Chapter 5

Chapter 5

A/N: I have to give a huge shout out to those who are sticking with us and
our incredibly terrible time management with this story. We really do want
to get this story out to you but you know how real life can get, so thank you
much for sticking with us and for the reviews.

Thanks to my awesome writing partner Naughty for her input on this
chapter, and a huge thank you to our beta and the other third of the
Pervsketeers, SassyKassie...we love you girl!

And now, back to the story.


I paced around the room as Jasper, Rose and Alice spoke quietly at the table. After
Mike left, my team went into immediate crisis mode. I, however, was feeling like we
weren't really doing anything. I had fallen into this business and now it seemed I
was going to fall out of it just as quickly. And on top of that, Mike Fucking Newton
was going to be the one to take me out. I couldn't have that.

None of us were truly equipped to deal with this legal situation. Sure, Jasper was
smart, and he was a damn fine manager and personal assistant, even if he did wear
that fucking headset everywhere like an idiot and doodle all over his clipboard, but
none of us were really sure what the implications of such accusations would be.

"Emmett."

Jazz looked up from the papers that Mike had left behind. "Huh?"

"We need Emmett. We need a lawyer to understand all of that shit and what it
might mean for us. We need to talk to Emmett. As much as he's a lazy lump most of
the time, he really does know his stuff. Maybe he can help us figure this out."

"You're right. We should talk to him first, see what he has to say. But we've got
one more night here in Philly before we head home. Give him a call and give him a
heads up, but you need sleep and you need to focus. You've got thousands of paying
fans to put on a show for tomorrow night," he replied.

I scrolled to Emmett's number in my cell and made the call. I'm pretty sure he was
trying to carry on the conversation while playing a video game because his responses came mostly in grunts and 'uh huh's instead of actual words.

"God damnit Em, I need you to pay attention and be serious for a minute here.
Fucking pause your game."

"Huh? Um, sure Ed, I got it. Lawsuit. Mike Newton. Goddamn fucking shit that
guy hits hard. Fuck. Uh, yeah. I'll take a look when you get back to town. When are
you back?"

"I have a show tomorrow night. We'll be in on Sunday."

"Sounds good. See you then. I gotta go."

In the background I could still hear him swearing at his game. Fucker was too lazy
to even hit end call on the phone.

Sighing, I hung up, shaking my head at my twin's exasperating nonchalance at
everything that happens in life.

"What's up with Em?" Jasper asks, looking up from the mess of paperwork.

"He was more concerned with whatever video game he was playing than what I
was saying but he did say he'd take a look when we got back on Sunday. We're
going to have to hold his hand to the fire on this one or it'll never get done. God
damn, that boy has absolutely no motivation to do anything. Except maybe eat. He
does love eating."

"That he does, man, that he does. Well, we'll talk to him. Maybe get him into a
room without a television or Xbox and see what happens. I'm sure he can help us.
This thing can't be all that hard, but I just don't know where to start with it all. We
definitely need a lawyer's eye."

"I hear ya. There's definitely got to be something that we can do, but we'll need
him for sure."
                                                   ~ALM~

I couldn't get Newton out of my head. His accusations had been running through
my head all night, keeping me up tossing and turning. He kept talking about how I
was stealing other peoples' ideas and words and that all I did was talk like one of
those motivational posters. I didn't really understand.

I mean, when I first fell into this, that's how I got started. I watched what others
were doing. When I was asked to speak at my old school, I sat down to watch videos
of other speakers and gain some insight into what this speaking thing was all about.
Wasn't that how everyone learned? By drawing inspiration and technique from
others and then molding and changing it?

But at the same time, I couldn't stop thinking about what he said. I psyched myself
out pretty badly. I simply couldn't get out of my head and thinking of all the things I
planned to say that night. I was overthinking things, something that no one could
ever accuse me of before. I didn't even think about where I'd been headed all my
life. I fell into modeling. I fell into public speaking. And now, here I was, all of a
sudden analyzing everything I'd ever said. This was definitely a different perspective
for me.

