A/N: Decisions, decisions...Cluelessward makes a lot of decisions in this chapter. Some good, some bad, one catastrophic...Ready to hold his hand?
As usual, thank you to Eifeltwr and Black Hale for beta'ing and beautifying - you are awesome girls. PeepToe is on temporary leave for this chapter - the busy girl is working on a merger with Jasper.
Thank you to Lory and Debbie for still holding my hand. Are we counting down the days till our London trip?
Shout outs for this week: Kimbo and Black Hale for a totally mindless, but utterly funny videochat last night, Eifeltwr for being there at all times, regardless of time zones and Mina for the Ted Sr p0rn this week. Ladies, you know why I keep you around. For the rest, let's always blame Cedric.
CluelessWard thanks, from the bottom of his forgetful heart, his faithful and regular readers and reviewers - you know who you are, because, as usual he doesn't. He still can't find B's list...And of course, thanks to everyone reading, reviewing and pimping my little story all over the fandom. You all rock too. :)
Disclaimer: Not mine. All Stephenie Meyer's genius. Plot is mine, though. I enjoy making them do crazy things.
Pimp My Fic Corner at the bottom...
BUSINESS CLASS GIRL - CHAPTER 12
"Fuck everything else. If it remotely feels like home, take it."
"Screw the rest, we'll deal with it."
"I'm so proud of you, Edward."
How can a bloke's life change with three sentences? I'm not yet sure about how, but I know that mine has.
Bella's done it again. She's supporting me, boosting my confidence, pushing me to do better…just by being there. And the magic of it is that it's all effortless to her, it's a given, because she can't help being like this, it's in her nature.
I grip her hands tighter, before I go on with my celebration speech, my voice cracking up with an emotion I can't contain.
"You blew them away, B. I mentioned your suggested change of the script to the director, and he loved it. He said it proved how much I'd interiorised this role, how much I'd felt it ass mine, and so on and so forth…"
She throws me a wicked glance. "Edward Anthony Cullen, did you really do that?"
Uh-oh. She's unleashed my middle name like a curse. How does she even know it?
"I know your middle name because it's part of my job. I know your middle name, your birthday, your height, weight, tux size, shoes size, social security number, credit card number, passport expiry date and I could recite it like an endless mantra… Did you really spit that out to the director? The guy must hate me now."
She blurts this out in one long, irritated gush that ends on a shy, uneasy note. She's doubting herself and I won't have it. And she can read my mind, or just knows me too well.
Both, Cullen, both. Though you wished the knowledge was biblical.
"No, he doesn't. He thinks I corrected it. Sorry for misappropriating your work, B. He loved it, by the way. He said the style was flawless. How did you learn to write like that?"
She shrugs and I know I'm treading dangerous ground.
"Professional hazard, Edward. Lawyers do work with a lot of written material. I was in charge of all that."
I'm stunned. My girl's talents are endless, but I can also tell that she's holding out on me.
Oh, and that's right, Cullen. You just called her 'my girl'.
"You were Jasper's ghost writer?"
"In a way. So you see, I'm used to this." She means that Jasper got the credit for her genius, just as I did back there. I'm a jerk, robbing her of her glory.
"That's not fair. I'll go tell the director…"
She drops my hands in disdain, I regret my words instantly.
"You'll do nothing of the sort, Edward. We're a team, you're not misappropriating anything. Please tell me you won't talk to the director?"
I give in like a spineless git, because I can't deny her anything.
"There's something else that we need to celebrate." She nods and gestures for me to elaborate.
"I've decided. I've weighed out the pros and cons, I've had a pep talk with my confused gut, and I'll take the house in Venice Beach."
I'm afraid of her reaction, but she surprises me again. "Brilliant, Kate will have her museum, after all. Wonder if I can get a little something for myself out of this."
Wow. I expected a cold shoulder, but her creepy irony must be her own way of coping with this.
