Chapter 4

Disclaimer:  Stephanie Meyer owns the Twilight world and characters.  No copyright infringement is intended.  We just like to play with her world.  The storyline is ours...

Thanks be to SassyKassie for once again making sure my t's are crossed and my i's are dotted. She's one of the best there is.  

Special thanks to my girl, Laureate04, because without her - this wouldn't get written.  She puts up with my constant insecurities and endless questions.  You are the best writing partner to have.  

Chapter 4

BPOV

6:10 am

I knew I shouldn’t have had that third cup of coffee.  I run to the bathroom and shuffle back to bed. I’m tired but I have like ten million things going on in my head that won’t let me sleep.

That couple last night was just nauseating. All lovey dovey and crap. Ugh!  If that’s what being in love is like...they can keep it.

Should I wear those jeans Jake made me buy that fit me like a second skin or a pair of my comfy Levi’s?  The black blouse or the red one?  Should I wear my boots or my converse?  This being-a-girl shit is for the birds!!!

I should call Leah.  I haven’t seen her in a bit. Maybe she’ll meet me for dinner before the show?

I grab my cell and scroll through for her number. I hope it’s the correct one. She’s always changing it because she can’t remember shit.  It’s early, but Leah doesn’t ever seem to sleep.

“Yeah?”

“Leah? It’s Bella.”

“Hey, girlfriend!  What up?”

Leah’s a trip and a half.  Besides having the memory of a goldfish, she’s crazier than Annie Wilkes from Misery.  The last time we got together, she pulled three fire alarms in Macy’s while screaming at the top of her lungs, “Down with Diddy! Martha is the anti-christ!” and then ditched me.  Thank God Jake was working that day. He walked over and explained Leah was a few sandwiches short of a picnic basket.  The cops were ready to haul me away when they got a hold of the security footage of the two of us shopping.  She told me a week later that she was having boyfriend issues that day.  What did I tell ya?  Love makes people do the craziest fucking stuff.

“I’m headed up your way tonight. You want to meet at that Thai place you like?”

“What you doin’ up here? Is it that informercial dude?” I hear her take a deep drag off her Marlboro Silver.  

“ Infomercial?  You really need to look into some of that gingko biloba shit,” I laugh.  “He’s a motivational speaker.”

“Hmmm...” she ponders.  After a moment, she laughs, “Sure thing, Swan. I’ll run right out and get me some.  What time does your motivational guy go on?”

“Show starts at seven.  How about we meet up at half past a hand?”  That’s five-thirty for those who don’t speak Leah.

“My Thai it is,” she says and hangs up.  Not even a goodbye.  That’s how Leah works.

Should I wear my hair up?  Straighten it? Go au naturel?

I should pack a bag, just in case.  I reserved a room at the Marriott in the event I didn’t want to drive home.  Free bed. Schwing!!!

8:17 am

Jeez, I really need to get some sleep.  If I don’t, I’ll either pass out on the way there or during the show.  I get up again and make myself a sandwich.  Yeah, I know it’s eight in the morning, but to normal people it’s like...I don’t know...seven at night?  That’s the life of someone who works the graveyard shift.  I plod back to my bed with Edward Cullen’s newest book, “Being Your Own Person.”  

After a couple chapters, I realize that I need to make some changes.  I need to grab the proverbial bull by the horns and be myself.  I need to stop putting all my issues on Charlie and Renee.  Even Leah, for that matter.  Maybe Bree’s right?  I should quit the vampire life and get out in the real world.  

I read a few more chapters and my eyes finally start to droop.  

4:56 pm

What the hell is that noise?  Jesus!  If Jake’s here meditating again with his indian music, I’ll kill him.  I sit up and pick up my iPhone to check the time.  The tinkling noise is coming from it.  I look at the time and scream.

“I’m fuckin’ late!  Son. Of. A. Whore’s. Uncle!!!”  

Throwing the covers off, I hit last number dialed.  

“Yeah, you’ve reached Leah.  So what!  Leave a damn message!  Peace!”

“Lee, I’m not gonna make it.  We’ll meet soon. Ciao!” I quickly end the call and turn on the shower.  I do a cursory job of scrubbing, buffing and rinsing.  It’ll have to do.  I dry myself and lather on some lotion.  I always lotion, late or not.

I rummage through my closet and find a few pairs of jeans.  I shimmy my ass into the expensive pair and decide they are too restricting.  It takes a few minutes to get them off.  Now I know what Jon Bon Jovi goes through with those damned leather pants of his.  I slip into a pair of my favorites and flip through my shirts.  Cutesy floral? Striped V-neck? Black peasant?  Red one it is, because the black one has the huge deodorant stain on the shoulder.  Fucking Jake.  I can’t decide which shoes to wear.  

The red boots?  Nah, too matchy matchy.  The black ones?  Not if I want to continue to use my ankles.  Damn four inch heels.  Converse?  New black ones or the old beat up grey ones?   The grey ones have seen better days.  Time to bury them in Charlie’s backyard.  I’ll need to call Jake. He always performs the last rites.  It’s fun to see my way-out-of-the-closet friend dressed as a priest.  Black ones it is.

I have no more time so I slip a hair tie around my wrist and go with my natural waves.  I throw my makeup bag in my backpack and hit the road.

My Honda Civic, “Miley” (because she’s got about two hundred thousand on her) groans as I push her to top speed on the highway.  I’m not concerned with a ticket.  Chief Charlie would take care of it.  Edward’s cd, “Keys to being the best customer service representative” plays, drowning out the poor girl’s protests.  The man’s voice is dreamy and puts me in a trance.  Miley, seemingly equipped with a homing beacon,  takes me toward the Wells Fargo Center.

