Chapter 15

Saturday
Isabella, 7 p.m. - dinner, Hotel 1000

Sunday
Katrina, 11:30 a.m. - brunch, Yacht Club
Stephanie, 5 p.m. - dinner, Salvatore’s

Monday
Victoria, 7 p.m. - art show, Riverton Gallery

Tuesday
Lauren, 6:30 p.m. - fundraiser/dinner, Four Seasons

Wednesday
Charlotte, Noon - lunch, her place
Siobhan, 7:30 p.m. - play, Actors’ Workshop

Bella stared, dumbfounded, at Edward Cullen’s schedule for the week. She hadn’t even looked past today’s date, because she was too shell-shocked at how many women he’d been with since he left her Sunday morning. Four. He’d had four “dates” in three days.

She glanced at the clock - it was 10 a.m. Soon he’d be lunching with woman number five, “Charlotte,” at “her place,” wherever that was. Bella envisioned a rich socialite who liked to play with good-looking young men while her husband slaved away in some downtown high rise all day. And when he was done diddling her, he’d be on to number six, the exotically named “Siobhan,” for an evening of amateur theater before God knows what kind of private show.

Bella felt sick. Mildly horrified, even. She was fully aware that she had no right to. She obviously knew better than anyone - well, except the dozens of other women in this day planner - what Edward did for a living. She had no illusions about their situation; no delusions that she meant more to him than any of these other females did. She’d simply hired him to make her feel like she did. And he had performed the charade flawlessly - she almost bought it.

She knew what the problem really was. She wanted to buy it. She wanted to believe that there had been something special between her and Edward Cullen. That she was somehow different from all the rest. Unique.

But why would she think such a thing? She’d been unremarkable her entire life. She’d managed to obtain good grades throughout school, which had earned her several much-needed scholarships. But other than that, she had always blended in with the crowd. She was horribly un-athletic, had no musical aptitude, only marginally better artistic skills, and arguable writing talents. She conceded that she had grown into her looks a bit, filling out a little since her skinny, gawky youth. She could maybe, possibly think of herself as pretty, when she took the time to apply enough make-up.

That should have been her tip-off about Edward, right there - when he had insisted that she was beautiful. What a load. She had to hand it to him, though - he was certainly convincing. She’d been positive they had shared something more than just great sex. Their conversation on the couch, wrapped in those plush terry bath robes, had been one of her favorite parts of the evening. And then later, after the Final Deflowering, he had appeared so interested in learning more about her, listening to her yammer on about her family and her pathetic love life. He had seemed so sincere, so real, even though he’d balked at talking about himself.

And since that night, he’d practiced that sincerity on four other women already.

She closed the day planner and dropped it on the dorm bed where she sat, cross-legged. She couldn’t look at any more pages. She didn’t want to face the full enormity of her foolishness these past few days. She wished she had found his calendar earlier and saved herself the silly fantasies, but she rarely used her handbag. She hadn’t seen the small, black notebook in the bottom of her purse until she finally picked it up off the floor today to hang it in the closet.

She had known about the other girls, of course. But there was something about seeing the names, the dates, the places, that drove reality home with the subtlety of a railroad tie through her skull.

Their names all sounded like sorority girl names. They sounded like the types of girls who always made Bella break into a cold sweat - the ones who were prettier, richer, funnier or more sophisticated than she was. The types who seemed to beg her to make an unwelcome comparison in which she always found herself lacking.

She wondered how many of the women were older. Edward couldn’t have gained those mind-blowing sexual skills from spending all his time with clueless virgins. Her attempts at pleasuring him must have seemed so clumsy and amateurish to him, despite all his reassurances to the contrary. She felt a fresh wave of embarrassment wash over her, and she buried her face in her hands.

She finally peeked through her fingers at the day planner. Did she dare look at it further? Maybe it contained personal information. His real name; his address. His phone number. After all, she really needed to call him and let him know that she had his schedule. Surely he must have missed it by now. He probably just didn’t know which of his groupies had walked off with it and he was too embarrassed to admit it.

She was reaching one timid hand toward the notebook when the ring of her cell phone startled her. She picked it up from her nightstand and looked at the caller information; she didn’t recognize the number. A nervous jolt went through her - what if it was Edward? Maybe he’d finally found her earring, even if he didn’t know she had his planner.

Her voice shook slightly when she answered hello.

“Isabella Swan?” an official-sounding, and disappointingly female, voice met her ears.

“Speaking.”

