Hello all! First off, I wanted to thank everyone again for supporting this story and pushing me to continue it. Also I wanted to express that there are a few changes that I have added; like Edward was a vampire in the original one, but he's human in this one, I'm not going to go into why that is, because this A/N is already long…anyways I'll see you at the bottom.
"Isabella!" I was just about to sit down when my 'boss' called for me. Again.
After maneuvering my way through the stacks of folders and paperwork that sat on the floor near my desk, I walked to the doorway of Mr. Hendrickson's office, trying to keep the frustration absent from my face, but failing miserably.
"Yes, Mr. Hendrickson?" I asked slowly through my clenched teeth, aggravated because this was his sixth time he has yelled my name in his annoying British accent in the last ten minutes.
"I need two hundred copies of the interior design for the club in California."
"Yes, Mr. Hendrickson."
"Oh, and see if Miss Hale has gotten the blueprints for the club in New York."
"Yes, Mr. Hendrickson." I turned to leave but was stopped again.
"Isabella." I didn't bother turning around at this point.
"Yes, Mr. Hendrickson!"
"Get me a coffee on the way back, two and a half sugars."
"Yes, Mr. Hendrickson," I said automatically.
I swear to God, I just want to rip his fucking-
"Isabella!" I turned toward him in a swiftly, "WHAT?"
"Could you close my door, thanks." He winked at me. I took a deep breath, counted to ten, and exhaled while closing his office door with a lot more force than necessary, making the glass walls quiver.
I walked to the copy room muttering to myself, my legs stretching as far as the black pencil skirt would allow them and my six-inch pumps clicking loudly against the tile floor.
I wasn't surprised in the least to find Rosalie Hale sitting on one of the tables in the copy room, eating a donut and reading a Vogue magazine.
"Hey Bells, what's going on?" she asked nonchalantly, glancing up from her magazine, while I paced angrily around the room.
"Who the hell does he think he is? Coming down here thinking he's running everything, ugh! One of these days… one of these fucking days."
My original boss didn't have me so stressed out. My original boss wouldn't have me running twenty fucking errands, and then expect me to get all of my paperwork done all in the same day.
"Maybe you should channel that anger elsewhere," Rosalie said. I stopped pacing,
"What?" I asked.
"I heard British guys are great in bed." She waggled her eyebrows at me. Leave it to Rose.
"For the last time, Rose, I'm not having sex with my boss. You really need to lay off the cheesy office pornos." She laughed unashamed, but otherwise ignored my comment.
"What do you say we go out tonight? It's Friday, so we don't have to worry about going to work with hangovers." I hesitated.
"I don't know, Rose. I mean, I'm still trying to adjust to Hendrickson and I have to send out the approval to New York, speaking of which, do you have the blueprints for the club?" She closed her magazine.
"Yeah I do. But come on, Bella! You're only twenty-two years old! You're young, you're gorgeous, you already have a career… should I stop now, or do you want me to stroke your ego some more?" I laughed at her.
"But seriously Bella, you don't need this much stress at such a young age, you're going to end up going prematurely gray. You need to loosen up, and I'm going to help you. Tonight we're going out. There's a new club downtown called 'Pulse' or something like that. I heard it was really hot, so we're going to go, meet some gorgeous guys, and get drunk off our asses, okay?"
I knew there was no point in arguing with her because one, I wouldn't win regardless, and two, I know that she's absolutely right. My life was on track, career wise, but I'm young and need to live a little. What could go wrong?
"Okay, I'll go out with -" "Great!" She hopped off of the table and grabbed her magazine.
"I'll pick you up at eight, love you!" She kissed my cheek and sped out of the copy room.
When it finally reached five o'clock, I gathered my briefcase and purse, and then headed to the parking garage, which I hated, seeing as to how people always seemed to get slaughtered in them in horror movies. I quickly located my 'Mercedes CLS' and got the hell out of there.
I lived in what could be considered the 'upper' part of Seattle. It was a very nice neighborhood, rarely any trouble. I lived in a one story house with three bedrooms and two bathrooms. All of the space really wasn't necessary. It's not like I have a family. No husband, no children, no siblings. No mother. I winced at that last thought.
Just don't think about it.
My dad was the chief of police in a small town here in Washington called Forks. We speak about four times a week to make sure each other is okay, but other than that the communication is minimal. I love my dad, of course, but neither of us have the time to actually meet up and catch up, only during holidays.
When I got to the house, I took a shower and then stood in my closet for about five minutes in my underwear, not knowing what to put on. And then my doorbell started ringing. I threw on my robe and went to answer it. It was Rosalie.
"Hey, what are you doing here, it's only," I glanced at the stove clock, "six-thirty."
"I figured we'd go out to eat first, are you okay with that Miss Swan?" she sassed me putting her hands on her hip. I just rolled my eyes.
"Whatever, come help me find something to wear." It's not that I have a bad fashion sense, actually I manage fairly well in that area, but Rose was better when it came to finding 'club outfits'.
Thirty minutes later, I was standing in my full length mirror looking at my reflection, stunned. Rosalie had found the dress that she'd gotten me last year, which I've never worn or even tried on because it was a little too saucy for work. It was a little black and lace dress, paired with Valentino lace open toe pumps, black diamond earrings, and a red clutch. Rose put red lipstick on me and added a little mascara to make my eyes 'pop', and let my hair fall, wavy passed my shoulders. To say that I was impressed was a huge understatement.
"You're welcome," she said, smug as she took in my awe. I laughed at her. "Come on."
We decided to take Rosalie's Lexus, since she didn't want to be seen in a grandma car as she puts it. Whatever, my car can kick her car's ass any day.
After about thirty minutes, we arrived at a restaurant called Place Pigalle. It was semi fancy but required reservations. After we were seated, the waiter took our order and left just as quickly.
"So, any plans this summer?" I asked. Rosalie didn't seem to hear me, although she was sitting right next to me. Her eyes seemed to be drawn across the room. I was going to follow them, but her eyes snapped back to me as if she suddenly realized I had been talking. "Huh?" Her dark blue eyes looked slightly unfocused. I gave her a confused look.
"I said do you have any plans for the summer," I stated slowly.
"Oh, um, not really, I'll probably just-" her voice trailed off. I looked up at her again to see that she wasn't staring at me anymore. "What is it?" I asked her.
"I'm sorry, but do you know him? Because he's staring at you mighty hard." I followed her eyes to see who she was talking about. What I saw both startled me and sent a shiver down my spine to certain places.
Across the room was a man, he was gorgeous, he had a mop of reddish-brown disheveled hair. His jaw line was so defined and I just wanted to run my finger along it. He had beautiful emerald colored eyes that held something that I couldn't fully pinpoint. He was staring right me, his gaze so intense and seductive…
Like he wanted to eat me.
It wasn't until Rosalie nudged me that I realized I was nearly panting, and my hands were shaking. I quickly but reluctantly tore my eyes from his heated gaze, and looked at Rosalie. She chuckled, "Well, it looks like we got the 'find a gorgeous guy' crossed off the check list." I ignored her and concentrated on taking deep calming breaths. What the hell is this man doing to me?
"And it looks like Mr. Sex-On-Legs is about to make his move." I looked up abruptly, and saw him, standing at about six-two strutting towards our table, his eyes locked on me.
Dear God, give me the strength to not jump this guy in the middle on this semi-fancy restaurant.
A/n: so…yeah! What did you think? Please let me know!
Btw: sorry if I offended anyone by saying 'stupid British accent', I LOVE British accents…so blame Bella.
PEACE, love, & BROKEN HEADBOARDS