I park her in the lot of the Marriott and head into the lobby.  Emily, one of my former co-workers, is manning the front desk.

“Bella Swan, fancy seeing you here!  You staying with us again?” The petite brunette smirks while looking up my reservation.

Even though I haven’t seen her in about six months, I remember not to stare at her scar.  Her husband, Sam, had a terrible reaction to vicodin after some oral surgery one night.  She ended up with a scar running down the side of her face.  

“You know,” she whispers and motions me forward with her finger. “That motivational dude of yours is staying here too.”  She winks at me.

“I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but that may sway my decision,” I smile at her.  “Since I’m not sure, can I leave my bag in the office?  What time will you be off?”

“Yeah, no problem.  I’m here until two-thirty. Our night manager’s wife had a baby this morning, so we’re all picking up the slack.” Emily takes my bag and places it in the office.  “You better get going.  I hear the show starts at seven and it’s already quarter past six.”

“Thanks, I’ll see you later.” I wave and make my way out front.  Traffic doesn’t look too bad as I hail a cab.  It only takes a minute or two for one to pull up.

“Wells Fargo Center, Broad Street entrance, please.” I ask the cabbie as I slip on my seatbelt. I’ve been in a fair number of these death machines.  These guys drive like they’re in the Daytona 500, weaving in and out of traffic going about 180.  

Twenty minutes later, I feel like I drank a Monster. My heart is beating so fast, I almost feel the need to find a defibrillator to knock it back into sinus rhythm.  I throw a twenty at the driver and slam the door.  Let’s hope I don’t get “Amun” on the way back to the hotel!

After purchasing another copy of his book, because you never know if you’ll get the chance to get an autograph, I find my seat in the 101 section.  I’m center stage, sixth row back.  I’m gonna get some great shots with my phone of my philosophical guru.  I look around a bit, seems like he’s doing this show in the ‘round’.  He’s got freedom to face all sides of the crowd.  It’s packed too.  I scan through the chapters I read this morning while waiting for the show to start.  

Around seven-fifteen, the local Weather Forecaster for NBC10, Dave Floren steps out and introduces Edward.

“Good evening.  Is everyone ready to be motivated?” Dave asks.  The crowd around me goes crazy.  

Yeah, buddy.  Get off the stage.  I’m not here to see you.  Maybe go read those weather charts and tell me it’s gonna snow tomorrow like you did last July.

This guy is an idiot.  He came to speak while I was at Rutgers.  He couldn’t forecast himself out of a paper bag.  He literally told us last July that we were going to get 6 inches of snow.

In July.

It was 101 friggin’ degrees.  

Ass-wipe.

“It’s a beautiful night here in Philly, I hope you’ll be inspired to go outside and enjoy it!  Ladies and gentleman, your speaker for the evening, Edward Cullen!”

I sit up in my seat a little, trying to get a glimpse of his tousled hair as he makes his way on-stage.  He’s dressed in dark jeans, a blue button down and a dark grey suit coat.  Edward gives his signature wave and smiles at the crowd.  I watch as Dave and he shake hands.  He takes a drink of water from a bottle and sets it back on the stool in the middle of the stage.  

I almost can’t contain my excitement when he picks up the microphone.  I’m mesmerized as he talks.  I catch the topic, “Being Your Own Person.”  I feel like we’re on the same fucking channel.
I nod my head at everything he says.  

Then it dawns on me just what he’s saying...something’s not right.  I listen a little harder and things aren’t really making sense.

“Of course, we know, that all our wants and desires are shaped by those around us - but wanting to emulate others or avoid all association with others, dependent on the situation is key.”

Uh... our needs are based on who we do or don’t associate with? I hang with Jake, but that doesn’t mean I need to be butt-fucked.  There is no stopping in the red zone.

“Because ‘yourself’ is something only you can truly know, you must sometimes use self examination to look at where you want to find yourself.”

Seriously, dude?  What?  My mind is having a hard time wrapping around that one.  

I’ve seen this man numerous times on the east coast.  I have all his dvds.  Something ain’t right in Denmark tonight.  I watch as he paces the stage as if he’s a lion in a cage.  The microphone keeps switching back and forth between his hands.  

He talks about career changes and how you learn from your professors and other students and that this is beneficial to whatever you choose to do, but...

“You cannot let those around you influence your love of your work.”

He’s contradicting himself.  Edward pulls at his hair a few times, causing it to become an even more riotous mess.  

“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.”

Edward, Edward, Edward...what is going on with you, man?  

He just told me to be myself no matter what, but that I need change myself based on who I’m with or what I’m doing.   Now, I understand if, let’s say, you swear a lot, you might want to put the kabosh on that shit when you’re working or at a fucking baptism or some shit.  That’s not at all what he just said.  That’s nothing like what I read in the book this morning.  

I listen to him talk in a circle for the better part of an hour.  My mind cannot grasp anything he said.  It’s a jumbled mess of contradictions.  

The man thanks us for coming and waves as he walks off the stage.  I watch him, shaking my head.  Everyone has an off day.  Jasper Whitlock, Edward’s Manager, walks on stage as I grab my bag and book.

“Ladies and gentleman, again, thank you so much for coming tonight. Unfortunately, there will not be any autograph signings this evening.  Please drive safely and remember to Be your Best Self.”

I sigh disappointedly and toss the book into my bag.  “So much for that.”

