Summary: Edward Cullen, thrives in the cutthroat world of fintech, while Bella Swan, a determined social worker, stands firmly rooted in her principles. When their paths cross in the midst of corporate intrigue, past traumas, and a tell-all scandal threatening Edward's empire, their initial animosity ignites a tension neither can ignore. A good old enemies to lovers tale for the romantics!


DISCLAIMER: STEPHENIE MEYER OWNS IT ALL


POV: BELLA


I dipped my paintbrush into the acrylic paint mixture before swiping it across the curve of the letter C. Once the letter was completed, I moved to paint the letter U. I finished the subsequent four letters efficiently and stepped back to admire my work. The giant block letters were glittering with blood-red paint.

As I moved on to the next set of block alphabets, there was a knock on the door. I glanced up to see Shelly Newton standing in the doorway with an amused grin. I put the brush away with a heavy sigh. She sat across from my desk and stared at the poster occupying my desk. She tilted her head to get a better look at the words.

"Oh, wow. You are going all out," Shelly commented, chuckling at my dramatic words.

"It's the only way to get the message across," I shrugged. "At least Alice thinks it's the only way. I'll be done with this before my next appointment at three. Senna wanted me to help schedule her classes. I'm so glad she is ready to get started. She is going to have a promising spring here." I noticed Shelly looking a bit distracted. "Shel, is everything alright?"

"Of course, everything is great," Her tone told me otherwise.

I took a seat in my chair. "What is it? Tell me. You have been all over the place for the last few weeks."

Shelly brushed her right hand against her trousers, refusing to meet my gaze. "We might have to close 212 House, Bella. We don't have the budget for it anymore."

My stomach twisted into uneasy knots. "What?"

"Welton-Truman was our biggest corporate client. We have not reached our financial target after they went bankrupt last quarter. I have to adjust the budget so we can survive this year without a hitch. We might have to make a few adjustments, which include shutting down one of our residential centers. There is no way any employees are going through salary cuts."

"Shelly, I'm so sorry to hear that. Why didn't you say something earlier? We could've had all hands on deck since the beginning of the year. We are going to get through this. I will do everything in my power," I promised her. I couldn't imagine working anywhere else but here.

Shelly offered me a warm smile. "Thanks, Bella."

Shelly Newton founded the Beacon Women's Center 30 years ago in 1994. She worked as a social worker and had experience helping people in the government sector. After listening to women's troubling experiences and stories, she was inspired to open a safe haven for shelter and growth. At BWC, we offered employment preparation services, residential programs, and a strong support group. Women facing homelessness or on the brink of homelessness stayed at our facilities. Even troubled youth, domestic violence victims, vulnerable female veterans, and single pregnant women stayed with us.

As somebody who grew up interested in social work, I knew I wanted to work in the field. I started as an intern here while studying at U-Dub and became a permanent team member after graduation. I had been a part of the BWC family for a decade. Going into the world of social work, I knew my lifestyle would be comfortable but never luxurious—I was satisfied with that. This non-profit was my second home.

Our non-profit didn't resemble the splashy ones in Seattle with billionaire board members. Everyone came from humble backgrounds at BWC. Our center was funded via donations and sponsors. While the online donations and Christmas drives helped us sustain with day-to-day expenses, our corporate sponsors aided our more enormous financial spending. Seattle's most prominent corporate law firm, Welton-Truman, was our biggest sponsor, making our non-profit operations seamless. After their bankruptcy, Shelly received a personal phone call from Emily Truman to apologize for putting a freeze on our funding. They didn't have the money anymore. We were scrambling with smaller donations, trying to find a Welton-Truman-size firm to sponsor us.

"Let me talk to Alice—she might have a few ideas," I mused, making Shelly laugh.

"Please do. I miss that girl. It's been ages since I saw her. Tell her to drop by sometime soon. I'm sure she will since you are helping her with this," she said, gesturing to my poster.

"Oh, yeah. For sure."

Shelly rose to her feet. "Don't worry about our problems. I have a few things brewing. I won't let us sink."

"I know that," I said with confidence. "And I am here if you need me. Anything you want."

"Thanks, honey. I have to rush now. I have a meeting in the city. I'll see you tomorrow," She said, giving my poster a final glance. "Instead of hates, why don't you write hurts? It's more impactful."

"Oh, yes," I laughed. "Much better."

"Let me know if you need more slogans. I have a few ideas."

I waved her off. "Alice is making a poster, too. It's just going to have the word Shame on it. Her motto is less words, more impact."

"Smart girl."

Noah, Shelly's assistant, peeked inside the office with his gaze directed toward our boss. "Shelly, there is a call waiting for you. Her name is Rosalie Hale."

