Disclaimer – Original characters belong to Stephenie Meyer, plot lines and characetrisations all belong to Aurora18, copyright November 2015.

New Story everybody! This one has the potential to be long but we'll see, let me know how you like it.

Summary: A man who desperately needs to be shown some love and care and a woman who has been so long without either that she has forgotten how to be.

Chapter 1

BPOV

"Can you imagine how monumentally fucked I would be if I actually needed an assistant? Are there no useful people left in this city?" I raise an eyebrow but struggle not to snarl at my Chief of Staff.

Jasper had persuaded me, I probably wasn't listening when he first suggested it and just nodded instead, to see some candidates for an assistant position. The little rat had gotten a look at my latest blood results showing that I was anaemic and taken it upon himself to try and help me out.

No chance.

"I thought that some of them might have potential."

"Well maybe you did but they were all terrible, abysmal really. There's no place for them here."

"Yes ma'am."

Jasper wasn't a friend, I didn't really have any of those but he was definitely a good acquaintance, and we'd worked together for the past five years which meant that he at least knew most of the ways to keep me from getting too annoyed with everyone. That, I appreciated.

"You're not a machine Isabella, you have to-"

"Jasper Whitlock I don't have to anything, and no, I'm not a machine, but I am the captain at the helm of the most profitable and popular fashion magazine around the world. I couldn't do this without a single person in this brilliant organization but I do not need help to do my job."

"Yes ma'am."

Damn straight, I've worked tirelessly and endlessly to get to where I am at thirty two years old. Being Editor of The Magazine isn't easy, but I'm bloody good at it and I love my job.

"Now let's forget any idea of me getting an assistant."

"Of course, I'll be in my office if you need me."

"Thank you Jasper."

I brush invisible lint from my pressed black, always black, pantsuit and review the December issue with my final comments before we send to print. It's different, that's for sure. I thought I'd vomit if I saw another model with berry lips on a winter cover so I took the White Christmas theme to a new level and added electric neon colours in the makeup and accessories to models otherwise dressed entirely in white.

If I had an idea about where the industry wanted to lead all of the magazines I purposely turned it around the other way. Being told what to do and having my independence over-shadowed was something I promised myself I'd never allow to happen again.

Fairly satisfied, but knowing I'd end up taking the copy home with me to review anyway; I placed several calls to the stylists to have a set built for two days time. I wanted to re-shoot some of the smaller campaigns in a bolder, less subtle way.

No matter how small a feature something had in my magazine, it always made an impact.

I pack my things and head out of the office three hours later, it's dark and cold outside and my chest pulls slightly at the thought that it will be no different when I enter my apartment, alone as always.

EPOV

I see her again and I'm reminded that if I think I'm cold now, it's tropical compared to the icy expression on her face as she gives succinct one-word answers to the poor bastard on the other end of the line. I'm pretty sure I'd piss my pants if she ever looked at me, which let's face it – she never would, but at the same time, I can't look away.

She's bewitching, in a way that I don't think I've ever seen on anyone else before, beautiful for sure but also undeniably sad, and angry. I don't think I've ever been so intrigued by or isolated from a stranger in my life. Surely she has a man, or someone, at home to make her smile because I've sure as hell never seen her express anything like happiness as she walks to and from work everyday

Don't get me wrong, I don't obsess over her or anything like that, but when your days are endless and empty like mine then you start noticing small things more and more until eventually they become part of your routine.

Like the guy who kisses his pregnant wife on the lips as he leaves for work and then waits until he's almost around the corner before he slips his wedding ring from his finger and tucks it right into his left hand blazer pocket. Scumbag. Obviously I don't know for sure but I'd wager that he's cheating on that poor woman. I fantasize about fucking with his routine sometimes and snapping a picture of him in the act and showing his wife but then, who does that help? It just goes to show how miserable street life is making me.

Every time I see the old man across the street stroll two blocks and back to get the paper for his wife, I'm struck with more of those pangs of longing. When exactly am I going to meet someone whose paper I can fetch, or who I can kiss on the lips before I leave for work, without, you know, the being a scumbag part.

As soon as I think of pangs my brain turns to hunger pangs and I'm back to my normal 90% of the time state. Hungry. Except as I lean back to rearrange my frigid and achy-as-fuck legs from the awkward crouch/sitting position I was in I notice the packs of sandwiches lying in the hood of my coat I hope someone will drop change in so I can go get myself some food. This means I can put my heavy parka on and scoff as much carbohydrate goodness as humanly possible and start to get warm.

Unfortunately I'm too busy stuffing my face to see the lips of a certain brown haired beauty lift as she turns the corner out of my sight, gone for another day.

So what did we think?

All opinions, questions and constructive criticism welcome.

Happy Thursday!

-Aurora