Everytime I start a new fic, I feel like I wanna shit myself! (TMI, I know, but it's true LOL)

There are no words for me to thank AJasperForMe for all that she does, and Miss January for helping me with this story! It's been in process behind the scenes for a while now! And though it's not completely pre-written a lot of it is. So I'll be updating Every Saturday (keeping in mind RL doesn't get in the way)...

This will be the same EXACT version of what I'll be posting on TWCS so either site will work. I'm pretty sure I'll be in the running for slowest burn on the face of the planet, anyway! Lol.

Angst-wise (I know my fellow wimps will ask) ... Probably at about the same level as "The Girl at the Beach." It's more heavy on the hurt/comfort but there will be angst and told in EPOV.

Thanks for reading :-)


Chapter 1:

"Mr. Masen?"

I look up from my desk to face my assistant and mimic her voice. "Yes, future Mrs. Crowley?" It's not that she has an annoying voice or that I'm trying to be mean. Really, I'm just trying to annoy her for the sake of it. Five years working together, four of which as my personal assistant, a brief dating stint—and probably the closest thing I have to a best friend—yet it's like pulling teeth to get her to call me 'Edward' during working hours.

Dark eyes—almost black—narrow back at mine. "Really?" she almost sneers at the nickname and I chuckle.

I nod, tenting my fingers on the desk and put on a serious face. "Did you come here to discuss your secret crush on our IT guy?"

"Mr. Masen—"

"'Cause I can put in a good word."

"Edward."

I smile. "Yes, Angela, darling how can I help you?"

"Your sister's on line two."

I groan. I don't feel like dealing with her right now. "Is it an emergency?"

"I didn't ask. But if I try and send her away, we both know she'll call again."

"Fine." I huff. "Send her through." She dashes out of my office and seconds later, my phone is ringing. "Masen," I answer gruffly.

"Edward! Hi, are you busy?"

"Yeah." I lie. "I'm about to go into a meeting."

"But it's almost lunch time."

I sigh. She knows I don't schedule anything too important mid-day, which is a wonder why she bothered asking. "What can I do for you, Esme?"

"Sheesh, I just wanted to invite you over for dinner tomorrow."

"Is your child of a husband going to be there?"

"Edward."

"What? It was just a question."

"He lives here—so, yes he's going to be here."

"Then no, sorry I can't make it."

Her response is immediate, as if she already knew what I was going to answer. "It's really not fair you're not even making an effort. He really wishes you guys could be friends you know. You live a barely five minute drive away—would it kill you to just come over and hang out sometime?"

"Not gonna happen." I scoff.

"Edward, you and Carlisle are the two most important men in my life—the only men in my life. Can't you at least try? For me?"

At that comment, I crumble. Like she probably knew I would. "Fine. But you tell him to keep all talk about his video games and shit to a minimum."

"That's not all he does all day."

"What else does he do then?" I'm met with silence, but I still try and challenge her. "What was that?"

"Whatever. Dinner's at seven o'clock don't be late."

Without a parting greeting, she hangs up the phone, and I roll my eyes at it as if she can see me. I have no idea why my sister's so set on me and her husband being friends but it's bordering on annoying now. I've asked her, several times, what the big deal is. I mean, it's never really of consequence to me whether or not she likes my girlfriends. I'm the one who has to deal with them, not her. But when I try to tell her the same about her husband she insists it's important 'just because it is'. I don't have a problem with the guy, well not really. Other than the fact he's seven years younger than my sister, is a lazy bum who doesn't have a job, and isn't good enough to even rake the ground my sister walks on and . . . okay, maybe I do have a few issues with him.

Do I care so much that at twenty-four years old he's seven years younger than my sister and five years younger than me? Do I care he has an unhealthy obsession with video games or that he's currently unemployed?! Separately no—but the combination irks the shit out of me.