"Are you happy with this, B?" If she's not happy, I won't take it, cost what it may.
"I'm happy if you are, Edward." And from the look in her eyes, I can tell that she means it.
"Hell, we're going to be neighbours now, B."
She snorts. "As long as I'm not Kylie…"
I shake my head and laugh with her. "Do I look like Jason to you?"
That's another thing I love about her. When you least expect it, she'll quote something so characteristically British that I can't help feeling at home.
"We have another reason to celebrate, B," I add, with a devilish grin.
"I'd think the other two were enough, Boss."
I grip her hands again, I need to feel her close to me right now.
Closer, Cullen. You want her closer still.
"They may be, but this is where you can't say no." My grin doesn't falter.
"Alright, it looks like I'm trapped. Fire away."
My thumbs are engaged in their new favourite pastime, aka running circles on the back of Bella's hands. Her skin is flawless and feels like silk under my touch. I wonder if she's not put off by the rough pads on my fingers. I am, after all, a musician as well, and she's read this on my skin before I could even tell her about it.
You'd like her to do other things to your skin, Cullen.
"Right. It's been one week since we started working together. It's been an amazing week, B. I turned up on time to all my commitments. I didn't bail out of anything. I survived three press junkets and I even endured a photo shoot with a smile on my face. I've nailed this casting call, and it's all because you were here, because you helped me not to topple this boat again. It's cause enough for a celebration in my book."
She disentangles her fingers from mine. "You would have done that anyway without me, Edward."
I snatch her hands back. "How, B? Ang was ready to drop me and you were meant to be my punishment. Little did she know, she was doing me a favour. Would you do me the honour of going out to lunch with me, Miss Swan?"
I wonder if what she calls my 'charm' works on her as well. I pray that it does, because I won't take no for an answer. She hesitates, then grips my hands tighter.
"This really means a lot to you, doesn't it, Edward?" she whispers.
"It does, B. Please let me do this for you."
"Then I'd be delighted, Mr. Cullen, to have lunch with you today."
I flash her a blinding smile and, without thinking, gather up her hands to my lips and kiss them. She rewards my recklessness with one of those cute blushes.
You could die a happy man now, Cullen. Admit it.
I tap on the divider and call out to Ben. "Ben, please drive straight to Morton's. We have reservations in 30 minutes."
"Cocky much, Edward?" She asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Nope, my assistant taught me to be always prepared."
"She must know you very well," she quips, flashing me her own enticing version of a devilish grin.
"Better than anyone, B. And I love it."
There, Cullen. Let's see where this one takes you.
She blushes again.
The rest of the ride to the restaurant is filled with animated talk about our goings-on in the weeks up to Christmas. Bella knows very little about the movie industry and she grills me on all the aspects that she's not familiar with. She listens to me with rapt attention and her questions are smart and very insightful. She wants to know absolutely everything.
"What does this pre-production thingy entail, exactly?" I love the fact that she is surgically precise with her legal jargon, but can get away with saying 'thingy' when talking about movies.
"Well, they check out everything they might need for visual effects, they run through story boards, discuss production design and the like. It's a lengthy and painstaking process, once the cameras are rolling, you can't afford to waste time and money. Most of everything is discussed and decided on beforehand."
She's not physically taking notes, but her brain is working at full steam. We're now at the restaurant, some place around Beverly Hills that I've chosen because it's relatively close to Ang's office and it's pretty businesslike. I don't want Bella to think that I've trapped her into going on a date with me.
You want to take her, Cullen, and you want her to know it's a date.
"It all seems to me like it involves the director and the rest of the crew, more than anyone else. Where does the cast come in?"
Attentive and to the point. I've never been asked so many meaningful questions about my job, but I revel in talking to Bella. I want her to know what I do.
"Well, the poor actors like yours truly get manhandled by the costume designers, till they get the right size and the right look for every scene."
"I bet you love that," she jokes. God, this woman knows me so well. I absently scratch the back of my head.