As I paced backstage before my show the following night I kept telling myself that
the sold out crowd was my proof. They were all here to see me. I must have been
doing something right. I was the one pulling sold out arenas while Mike could barely
fill a Barnes and Noble Cafe. He was full of shit and he knew it, he was just trying to
scare me. But as I walked up those steps to the stage, after whatever local celebrity
they got to come in tonight had announced my presence, I couldn't help thinking
that maybe I was the one who was full of shit.

                                                       ~ALM~

I put my best face on as I stepped out onto the stage, waving at the crowd that
was politely clapping and cheering my entrance. This is why I did this. It had
become almost second nature to me over the last few years, tell people what they
needed to hear. Nothing that I planned to say was ever earth shattering. At least I
didn't think so. But if people needed a little direction, or a little motivation as it
were, to get onto whatever path was best for them, then who was I to tell them they
didn't need me. Besides, if they wanted to keep buying my books and paying me to
tell them things they theoretically should already know, who am I to tell them to
stop?

As the lights focused and the crowd all but disappeared from my vision, I slipped
into a persona that was all too comfortable for me. I would get lost, in the zone as
they say, and just start speaking. Tonight, however, was a bit different. I was more
aware. Everything that was coming out of my mouth sounded wrong. I didn't even
really understand what I was saying, and that was when I knew Mike Newton had
gotten into my head and wasn't going to leave easily.

"Because 'yourself' is something only you can truly know, you must sometimes use
self examination to look at where you want to find yourself."

I shake my head once or twice. Not enough to be noticeable but that didn't come
out the way I meant it to. What the hell? Continuing on, things only get worse.

"Being your own person means being able to be yourself - no matter where you
are - but you must always be yourself in a way that fits the situation. To work with
others, whether at a job or in a social situation, you want to tailor your social skills
to the occasion."

Even I know that sounds asinine. Did I just tell everyone in this room to be
themselves but to be themselves in however it fits a situation? Oh God, they're all
going to want their money back. I'm fucking bombing up here and if things keep
going the way they're going tonight, Mike Newton won't need a lawsuit. I'll shoot
myself in the foot and take myself out of the game without him really being involved
at all. Except he is. His words are banging around in my head and that's what's
screwing with my mojo. It's Newton's fault that I'm fucking up so badly tonight. I
mentally chide myself. Come on Cullen, you can do this.

I stumble somewhat blindly through the end of the show, hoping to God that I
pulled things back together but not really having any sense of what came out of my
mouth or whether it made any more sense than the nonsense I was spewing early on
in the evening. The crowd, to their credit, either didn't notice or didn't care as I
received a huge round of applause at the end of my talk and heard murmurs of
approval as I made my way backstage. The story was different once I stepped out of
the lights, however.

"Dude, what the hell was that?" an exasperated Jasper said quietly as we made our
way back to the green room.

"Uh, I don't know, man. I think Newton got in my head. I don't even understand
what I was saying. I'm just glad that's the last show before we talk to Em tomorrow.
I don't know if I could do that again."

"Seriously. Well, the good thing is we did the meet and greet last night so we're
just headed back to the hotel tonight. Get some rest, we have an early flight
tomorrow and then we'll deal with this whole thing head on, with our, um, legal
team?"

"Hah. Legal team, my ass. I'm not sure my lazy sack of a brother constitutes a
'legal team,' but he's all we've got right now so yeah, we'll go with that."

I made my way out of the arena's back door into the waiting black Navigator with
the dark-tinted windows that was set to take me back to the hotel, knowing full well
that the 'rest' that Jasper was talking about wasn't going to come easily.

                                                  ~ALM~

Back at the hotel, I walked blankly into my room stripping down as I went and
found my way into a piping hot shower. Normally, after a show I have so much
adrenaline flowing that the shower is a necessary calming force to get myself to
sleep. Not to mention, those damn stage lights are hot, so I always feel a little
sweaty and gross after a show.

