupted by yet another person I haven't met. This person isn't wielding a comb or lipstick but an iPad. And she's here for Edward.

"Can I steal you for a minute?" she asks him.

"Sure, steal me away," he says, but his eyes are on me.

I roll mine, uncaring if anyone sees.

They don't step that far away, definitely still in earshot. It's not that I'm eavesdropping; I can just hear.

"I want to go over the details we'll be highlighting in your bio, but I want to get your okay before we publish it," the woman says to him, looking at the screen.

"Go for it," he says breezily, sliding his hands into the pockets of his blue slacks.

I secretly stare at him as she lists the facts about his career and credentials.

Quarterback for the Huskies while he studied broadcasting and journalism.

Played for the Seahawks for one year before sustaining a leg injury that unfortunately ended his career.

I'm watching too closely and notice his jaw tighten from that fact. This happened before I met him, but I know it devastated him.

My heart sinks, and for a split second, the urge to comfort him is there.

The woman goes on, highlighting the sports podcast he created and produced on his own before it got picked up by a huge network.

That was also around the time we met, I think pettily.

I rein it in.

She doesn't mention anything about his personal life, but whatever. What would that entail anyway? Met and married your wife in 2010, and had a lovely marriage until trying for a baby created strain. A couple of years ago you both engaged in a kink of hers that ultimately derailed your marriage. Now you're not divorced but not quite married.

Yeah, I'd rather be left out of this.

They finish up, and Edward's eyes meet mine.

For a beat, his expression is too tender, but it's his turn to rein it in.

"Shall we?" Edward asks, his hand gesturing toward the set.

I force a smile. "Let's get this over with."