"Well, I like the period clothes, though they make you walk all weird…"
She looks at me over her glass. I wanted to order some white wine to go with our seafood, but apparently it gives Bella a nasty headache. Only soda water for my girl.
"I bet you look dashing in those dapper period clothes."
"Quit mocking me, Miss Swan! It's not fair to make fun of other people's misfortunes…"
She smiles fondly at me. "I wasn't mocking you, I really think you'd look the part, with your figure. Though I bet you make those seamstresses' lives miserable."
She's got me, again. "What can I say? I have no patience for that…"
"What else?" She asks again.
"What else, what?" I echo. I got lost in her eyes for a second and I can't remember what I was saying.
"Pre-production, Mr. Cullen?" I slap my forehead.
"Yeah, that. Then there's make up and hair styling. They try out the different styles until they get them right."
"Something tells me you're not a big fan of pre-production."
I smile, and I can feel it reach my eyes. "Actually, I like the whole research side of it. It's awesome. It's the manhandling I can't stomach. What I love most are the read-throughs, though."
"I thought so. I guess you can tell if it's going to work out or not, can't you?" she adds, her gaze fixed on me, her voice level. She's interested and focused, she's in work mode as if we were preparing for the Academy Awards.
"Me? Not so much, but the director does. And you surely get to size up your cast mates, whether you can get on with them or not…"
Our lunch hour passes like this, talking, bantering back and forth, and I learn a lot of little things about Bella. She doesn't like tomatoes with her salad, she is crazy about lobster, she drinks an awful lot of water, and she only eats steak if Em grills it. After lunch, she orders an espresso, only after she's made sure they have her preferred brand and know how to brew it. Damn, she's picky.
High maintenance, Cullen. It's called high maintenance.
"Yes, I know I'm horribly picky but…I got into the habit of drinking espresso whenever I go see my mom, and…" she trails off, her eyebrow quirked in an apologetic grimace.
So that's where she was going, on that flight to Milan. She was visiting her mum.
"Your mum lives in Italy?"
"Yes, she works in Milan." She answers with a bright, affectionate smile.
"Alice does, too." I blurt out. Idiot – she talks to Alice on an almost daily basis. Hell, she talks to Alice more than I do, I guess she knows by now.
"Yes, Edward, I know. That reminds me, I'll have to email her your flight details later."
She adds this as an afterthought, as if she wanted a handy excuse to change the subject.
It's celebration day, and I tell myself 'screw it'. I want to push my luck, even if I'll probably regret it.
"B, listen. There's something I wanted to say…but…I know I'm overstepping my bounds."
She flinches slightly, closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. I go on, my voice hesitant and low. I'm itching to take her hand, but we're in public.
"About what happened last week… About our talk on the beach… Are you alright? Is everything alright?"
She looks away from me. "Edward, I know you mean well but…I can't…I'm not…"
Her voice quivers, her hands are trembling and she is pale. Bollocks. I knew I'd best keep my trap shut.
She heaves a laboured sigh. "I'm just not…ready to talk about it and…we're having a great day…please…"
She means 'please don't ruin it'. Little does she know that there's no point to the great day if she's upset.
"B, please look at me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for bringing that up."
She nods, still silent.
"B, I just want you to know that I'm here, for you, whenever you need me."
"I know, Edward. Thank you…I just…don't…can't…" she stutters, her eyes uneasy.
"It's ok, Bella. Leave it. Don't worry. I'm not going to pester you again on this."
I'm trying to back-pedal, my voice shamefully pleading her not to run for the hills.
She drains her glass dry and then seemingly reverts back to her normal self. We're getting ready to leave the restaurant, when the maitre d' approaches us.
"Mr. Cullen, you may want to leave from the back door. I am told that there are photographers out front."
I huff. This is getting old. Now those bastards are intruding on my lunch with Bella.
Final blow, Cullen. You been digging your own grave.