People all around me talk excitedly about Edward’s message tonight.  I can only shake my head in disbelief.  Really people?!!? Are you that stupid?  He told us to be ourselves and then told us to conform to society!!!

“Yo!  Watch where you’re goin’, Bitch!” some goombah yells at me as I push through the crowd.

The excited mood I came in with left the building when Edward told me I needed to surround myself with people I wanted to be like to truly be my own person.  

I want to be a weather forecaster but I’m not going to hang out with that douche bag from NBC10.  I’m pretty sure he got his degree from a friggin’ cracker jack box.  I didn’t bust my ass to tell people we’d get 6 inches of snow in July.  

Squeezing my ass through a large grouping of primping women, I make it out to the front of the arena.  The street is lined with cabs.  These guys are going to make a killing.  I slip into the third one and see my driver is a fairly normal looking blonde guy.  The name on his license tells me he is Garrett.

“Where might we be takin’ ye this evening?” he asks in an Irish lilt.

“Marriott, please,” I answer scrolling through the texts I missed from Jake.

Bitch, get ur ass here!  Bree’s found 3 hotties and 1 has ur name tattooed on his luv muscle! ~ J

I can tell Jakey’s been drinking because the messages get raunchier and raunchier as time goes by.  I decide to respond to his first one and call it a night.

Tatt’d Luv muscle?!?!  Sounds like he’s ur type, sweets!  me = hotel.   Call u l8tr. xx - B  I hit enter and relax into the seat.

“Miss?  We’ve arrived.  Might you want to be getting out?”  Garrett asks smiling at me from the rearview mirror.

“Oh, yes,” I sigh. “Thanks.” I hand him a twenty while I pull the door handle.  It swings open quickly causing my body to jerk out.  “What the frick?”

Some nut fuck in a three piece suit has his hand on the door frame, but he’s staring at the bleach blonde with size triple e tits at his side. One wrong move and she’ll knock his eye out with the right one.

“Jimmy!  You practically dragged this little one right out the cab!” Bimbette laughs. Her voice sounds like she’s smoked a few hundred camels today.  “I’m sorry, sugah!” She slips her hand under my arm to help me up. She reaches in with her red nailed claw, grabs my purse and tosses it at me. The two slide past into the seat as I stand on the curb watching them in confusion before Garrett pulls away.

This night can’t get any weirder.  I decide a few drinks at the hotel bar are in order and make my way to the front desk.  

Emily quickly gets me my bag and the key to my room.  Once I’ve texted both Bree and Jake that I’m staying, I pull my hair up and wash my face.  Grabbing my license, money, room key and my second copy of Edward’s book, I head down to the bar.  

Ten minutes later, I’m seated in a tall stool, sipping a tanqueray and tonic.  I open the book and scan the pages looking for anything that might even resemble what Edward said this evening.  The longer I sit here, I am absolutely positive something is wrong. There’s nothing that sounds remotely like tonight’s show.  I sigh to myself and pick up where I left this morning, getting lost in the message.

Someone moves onto the barstool next to me, his right leg pumps up and down nervously.  

“Hey.  Can I get a Heineken?”  The voice asks.  My brain registers a familiarity.  A green bottle slides across the width of the bar.  “Thanks.”

I glance to my left and the shock of bronze hair makes my breath stutter.  No...It can’t fucking be him!  I try to remain nonchalant as I turn to get a better view of him.  I’m met with a pair of the deepest green eyes I’ve ever seen.

“You’re...” I stammer. “You...fuck...um...are you?” I flip the cover of the book over and point at it.  

“Yes,” he smiles tightly.

“Wow.”

“Great,” he moans next to me.  

“I was just at the Wells Fargo,” I say and swallow thickly.  “Is everything alright?”  

“What?!?” he asks, staring at me.

“Um...I’m a fan. I’ve been to a lot of your shows and,” I take a sip of courage from my drink, “you seemed off tonight.”  I shrug.

“Yeah, not a good night.  I’m Edward,” he says offering me his hand.  “But you already know that.” He laughs.

“Bella.”  

Out of my vision’s periphery, I see a curvy blonde making her way over. “Edward!”  She says as she gets closer.  The man sighs next to me.

“Can I sign that for you?” He smiles softly and points at the book.  I nod and push it toward him.  He pulls a black sharpie out of his pocket and opens the book.  

“Edward!  Let’s go. You have a flight to catch early in the morning,” the blonde says as she skids to a stop and glares at me.  

“Yeah, just a minute, Rose. I’m signing this for Bella.”  He smiles and pushes the book back toward me.  “It was nice to meet you, Bella.  Have a nice night,” he says and stands up.  Rose huffs and turns toward the elevators.  He follows for a moment and then turns and looks back at me, giving a little wave with two fingers.  I know my mouth is hanging open.

After the elevator doors close, blocking him from view, I open the book.

                                   Bella,
                                    Thanks for being my biggest fan.
                                    You’re beautiful just the way you are!  

                                                                                Edward Cullen x

I stare at the page for what seems like forever.  The bartender clears his throat and tells me he’s closing up for the night.  I place a ten on the bar and gather my things.  I grip the book tightly as I make my way back to my room.   



A/N: I would like to thank all our readers for waiting so patiently for this update. As some of you know, both Laureate04 and I are writing solo stories of our own. Sometimes, RL gets in the way too.

As we said before, we cannot make a promise of regular postings, but we hope you stick with us.  
We appreciate each and every one of you!! Remember, reviews give us...a little motivation.

