Master of the Universe Outtake EPOV - chapter 2.pdf
(
87 KB
)
Pobierz
Master of the Universe Outtake - chapter 2
ItÔs the second chapter of MOTU from EdwardÔs POV.
—————
“Tomorrow,” I say dismissively as Laurent exits my office.
“Golf? Definitely, Cullen.”
My trainer’s parting words rub salt into my wounds. In spite of my heroic attempts he’s
kicked my butt around the gym this morning – the only one who can beat me… and now he
wants his pound of flesh on the golf course. I hate golf. But so much business is done on the
golf course, and though I hate to admit it, he does improve my game.
Staring out at the Seattle skyline the all-too-familiar ennui seeps into my consciousness. I
need a diversion, otherwise it’s more of the same… the only thing to vaguely excite me this
week has been my decision to send two freighters of food to Darfur. Which reminds me –
Kate, she’s supposed to come back to me with numbers and logistics – what the hell is
keeping her? And right now I have to endure a dull interview with the persistent Miss Hale
from WSU, for their student magazine. Why the fuck did I agree to this? I loathe interviews…
inane questions from inane ill-informed vacuous idiots. The phone buzzes.
“Yes,” I snap irritably.
“Miss Isabella Swan is here to see you, Mr Cullen.”
“Swan? I was expecting Rosalie Hale.”
“It’s Miss Isabella Swan who’s here, Sir.”
“Show her in.”
Well, well… Miss Hale unavailable. I know her father Alec, owner of Hale Media –we do
business together occasionally. He seems a shrewd businessman and a rational human
being. This is my favour to him. I’m vaguely curious about his daughter, to see if the apple
has fallen far from the tree. A commotion at the door distracts me as a whirl of long
chestnut hair, pale limbs and brown boots dives head first into my office. I have to repress
my natural urge to laugh as I hastily make my way over to the poor girl on the floor and help
her to her feet.
Warm, brown, embarrassed eyes meet mine – and stop me in my tracks. They are the most
extraordinary color… eyes with dark hidden depths… and my curiosity is piqued
instantaneously – what secrets do they hold? She flushes, an innocent pale rose, and I
wonder briefly if all her skin is like that – flawless – and what it would look like pink and
warmed from the bite of a cane… Fuck. I halt my wayward thoughts, alarmed at their
direction – she’s way too young. She gapes at me, and I have to repress the urge to roll my
eyes. Yeah, yeah, beauty is just skin-deep, baby. You really don’t want to go deeper than
that with me.
Showtime, Edward – but let’s have some fun…
“Miss Hale? I’m Edward Cullen. Are you all right? Would you like to sit?”
There’s that flush again. She’s really quite attractive in a gauche way – slight, pale, with a
mane of glorious hair barely contained by that hair tie. What would it look like loose around
her slim, naked shoulders…? Cullen! Where exactly are you going with that thought? I
extend a hand. She stutters an apology and places her small hand in mine… contact. Her skin
is cool and soft, but her handshake surprisingly firm.
“Miss Hale is err… indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don’t mind, Mr Cullen.” Her voice
is quiet with a hesitant musicality and she blinks at me erratically, long lashes fluttering over
those dark, dark eyes. Unable to keep the amusement from my voice as I recall her less than
decorous entrance into my office, I ask who she is.
“Isabella Swan. I’m studying English with Rose… err Rosalie… err Miss Hale at Washington
State.”
Nervous, bashful, bookish type eh? She looks it. She’s dressed appallingly. Hiding all her
curves beneath that plain sweater. How can this young woman be a journalist? She doesn’t
have an assertive bone in her body. She’s all charmingly flustered, meek, mild… submissive.
What an intriguing thought…. Cullen! I shake my head slightly, vaguely amused at my
inappropriate thoughts, traveling a well-worn but unwelcome path. I am puzzled by the
effect she has on me. Muttering some platitude I ask her to sit, and notice her dark gaze
appraising my office paintings. Before I can stop myself, I am explaining them.
“A local artist. Trouton,” I murmur.