I dismiss the maitre d' and turn to look at Bella. She's still pale.
"B, what do you want to do? We escape out the back door, or we face the music?"
"They'll take pictures of us, Edward. I don't know if Ang is going to be ok with this."
She's worried. I can tell she's nervous about the paps. This is new to her, of course, and I want everything to be her choice. I don't want to force her into anything.
"It's a daily professional hazard for me, Bella. It happens all the time."
I know full well it's not normal to her, to be hounded like this, but it's becoming fucking normal to me.
"But they're gonna have a field day with this, they don't know who I am and they might speculate all sorts of crap."
She's panicking. I need to get her out of here soon.
"Let them speculate all they want. We know the truth," I retort, my tone final and bordering on angry. I surely don't need the paps on top of my own fuck-ups.
An awkward silence falls. Bella's eyes are restless, roaming all over the room, never landing on my face. She's debating something in her head. After a few, excruciating minutes, she finally says.
"Right. Let's feed them this time, and maybe this will get them off our backs."
Wishful thinking, on B's part, but I am not going to contradict her now.
"Front door, Miss Swan?"
"Front door, Mr. Cullen," she confirms, resolute and business-like.
I take her hand and guide her to the exit, only to release her, albeit reluctantly, as soon as we get to the front door. No use in giving the reporters any freebies.
"I got your back, B, don't worry." I whisper in her ear as we are blinded by flashes. I am slightly pissed off, because they are taking pics of my Bella. I dragged her into this madness. I should have gone through the back door, without even asking her.
The paps call out to us. "Who's the hottie, Mr. Cullen?" "Smile for us, Edward!"
Bella is forced to lean into me and I circle her waist with my arm to guide her through the throng of scumbags. I can't even enjoy the feel of her slight form moulded to my side, because I need to get her out of here. Luckily, Ben and Eric are waiting for us round the corner. The mayhem's gone and Bella collapses on to the side of the limo.
"God, I never expected it to be like this. It's over, isn't it?"
"Yes, B. It is. Maybe we should have gone out back, after all."
She shakes her head. "No, they'd have gotten to us anyway. Better get rid of this right away. It had to happen, sooner or later."
How can she panic one second and be so rational the next? Thank God we're through it, for now.
"Are you really ok, B?" My voice is laced with concern.
She squares her shoulders and then answers. "Yes, I think. I was just unprepared. I'll need to call Ang, by the way. Give her some advance warning."
She's already strategising away on how to deal with this. Wow. I still feel like punching a wall, and I get this on a daily basis.
"Oh, I bet she has all sorts of ready-made answers to any and all questions she'll be getting."
She looks suspicious, her eyes narrowed to slits.
"What do you mean?" She asks, her voice as cold as if it could cut glass.
"There's a drill for cases like this, B. I thought you knew."
Ang ingrained this into me when I started. There's a whole array of 'what to do if' cases; for each occurrence, there's a drill. Bella is still looking suspicious, though.
"As in, Edward?"
"As in, I wouldn't be the first one pegged by the press with shagging his assistant."
An eerie, cold and uncomfortable silence falls. Bella is seething and she is looking at me as if I was trash. I feel worse than trash, actually.
"You shouldn't have said that, Mr. Cullen."
She steps away from the car as I try to pull her back close to me. "Bella, please…"
She pries my arm away in disgust. "Get your hands off me, Mr. Cullen. I have other commitments this afternoon. Ben will drive you wherever you need to go."
With these professional and detached words, she disappears from view and into a nearby cab.
I'm an idiot. I have no other words to describe my useless self, because with one single misspoken joke I've finally managed to fuck up a glorious day.
And now Bella's walked out on me. Will she ever walk back?
"I wouldn't be the first one pegged by the press with shagging his assistant."
His light-hearted words are still ringing through my ears on a loop, stinging my wounded pride more and more each time.