Fic Rec: If you are interested, here are two stories we believe you SHOULD read...
Both are by the utterly fabulous TongueTwied...

Harvard Can Wait  http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7745971/1/Harvard-Can-Wait

Harvard Can Wait, no longer... http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8725927/1/Harvard-Can-Wait-no-longer

Give her some love...because well..she's just one of the best!!!

~ Naughty

Chapter 3

A/N:  I’d like to take just a second to say that watching today’s Presidential Inauguration on Martin Luther King Jr. Day, in the year of the 50th Anniversary of the March on Washington was quite the sight.  Sorry, history teacher geek out here.  That being said - thanks for coming over to read this little update.  It got started a bit ago but most of it got banged out today.  Here’s a little more of our guy, E.  Thanks to my partner in crime, NaughtyHisBella for her guidance on this chapter - and making sure this whole story is still making sense to us both.  And special thanks to Ms. SassyKassie for the beta services...and your addition of a comma made the chapter what it is ;)  Love ya, girlie!  Ok...and now, away we go!!

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I care desperately about what I do. Do I know what [idea] I'm selling? No. Do I know what I'm doing today? No. But I'm here, and I'm gonna give it my best shot.*

This is the little pep talk that I give myself everytime I get ready to give a show.  Sometimes I don’t really know what I’m doing or what I’m selling.  I fell into this job a few years ago and ever since, there are days where I just feel like I’m keeping my head above water.  This whole motivational speaking thing still sometimes feels like foreign territory for me and I’m wading in the deep end with no lifeguard on duty.  But whatever happens, I’m in this all the way, until it’s all over.  

As I make my way down the long, sterile, concrete hallway backstage at the Wells Fargo Center, I can hear the deafening murmur of voices increase in volume the closer I come to the stage door.  This isn’t the loud roar of a rock crowd that would be here to see the likes of Bon Jovi or Maroon 5, or the screamy-high pitched ear-ringing noise of the Justin Bieber tween crowd, but it’s a pretty full house tonight and that’s a lot of voices, even if they are simply speaking at a normal volume.  

This is where I start to feel the adrenaline pump through my veins.  The stage, in recent years, has been the place where I feel the most at home.  Traveling and sleeping in a different city each night, several months a year can be rootless.  It makes me feel like sometimes I don’t belong anywhere.  But up on that stage, surrounded by thousands of people who came to see me?  That’s where I tend to feel like me, to feel like Edward Cullen, Motivational Speaker.

The event host, some local news anchor or something, gets up on stage and I hear the hush fall over the crowd.  They’re ready.  He starts by welcoming them to the Wells Fargo Center and reminding them about exits and silencing their cell phones.  After the friendly reminders, he strives to get the crowd pumped up for me asking if they’re ready to hear some ‘words of wisdom’ or something along those lines.  They never know exactly how to hype up a motivational speaker.  It’s something that we’ve struggled with since I started this thing.  I’ve suggested a couple of times that we have someone from our staff do it, that way we could hype everything the way that we want, but this is usually just easier.  Plus, we haven’t found the right person yet.

Upon hearing my name and the applause and cheers of the crowd I know it’s time.  I take a deep breath, shake out my arms and legs slightly to clear some nervous energy and plaster a smile on my face.  Climbing the four large stairs that head up to the stage from the back I begin waving, welcoming the crowd and acknowledging their welcoming sounds.  I take my place in the center of the stage, picking up the microphone - I don’t like mic stands much - and dive right in.

“Hi everyone!  Welcome to the wonderful Wells Fargo Center.  Thank you all for joining me tonight.  I’m looking forward to our evening together - I think we’re going to have a great time.”

The large, almost sold out crowd, cheers and claps and the smile that I had plastered on my face morphs into something more real.  As lost as I might sometimes feel doing this motivational speaking thing, the roar of a crowd always makes me feel good.  The fact that people actually come to see me and cheer and buy my books makes this all worth it.  And strangely enough, I hear from fans all the time that tell me how my words have helped them.  That I’ve convinced them to stop smoking or drinking.  That I’ve gotten them to leave a job they hate for something that makes them much happier.  That my words about openness and honesty, as ironic as they may be, have saved their friendships or marriages.  That’s all I can really ask of this craziness, that someone, somewhere can improve their lives from what I have to say.

“Tonight I’d like to talk to you all about happiness.  About doing what makes you happy.  So many people spend their lives doing things because they think they have to rather than because they want to.  In our lives, the only true path to happiness is to do what we want, what we love.  You should always do what you love and love what you do, for it is the true path to joy.”

I start speaking to the crowd about things I know.  I really love my job, as much as I might joke about not knowing what I’m doing.  I love people and I now kind of love being the center of attention when I’m speaking, knowing that everyone is truly here to see me, since I’m the only one up here.  

“Growing up there are always going to be people to tell you that you can’t do this or you can’t do that.  As much as we profess in the American Dream there are dreams that are less realistic or attainable for certain people.  And don’t you worry, I’m sure you all know, that there are always people to remind you that your dream of being the first astronaut to walk on Mars, isn’t likely going to happen.  To that I say, better to try and fail than never try at all.  It is better to put yourself out there and open yourself up to the possibility than to have never tried to set foot on Mars.”

It may sound ridiculous to encourage people to walk on Mars, but really, who would have thought 6 years ago I would have had a crazy successful modeling career and would have now been one of the world’s biggest-selling motivational speakers?  But looking back, I am pretty happy with the life I’ve made.  Of course there are things missing.  I’d love to share this success I’ve had with someone, I’d love to be closer to my family.  I’d even love to understand more fully just what I help people with and truly know if this is what I should be doing.  However, I’m happy for the time being.  I like what I do most days.  I get to see new places and new faces all the time.  I’m as happy as I’m going to be for now.