"Are you serious? Oh my god, I have to take this," Shelly offered a wave before leaving the room with trepidation and joy on her features. I let out a deep sigh. It could be a big potential client. God, I hope everything works out.

An hour later, I was adding finishing touches to my poster when my best friend, Alice Brandon, skipped inside the room with a glee-ridden face. Alice and I met in U-Dub when we were paired as roommates during our first year. We had been inseparable since then. Alice was a few inches shorter than my average height, with blue eyes and an angelic smile. She could charm the pants off anyone. After graduating in art history, she got her realtor's license. It was the best job for someone like her—resourceful, magnetic, and helpful. She worked at one of the best real estate firms in Seattle and was thriving in her career. I couldn't be prouder.

"Bella, put that brush away; we no longer need to go on to that protest!" Alice announced with a triumphant grin.

I frowned. "What are you talking about? I just finished painting it."

"The company is compensating for all businesses under the lease at Moody Park! John is getting enough money to retire in peace! Isn't that wonderful news?!" Alice squealed in joy.

I gasped, delighted. "Alice, that is wonderful news! I am so happy for John! I wish this news was announced in the morning. I wouldn't have started this."

"Don't worry. We'll save it for next time. It looks amazing, " She winked at me.

Edward Cullen

Hurts

Working Class

I was skeptical about whether we could use the poster again. It was targeting a specific issue and person. But Edward Cullen was always in the news for shitty things. Maybe Alice was right. She often had intuitions about these things.

Edward Cullen was the founder and CEO of the fintech company FinPulse. I didn't have a background in his field, but his latest merger included purchasing a century-old building in Seattle called Moody Park. The commercial building was home to over twenty businesses, however, he was tearing it down to build something for his firm. Each business leased under the building was sent a notice to vacate before next week's demolition. All the business owners had formed a coalition to hold a protest to protect their life's work. Since Alice's elderly neighbor was one of those business owners, I was helping my best friend fight the corporate giant and its greedy owner.

Edward Cullen wasn't known to be one of the most generous people amongst the rich and famous in Seattle. He only aided some splashy non-profits that his family funded for many years. The big corporations in Seattle often helped more prominent non-profits for better PR rather than allowing the ones that get work done like ours.

"Oh, I forgot to ask, how was your date last night?" Alice asked curiously.

I shuddered when the memories from last night's date flooded back to me. "It made me realize I shouldn't let you convince me to go on blind dates."

She pouted. "That bad?"

"He was bragging about his gun collection."

"I'm so sorry, I had no idea! Patrick seemed like a nice guy. Never mind. We'll find the right men for us soon."

My lips turned down a little. "I have given up on that. I'll turn 29 this year, and I haven't had a serious relationship since Nate."

"Ugh, can we not talk about that asshole?" She muttered with disgust. "We are in our Saturn Return zone. Time for transformation."

"I would love to discuss astrology, but I have a session soon. I'll call you after 5. Just to confirm, we are not going to the protest tomorrow morning? In that case, I won't take a half-day off."

"Cullen is giving John more money than he could've made until retirement, so we're good. Maybe Cullen's not such a bad guy."

I rolled my eyes. "Alice, the only reason he decided to pay the people is because he was receiving backlash for his actions—his business is in jeopardy. It just means he is still a heartless monster with an efficient PR team."

"Maybe. Alright, I have a showing in thirty. I'll see you tomorrow for lunch. Bye," Alice blew me a kiss before strutting out of the room.

I smiled, hearing Alice squeal as she greeted Shelly somewhere in the building. I shook my head. Her energy was contagious and soothing. My eyes stared daggers at the poster on my desk. I wasted a lot of time on this. More than fifty people were planning to gather in front of the Moody Park building before the demolition was scheduled to begin. Edward Cullen solved all the problems by practically shoving money into the bank accounts.

We lived in a capitalist world. Private businesses often wanted to show their power over ordinary people. They didn't exert much effort into it—money always solved everything. Money was the root of all evil, and it was in the hands of the wrong people. Here we were at BWC, trying to make a real difference, but we needed money to sustain ourselves.

I touched the paint to ensure it was dried before rolling the poster. Then, I shoved it into one of the cabinets and powered up my computer. Before I could leave for the day, I had two counseling sessions.

At 3, Senna was shy and awkward as she entered my office. She tucked her green hair behind her ear before retrieving a notepad from her satchel. Senna was only 20 and had lived at one of our residential homes for the last three months. Due to her drug habits, her parents kicked her out of the house, and she lived with a guy for a couple of months before deciding to leave that life behind. Senna was sober for four months and ready to get a stable job after completing our courses. She may apply for colleges next year if she can settle into a regular routine.