Tonight, however, the heat of the water did nothing to calm my mind. I was simply
standing in the shower, back to the fall of water, lost in my thoughts as the heat
rolled down my back. I couldn't believe that Mike Newton had gotten to me as he
had. He was a hack. He was jealous of my popularity. He wasn't as good of a
speaker as I was and he was just using whatever he could to try to get to me, and
he'd done it. In a lot of ways tonight, he'd won. I couldn't let that happen again.
I took a deep breath, shook out my tight shoulders a bit, leaned back under the
spray, running my hands through my hair, and steeled my resolve. He was not going
to win again. How I would ensure that, I didn't know, but I'd figure that out later.
Turning off the water, I stepped out onto the slightly rough hotel bath mat and
toweled myself off. Wrapping the damp cloth around my hips I wandered back into
the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed. Flipping on the tv, I scanned the
channels. Finding nothing but old, crappy movies and the news, I blew out a
frustrated breath, decided I needed a drink, and knew that those little airline-sized
bottles they provide in the rooms just weren't going to cut it.

Throwing my slacks and shirt back on, since I really didn't want to dirty any more
clothes before heading home tomorrow, I grabbed my wallet and hotel keycard and
headed downstairs to the bar.

                                                           ~ALM~

'Thank fucking God' I think as I enter the bar and notice that there's only one
other person in the place. Seems to be a woman, with long brown hair, dressed in a
red top and black Converse. She's got a glass with one of those skinny bar straws in
it perched in front of her and a book open on the bar. She looks like she's lost in
whatever she's reading.

The bar itself only has three stools in front of it, although the bar area consists of
several small tables adorned with candles and drink menus. Even though the place
is almost totally empty, it feels fairly cozy, especially for a hotel bar. I walk up to the
row of stools and pull out one next to the woman. I'm not trying to invade her space,
but she's sitting in the middle stool so it's either that or I sit at a table and make the
bartender come to me. That seems rather rude, so the stool next to the bookworm it
is.

As I sit I can feel the nervous energy coursing through my veins. Nope, shower did
absolutely no good in regard to all this, whatever it is, running through my system.
My leg bounces, a bit of tell of mine, as I ask the bartender for a Heineken. I do have
to fly tomorrow, so I'm thinking getting totally trashed it out of the question, I can't
take a plane ride on a hangover, but a couple of beers to take the edge off I can
handle.

Suddenly I can feel a pair of eyes on me, and I know it's not the bartender, since
he's facing the other way, procuring my beer from the coolers below the counter. I
look to my right and sure enough, the bookworm sitting next to me is staring, mouth
slightly agape, brown eyes wide as saucers.

She stammers, trying to get a sentence out, and I have to admit it's kind of cute.
She must recognize me, which tonight is both flattering and terrifying. If she's a fan,
she was probably at the show, and while I normally don't mind people recognizing
me, I don't want to see anyone from tonight's show ever again for fear that they'll
start pointing and laughing at my terrible performance. Talk about performance
anxiety.

As she stumbles through her sentence, she flips closed the cover of the book,
pointing at my smiling face, asking if I am, in fact, the Edward Cullen she's reading.
Shit. She's a fan, and was probably at the show. The stammering is probably her
attempt at covering her laughter.

"Yes." I answer with a slight smile. I don't want to be rude, but if this is going to
go badly, I don't want to encourage her.

"Wow," is her only reply. Yep, I was spot on. She thinks I'm a moron.

"Great," I sigh, and return my eyes to the bar. Maybe she'll get the hint and leave
me alone.

"I was just at the Wells Fargo, is everything alright?" Aaaaand here it is. She's
definitely talking about my clusterfuck of a show. She noticed. Thinking I need to
play this off I pretend I don't know what she could be talking about.

"What?!" I pretend to be shocked that anyone would think anything is wrong.

"Um...I'm a fan. I've been to a lot of your shows and, you seemed off tonight," she
says and adds a bit of a shrug at the end. Like she's trying to play off the horrific
traffic accident that was my speech.

"Yeah, not a good night. I'm Edward," I reply. "But you already know that." God,
even this isn't going the way it should. I'm sounding even more like a bumbling idiot
that I did earlier, if that's even possible.

"Bella," she answers.

"Edward!" I hear from somewhere over the bookworm's...Bella's shoulder. Well
shit. Rosalie found me. I really need to stop trudging off without telling her where
I'm going, she gets all nervous and over protective of my 'celebrity' status. I pat my
pants pocket and realize I don't have my phone with me either. She's probably been
trying to call me, too.