“There are always opportunities to make choices about your life and what you want to do with it.  If it’s what you want, you should major in philosophy, even if it seems there’s absolutely no way to make a living at it.*  Because if it’s truly what you want to do, you will find a way to make a living - you will find the strength to do what you love.  You cannot be happy by doing what others tell you.  If your happiness depends on what somebody else does [or says], I guess you have a problem.”*  

I laugh a bit at this line.  It’s one I found somewhere, I can’t even remember where, but I just like the phrasing.  One thing about my speaking is that I will always be blunt and tell people how it is.  And really, if you let someone else tell you what you have to do, you’ll never truly be happy.

“If later, it turns out that the philosophy degree isn’t making you happy, you must do something else.  You cannot be afraid to move along, to try something else.  In life we make the best mistakes weknow how to make.  Then, with luck, we go out and make new ones.*  Try and try again.  There are few times when you absolutely cannot try something else and they usually involve jail time or serious injury.  Neither of which should be the results of looking for a new job.”

The crowd laughs and I know that this speech is going just the way I wanted.  As much as the topics I discuss can really be very serious, they’re also here for a show and I intend to entertain.  I continue to speak for the next 45 minutes, discussing choosing the past that works for you and along that path you are likely to find friends and relationships that not only share in your loves and hopes, but also understand what you truly want out of life.  Maybe one day I should take my own advice.  I mean, it would be nice to have someone besides Jazz to share this life with.  He’s great and all, but he’s just not my type.

“Just remember, keep doing, keep changing your mind, keep pursuing your happiness.  Happiness comes from being a little uncomfortable as often as possible so you’re always learning and growing.*  That is what will make you happy and you will find that you’ll surround yourselves with those who believe the same.  

“Thank you all for coming tonight.  I hope you had a wonderful evening and I hope to get to see you again.  Thanks!!”

Waving, I stepped back over to the mic stand to replace the device so I can leave the stage.  I give one last big smile at the crowd, take a little bow, and then head backstage.  I have a meet and greet scheduled with some fans before I get to leave for the night.  

I head back down that same concrete hallway I walked up in, but to a larger backstage conference room where they have my meet and greet set up.  There’s a long table so that I can sign books, and two separate doors so they can form the line in and out of the room efficiently.  I take my seat behind the table, fiddling with the little pile of Sharpies that Jasper has prepared for me, and reach for my glass of water, also ready and waiting.  Jazz buzzes into the room, wearing his damn, unplugged headset, and waving his clipboard of little sketches at me and tells me that the meet-and-greeters are ready and waiting.  Many people who interact with the public like I do hate these things, but not me.  I truly like seeing and meeting my fans.  Some of them are so exuberant and happy to see me that I just cannot help but feed off of that excitement.  Some are shy and hesitant but trying and I can only hope and assume that it’s my doing that getting them to come out of their shells.  

I sign and chat for over an hour after the show, it’s one of the things that drives my crew nuts.  I take my time and shake hands and talk with fans.  I spend what might be too much time with each person, but they’re willing to spend their time waiting for me, which part of me still doesn’t really understand, so I’m willing to give them a little bit of mine.  I mean, for these VIP tickets some of these people paid like $375.00.  I feel like that’s worth a minute or two of my time, you know?

As people pour past I hear ‘thank you’s and ‘I can’t believe it’s and small gasps or giggles here or there.  Many of my fans are women, and I have to admit that I often wonder if that isn’t stemming from my past as a male model.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I'm pretty sure there's a lot more to life than being really, really, ridiculously good looking.*  And I keep hearing how popular as a model I was, but I’ve got to think that my looks aren’t everything.

As the line dies down and most everyone has moved out of the room and onto whatever the rest of their night holds, I’m signing one last book.  I look up and my eyes pop, wondering what he’s doing here asking for my autograph.  Removing the low slung baseball cap from his head he smirks.

“Mike, what the hell are you doing here?  And why on earth do you want my autograph?” I ask, in a low, whisper-yell, trying not to make a scene.

“Heh,  I don’t really care about the autograph, but I figured it was the easiest way to get to you.  We need to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you Mike.  We have nothing to talk about.  You don’t like me, I don’t like you.  In fact, how did you even get in here - you’re supposed to be on the restriction list after San Francisco,” I retort.

“Used my mom’s maiden name - you’re talking to Mike Cope right now, not Mike Newton.  I knew you didn’t want me around but we really do need to talk.  I have a couple of serious pieces of information that you’re going to want to hear.”

“Mike, in case you didn’t notice, I’m kind of in the middle of working here right now.  I mean, not that you’d know anything about that.  How many seats were left unsold at your last show again?  Oh that’s right, about three quarters of them.  So if you’ll excuse me I want to wrap up this sold out arena show and get to bed.”  I stood from the table, walking toward the other side of the room away from the man who was quickly becoming my nemesis.

“Edward, I would seriously suggest that you listen to me.  I don’t think news of a lawsuit would sit well with the public, especially if it blindsided you.”

I turned slowly, his words slithering down my spine, chilling me, even in the warm room.

“What in the fuck are you talking about, a lawsuit?”

“Edward, give me 15 minutes of your time and I promise I’ll explain everything.  But for now, I think you’ll want to get some of these other people out of here first.”