Once Senna left, I had a session with Nina, an ex-veteran who was homeless until she found shelter in our residential home last year. We discussed her progress for the month, and I booked her a therapy session with our in-house counselor for tomorrow.

Not all stories were successful. Sometimes, women were impatient and left our program midway to return to their old lives. In my early years, I used to get hurt when women complained and quit. Shelly taught me that you couldn't help everyone. People have the ability to make their own judgments. Watching some of them give up was hard, but I remained grateful for the women who benefited from my help.

A few seconds after Nina left, my phone line rang. I answered on the first ring. "Bella Swan."

"Bella, can you come to my office?" Shelly sounded off. "I need to talk about something."

"Sure. Give me a minute." I hung up.

Shelly was seated at her desk, holding a piece of paper that looked like a cheque. Oh my god, did she get us funding?! That was quick! I offered a curious smile from my chair and waited impatiently to hear her say the words—A big corporation agreed to sponsor us.

"Edward Cullen's FinPulse agreed to sponsor us," Shelly said hesitantly as she traced the edges of the paper in her hand.

My good mood dissipated upon hearing the news. Great. The man who almost ruined Alice's neighbor's life was throwing more money at people—a non-profit this time. "Oh," I responded with a nod.

"I know, it's from the man you were planning to march against tomorrow," She looked thoughtful. "It's a big cheque, Bella. Big enough for us to keep BWC running smoothly for three years, open the Free Boutique Shop, and start the Savings Program."

I blinked a few times, trying to comprehend her words. This way, we could reach our five-year target in two years or less. A few hours ago, I complained about how the wrong people had excessive wealth, which we could use. Now, the same people offered us a chance to build and grow. We should keep the money, even if it is tainted with good PR greed for Edward Cullen.

"What did you tell them? And how did this happen?"

"While I was in your office, Noah informed me that Rosalie Hale called. She is the Personal Communications Advisor to Edward Cullen. I've known her through meet and greets. She wanted to schedule a meeting ASAP, so I agreed to meet her. I went to their headquarters and met the whole team. Edward Cullen was there. He is…" She trailed off, trying to hide her smile. "Very handsome, charming, and smart."

"And a corporate devil."

Shelly shook her head. "It was apparent why they were trying to sponsor us. Trying to save face after everything the company has been through. While they are a heavily profitable company—one of the biggest fintech companies in the world—their PR has taken a downturn. No percentage of profit margins can change that."

"That's true," I chuckled without humor. "Have you seen the news? It's terrible. I don't know if this cheque will save them, but it's good for us. We should celebrate. I'll ask Marco to gather everyone on Wednesday before the seminar," I grinned, and a hint of thrill ran through me. We had money! Shelly didn't smile or acknowledge my words. She was reluctant about something. There was more to this. "What's wrong?"

"This cheque is conditional," Shelly stated, making me roll my eyes. Surprise, surprise. "They truly want to make things right. Our non-profit isn't the most recognized, but FinPulse knows our positive impact. They want our help."

I made a face. "We don't specialize in rebranding capitalist losers. How are we going to do that?"

"They had an idea…"

"Go on…"

"FinPulse wants someone from BWC to work with their public relations for one year to create a framework for social initiatives that could help the company. This could include collaborations with our firm—like hiring some women undergoing our training programs or offering fintech training courses from FinPulse that could help them land better jobs."

My narrowed gaze softened hearing the ideas. The 50 students undergoing our training would be ecstatic to join a multinational company. They could become financially stable. "That could work. We should at least try for two months and see how it goes."

"Uh, yes," She continued. "Um, they want a senior BWC member to work in their offices twice weekly for better communication and streamlining their vision."

"Oh, wow. Maybe Zafrina can do it. She can achieve her long-lost dream of working in a corporate company," I chuckled.

Shelly folded her hands on the table. "I recommended you for the position, Bella."

"What? NO!" I gasped in horror. "Shelly, how can you do that?" I hissed.

"Bella, we need to put our best foot forward. You are easily one of the most likable people here. You hate everything about that company—you will call them out on their bullshit. That's what they want. We are not the only non-profit they approached. There will be a couple of people interviewing for this position. Edward told me I don't have to return the cheque even if nobody from BWC shows up for the interview. I want someone to represent us in the corporate world, and it should be you."

"Shelly, it's degrading. Interviewing for a company that only gave that cheque," I stabbed a finger toward the paper. "To save themselves instead of helping us."

"It's just one interview."

"And we keep the money?"

"100%."

Instead of giving a terrible interview, I'll try to be mediocre. I won't insult the organization to make them mad or flatter them with compliments. I'll be basic, boring, and bland. Instead of insulting Edward Cullen during a protest, I could get a chance to sit in front of his staff and make them realize how they bought the most boring interview of their lives worth a million dollars. The money was already ours to help the community build and grow.