I sigh, knowing she's going to give me an ear full of shit, yet again, but my brain
just isn't in a place where I could concentrate tonight. So sue me. Oh, wait. Yeah.
That.

Attempting to buy myself another minute before Rose starts ripping me a new
one, I turn to Bella. "Can I sign that for you?"

She nods shyly and slides the book toward me. I pull a Sharpie out of my pocket.
That, I have with me, but my phone? Of course not.

"Edward! Let's go. You have a flight to catch early in the morning," Rose says as
she moves closer to the bar. I look up from the inscription I'm finishing just in time
to see her eyes looking over Bella, a scowl on her face.

"Yeah, just a minute, Rose. I'm signing this for Bella."

Closing the book again, I slide it back toward her drink and smile at her. She's
quite pretty in the dim lighting of the tiny hotel bar. "It was nice to meet you, Bella.
Have a nice night."

I slide my empty bottle toward the service side of the bar and stand, mentally
preparing myself for the Rosalie onslaught I'm sure to endure on the elevator ride
back to our floor.

As I follow Rosalie, I find I'm drawn to this fan that I've just met. I pause
momentarily and turn back toward the bar one last time. She's staring in my
direction as I walk away, her jaw lowered in surprise. I smile again and give her a
small wave goodbye, then turn back around and continue following a huffing Rosalie
to the bank of elevators.

As the doors slide closed, I see Bella turn back to the book and start to open the
cover looking for the inscription I'd written. And then I remember that Rosalie is
pissed when she starts, in a determined whisper-yell.

"What the fuck is wrong with you Edward. You didn't answer your phone and I've
been calling you for over an hour!"

"I took a shower and then decided to come down here for a drink. I didn't think
you'd appreciate a liquor hangover and me on a plane in the morning so I figured a
beer or two was a better idea. You'll thank me in the morning, trust me. I must have
forgotten my phone when I left the room."

"Yeah, well, work on that, would you? As your bodyguard I should probably know
where your body is to guard it. Don't you think?"

"Rose I'm fine. I was just having a drink. It's not like I was being mobbed by fans.
For God's sake, it's like midnight. I think everyone is asleep anyway."

"Whatever. Just remember your damn phone next time. We really do have an early
flight tomorrow, though, so go get some sleep. I'm not dealing with your cranky ass
all the way back to Chicago tomorrow if you're tired. I don't want to hear about it in
the morning. Oh, and as a side note, don't sleep with her."

"Yeah yeah, I know, early flight. I got it. And no, I won't...wait. What?"

"I said, don't sleep with her. I saw the way you were checking her out, and right
now, with everything else, the last thing we need is some crazy ass fan stalking you
because you one-and-done her on top of everything else that's going on."

"Rose, I wasn't even thinking about sleeping with her. She was actually just asking
about the show tonight. Relax." But even as I'm saying the words, I realize that
somewhere in the back of my mind, I was thinking about her beautiful eyes and her
pouty lips, and the fantastic way her top accented her cleavage. I'm a guy. I can't
help that shit.

As I stepped into my room, stripping down in much the same fashion I had after
the show earlier tonight, I crawled under the covers letting my mind, and my hand,
wander a bit. This time I couldn't shut my brain off, but for an entirely different
reason. And as images of the pretty girl downstairs flashed through my mind, it
registered that she didn't laugh or point, but asked if I was okay. She seemed to
actually care. Concentrating on images that were only created in my mind, since
we'd actually had a perfectly polite public encounter in a hotel bar, and she wasn't
in fact currently undressing in front of me, I found a bit of release from the tension
that had been eating at me all evening. That was certainly a sure-fire way to clear
my mind and get myself to sleep.

A/N: Awww, poor E. Rose said he can't sleep with the pretty girl. He's got
an early flight anyway. What did you think of E's speech? How about their
interaction at the bar? How are we going to get these two crazy kids back
together? What are Bella's friends going to say? How are E and the gang
going to deal with Mike?

Gah! So many questions...so many answers coming for you! Stick with us
and please, please, please let us know what you think! Laureate04