I was so rational for about five minutes, thinking I had gone through this little crisis unscathed, and then Edward's words sent me reeling again.
I snapped, and I left. I couldn't deal with it then, and I can't deal with it now.
This is why I left him stranded there with Ben and retreated to the familiar sanctuary of White Devlin & Hale's offices.
Since I entrusted them with the care of Edward's taxes and accounting, I need to swing by anyway, day in and day out. It's a great excuse for me to pop in, say hello to everyone and, if the time difference allows it, exploit the videoconference facilities to talk to Jasper.
Right now, I'm particularly glad that there's some tax filing to be dealt with, because a chat with Jasper is exactly what I need.
I've dropped him an email on my way here and, by some miracle, he's still in the office, he's free and he can't wait to talk to me.
Why don't I call my BFF instead? Because Rosalie's world is black and white only. There are no grey areas for her, there are no 'yes but'. She would tell me to fess up and go with my guts (I'm beginning to hate that phrase).
Jasper, on the other hand, is a neurotic, overanalysing freak like me. Neurotics need to stick together, because there's no way in hell a normal person could understand what Emmett calls 'the convoluted workings of their minds'.
Once I sort out the umpteenth filing needed to finalise Edward's status as a non-resident taxpayer, I literally run to my allotted video conference room.
Jasper is already there on the screen, waiting for me, while he's reading through a bulky contract, folders and other printouts strewn all over his desk, its usual obsessive-compulsive order gone. His curly blond hair is untamed and he's rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbow. His tie is nowhere to be seen.
It is 3pm in LA, which means it's 11pm in London. The guy has had a day from hell and the state of his desk confirms it. Knowing him, he's been working non-stop since 5am this morning, and he's more than entitled to look a little unkempt. I am hugely thankful that he's taking the time to step in as my own personal shrink, even if he's got a lot on his plate already.
"Jazz? Track changes won't disappear by magic, you know?" I say, teasingly, to pry his attention away from his papers.
"BeeBee? How are you? What's up?" His reply sounds anxious.
No need to state my case, because he's on to me already.
"I'm a mess, Jazz. I made a mess, and I fucked up."
Jazz scratches his forehead with his pencil. Time out of mind, Jasper's been using the same double-end red-blue pencils. No highlighters for Jazz, only these old-fashioned, professor-like writing implements. He's picky, true, but I guess it takes one to know one.
"I'm a lawyer, Bella. Define fucked-up, please. I need evidence, motives, mitigating circumstances, the works…"
I snort. "You're a corporate lawyer, Jasper Hale, and you're not a barrister. The only mitigating circumstances you deal with are the ones you see on CSI, Genius."
"Touché, Madame. You're too smart for your own good, but you won't sidetrack me with your ruthless skills. What the heck happened? Abridged version, please. I haven't eaten in 36 hours and I'd love to rectify that soon," he answers playfully, pointing his pencil at me through the screen.
I nod and steel myself, and just like that, I unleash my word vomit on Jasper, regaling him with a faithful account of today's events.
"So, BeeBee, let me get this straight. You've walked out on your boss, because he joked about something that's not true?" he comments, his voice neutral.
"And you're saying that there might be pics of the two of you together on the gossip sites?"
"As you say, BeeBee, I'm no criminal lawyer, but there's no case here," he concludes, still neutral.
I am more than a little miffed, with a side dish of growing irritation. I expected support, and he's blowing me off. Traitor.
"No case? How could he say that to me?"
"BeeBee, the way I see it, he was trying to defuse the tension. Poor chap picked the wrong joke, with the wrong girl, but cut him some slack…"
"Cut him some slack? Honestly?"
He fiddles with his monitor. "Is there an echo? Why do you keep repeating everything I say?"
"Because you make no sense to me, Genius."
"Do I? Then I know why, BeeBee, but you won't like this," he counters, his eyebrows sternly furrowing.
I mimic brandishing a highlighter at him. "I have my lightsaber, Jedi. Hit me."