"Fine, I'll go for the interview. I can't promise I will do my best," I replied honestly.

Shelly threw her head back and laughed. "I already know that, Bella. Don't worry, I got your back. Let's plan that celebration for the big corporate bucks we got."

Shelly and I chatted for a few minutes before I returned to my office to pack for the day. The interview was on Thursday, so I had ample time to remain unprepared. God, I was excited. It had been ages since I had interviewed, and it was the first time I would give a dull interview. Maybe Alice can help me prepare with a few pointers. I could even arrive late for the interview to give a terrible first impression. Hmm, so many ideas…

I stared at the box of acrylic paints in the corner of the room with a shudder. I went from making a poster to protest Edward Cullen to reluctantly agreeing to an interview with his company. I was only interviewing for Shelly's sake and good faith, even if their intentions were otherwise.

Edward Cullen also plays with the Working Class.


POV: EDWARD


"Hi, my name is Edward, and my business partner was an addict," I clutched the edges of the podium tighter than I intended. Instead of staring at the 20 people inside the room, I focused on a random dot on the far wall. "It hasn't been long since I began to attend Nar-Anon meetings. People usually stand here sharing about their spouses or parents. I had a business partner/friend who deeply affected my life. I found it difficult to wake up today—there is a lot of pressure at work. Also, it's my business partner's birthday. Peter would've been 42 today. One of the first times we shared about our families, he told me how he wanted to live to see 42 because his addict father died at that age," I swallowed hard. "Peter didn't live to see 42; he died at 36."

"Peter was ten years older than me. We met through a common friend who I don't remember anymore. He was a young investor who had received a billion-dollar payout after a media giant bought his tech company. He wanted to invest in a revolutionary business. I invented my company in my college dorm in my freshman year. I knew it was something the world wanted. Peter heard my pitch and decided to invest. I was a shy, awkward nineteen-year-old with no idea about the real world. Peter and I became business partners. I was the brains behind the development while he was the face of the company. We had big plans. I enjoyed staying in the shadows with him as my mentor. We were co-founders, with him representing us everywhere. Things were slowly happening for us—until suddenly, he was gone. Just like that."

"Not only was I thrown into the spotlight, but I had two roles to juggle. I was all over the place. I'm still all over the place," My eyes filled with unshed tears. "It's been six years since I lost Peter, and I think about him daily. Our company continues to grow, but it's not the same without him. I feel his absence. Peter should've been here to celebrate turning 42—not dying earlier from the same addiction his father had," There was more to share, but my voice caught in my throat as a searing pain rose in my chest. Don't cry, Edward. "Thank you for letting me share."

I heard the polite applause as I ducked my head, making a beeline for my usual spot in the last row. There were two more shares before the meeting ended. I resisted the urge to mingle with everyone, as I often did. Instead, I texted my driver, Jared, to come around the block while I left the rundown church.

"I always wonder where you disappear on random mornings," Jared mused, leaning against my car.

I rolled my eyes. "None of your concern."

"Head's up: Rose is in the car."

I stifled a groan. "How does she look?"

"The usual."

"Ugh, I'm not ready for this. Drive as fast as you can." I warned him before opening the rear passenger door. Rosalie was seated on the opposite end, furiously typing into her phone. Once I settled inside, I reluctantly shut the door. "Good morning, Rose. How are you?"

"I have written more public statements for you this month than over the last decade; what do you think?" She asked dryly. "Anyway, I'm not here to discuss that. Jasper and I are interviewing candidates for the Social Work Liaison position today. Work begins from next week."

My mouth pressed into a thin line. "Sure."

Two months ago, my business, FinPulse, purchased a new company under our risk management umbrella called Decamp. Run by Aro Volturi, it specializes in identifying and preventing fraudulent cases. Since Decamp was shutting down its headquarters, I wanted it to conduct operations from Seattle. My commercial realtor suggested purchasing the Moody Park building two blocks from my company headquarters.

Little did I know that the purchase would open a can of worms. The owners told us that many businesses in the complex failed to re-up their leases while the others were on the brink of closing for good. Not bad, right? We got an economical deal on the offer, my company emailed the business owners about the news, and a date was settled for the building demolition.

I didn't know how, but many small competitors in Washington State riled up the community through social media to take a stand and save the businesses. It created an outrage that we planned to tear down a century-old building and leave the owners without a source of income. Most of the statements were false since the businesses were already failing. The power of the community was more substantial than our public relations. We had to give in and pay off each owner.