“They’re lovely. Raising the ordinary to extraordinary,” she says dreamily, lost in the
paintings’ exquisite fine artistry. Her profile is so delicate – an upturned nose, soft, full lips –
and her words… She mirrors my sentiments exactly – the ordinary to extraordinary. And it’s
a keen observation on a first glance… she’s bright. I mutter my agreement as I sit down
opposite her.
She proceeds to fish a crumpled sheaf of paper and a minidisk recorder out of her overlarge
bag, and then she’s all fingers and thumbs, dropping the damned thing twice on my Bauhaus
coffee table. She’s obviously never done this before. For some reason I can’t fathom, I find
it… amusing. Normally this kind of fumbling maladroitness would irritate the fuck out of me
but I have to bite my lip not to laugh, and resist the urge not to set it up for her myself.
She’s becoming more and more flustered and it occurs to me that I could refine her motor
skills – with the aid of a riding crop. Aptly used it can bring even the most skittish to heel.
The thought makes me shift slightly in my chair. Steady boy… stop this.
She peeks up at me and bites down on her full bottom lip. Fuck! That mouth! How did I not
notice that before? The bottom lip plump and full… yes, I’d like to bite it too.
“Sorry,” she stutters. “I’m not used to this.”
I can tell, baby – my thought is ironic – but right now I can’t take my eyes off your mouth.
“Take all the time you need, Miss Swan.” I need some time here to marshal my squalid,
wayward, completely unprofessional thoughts.
What is it about this girl?
“Do you mind if I record your answers?” she asks, oh-so innocently.
I want to laugh. Oh, thank fuck.
“After you’ve taken so much trouble to set up the recorder… you ask me now?” I can’t help
but tease her. She blinks at me, those dark doe-eyes lost and wary for a moment. Stop
being such a shit, Cullen.
“No, I don’t mind,” I mutter, chastened by her look.
“Did Rose… I mean Miss Hale, explain what the interview was for?”
“Yes – your student newspaper,
WSU Eyewitness
. To appear in the graduation issue, as I
shall be conferring the degrees at this year’s graduation ceremony.” And why the fuck I
agreed to do
that
I don’t know. Sam in PR would tell me it’s because it’s an honor, and
because the research program with the environmental science department in Vancouver
needs publicity to attract additional funding to match my own donation.
Miss Flushing Swan blinks at me once more, as if what I’ve just said is some surprise, and
looks vaguely disapproving. Surely she’s done some background work for this interview?
She should know this… but it appears not. The thought cools my blood – it’s displeasing, not
what I would expect from her or anyone I’ve donated my time to. Cullen, you don’t know
her! And I’m left with the irritating thought that I’d like to know her, and know her well…
know her intimately.
“Good… well, I have some questions… Mr Cullen.” She smoothes a stray lock of hair behind
her ear, distracting me from my annoyance.
“I thought you might,” I mutter dryly. Let’s make her squirm.
She squirms obligingly, then seems to pull herself together. Leaning forward she presses the
start button on the minidisk and glances down at her crumpled notes.
“You’re very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?” I
have to resist the urge to sigh heavily and scold her – she can do better than this, surely?
What a dull question – very disappointing, not one iota of originality. I trot out my usual
response which, if she’d done her homework, she would know.
Quite simply, I have some exceptional people working for me. People I trust – in as far as I
trust anyone – and whom I pay well, but the fact is, I’m a fucking genius at what I do – it’s
like falling off a log. I buy ailing, mismanaged companies, and fix them – or if they’re really
broken, strip them like a locust and sell off the assets. It’s simply a question of knowing the
difference between the two – and it always comes down to the people running them. You
need good people, and I can judge a person, better than most.
“Maybe you’re just lucky,” she says quietly.
Lucky? No luck involved here, Miss Swan. I feel a brief frisson of annoyance and my interest
is piqued again. She looks unassuming and quiet… but this question… No one’s ever asked
me if I’m
lucky
. Hard work, and bringing people with me – keeping a close watch on them,
second-guessing them if need be – and if they’re not up to the task, ditching them quickly –
that’s what I do, and I do it well. Flaunting my erudition, I quote my favorite American
industrialist:
“I think it was Harvey Firestone who said “the growth and development of people is the
highest calling of leadership.”