“This is Rosalie Hale of Renaissance Escorts.” Bella’s nervous excitement resumed. She was surprised she hadn’t recognized the icy blonde’s voice from their first meeting, when she had stopped in to fill out the requisite paperwork. Rosalie was the exact type of woman who made Bella feel horribly inadequate in a multitude of ways, from her looks to her self-confident demeanor.

“I trust your recent engagement with Edward Cullen the other night was satisfactory?” Rosalie asked expectantly.

Bella didn’t know which word sounded more ridiculous - “engagement” or “satisfactory.”

“Oh, yeah. Edward was . . .” Amazing, mind-blowing, beyond my wildest dreams, a complete bastard for making me daydream about him nonstop since our “engagement.” She ignored the mental barrage of choices and concluded, “more than I ever hoped for.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear it.” Rosalie sounded pleased, but not surprised. Why would she be? Edward was obviously one of her most popular gigolos. “The reason I’m calling is to inquire whether or not you may have lost an earring when you were with him the other night. If so, Edward believes he may have found it. He’s looking for his day planner as well, and wondered if you had come across it.”

Finally, she thought. His schedule proved what a workout his overnight bag got, and she was worried that her grandmother’s gift might have fallen out of the side pocket and been lost forever.

“He found my earring?” Bella hoped she sounded surprised. “Wow, that’s a relief. And I actually did just find his planner in the bottom of my purse. I don’t know how it got in there.”

“That’s good news, then,” Rosalie said brightly. “Edward suggested that the two of you meet up somewhere to return each other’s things, but that’s entirely up to you, of course. As you know, we never allow an escort to contact or pursue a client without her full knowledge and consent. All of our employees sign agreements to that effect, for your protection.”

“Oh, right.” She’d forgotten that was part of the contract they’d both agreed to. She had appreciated that safety measure at the time, but now she found it a little annoying. What if Edward had wanted to contact her sooner? But he did tell Rosalie he wanted to meet with her in person, so that had to mean something, didn’t it?

No, it didn’t, she crossly reminded herself. Believing such a thing would only get her into trouble.

“Edward told me to give you his number if you’d like to call him to arrange a meeting,” Rosalie continued. “But you’re welcome to drop his planner off and pick up your earring here at the agency, if you prefer.”

“No, I’ll call him,” Bella blurted. Her heart was already galloping like a runaway horse again at the thought of phoning him, but the desire to see him again overpowered her fear.

“Great,” Rosalie said in a satisfied tone, then rattled off Edward’s phone number. Bella scrambled to her desk to write down the digits before she forgot them.

“Well, Bella, it was a pleasure speaking with you again. I do hope you’ll think of us the next time you’re in need of any escort services.”

Bella was sure that Rosalie was aiming for warm and cordial, but her words were a bit too rehearsed to be convincing. She didn’t care. She would soon be speaking to Edward again, and his tone was anything but cool and businesslike. She thought of it now, warm and husky, seeping into her eardrums and down her spine like molasses trickling slowly over a stack of pancakes. Sweet, rich, delicious.

She shivered and stared at his number as she said her good-byes to Rosalie. Edward told me to give you his number. . . . The words reverberated inside her head, taking on more meaning than they had any right to.

He wants to talk to you, the optimist inside her said beguilingly.

He wants his day planner back, the pragmatist replied with a sniff. He wouldn’t want to keep the lovely Siobhan waiting because he can’t remember what time he was supposed to meet her.

The pragmatist helped her calm down a bit, but she wanted to give the optimist a fair shake. She really wouldn’t know a thing about his motivations until she talked to him. And now was as good a time as any, she told herself.

She took a sip of the now-cold coffee that sat atop her desk, then sat back down on the bed with her phone in one hand and the scrap of paper containing Edward’s number in the other. She took a couple of deep, calming breaths as her trembling fingers punched the digits. She steeled herself and waited, hearing nothing but the blood pounding through her ears.

His voice soon broke through the drumbeat of her heart. “Hello. Edward Cullen speaking.”

Oh, God. That voice. Better than molasses. It wasn’t fair, what that voice did to her. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t breathe. It was just like that moment when she’d gaped at his tie for what seemed like ten years until he took her hand and helped her in the hotel door. After all they’d shared that night, how could he still make her this discombobulated?

“Bella, is that you?” he said. He sounded concerned. Shit, she was behaving like an idiot again. Ridiculous. Ridiculous that he should have this kind of effect on her motor skills.

“Yeah, hi,” she finally stammered, her breath coming out in one long, shaky gust. “How did you know it was me?”

“I just got off the phone with Rosalie a few minutes ago. I told her to give you my number, so I was hoping.”

She could almost hear the smile in his voice. It sounded like he really was hoping. Could it be true? She hated how badly she wanted to believe it.

