It’s the second chapter of MOTU from Edward’s 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.

“You also invest in farming technologies… Why are you interested in this area?”

“We can’t eat money, Miss Swan, and there are too many people on this planet who don’t
have enough to eat.” I stare at her impassively. No way am I going into this dark area of my
life.

“That sounds very philanthropic. Is that something you feel passionately about? Feeding the
world’s poor?”

I shrug. Better bluff your way out of this, Cullen. “It’s shrewd business.”

Frowning at me skeptically, a little v forms on her brow. I’d like to kiss it… after I’ve fucked
that mouth… yes. That mouth needs training.

“Do you have a philosophy? If so, what is it?”

“I don’t have a philosophy as such… maybe a guiding principle, Carnegie’s: ‘A man who
acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind may take possession of anything
else to which he is justly entitled.’ I’m very singular – driven. I like control… of myself and
those around me.”

“So you want to possess things…”

Yes I do, baby. You, for one. The thought is very appealing. I imagine her on her knees
before me… Cullen! Not Going To Happen.

“I want to deserve to possess them… but yes, bottom line… I do.”

I could really take care of you.

“You sound like the ultimate consumer.”

I know what I’d like to consume. Shit, I need a new sub… it’s been what? Three weeks since
Annette left? And look at me – I’m a mess, over this brown-haired girl. I try a smile and
agree with her.

“You were adopted… how far do you think that’s shaped the way you are?”

What the fuck has this got to do with the price of oil? I can feel my frown. What a ridiculous
question… if I’d stayed with the crack-whore I’d probably be dead. I fob her off with a non-
answer answer, trying to keep my voice level. But she pushes me on the subject, wanting to
know my age. Shut her down, Cullen…

“This is all a matter of public record, Miss Swan.” My voice is stern… she looks contrite.
Good.

“You’ve had to sacrifice a family life for your work.”

“That’s not a question,” I snap, and glower at her. Fucking hell…!

She flushes again, and bites down on that damned lip. Now I’d really like to fuck her mouth
– that would shut her up. She has the grace to apologize.

“Have you had to sacrifice a family life for your work?”

What would I want with fucking family?

“I have a family. I have a brother and a sister and two loving parents. I’m not interested in
extending my family beyond that.”

“Are you gay, Mr Cullen?”

I inhale sharply – I cannot believe she’s asked me that… the unspoken question that hovers
over me where my family are concerned – much to my amusement. How dare she? I want
to drag her out of her seat, bend her across my knee and spank the living shit out of her,
then fuck her over my desk, with her hands tied tightly behind her back – that would answer
her question. How frustrating is this female? I take a deep calming breath… and notice that
she’s acutely embarrassed by her own question. I feel a vindictive delight.

“No Isabella, I’m not.” I raise my eyebrows at her but keep my expression impassive.
Isabella… it’s a lovely name. I like the way my tongue rolls round it.

“I apologize… it’s, err… written here…” Hastily, nervously, she tucks her hair behind her ear.

She doesn’t know her own questions…? Perhaps they’re not hers. I ask her, drinking her in…
she really is very attractive. Beautiful even.

“Err… no… Rose… Miss Hale – she compiled the questions.”

“Are you colleagues on the student paper?”

“No… she’s my room-mate.”

I have to resist the urge to laugh. No wonder she’s all over the place. I scratch my chin as I
debate whether or not to give her a really, really hard time.

“Did you volunteer to do this interview?”

And I’m rewarded with her submissive look, all dark eyes and wary, nervous about my
reaction. Good to know I unnerve her too.

“I was drafted… She’s not well,” she says softly.

“That explains a great deal.”

There’s a knock at the door, and Angela interrupts us.

“Mr Cullen – forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes.”

“We’re not finished here, Angela. Please cancel my next meeting.”

Angela hesitates, gazing at me. She’s stunned. I stare at her – Out! Now! She flushes
scarlet. Shit… I don’t want another one reduced to tears and off. But she seems to recover
herself.

“Very well, Mr Cullen,” she mutters, and exits.

I turn my attention back to the intriguing creature on my couch.

“Where were we, Miss Swan?”

“Err… please don’t let me keep you from anything.”

But it’s my turn now… see if I can uncover any of the secrets hidden in her dark eyes.