He waves his hand in a 'you asked for it' gesture.
"Truth hurts, and reality bites."
"Ditch the epigrams, Genius. This isn't Dead Poets Society."
"BeeBee, it all stings because somehow you do feel guilty about it, you feel guilty because you do want to shag your boss. There, I said it."
He says this with the same level tone he uses with clients who ask for unfeasible things on impossible deadlines.
I'm sorely tempted to disconnect the videocall but then I freeze in place. I unceremoniously drop the highlighter onto the desk. I hide my face in my hands, banging my head on the desk multiple times. Jasper is right.
"BeeBee, don't misuse corporate property. Talk to me instead." He sounds concerned again.
I can't move. I can't talk. I am still paralysed by the Jasper-induced epiphany.
"BeeBee, are you alive?"
My head slightly bobs on the desk. Jazz is not happy with that, though.
"I need proof positive. Recite the Magna Charta to me, 1215 text."
"Johannes del gracia rex Anglie, dominus Hibernie, dux Normannie, Aquitannie et comes Andegravie, archiepiscopis, episcopis, abbatibus, comitibus, baronibus, justiciariis, forestariis, vicecomitibus, prepositis, ministris et omnibus ballivis et ﬁdelibus suis salutem…" I recite, by sheer rote, with the same hollow voice I'd use to enumerate my grocery shopping list.
"Blimey, girl, the Latin text? You must be alive. Talk to me, for heaven's sake," he insists, now bordering on anxious.
Jasper is the only one who can understand me right now, but this involves a serious amount of mindfuck and I really hope he can keep up with my ramblings.
"Jazz, I don't want to be that girl…"
"BeeBee, define 'that' for me, please. Otherwise I'll have to pretend I don't understand where this is going."
"I don't want to be the girl that…"
"Shags the boss? Sleeps her way to the top?" he suggests, completing my thoughts.
I nod against the desk, still unable to face Jasper. I am pretty disgusted with myself, and pretty conflicted with my feelings.
"BeeBee, look at me, please. I feel pretty moronic, talking to a moving desk."
I force my head to move upwards and straighten my hair. Jasper is looking at the webcam, ergo at me, with concern etched all over his features. I feel shitty – he hasn't eaten in 36 hours and I'm forcing him to sort out my problems, from overseas, via videoconference.
"That's better, BeeBee. Where were we?" He adds, and it's obviously for dramatic effect. He remembers perfectly well what he was saying. He just wants me to acknowledge that he's right.
"At the 'shag my boss' stage, Genius."
He's deftly twirling his double-end pencil between his index and middle finger.
"Do you? Have you?" he quips, half-jokingly.
"Shagged the boss? Hell, no, Jasper!"
"But do you want to? What is this guy like? He must be something else…" he says, with an intrigued glint in his eyes.
"Jasper? I was under the impression that this was a serious conversation."
I'm perfectly aware that I sound over-dramatic, but this is my own pity party and I set the rules, and the tone.
"It is. If you want to shag this guy, after the AssJake fiasco, he must be something else. Tell me about it. I'm feeling rather disappointed, though, and a bit jealous."
"Why?" That's my knee-jerk reaction to Jasper's attempts at sidetracking my emo ramblings.
"Because you never wanted to shag me. My monumental ego is wounded."
I can't help but chuckle. Jasper is always good at cheering me up.
"Well, if that's any consolation, the whole staff of WDH in London believed that I was."
"Shagging me? Why?" Now he's genuinely shocked.
"Because we were friends. Because I did everything for you. Because I got top bonuses. Because I was Russ's golfing partner. Do I need to list other reasons?"
"But that's preposterous! I have never heard anything about this, why?" He definitely didn't see this one coming.
Jasper's a lawyer, worse, he's a partner, and this kind of gossip was kept well below his radar. Coffee room talk has very selected audiences, especially if you're the target of this kind of assumptions. I never contested any of them, it would have been worse, and it would have made my working life a living hell.
