Why a third open story? It won't get out of my head and let me finish the other two so this will only be updated weekly, weekends probably and only if it's popular. Just clearing out the attic.

Review if you want more. Ignore if you don't.

The First Cut Is The Deepest

Chapter One/Prologue

BPOV

There's no escaping the fact that I have to find another part-time job to supplement my income so this past month has been a haze of applications and interviews and buying every newspaper as it hits the newsstands no matter how early that may be.

I mean, it's hard enough these days for anyone to land one part-time job and most would gratefully settle for that but I have expenses. I adore working with my bff, Alice Brandon as she gives slow and painful birth to her blossoming design label, but until some boutiques start making real orders for more quantities, it's just a fill-in job, not a career.

It's a great job, don't get me wrong. Sitting at her tables, sewing on sequins and lace and dressing our model, Rosalie Hale in the newest frock or dress or gown; Alice keeps everything grouped under various titles; is so satisfying.

Rose comes at the right price.

Free.

She has a wonderful, high paying career, not job, so she is happy to help out her best friends forever this way and she has sashayed down three catwalks in Alice's creations so far.

Alice has these flashes of inspiration, often while she sleeps and it's pretty normal to catch her at work at 3am in the morning, if I've decided sleep will elude me as I grab the day's issues of the papers and head there instead of back to my tiny apartment.

It's tiny as in the real meaning of the word. I'm not downplaying it. One room, with a bench that is the kitchen, a sitting area, less grand than the title, it's actually a fold out sofa bed and a small tv standing on my only freestanding cupboard that houses all my clothes.

I know, Alice just about has a heart attack when she comes over and sees how few clothes a woman can survive with. What can I say?

I like making clothes, I love adding my thoughts and ideas to Alice's fabulous designs but when it comes to shopping, I get a Fail.

There are more reasons than just the fact I have a knack for choosing the best types of separates, even Alice can't fault me for that. I can look at my six blouses and five skirts and two pairs of dress pants and come up with a dozen combinations. Add a scarf, a belt, shoes, and I always have a fresh look.

Alice's walk-in robe is larger than my apartment. That's not an exaggeration or even a guess, I measured it.

I was looking for a place to rent and several smaller apartments were advertised and we were at Alice's, helping her hang up her latest purchases when it occurred to me the floor space measurements in the ads meant nothing to me.

Rose suggested I measure Alice's closet and picture each potential new home in comparison to that.

I couldn't believe a whole apartment could take up so little space, as in, little for an apartment, vast for a closet. But the price was right and the location was perfect and who needs anything else but a bed, a shower, a toilet and a kitchen sink, really?

I have my bar fridge, it holds enough milk and perishables for three days or so and I am right in the middle of the city. I can go buy whatever I need any hour of the day or night.

As Rose pointed out, it's not exactly an ideal place to bring back men I may want to spend the night with, but in reality, I don't do that anyway.

They assume I do, Rose and Alice. It's not that they think I'm easy, far from it, but they assume it's completely impossible to exist without a regular bedroom bouncing. It would be for them, therefore it must be for me, too. They are always willing to share every detail of the latest hook up Rose has made or the 'amazing' night Alice spent with her lover, but I can fake it.

I mean, is it faking if it really happened?

It may have been a long time ago now, by their standards, but I actually experienced some nights that pair will never find the equal of. Nights full of hot sex and amazing passion...

I can almost feel his lips on mine just thinking about it.

I definitely feel other parts of him as well, in my sleep. He gave me some unforgettable times.

I do wonder now and then, if he has ever thought back to those days himself, wherever he may be now.

Probably still in Paris, he loved that city.

"What time is your interview? You just have the one today?" Alice asked as I handed over coffee in a takeaway cup from her favourite barista and opened to the Situations Vacant columns. While there are some jobs I could fill, the thing is, my weekends are my own.

No exceptions.

I do not, and never will, work Saturdays or Sundays so that restricts my opportunities right there. And I have to keep working here for Alice but she has said repeatedly, just take any job that suits and fit in my hours here around that.