“I want to know about you, Miss Swan. I think that’s only fair.” As I lean forward her eyes
widen slightly. Oh yes – the usual effect. Nice to know she’s not oblivious to my charms.

“There’s not much to know,” she says, flushing again. Lord, I intimidate her.

“What are your plans after you graduate?”

She shrugs slightly. “I haven’t made any plans Mr Cullen, I just need to get through my final
exams.”

“We run an excellent internship program here.”

Fuck. Where are you going with this Cullen? Breaking a golden rule – never, ever fuck with
the staff. She looks surprised, and her teeth sink into that lip again. It’s so arousing… Why?
I shift uncomfortably.

“Oh… I’ll bear that in mind,” she murmurs quietly, adding as an afterthought, “Though I’m
not sure I’d fit in here…”

Why the hell not? What’s wrong with my company? I ask straight out.

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“Not to me,” I murmur – lost in her dark gaze. She’s all flustered again and she reaches for
the minidisk. Shit, she’s going…

“Would you like me to show you round?”

Mentally I run through my schedule for this afternoon, nothing that won’t keep.

“I’m sure you’re far too busy, Mr Cullen, and I do have a long drive.”

What? She’s come all the way from Portland? She should be staying the night… I could
certainly find a place for her to sleep.

“You’re driving back to Portland?” I glance quickly out of the window. It’s one hell of a drive
and it’s raining. “Well, you’d better drive carefully.” Why the fuck should I care? She wants
out – and quite right too. What the hell could I offer her?

“Did you get everything you need?” I add in an effort to prolong her stay.

“Yes sir…” she says quietly. Her response floors me – the way those words sound, coming
out of that smart mouth. Briefly the image of what I’d like to do to that mouth flits through
my mind, annoying and angering me. It ain’t gonna happen, Cullen!

“Thank you for letting me interview you, Mr Cullen.”

“The pleasure’s been all mine,” I respond truthfully. I haven’t felt this fascinated by anyone
in a long while, or this aroused – ever. The thought is unsettling, and the tempting image of
her, bound and wanting, intrudes on my consciousness again.

She stands. Mirroring her actions I hold out my hand, eager for the contact with her skin.

“Until we meet again, Miss Swan,” I murmur, my voice low, and she places her small hand in
mine. This time, I feel a weird connection… Yes – I want this girl – preferably in my
playroom. I swallow quickly, trying to suppress my very physical reaction to her touch.

“Mr Cullen.” She nods at me, and I break the hold, moving to open the door.

Shit… I cannot let her leave with the upper hand. It’s obvious that she wants out as quickly
as possible. Irritation and inspiration hits me simultaneously.

“I’m just ensuring you make it through the door, Miss Swan.”

On cue she flushes her delicious rosy pink – and again I wonder what her skin would look like
heated from the harsh sting of a cane.

“Well, that’s very considerate,” she snaps at me.

Miss Swan has teeth! As she exits I grin behind her, and follow in her wake. Both Angela
and Jessica look up in shock. Yeah, yeah – I’m just seeing the girl out.

“Did you have a coat?” I ask.

“Yes.”

I glare at Jessica who immediately leaps up and retrieves a navy coat. Lord… this woman
should be better dressed. I take the coat from Jessica, surprising her again, and giving her

my ‘I’ve got this’ look. I hold it up for Miss Swan – though if I had my choice, I’d be
undressing rather than dressing her. As I pull it over her slim shoulders, I touch her skin
briefly, and she stills at the contact. Yes… she’s affected by me – I am ridiculously pleased by
the thought. Strolling over to the elevator I press the call button, while she stands fidgeting
beside me. Oh, I could so stop you fidgeting, baby. The doors open and in she shoots,
turning to face me.

“Isabella,” I murmur in farewell.

“Edward,” she replies, and the elevator doors close… and my name on her lips, sounds odd –
unfamiliar – but sexy as hell… Well, fuck me. What was that? I need to know more about
this girl.

“Angela,” I snap as I head back into my office. “Get me Jenks on the line, now.”

As I sit at my desk waiting for the call I gaze at the office paintings. And Miss Swan’s words
drift back to me: ‘Raising the ordinary to extraordinary’. She could so easily have been
talking about herself.

My phone buzzes.

“Jenks, I need a background check.”