“You sound like a control freak.”
Again she catches me off guard, and I want to snort with laughter. She really has no idea –
Control is my middle name. I gaze at her. What I’d do to control you, baby…
“Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Swan,” I answer darkly.
Her eyes widen, her face flushes, and she bites down on that fucking lip again. It’s –
arousing. Why?
What is it about this girl?
I try and keep my thoughts on track – continuing
my thoughts on control.
“Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself, in your secret reveries, that you
were born to control things.”
Like I want to control you.
For fuck’s sake Cullen! You’ve
known her all of two minutes!
“Do you feel that you have immense power?”
My annoyance grows. Deep down I can pretend it’s her persistent questions to which she
should already know the answers. But really… it’s my own, unwelcome, response to her
that’s annoying me.
“I employ over fifty thousand people Miss Swan. That gives me a certain… sense of
responsibility. Of power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in the
telecommunications business and sell up, twenty five thousand people would struggle to
make their mortgage payments after a month or so…”
Her mouth pops open at my response. Suck it up, Miss Swan… I feel my equilibrium
returning.
“Don’t you have a board to answer to?”
I respond quickly. Another one she should know, and I raise my eyebrow at her.
“And do you have any interests outside of your work?” she continues, hastily, gauging my
reaction… she’s flustered again. I want to snort with laughter.
“I have varied interests, Miss Swan.” And I cannot help my smile. Oh, I would like to
acquaint you with my interests, baby… somehow I don’t think you’d be impressed. Images
of her in varying positions in my playroom come unbidden to my mind… shackled on the
cross, spread-eagled on the four-poster, splayed over the whipping bench. Fuck… Cullen,
control yourself! Fuck. There’s the flush again – it’s like a defense mechanism.
“But if you work so hard, what do you do to chill out?”
“Chill out?” I grin at her. What an expression! Does she have any idea of the number of
companies I’m running? And then it occurs to me: what
do
I do to chill out? Sailing… flying…
fucking… and beating the shit out of brown-haired girls like you. I answer her smoothly,
omitting my two favorite hobbies.
“You invest in manufacturing… why, specifically?”
Her question drags me back to the present.
“I like to build things. I like to know how things work, what makes things tick… how to
construct and deconstruct. And I have a love of ships… what can I say? They distribute food
round the planet. What’s not to like?
“That sounds like your heart talking, rather than logic and facts.”
Heart? Me? My heart was savaged beyond recognition a long time ago.
“Possibly… though some people I know would say I don’t have a heart.”
“Why would they say that?”
“Because they know me well,” I smile at her wryly. No-one knows me well – except Irina of
course. I wonder what she’d make of little Miss Swan here. The girl’s a mass of
contradictions – shy, uneasy, obviously bright… and arousing as hell. Yes, okay, I admit it –
I’d like to truss her up, flay her and fuck her. But it’s not going to happen.
“Would your friends say that you are easy to get to know?”
“I’m a very private person, Miss Swan, and I’ll go a long way to protect my privacy. I don’t
often give interviews…” Doing what I do, I have no choice.
“Why did you agree to do this interview?”
“Because I’m a benefactor of the university, and I couldn’t get Miss Hale off my back. She
badgered and badgered my PR people… and I admire that kind of tenacity.” And now I’m so
glad that you’ve turned up, and not Alec Hale’s daughter.
Plik z chomika:
daphne.mezereum
Inne pliki z tego folderu:
Jenny0719 - The Man Who Can't Be Moved.pdf
(1757 KB)
Love Ink Outtake.pdf
(108 KB)
Amethyst Jackson - The Learning Curve.pdf
(659 KB)
AwesomeSauce76 - The Single Game.pdf
(620 KB)
Clipped Wings and Inked Armor FGB Outtake-The Proposal 2.pdf
(3672 KB)
Inne foldery tego chomika:
txt
Zgłoś jeśli
naruszono regulamin