That wasn't the worst part. It allowed the media to dig up shit about my past, Peter's past, and my family's long-lost problems. I received hate from strangers I didn't know. It was frustrating, but my hands were tied. Plus, it didn't help that I was blunt and rude during my press releases due to the budding frustration. I was probably one of the most hated people in the city.

My team suggested we take this chance to grow our reach with the community and show the humane side of our corporation.

"We could try to get some things going with that non-profit Mom likes," Jasper suggested during our brainstorming session on Monday.

Emmett shook his head. "Mom just helps that one because her friend co-founded it. It's no substance."

Rosalie agreed. "Exactly. We should try to work with a non-profit that works for a real cause. A place that could benefit from our help, and we could benefit from theirs. Many great non-profits in Seattle often get buried in the back because of these celebrity-backed charities. I know a couple of them. I will try to set up meetings with a few."

"It's the cheapest option for a positive PR," Emmett said after gazing at my reluctant face.

"We are just exploiting tiny non-profits. Is it worth it?" I ran a hand through my hair. "Nobody will give a shit about this in a year."

Rosalie shot me a glare. "This entire plan is to try and make you a better human. When was the last time you helped someone? This is an opportunity for not only our business to grow but also for you to develop your interpersonal skills."

"I am great with people."

"This might surprise you, but there is a world outside this building. And the people aren't fond of you. I'm not a big fan of this idea, but you haven't left us a choice. You make more trouble when I put you in front of cameras."

"I speak the truth."

Jasper chuckled without humor. "People don't want to hear the truth, Edward. They want to see your actions."

I stared at their annoying faces with a resigned sigh. "Fine, but I am not happy about this."

Rosalie's ringing phone snapped me out of my reverie. I watched her face light up as she stared at the name flashing on the screen. Her lips curled into a grin while answering the phone. "Hi, babe. Did Sammy wake up?" She chuckled. "I know, put her on," There was a long pause. "Good morning, baby! How is my favorite girl doing?" Rosalie sighed. "I know, Sammy. But you have an interesting story-telling afternoon today, don't you? It's going to be so much fun! You can tell us all about it when Mommy and Daddy come home from work!" She smiled, listening to Sammy talk on the other line. "Mommy is on her way to the office. Yes, I am with Uncle Edward… He's working, sweetie. Maybe next time, alright? Don't fuss during the bath, and be good for Anna. I love you."

I felt a tinge of irritation that Rosalie lied to my niece. I huffed when she hung up. "I'm right here. I could've spoken to Sammy."

"My daughter asks if you are around whenever I am at work. She loves Uncle Edward. You would know if you saw her every few weeks. When was the last time you met her, Edward?" I thought about Rosalie's question for a long minute. Shit, I couldn't remember. "Exactly. You will make a promise to meet her and not show up. I don't want Sammy to be disappointed. Again."

I shot her a glare. "Is that what you and my brother tell her? That I'm always busy and never around?"

Rosalie chuckled with an incredulous look. "We don't have to say anything. Sammy is four—she observes everything. You actively seek out ways to stay away from your family. You didn't even attend Sammy's birthday last month. She made you a handwritten 'Thank You' card. Do you have any idea how heartbroken she was? All you did was send an extravagant gift. Kids want physical presence, too. Emmett had half a mind to kick your ass. Thankfully, Uncle Jasper is better than that. Your younger brother always covers for you."

"I'm glad Sammy has one fun uncle in her life," I muttered before staring out the window. Guard up, Edward. It's fine. Don't let that hurt you.

Jared and my team were immune to our quarrels. Rosalie and I had the closest working relationship of all my family members. She knew how to push my buttons, and I often wondered why she hadn't quit her position yet.

Rosalie Hale was my sister-in-law and married to my brother, Emmett. Emmett was five years older than me and a Junior Partner at Yates Brown, a renowned law firm in Seattle. My brother had been handling the legal proceedings of my business since the moment he became a licensed attorney. Emmett was the only one I trusted to manage the legal aspects of my business.

As much as I despised working with Rose, I loved working with my younger brother Jasper. Jazz and I were only a year apart, and he was possibly my best friend. While he worked with several companies since graduation, he came aboard as an interim COO two years ago after an abrupt employee departure but decided to stay permanently. He was beloved, kind, and well-respected in the office. He often acted as an intermediary when Rosalie and I indulged in arguments.

I kept my family close while running the business, but I believed they were the reason I was on the brink of insanity.

"Here," Rosalie passed me a black folder. I frowned. "Give it to Ang. It's an NDA. I made that blonde from your apartment sign it."

Fuck.

"How did—"

"Edward, how do you think I am here?" She asked rhetorically. "I went to your place early in the morning and found only a woman sleeping in your guest room. I drove here with Jared."