“Jazz!”

“Yo, E, what’s up?  What’s wrong?”  Jazz rushes to my side, clipboard in hand.

“Uh, well, Mike Newton is here,” I start, waving my hand in the direction of Mike’s out of shape form, “and he says that he needs to talk to me about some lawsuit.  I get the feeling that we need to hear him out before something blindsides us.  Can we clear out the room?”

“Shit!  Lawsuit?  What the hell could he be talking about?  Yeah, yeah, let me get the room cleared, just a minute.”

He ran off yelling for Alice.  This was more than Jasper ever wanted to handle.  Thankfully, his wife was well equipped to handle this type of security situation and within 10 minutes the room was cleared of everyone but essential staff, myself, and Mike.  Sitting back down at the signing table and pulling up some extra chairs, Jazz, Alice, Rose, and I sit on one side of the long table, while Mike assumes his position on the opposite side.

He removes a packet of papers from inside the back cover of his copy of my book, unfolds them and slides them across the table.  

“Look.  Here’s the deal, Edward.  We don’t like each other, but I also don’t think that you’re genuine in this whole thing.  I’m actually trying to help people and yet you get all the fans and ticket sales.  Your speaking is such a crock of shit.  You quote those damn motivational posters that hang in high school hallways.  You repeat yourself over and over and speak in circles.  I listened to your show tonight and you didn’t really say anything at all.  You told people to major in philosophy and walk on Mars.  This is ridiculous.  Not only that, but none of your ideas are your own, and that’s where this paperwork comes in,” he says, tapping the sheets of paper in front of him.

“I feel like you’re simply stealing other people’s ideas and I can’t take it anymore.  I can’t take your killing my career in your disregard for this profession.  You make me feel like a laughing stock.  And I’m not going to put up with it anymore.  I’m suing you under the issue of intellectual property theft and copyright infringement.  You are constantly using quotes from others and taking bits of other speeches and things you’ve seen.  You never credit anyone else and you’re making a killing.  I will see some of that money because it’s not fair.”

I snort in response, suppressing a laugh.  This is absolutely ridiculous.  Borrowing ideas and information is what we all do.  People know everything that we tell them.  Somewhere in their psyches they truly know what we’re saying already, they just need someone to point it out to them.  Really, I think this motivational speaking thing is kind of a crock myself.  I’d never buy into one, but there are people out there who need it, who need the idea or the direction and for them, I’ll keep doing what I do, even if I might not fully understand it.  I’ve said before that sometimes I feel like a phony, but so long as people are willing to listen I’ll be here.

“Mike, you’re full of shit.  You borrow stuff, I borrow stuff, what difference does it make?  I still don’t understand why you’re coming to me with this now.”

“Because you’re a fraud and I don’t like you and I want you out of my way.  With you done in this business, I’ll be the one with sold out crowds and books on the bestseller list.  I’ve been making my way in this business for years and all of a sudden you just show up, all fresh off the runway and you’re the biggest thing out there.  It’s not right!  I mean, I’ve been doing this for years!  And you just show up.  You have your very own ‘bod squad’ here with your security ladies.  I’ve hired Jessica and Lauren.  Jasper keeps all your shit organized for you.  I’ve got Eric as a PA.  I just don’t understand and I don’t like it.  You don’t do anything different than I do, but I can barely publish a new book without putting up my own funds for it.  I can’t take it anymore and I’m going to bring to light what a fraud you really are.”

With that, he stood from his seat and walked out the door, leaving Jazz, Rose, Alice and I to stare at the stack of papers he’d left on the table.  It was a letter describing my work and citing examples of quotes I’d used in different speeches and books.  I had to admit, it looked bad.  I glanced left and right, looking at my team.  

“Shit.  Looks like we have some work to do.  We’re going to need a plan.” 

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* Quotes from this chapter:

- Hansel - Zoolander

- Jessica Stanley - The Twilight Saga: Eclipse

- Richard Bach

- Joan Oliver Goldsmith

- Rich Hatch

- Derek Zoolander - Zoolander

A/N:  Thanks for reading!  We really appreciate the support and love you all show us!  Now, show us some more with a review, please!!!  Haha.  Really though - leave us a review and let us know what you think and we’ll be happy campers.  Love you all!  Until next time...

Chapter 2

A/N: Stephanie Meyer owns it all...we just make them do what we want them to. HI! It's NaughtyHisbella! *waves* This is my first time everposting a chapter on FF. I'm a bit...scared. Laureate04 says it's all good. Welcome to Bella's perspective. I write Bella, Laureate writes Edward. I hope you enjoy this chapter. I'm sorry for the wait. Thanks to Laureate for holding my hand through this and much much Love & Thanks to SassyKassie for her beta skills.

Let's see what Bella's about, shall we?

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BPOV

Stupid lovey dovey people.

"Thanks for choosing Marriott," I smile. "We hope you enjoy your stay." I wave the key at Mr. Kissy Face hoping to get his attention. He's too busy loving up on his woman to notice.

"Sir?"

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. It's our 5 month anniversary." Mr. Moochie Lips beams at me.

"How very nice. Enjoy your evening."

Lord! All these people in love. They make me sick. That's all I see...everywhere. On T.V., friggin' Brangelina and Snooky and the DoucheBag BabyDaddy. Ugh! The worst offender is Tom Cruise. What grown man jumps on a fucking couch on national television declaring "I'm in love"? A complete ass, that's who. God, I hate people. And who comes up with those stupid names? Brangelina? TomKat? Robsten? Idiots...

