Hello, people!

This is a little something I'm posting as a gift to my readers for the 13th anniversary of Business Class Girl.
It's genuine outtake. Something I wrote way back in the day, in about 2011, but by the time I finished writing the story, it no longer belonged anywhere, so it ended up on the cutting room floor.

Midnight Cougar edited this for public consumption.

Enjoy!

Outtake - Edward and Bella talking about Bella's writing

I am desperately trying to understand why Bella doesn't want to throw everything out the window to devote all her time to writing. It seems to me like a waste of time and talent that she has to cater to all my, ahem, needs, when she can pursue her dream and do something she's so incredibly good at. Predictably enough, she isn't having any of it.

"B, help me understand this. You're still hunched over the last three chapters, and you can't bring yourself to wrap this up? Do you need time off? Because if that's what you need..." I trail off, waiting for her answer and half-hoping she'll say yes, and half-hoping she'll refuse, so she will stick by my side. Yes, I am needy. So sue me.

"Time is not an issue, Boss. I can squeeze in enough writing time in between assignments. It's not like I have to follow you around 24/7."

I frown and nearly grunt my reply. I want that to change, as soon as possible, but I can't very well drag Bella by her hair from her brother's cave over to mine. That won't go over very well with Emmett. And Jasper. And Russell. And my father. Ouch. I can't forget about the Admiral too. I'd be a sunken wreck in the middle of the Atlantic before I could even try to defend myself. This girl is more protected than the Crown Jewels, and with good reason. I'd take a bullet for her myself, if worst came to worst.

"Then what's the hold up? Can I help in any way?"

I want to help. I want so badly to help that I've overstepped my mark on countless occasions, and I am now tiptoeing the fine line between "attentive boyfriend" and "unrelenting pain in the ass."

Bella frowns, her brows furrow in concentration. She's focusing on something. She always does that when she wants to find the right words to tell me something. Namely, that happens every time she figures I will be either jealous, overprotective, or pissed as hell. Those occasions generally involve either Jake or Marcus.

She takes a deep breath, then steels herself. This is it.

"No, you can't help, Edward. I just need to..."

I merely raise an eyebrow and take her hand in mine.

"It's just that I ... I'm a coward of epic proportions, okay?" Her voice is soft, vulnerable.

I shake my head in disbelief. She may be a kickass professional who will put anyone in their place—from fashion editors, to the press, to incompetent production assistants—but when she comes to her own work ... all her certainties crumble to dust. And this is just so unfair.

"Just for the sake of argument, my lovely, would you like to elaborate on that?" I ask, with a mere hint of a smile.

"What if I completely suck? What if years of my work are completely unmarketable, unreadable, unfeasible? Just un-everything?"

I gather her close to me and look her in the eye.

"My lovely, this is not even remotely possible. This is your province. This is your element. This is what you were born to do. Stop doubting yourself."

"You're just saying this because you're ... well, you." Of course, I'm biased. It's my Business Class Girl. There's no way in the world her book can be a pile of shite. She's written it . Of course, I can probably have a well-informed opinion if...

"Why don't you let me read it, then? So I can tell you off if it really sucks?" I suggest, brushing a strand of her magnificent hair away from her eye.

She regards me speculatively. "Uhm, I could. But then there would be no stopping you."

"From what?" My tone is probably as blank as my face. Gotcha—she's taken me by surprise again.

"From taking everything by storm. From taking this into your own hands. On the other hand," she says, but trails off, reaching for some sheets of printed paper on the desk, "if I don't comply now, you'll never leave this alone," she concludes, handing me the paper. It's one of her drafts. I recognize her notes on the margins, penned in her carefully crafted handwriting.

I read, and for a while, I am completely transported to another dimension. Bella's writing is evocative and full of complicated, colorful imagery. This piece is so visually dynamic that it has a distinct cinematic quality. I can see screenwriters and directors salivating over this.

"Bella, I can't tell you how good this is. You ... This is what you are meant to do. I should fire you and let you do your thing." I blurt this out before I can catch myself.

She doesn't reply.

"How do you come up with things like these? I mean, I've worked with screenwriters who would kill ..."

"It's just the way I roll. If I can't see it in my head, then it doesn't work well on paper. End of story."

She is willingly telling me about her writing. She is explaining her thought process to me and it's completely enthralling.

"Bella, this deserves to be on a silver screen. You need to … I want to ..." She puts one finger on my lips. I am distracted immediately by the fact that I want to lick it.

"Edward, what did I just say? That there'd be no stopping you. And here you are, planning a script."

Cornered. She gets me every time. But this story really needs to circulated. It needs to be printed. It's a gross injustice for it to keep flying under the radar.

"I will try to back off; I will surely try, but you have to promise you won't give this up. Writing is what you were born to do."

She touches her forehead to mine, and whispers, "Thank you. For believing in me."

"Of course, I do. I just want to go and scream it from the rooftops that I have an awesome, talented, sexy as fuck girlfriend. May I?"

She shakes her head, chuckling to herself.

"There must be an obscure, all-organic, brand of Cheddar in the Cotswolds that's named after you, Cullen. It will take time, but I'll find it. You are the Emperor of Cheese."

"I resent the organic comment. That's an unhealthy jibe," I answer in mock disdain.

"I didn't specify unhealthy. Don't put words in my mouth."

"There's something else I'd rather put in your mouth, my lovely."

"Pervert. Shall I just ignore you, or concoct some kind of punishment?"

I pout. I don't want to be ignored. That makes for a very grumpy, unhappy Edward.

"Don't pout, Boss. If you behave and the weather cooperates, we could go for a ride on the Tiger. Sounds good?"

The wind on my face, the city behind me, the breeze of the sea, and my body wrapped around Bella's while she commands the road in her steel trap?

Hottest thing ever.

Pout is off. And so is the philosophical debate about Bella's career choices.

Some little things from this did make it into the story, such as Bella's moniker for Edward, the "Emperor of Cheese."
There are other outtakes I have in mind for this story, but no timeline for writing them.

At the moment I'm focused on finishing #DreamsUnwind, the RockerWard story I'll start posting on September 26.
For any fanfic-writing related news, please head over to my FB Group, LaMomo's Lair (type in the search bar).

Thank you to my readers, who've made this 13-year journey an amazing ride.

Momo