"Because that's not the kind of chit-chat that gets passed on to the partners. Just so you know."
His expression now turns serious. He gets closer to the webcam, as if he could physically be closer to me.
"BeeBee, you could never be that girl, if that's what you're worried about."
"What the heck am I going to do, Jazz? A part of me wants to run like hell, and the other wants to stay and…"
"Shag the boss?"
"Will you just stop wording it like this? It's not…"
"He must really be something else. I'll have to grill Russ about him, talk to his dad."
Jasper's trying to cheer me up, and he is mostly succeeding, but I don't really want things to get more awkward than they need to be.
"Jasper Hale, you will do nothing of the sort. Spare me the embarrassment, please."
His expression returns serious and his hazel eyes are trying to examine my face from the webcam. Not easy for an average person, but child's play for Jasper. He's damn perceptive, and can read my moods like ratings from Fitch.
"BeeBee, seriously, what are you going to do about this?"
I heave a laboured breath. It's time to don the big girl panties, I'm done with running away.
"I'll face the music, Jasper, the only way I know," I voice my mission statement without faltering.
"Which is, according to the latest edition of the Bella Swan Interpretation Guidelines, to give your 150% on the job, care about everything as if it was your baby, and follow Scarlet O'Hara's rule, right?"
I look at him with my best puzzled expression. "Which would be, Jazz?"
"Remember Scarlet O'Hara, and a bit of Southern wisdom. She said 'I'll deal with it tomorrow'. Deal with things one day at a time, Bella. Don't let them overwhelm you."
"Thank you, Jazz. For all this, I mean."
"BeeBee, you don't have to thank me. I'd fly out and kick your ass, if I could. I guess we have to make do with technology. OK, just to err on the safe side, and to wrap up our pep talk, what are you going to do now?"
I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, regrouping my ideas in my head. I need to call Angela and deal with this mess. I need to find Edward and explain.
"I will stay, and deal with this one day at a time. Good advice."
"Damn straight, BeeBee. What about your boss?" He never gives up. At least, he no longer sounds teasing.
That's harder to figure out. I've neglected my wishes for a long time, drifting with the tide, and keeping my dreams at bay to settle only for realistic achievements, the ones that would not find me disappointed and broken. I followed that yellow brick road for a few years, and it led me to a job I loved, but for which I had, funnily enough, no calling in the first place, and to a conventional relationship, that was everything you could wish on the outside, but left me a broken-hearted and barren wasteland on the inside.
"You know what, Jazz?" I say, resolutely. I've finally made up my mind. Or not.
"Tell me, BeeBee. I'm all ears."
"I don't know. Guess only time will tell."
"That's my girl. Go kill a bunch of paparazzi for me."
PIMP MY FIC CORNER:
Two stories that got me completely hooked right away:
Your voice was all I heard by Twimamma: Bella is hiding from the same past that Edward can't forget. Soul mates lost.
Incredible Linkin Park lyrics dot this one labour of love, with a tremendously brave Bella that fiercely protects her kid through a series of...let's call them unfortunate events. Link: http:/www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/s/5888382/1/Your_Voice_Was_All_I_Heard
Where the Sidewalk Ends by Bronzehairedgirl620: Some men aren't looking for anything logical. They can't be bought, bullied, reasoned or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn." These were the inmates of Alcatraz. But Edward Masen, wrongly accused, might just dare to defy it all.
What were Forks and Alcatraz like in 1941? Let's visit with this Bella who moves straight out of New Hampshire to follow her father, the newly appointed Chief of Police, who finds himself caught up in a messy and shady murder investigation. Why investigating if three convicts have already been put in prison? That's as good a question as any other...and Bella would like to know the answer. Incredibly detailed and vivid descriptions, and a depth of research that will blow you away. Link: http:/www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/s/6069010/1/Where_the_Sidewalk_Ends