Whatever.

A few more hours and I can go home and watch my latest DVD purchase, "Edward Cullen: Wherever You Go, There You Are." Edward, I feel like we're close enough to call him by his first name, is phenomenal. He so prophetic. His message has helped me step out of my shell...somewhat. I have all of his books, cds and dvds. I've seen all of his East Coast shows.

I sit here night in and night out watching people live their happy little lives. I wonder if it's all just a show? Take me for instance, outwardly, I'm an average woman who does her job, Night Manager at the Residence Inn Marriott/Cherry Hill, well. I fix credit card errors with a smile on my face. I offer the turndown service with a flourish. "Would you like the Andes Mint on your pillow?" The one cool thing about working here is that I get to stay free at our affiliate hotels, which cuts costs of seeing my guru.

I have a degree from Rutgers University in Meteorology and am a member of the American Meteorological Society, but I work this dead end job at a hotel. My dream is to be a weather forecaster on one of the network news shows. Or CNN. * sigh * Inwardly, I'm a bit of a loner. I wouldn't say I'm shy, just not a 'people' person. I'm what you would call 'socially awkward.' I also get stage fright. I was never great at public speaking. I can talk to guests, but tell me I need to do a presentation and I clam up. My palms get sweaty, knees want to give out and the heart palpitates. That doesn't bode well for someone who wants to be on television.

In addition, I'm just lonely. I was born lonely. In fact, I was born lonely and unhappy. My life has never been the proverbial "bed of roses". To be honest, it's been a complete cluster fuck of disappointment. I know...I know. I'm bitter. Wouldn't you be bitter if your biological mother didn't want you? The man you loved didn't want you? The only people who wanted me were Charlie and Renee and what a bang up job they did, didn't they? I don't even want to think about them right now...

I met Ben at Rutgers in my Thermodynamics of Atmosphere class junior year. He was cute; tall, blonde and built like a football player. He was a brainiac instead of a linebacker. We started dating after our first group project. We were working on the role of supersaturation of ice crystals and cloud droplets. It was a whirlwind romance. Movies, concerts, dinners, storm chasing. We laughed a lot and spent time with our weather geek friends. We understood each other, or so I thought. I found him the night of our 2 year anniversary with his trouser snake invading the skanky depths of Jenna Spellman, cheerleader for the football team. He told me he couldn't deal with my constant need for reassurance that he loved me. Ben felt it just wasn't right to have to work so hard at loving someone. So, hence...he left me for the bubble headed brunette with the size AA boobs and the loose cooch. I ran into them about 6 months ago, he's a meteorologist for the National Weather Service. She's on her 4th pregnancy and looks like hell. I guess that's one thing I can be happy about. I've been alone ever since. Three years. Not for lack of trying though. Bree tried to set me up with a guy she worked with at Macy's. Turns out, Jakey was gayer than the day is long. He's one of my best friends now. Jake, Bree and Alec. We couldn't be more different, but that's why we work.

I started working for Marriott right after graduation. I threw myself into work, using it to keep my mind off of the heartache. Within a few months, I was promoted to Night Housekeeping supervisor and a few months after that, my current position. It didn't hurt that I was the only one willing to work the nightshift. Just after I became Manager, I was having a hard time settling in to the job. I needed something. I googled motivation and a video of Edward at a high school in Chicago popped up. His words moved me. His green eyes and good looks didn't hurt either.

Bree is very outgoing. She has a morning show, "Breakfast with Bree" at WMMR, one of the radio stations in town. Her favorite shift is Sunday morning and her "Bree and the Beatles" slot. She worked at Macy's and was a member of the 'Bod Squad' for the station while getting her communications degree at Rutgers. They're the 'hot' girls who do the promotions and things.

Alec is a software programmer for a video game company. He loves zombies and spends most of his free time working on his own game, "Splatter Brain." Jacob, aka Jakey, is the manager of the Nordstrom Cosmetics department at the Cherry Hill Mall. He primarily works the makeup counter. He can turn Medusa into Heidi Klum with a flick of his mascara wand.

Bree and Alec think I've lost my mind with this self-help business and the crazy money I spend on Edward's stuff. They believe I just need to stop living like a vampire and go out into the sunlight. That if I interacted with more people, I wouldn't be so awkward. They haven't known me my whole life so they don't realize this is how I've always been. Jake thinks I just need a good 'shtupping.' Bree suggested I interview for a position at her radio station. That was a conversation, let me tell ya...

"What do you have to lose?" Bree asks for the millionth time.

"You just don't get it, Bree. I'm not cut out for that. I'm not good with people."

"You are too! You talk to people everyday! You know weather like the back of your hand. All you have to do is go in and speak into a 's it. No one will see you but the others in the studio."

"I...I don't know."

"You can do this, Bell. Plus, you can get out into the world. You might like it. You say you're not a people person, but how would you really know?" Bree said, hands on her hips.

"I'm not. We've talked about this. You, Alec and Jake are the only people I care to interact with." I shoved a bite of bagel into my mouth.

"I bet if Edward Cullen offered you a job, you'd take it in a heartbeat," she said bitterly.

"Don't hate on Edward," I admonished her.

"You spend all night at the hotel. You come home, watch one of those stupid 'motivational dvds' or read one his books for the millionth time and sleep. He's a total joke. You say he's helped you, but you are no closer to living your dream then you were a year ago!" Bree's face turned a very unbecoming shade of red.

"He's not a joke!"