I tried to recall the name of the blonde I met at the bar last night. It was either Lucy or Lily. Ugh, never mind. I told her to leave before eight! I hated it when women stuck around in my penthouse without my presence. It was good to know that Jared drove Rosalie. I was scared that the woman had begun stalking me. I didn't want Rose to learn about the Nar-Anon meetings I attended each week at an old church.

"Fine," I muttered. "Everything we discussed a few minutes ago could've been an email. What is the real reason you are here, Rose?"

"Esme mentioned that you are dodging her calls regarding the dinner next weekend," Rosalie said quietly. "Edward, I know you won't be there, but it would mean a lot to Liz if you made it."

As the car stopped at a red light, I shifted my focus to the car next to mine. A father was in the driver's seat while his two kids were strapped in their booster seats in the rear. The family was singing a tune with happy grins. I clenched my fists when Rosalie touched my arm. I knew my parents put her up to this. They wanted her to convince me.

I cleared my throat. "Who all will be there?"

"It's just the family, Edward. And some of Liz's friends."

I sent her a withering glare. "There is no way in fucking hell I will be in the same room as her friends. Why are they invited in the first place? Is Mom crazy? Anyway, I don't care. I have plans next week."

"You actively make excuses to stay away from us and complain when I lie to my daughter about you being busy. Pick a lane, Edward," Rosalie muttered.

The rest of the car ride was silent since Rosalie had broached her intended topic and received my usual cold response. My mood was sour from our talk and the upcoming agenda of hiring a Social Work Liaison—which sounded like a made-up position. Emmett, Rosalie, and Jasper were being smug about how the plan would work, convinving me that helping the needy would change FinPulse's perception.

Was there a way to prove them wrong? I pondered upon my options. I had agreed to hire someone, but appointing the wrong person could put the ball in my court. Then, we could use an organic way for people to start feeling optimistic about our company. Handing large cheques to desperate non-profits was potentially bribing them to help us. It was wrong.

"Rose, do you mind if I interview the four candidates today?" I asked as we entered the elevator.

Rosalie was taken aback. "I beg your pardon?"

"Since I will be working closely with this liaison, I want to interview the candidates and discuss their working style and goals. This won't work unless I get along with the person," I shrugged, trying to sound sincere.

"That makes sense," She narrowed her eyes at me. "I hope you don't have an ulterior motive since you have been complaining about this idea all week."

"I'm trying to get on board. My reparation for canceling dinner."

"It doesn't work that way, but sure. You and I can interview them."

"No, I'll do it myself. I have a feeling you will be biased toward Barbara Porter's candidate," I muttered, my lame attempt to exclude her. Rose was practical; she never chose people based on her opinions. "She is your mother's friend."

Rosalie gasped. "I never have favorites, you know that! I treat everyone equally."

"That's not true; you like Jasper more than me," I smiled sweetly as the elevator stopped on her floor. "Off you go. Send the interviewees to my office."

Rosalie stepped out of the elevator and glared at me. "Edward—"

"I think you work for me, so you don't have to waste your time arguing. Bye, Rose." With that, the automated doors shut on her face.

I smiled, pleased with myself.

Let's hire the worst from the lot.

Before the interviews began at 10, I told my assistant Angela to send me detailed information about each candidate's work background. Sneha Murthy has five years of experience in public works and solid early childhood education expertise. She grew up in India and moved to the United States almost a decade ago. Paul Wang-Barbara Porter's candidate—had fifteen years of expertise collaborating with celebrities for their non-profit that supported vulnerable LGBTQAI communities, mental health, and bully prevention. Isabella Swan had a decade of experience, specifically working as a Case Worker for a non-profit that aided women suffering from homelessness, domestic violence, troubled youth, and old age. Lastly, Jemma Baker was another promising candidate with three years of social work experience specializing in anti-bullying campaigns.

Through my first-hand screening, Jemma Baker seemed a decent candidate. With the fewest years of work experience and a weak network, Jemma could help me sabotage this plan.

Jemma was also the first candidate to enter my office for her interview. She was 25 and full of fresh ideas that dampened my hopes. She came prepared for the interview, knowing she had the least experience. I asked stereotypical questions, to which Jemma replied with predictable answers. Jemma had much to learn, but I feared Rosalie would train her well. She was a great teacher.

"Edward, I sincerely hope this job allows me to work with you. I know there will be a learning curve, and I am ready to get the best, even from my mistakes."

I offered a genuine smile, although my insides knew she wasn't the right candidate. "That is a wonderful approach to life, Jemma. It's always invigorating to have a conversation with passionate people like you. I am yet to interview the other three candidates, but I wish you the best. Thank you for your time. Have a lovely day."

"You too, Edward. Bye!" She offered an enthusiastic wave before leaving the room.