I love her for that, and I wish she had enough clients so I could just work here full time and I truly believe, in time, these women who shop for a hobby will recognise Alice's genius for what it truly is. Then I can quit whatever crappy job I finally get and stay working just for her.

"Um, eleven, so I dare say I will grab something for lunch afterwards and be back here by one," I answered. We had two amazing gowns to finish and while Alice loves putting her concepts on paper, and cutting out the fabric, once it gets to the point where it's just the embellishments needing to be added, she starts on the next creation.

I don't mind, it may border on donkey work but it's bright, pretty, happy donkey work so how could I complain?

The salary she pays me just covers my rent and food and who needs cable or a car in the city? I can look outside my window and watch the frantic lives of my fellow city dwellers unfold. You do start to recognise the same faces, and in my head, I'm always making up the details of their lives.

Like the blond girl with the killer body that would rival Rose's. She always has a different guy on her arm, every single night of the week apart from Friday's. Friday night is his night.

Tall, lanky almost, gorgeous eyes, blond almost curly hair.

We call him Tarquin.

Of course that is not his name but it would spoil the whole game if we really heard it. It's probably something terribly common and boring. Gavin. Mike. Steven.

See, it doesn't work, does it?

Mysterious gorgeous stranger with only Friday nights to spare for his lady, he can't be anything so mundane. Definitely Tarquin.

Though, as Rose pointed out the other night when all three of us somehow managed to fit into my cramped quarters and people watch, that's a tricky name to moan. I hadn't thought of that but we can't change it now. Tarquin he is.

"Maybe she just moans 'Quin' "Alice suggested.

"Oh, yes, Baby, do it to me , Quin. Do it harder," Rose moaned, out loud, setting us all off into fits of schoolgirl giggling.

Hey, don't dismiss schoolgirls.

High School Senior Year was in retrospect, the best year of my life so far.

Well, the next three years of college were pretty amazing as well, but it all began in High School and as they say, I may have a crappy, mundane life now, but I have my memories.

X~x~X

"Isabella Swan, you may go in now," the haughty blond with the name badge announced at eleven o'clock precisely. I had a feeling if I got the job here, I would need to always be on time.

I had arrived early in case I was hit with a sudden need to spend a nervous few minutes in the Ladies or got a ladder in my stockings and had to change them for the new pair of emergency nylons in my purse.

But all had gone to plan and I'd spent fifteen minutes flicking through the type of magazines my salary will never cover instead.

'Gianna' had left the room just when I needed her to and I'd slipped a copy of one magazine inside my purse. I'm not usually light fingered, but it had a tiny article about Alice, and there's no way my friend knew that or we would have forgone coffee for a week to buy an issue ourselves.

Keep an eye out for young up and coming designer, Alice Brandon. While I have yet to meet the artist behind these amazing creations, I predict you will hear a lot more of her in the future. I am going to go further and say, buy a garment of hers now, ladies, before someone recognises her talent and they become the once a year expensive designer dress we all wish we could buy more of. It will be worth the gamble. Even if she never reaches the heights she deserves to, you will have a truly amazing one off. You read it here first.

Alice will probably wet herself.

The writer then spent a half column describing her dress that she came upon by lucky accident and there was even a photo of her at a celebrity do wearing it. Could be a Red Carpet, even. I expect regular readers of this column knew exactly where the photo was taken but not frequenting such events, I had no clue. It looked upmarket and had celebrities in the background. I recognise that actress, you know, the dark haired one who used to be a Disney kid and now makes those hot almost porn 'romcoms' that I rarely watch but Rosalie loves.

I stand and walk towards yet another broodingly impatient interviewer and hold my purse tightly, hoping nobody can detect the stolen contraband inside.

I would just throw caution to the wind and buy a copy but it's dated two months ago and it would be hard to find any left now.

"Miss Swan, please take a seat" says a voice from the past and I jerk my head up and stare into the eyes of my once best friend from my hometown of Forks, Washington.

I know, you have never heard of the place, no-one has, but believe me, one day it will be known worldwide as the birthplace of this beautiful creature staring into my eyes with his own emerald green dazzlers.

Edward Cullen.