I'm not one to question love, I know you can't help who you fall for, but fuck. Whenever I pictured my sister getting married, I assumed the guy would be her age and established in some shape or form. Or at the very least, he would be trying to do something with his life—like attempting to provide for her, not the other way around. She pretty much takes care of him and that above all else is what doesn't sit well with me. He makes her happy, I presume, but as a brother, I just want more for her. Like someone who, on the outside, doesn't just look like he's living on her dime.

Turning my attention back to my computer, I stare at an email I'm not sure I want to open. It's from my pompous ass of a boss: Michael Newton.

"Angela!" I shout through the door. "Can you come in here please?" I'm ignored for a minute or so before I punch the 'intercom' button on my phone that reaches her desk. "Angela?"

"Yes, Mr. Masen?" I could hear a smile in her voice and I know she heard me calling her before.

Suddenly, I'm not in the playing mood. "Get in here."

The tone of my voice leaves no room for argument, and before I can press 'end' on the call, she's rushing through my office door with a pen and notepad in hand.

"What's wrong?"

"Why is Newton emailing me?"

"Uh . . ." she squirms in her seat.

"I know you opened it 'cause everyone knows to cc you on all my emails. So . . ."

"There's a situation."

"Isn't there always?" I scoff.

"This one's pretty big." Quickly losing patience, I roll my wrist over and over gesturing for her to continue. "Alright," she sighs, "apparently, a few of the guys . . . well, one particular guy has run into some financial and familial issues, and it would appear as though he's been using some of the company funds to take care of his . . . umm—"

"Get on with it," I snap.

"Okay," she snaps back, her face almost turning red. "Sam, the VP of the Tucson office, and his wife Lauren have been having issues. And it seems he's been getting his rocks off with a call girl named Emily."

"Okay?" I start chuckling. Not seeing how this is my problem.

"Maybe you should read the email."

So I do and I find Newton is far more to the point and less polite than Angela is. He's pretty pissed actually.

Masen,

Sam fucked up. Literally fucked up and has been fucking some trick named Emily. What the fuck. Did you know about this?

I look back up at Angela. "Did I know about this? Is he serious?"

"Keep reading."

Now, this nasty bitch is making a laughing stock out of my sister and is threatening to go to the tabloids. We can't afford for that to happen. We can't have one of our exec's making a mockery out of us. Make it go away. Now!

CEO of Whitlock Investments,

Michael Newton.

"Make it go away? How does he suppose I do that?"

"There's more," she grimaces, "I did some research." I smile, Angela's good at her job. "Emily, apparently, is an under aged—"

I don't let her finish. "No, no, no." I groan. Then whine. "Come on!"

"And she's already gone to the tabloids. Now, I made a couple of calls . . . but chances are, no matter what I do, it's going to come out by the end of the day. At the latest tomorrow 'cause right before you called me in here, I was speaking to Jessica."

"Who the hell is Jessica?"

"Newton's new assistant, and she was trying to figure out a time for you and the board to meet."

"Angela," I say a little confused, shocked, and annoyed all rolled into one. "I'm just the CBO—a glorified publicist. Why do they expect me to deal with shit like this? I'm not a lawyer. Which is what I told them the last time there was some fucked up scandal."

"Yeah, but that last time—you were able to work your branding magic and the public was able to focus on the good side of the company. They want you to do that again, I guess."

"Yeah, but last time involved a CFO and a pill addiction. That's nothing." I wave my hands flippantly. "So, I didn't perform any magic there. I made his ass go to rehab and donate thousands of dollars to charity."

"And this time?"

"This time . . . I'm going to need a fucking miracle."


***Edward's title: **CBO- Chief Brand (Business; Business Development) Officer: Is responsible for a brand's image experience, and promise, and propagating in throughout all aspects of the company. The CBO oversees marketing, advertising, design, public relations, and customer service departments. Wikipedia.

Again, it'll be the same version on here and TWCS. I'll post it on my blog whenever's it's complete!

Soooo . . . what do you think? Are you in?

If you're going to review, please sign in! Anon's will now be deleted right away, and not read. Unfortunately, too many people have abused the system! ;-)

Muah

~Lo

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