Angela peeked her head inside with a questioning stare. I shrugged indifferently, making her sigh. "Sneha is next."

Sneha was intense. She eyed me with a carnal stare that made me uncomfortable; however, her ideas were earnest. She was articulate, poised, and flirty. Her strong energy was contagious. Ugh, I would have fun working with her. That wasn't the plan. In the back of my mind, I made a mental note to "accidentally" bump into her somewhere and buy her a drink. My plans disappeared when she ended the interview by gushing about her son. Never mind.

"Edward, I hope to hear from you soon. This new chapter in FinPulse's history seems to be here to stay, and I would love to be a part of its origins."

"Thank you for your words, Sneha. Good luck with everything. It was wonderful talking to you. Have a great day."

After Sneha left, Angela peeked inside with a curious look. "How was she? I liked her."

"Sneha was good. Who's next?"

"Isabella Swan, but she isn't here yet. I'll call and cancel her interview. I know you hate working with tardy—"

I cut her off. "No, no. I'm feeling generous today. Don't call yet. Send Paul for the interview. I'll interview that woman after him."

"Okay."

Hmm. Isabella Swan was unpunctual. I liked her already. Despite having a decade-long experience, Miss Swan might just land this job position because of her lack of interview etiquette. Her work could reflect this behavior, bringing progress to a halt. I couldn't wait to meet her.

Paul Wang was overqualified, sincere, and delightful. Ugh, the worst. I couldn't believe he played for the same college baseball team as I did a few years after him. We shared a few laughs before the interview began. He answered my usual questions with confidence and charm. He was quickly the most likable candidate from today.

"Edward, this empire you have created at such a young age is commendable. Things might be rough at the moment, but we can transform through a development journey. I look forward to hearing from you."

"Thank you for your time and kind words, Paul. I appreciate it. My team will connect with you to discuss the outcome of the interview. Thank you again. Have a wonderful day ahead."

Angela smiled knowingly when she entered the room after Paul's departure. "I know you liked Paul. He's handsome, isn't he?" She fanned herself.

"I should inform Ben that his wife is checking out men at work," I joked, making her snort. "Alright, send the last one inside. How does she seem?"

"Not a talker," Angela shook her head. Excellent. "I'll bring her next."

"Thanks, Ang."

Isabella Swan stumbled her way inside the room with a blushing face. She adjusted her high-heeled shoes before approaching the desk.

I stood up to shake her hand. She fidgeted in her seat while I perused through her credentials. It seemed odd that a woman who worked in a dynamic field with a decade-long experience in various social work causes looked so distracted. Wasn't it vital for them to have a calming and patient energy?

"Good morning, Miss. Swan. How are you?" I asked with a polite smile.

She smiled shyly. "I'm good, thanks. Um, I want to apologize for being late. My alarm didn't go off, and my car didn't have gas… it was a whole thing."

Her excuse for being late was a lousy alarm. Lord, she was terrible at interviews. I could've gone with a medical emergency. Isabella already seemed like a less-than-perfect candidate. How would she help our company when she couldn't keep her schedule in check? Oh, she was the best candidate for this role!

"That's alright, I understand," I nodded. "Miss. Swan, your experience and work are quite astounding," I said honestly, reading through her campaigns and work with Beacon Women's Center.

"Bella, please. Thank you. It is a rewarding experience to work at BWC every day," Her eyes sparkled with sincerity for the first time.

"How did you get involved with BWC? Can you elaborate on that, please?"

Bella spoke about her college internship with the non-profit and her job roles over the years. She was poised and confident as she spoke about her work—something I expected of a woman working as a Senior Case Worker at a stable non-profit. Her passion for helping women was genuine, as she strove for all her life.

"Well said. Shelly Newton generously recommended you for this role and shared amazing things about your work profile. What will you bring to the table at FinPulse?"

I watched that confidence wear off, and Bella grew restless again. Something caught my attention: Miss. Swan was articulate while talking about her non-profit but gave underwhelming responses for everything else. It suddenly hit me. She didn't want the job. The other three candidates began their interviews by praising how FinPulse helps them in everyday life and wanting to contribute. Miss. Swan gave a terrible impression by arriving late and giving a ridiculous explanation. My firm had already passed Newton a big check. This was a courtesy visit.

Miss. Swan was good. I was curious about her refusal to work for a big paycheck.

"Alright, enough of that," I cut Bella off mid-sentence at her pathetic excuse of an answer. "Things get boring asking the same standard questions to every candidate," I smiled at her. "Do you want to work with us, Bella?"

"I, uh…" Bella trailed off, looking indecisive. I tried to hide my amusement. She looked like a deer caught in headlights.

"It's a simple yes or no question. One of the first things you would ask yourself before going for a job interview, won't you say?" I mused. "I wonder what made you come here."