"Bella Swan...enough is enough! You need to stop this and do something with yourself! You say you want to be a forecaster. You also say the one thing you want is to be loved. How the hell are you going to get that if you don't get out there?" Bree yelled.

I didn't talk to her for a week. Alec ended up in the middle of it. He loved me, but he agreed, to an extent, with Bree. Jake...well...he stayed true to himself and kept out of it, only saying that I "needed to rumple someone's foreskin." God love him. I spent the entire week watching my dvds. I felt so pumped and motivated, I put together a new resume and prepared to submit it to all three of the big networks. That was 3 months ago and they are still sitting on my desk.

Since Mr. Moochie/Kissy Face and his woman retired to their room, it's been quiet. It's usually quiet, except for when the occasional "Snookie 2 and the Wannabes" show up, but not this quiet. All I can do is read Edward's latest book and check the local headlines. My Dad, Charlie, is Police Chief here in Cherry Hill. You have to get through Camden to get here and it's not somewhere you want to have a flat tire, ya know what I mean? So, Charlie usually ends up with a few calls each night when the violence and crime makes its way into the edges of our town. We may not agree on how he and Renee raised me, but I still love him and want him safe. I grab my trusty iPhone (another perk of being a manager - money to pay my bills and have toys...) and settle into a low chair behind the front desk. The news tells me that there was yet another police chase but they ventured toward West Collingswood instead of heading straight down 38. I scroll through further only glancing at the headlines until one of my alerts pinged.

"Ohhh, Edward...you're coming back...how did I miss this?"

He was coming to Madison Square Garden for two nights in May. I'm usually up on all of his appearances. There's no way I'm missing this one and look through room availability at the New York Marriott. Luckily, there's a single available for the Saturday night show. Quickly, I book it for myself. Staying for free rocks! Tomorrow, or I suppose tonight, since its' now about 4 am, is his show in Philly. Guess who has a ticket...yeah, me.

Slowly but surely, my shift ends. Thank God! I want to get home and write Edward a new letter. I usually write one once or twice a month. I'm positive I'm his biggest fan. I'll write him, take a couple hour nap and then get ready for the show tonight.

Traffic is light so I make it home in about 10 minutes. After brewing a small pot of coffee, I transfer it into a carafe to stay hot and head to my desk. I pull out the purple stationary Bree bought me for my birthday.

April 9, 2010

Dear Edward,

Good Morning! It's me, your biggest fan again! I just wanted to write you and tell you I really enjoyed your presentation on being the best 

Customer Service Representative. It has helped me immensely in my occupation as Night Manager for a national hotel chain. I purchased your newest dvd, "Wherever You Go, There You Are" directly from your website. It arrived yesterday.

I can't wait to sit down and watch it.

Today is your appearance in Philadelphia. Once again, I will be in the audience. I never miss an East Coast show. Your words and enthusiasm have really helped me. I have mentioned before that my friends think I have lost my mind, but I wish I could get them to just one of your shows. I really think they'd understand and would be impacted by your words. I just found out about the Madison Square Garden show in May. I'll be there! I'm going to suggest they purchase a ticket too.

Thank you so much for everything you do for people. You cannot imagine how much you have helped.

Sincerely, Your biggest Fan

Bella Swan

I have to move around the resume copies to find an envelope but am successful. I stamp it and make my way to the mailbox. Bree's ringtone blares from the pocket of my sweatshirt on my way up.

"'Lo..."

"Bell! You're off tonight, right?"

"I have plans, Bree."

"What do you mean you have plans?" Bree whines in my ear.

"I'm driving to Philly tonight. Edward has a show there," I smile in excitement as I close the door to my apartment.

"Are you f'n kidding me? How much money are you going to spend on this gamooch? He's a crook, a phony," she growls.

"He is not. You've never even watched one of the dvds I have. I think if you watched just one or came to a show with me, you'd get it. I found out today he's playing at MSG in May. Come with me?"

"No. There's no way I'm wasting my money on that bullshit. You shouldn't either. Forget this Cullen guy and come out with me and Jake. We're meeting some of the hot bods from the station. Drinks and dancing..." Bree's voice goes higher. I think she thinks it sounds enticing. I hate dancing. I have two left feet and usually end up on my ass.

"While the drinking sounds fabulous, the dancing doesn't. I'd rather spend the evening listening to Mike Newton rip off Edward. I'll text you when it's over. If I feel like it, I'll meet ya." I've opened my macbook and pulled up Edward's site. I purchase a ticket for the Saturday MSG show. An email tells me I can pick it up at Will Call. SCORE! "Listen, I need to get some sleep before tonight. Have a good time."

"Whatever. One of these days you'll see what a scam this guy is. Be careful, please." Bree sounds exasperated with me, as usual.

"I will. Be safe too and give the Jakester a hug for me. Make sure he shaves his legs if he wears those shorts again. You know how he gets when he's around those hot bod friends of yours." I giggle and hang up. The second time Jake met us at the bar, he showed up wearing a pair of gold hotpants. Between all the hair on his legs and his tall tommy hanging out, I was gagging on my Heineken. The man's got more hair than Sasquatch. I forced my purple trench coat at him to cover that shit up.

I make my way to my bedroom and flop onto the bed. Hopefully, I'll get a few good hours of sleep and be 'open,' as Edward says, to his message tonight.

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A/N: I'd be open to anything that man gave me...Just sayin' Leave us some sugar...we tend to write faster (or atleast I do...) Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, fav'd! We truly appreciate you taking the time to read our little story...Much Love, Naughty (NHB) and Laureate04