“Yeah, so, um . . .” Spit it out, doofus. “She tells me you found my earring?”

“I did, in my overnight bag. It must have fallen in there when I ran into you in the bathroom. I’m really sorry I didn’t see it until today. It looks expensive, so I figured you would want it back.”

How could he sound so smooth and confident when she felt like such a blithering idiot? She took another deep breath and tried to gather her wits.

“Yeah, those earrings were my great-grandmother’s, so I’m really glad you found it,” she said, feeling a little guilty for having used a family keepsake as bait. “Oh, and I found your planner, too. I didn’t even open my purse until this morning, so I had no idea it was in there. If I had known, I would have called your agency right away.”

“Well, it’s just a backup for my phone. That’s why I didn’t notice it was gone at first,” he explained.

“Right. Same with the earrings. I thought they were both in my purse until I went through it today.” God, she was a terrible liar. She was sure he must be able to hear it in her voice. If so, he didn’t let on.

“So, I was thinking that we could meet up somewhere and make the exchange. Maybe get a cup of coffee or something. If you’d like. I don’t know if you like coffee, or. . .” he trailed off. This was the first time he sounded uncertain, and she was amazed at how relieved that made her.

“I love coffee,” she assured him. “It’s the only reason I have a pulse before ten a.m.”

He laughed, and the sound was so toasty warm that Bella thought she might have to turn on her oscillating fan to cool down.

“I know a great place that’s not too far from campus,” he said, giving her the name and address. She knew where it was, though she’d never been there. It looked like the kind of unassuming shop where locals would go for a regular “cuppa,” versus the boho coffee houses on campus that doubled as open mike venues in the evenings.

“Sounds good. How about tomorrow?” she suggested, hoping she didn’t sound too eager. She already knew his schedule for today was nauseatingly full.

“What’s tomorrow, Thursday?” he mused. “I have a pretty busy day, actually. How about Friday?”

“Friday’s good. Well, anytime before noon. I have to work the afternoon shift.”

“Oh, where do you work?”

“The University Book Store, in the U District. It’s book rush so I can make a lot of money this week and next. That’s why I came back to school a week early,” she explained.

“That’s great,” he said, sounding oddly enthusiastic. “So what do you do there, exactly?”

“I’m a cashier-slash-weight-lifter. Running the cash register is easy, but bagging the books can be a real bitch. On the upside, though, I should have slammin’ biceps by the time book rush dies down.”

Edward laughed again, and she wondered if that’s why she kept saying silly things, just so she could hear it.

“Well, that is the first thing I look for in a girl - slammin’ biceps.”

She knew he was teasing, but his voice reeked of innuendo regardless. His tone was clear when he continued, “But the real question is, how are your glutes?”

She could feel heat creep up her neck. She walked over to her electric fan and flipped the switch.

“I live on the third floor of my dorm, so my glutes get a good workout going up and down the stairs every day. Keeps ‘em nice and tight,” she said. Damn, it was a lot easier to flirt with his disembodied voice, delicious as it was, than with his entire irresistible self.

“So I noticed,” he murmured, the innuendo unmistakable this time.

She pointed the electric fan at her bed and sat directly in its path, letting the cool air hit her blazing face.

Edward cleared his throat. “So, what time shall I meet you Friday morning?”

“Whenever is good for you,” she answered. She grabbed his day planner and flipped to the upcoming date, wondering how many sorority-named girls she’d find there who would be occupying his time.

“Well, since you’re apparently comatose before ten a.m., why don’t we make it then?”

She wondered if he enjoyed teasing her as much as she liked being teased.

“Ten is good,” she agreed. The little black notebook told her Edward had Friday free until a six o’clock class reunion at the Hilton with someone named Sylvia. She snickered to herself. What kind of woman paid a guy to take her to her class reunion?

Then again, what kind of girl paid a guy to take her virginity?

“I’ll see you in forty-eight hours, then,” he said. Shit, he was counting? That had to be a good thing, right?

“Yeah. See you Friday,” she replied, wondering if he could hear the smile in her voice.

She barely registered Edward’s “’Bye, Bella,” as alluring as her name sounded when he spoke it. She was too distracted by Thursday’s page in his appointment book - the day he was ostensibly too busy to meet with her. She’d expected to see another full itinerary for tomorrow, complete with the requisite names, times and places.

Instead, there was only one thing written at the top of the page - a single, solitary name etched in Edward’s elegant script.

Curious, she flipped through the rest of the pages, noting that the schedule for his “engagements” petered out as the weeks advanced.

But every single Thursday for the rest of the year, Edward’s day belonged only to “Emily.”