Bella instantly dropped the nervous act and sat straighter in her seat. She sighed heavily. "Your company has generously sponsored a large sum to BWC; I want to thank you. Small non-profits like ours need this boost to continue growing. I wanted to do my part in this process. Shelly recommended my name, so here I am."

"I appreciate your honesty," I liked her no-bullshit attitude. "Shelly Newton is lucky to have someone like you working with her."

I guess I can let her go for being honest. I'll have to hire Jemma. Or reject them all.

"Thank you, Mr. Cullen. Do you have any more questions?"

"Edward, please. And yes, I do. Why don't you want to work with us, Bella? We're going to pay quite well for this one-year contract."

"You won't like what you hear," Bella responded with an unreadable smile. Ugh, please.

"I'm sure I've heard worse."

"Your multi-billion dollar company cannot buy empathy by helping fund a few non-profits. It's a cowardly move from your end to try and make things right. Your company has put more than fifty people out of work who worked at Moody Park—it might be a small number for someone with over 5,000 employees, but it's a significant number in our community. You are selfish, greedy, and incredibly ignorant of how the social realms function for those who can't even afford basic healthcare. You shouldn't be working on a social agenda because it will make you look good; you should be working on it because you represent an essential chunk of society."

"Saying how you appreciate our work and signing a paycheck isn't the only thing you should be doing. My best friend's neighbor was one of the business owners from the Moody Park debacle. I read the letter you sent them; it was insincere. You were just putting out a fire you started. I don't want to work in this company because of you, Mr. Cullen. I wouldn't want to work with someone without regard for anybody but his firm. I don't want to be associated with you or anything related to you."

I stared at her in stunned silence for a few seconds. I couldn't stop thinking about her words. Miss. Swan just dictated everything the media perceived me to be. Her words were hurtful. She insulted my life's work and efforts. My business didn't just start crapping money—it took sleepless nights, long hours, and pure hard work. I wasn't upset with her words; I was pulsating with anger.

Isabella Swan gazed at me with a look that was a combination of smug and self-satisfaction. I wondered how long she wanted to yell the words at me. She was wrong. Her views were based on half-knowledge, and she hated me. She was the perfect candidate for this role. Miss. Swan could screw everything up. I wanted to relieve her of this responsibility due to her honest answer about it being a courtesy visit, but she insulted my work—I couldn't forgive that.

She didn't want to be associated with me or anything related to me. Well, her worst nightmare was about to come to life.

I lifted my phone and called Rosalie. Miss. Swan sent me a wary look. "Are you calling security? I can walk myself out."

I chuckled without humor. Bella wasn't amusing anymore—I disliked her.

Rosalie answered quickly. "Hey, Edward."

"Rose, I think I just found us a Social Work Liaison. It's Isabella Swan—from Shelly Newton's non-profit."

She rejoiced at the news. "Oh, that's great! Is she good?"

"Oh, Miss Swan is incredible. She has strong opinions about our company," I said, giving her a dirty look. "I think you can start the paperwork and inform Shelly about it. Don't forget to send the cheque for the remainder amount to the non-profit."

"Yes, I remember. I'll get in contact with Isabella tomorrow."

"Miss. Swan can start on Monday," I said before disconnecting the call.

Bella stared at me with her mouth hanging open. Her face turned red with frustration once she recovered from the shock. I watched the blush spread to her cheeks and neck. "What—What do you mean? I don't want to work with you."

I smiled. "Oh, I know. But I believe we could use your expertise. You are one of us, at least for the next twelve months. We are going to have fun, Miss. Swan."

"I'm not going to accept the offer," She stated firmly.

"Well, then I'll just take back every penny I gave Miss. Newton this week after she signed the conditional clause," I ran a hand through my hair. "The choice is yours." I didn't like to play dirty with a non-profit's money, but I wanted her to suffer more than anything else.

The brunette continued looking at me with a calculating face. Miss. Swan was trying to weigh the consequences of rejecting the offer. I knew the ball was in my court—her non-profit needed the money. Shelly Newton accidentally told us about their money crunch in her weaker moment. I wasn't hiring Isabella Swan for the job title—it was purely out of spite. I watched her eyes resign with disgust toward me. She didn't have a choice.

"You really are an asshole," Her words made me chuckle darkly. I watched Bella rise to her feet and snatch the file from my side. "This is a big mistake. You're going to regret hiring me."

"That's the plan," I responded before she stalked out of the room with burning fury.

I can't wait for Monday.


Hello everyone! I had a story in my draft that I wanted to upload for ages and finally found the time! It's a work in progress but I hope you like it! REVIEW and let me know what you think! :)

Love xx