A/N: Wow. I wrote the first chapter of this story over four years ago. Before I even graduated high school. My life has been hectic the last four years, but I'm looking to write an original book. What better way to get back into the swing of writing than to add onto a fan fiction?

Chapter 2: His Proposal

How Alice could drink all night and still wake up the next morning, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, is beyond my comprehension. She was positively glowing as she recounted, in detail, her night with Jasper. I was happy for her, really. But I was growing more and more sexually frustrated with every day that passed, and her tales of being tied to the bed with her own underwear were getting on my nerves.

We took the same cab across town, and went our separate ways when we pulled up in front of the New York Times building. I waved to Alice as she rode off in the cab and jetted across the street to the coffee shop. As I waited for the barista to make my daily caramel macchiato, my thoughts drifted to Mr. Cullen. I desperately longed to run my fingers through his silky auburn hair.

What was with him complimenting me lately, anyway? I mean, I've worked there for a year now and exchanged maybe a total of 300 words with him in that time. Now all of a sudden, he's complimenting my work?

I looked out of the window and across the street to where Mr. Cullen was stepping out of the back seat of his black Cadillac. His driver drove off and I saw Mr. Cullen run his hands through his shaggy hair. Oh God, just what I was fantasizing doing to him. I bit my lip to repress my carnal thoughts, and the barista broke me from my reverie. "Is there anything else I can get for you?"

I shook my head and began pulling my wallet out of my purse, wondering to myself what kind of coffee Mr. Cullen would drink. He was tall and strong, never sugar coated anything. Always ambitious. Lascivious. I handed the girl a twenty and before I knew what I was thinking, I blurted out, "I'd also like a tall espresso. Plain."

"WHAT?" my mind screamed. What was I doing? He would think I was just brown-nosing. Sucking up to the boss. Or maybe he would see it as a kind gesture and give me some leniency on that picture deadline… I grabbed my change and both coffees and strode, head held high into the office building. I was trying to maintain confidence in myself, though I felt it waivering slightly as the elevator doors opened.

I didn't make it all the way to 's office because, much to my chargin, Mr. Cullen was sitting at my desk, eyeing a photo of me at age eight. He looked up and smiled widely as I approached. "Mr…Mr. Cullen, what-?"

"Swan, what is that heavenly smell?" he asked, though something told me he was not talking about the coffee.

"Espresso? Black?"

He raised a brow. "You strike me as more of a flavored coffee kind of person. Sugary and sweet." He licked his bottom lip here (he freaking LICKED HIS LIP—something I so desperately want to do), and asked, "Who might the other one be for?"

I felt my chest flush and the blood burning in my cheeks as I stuttered, "I-I thought…Well…I…"

I just held the espresso at arms' length and he grinned once more. "Brown-nosing, Swan?" and he took the coffee.

I must have looked mortified at this point, because he rolled his eyes at me. "Really, Isabella, take a joke. Thank you for the coffee. Oh, and see me in my office after work. Promptly at five."

And he strode off. I stared after him, my mouth agape. What could he want? And how in the hell was I going to finish developing the photos for the "Going Green" piece if he wants to see me at five? I was seriously considering pulling an all nighter tonight. I sighed and set my briefcase and purse on my desk. I hung my coat on the back of my chair and set to work on my side project about the FDNY for this Saturday's paper.

The day went quickly and I delved into my work, not even stopping for a lunch break. I was only distracted when I heard a thundering, "SWAN, MY OFFICE! NOW!"

I jumped and looked around. All of the nine-to-fivers were gone and only the over-night shift was left. Matilda, an elderly woman who edited obituaries, gave me a sympathetic look. I cleared my throat and got up. Miraculously avoiding tripping, I entered Mr. Cullen's office.

He was seated behind his desk, feet crossed on top of the mahogany. His hands were crossed in front of him and he was giving me a miffed look. "Close the door behind you."

I did as told. I gulped and walked to his desk, like a child going to the principal's office. He looked so intimidating sitting behind his expansive desk. He waved a hand at the chair. "Have a seat."

He was so bossy. "No, I think I'll stand, thanks."

He raised an eyebrow at me. Clearly he was not used to a woman challenging his request. I held my ground as I mentally crumpled under his steady gaze. "Ms. Swan, I do not appreciate being stood up."

My eyes darted to the clock on the wall. Five-fifteen. I cleared my throat. "I do apologize, Mr. Cullen. I was just so absorbed in my work," it all sounded like one long sentence.

He nodded appreciatively. "I can understand that."

He was not cutting to the chase, and I really needed to get back to work again. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I have really noticed a change in your work. Your photos, they've gone from the mediocre portraits of a scared college graduate, to real work of art," he said, standing now and walking around to my side of the desk.

I was stupefied. Another compliment? What's he getting at? I managed to mumble a thank you. He leaned against the edge of his desk and crossed his arms. "You are a great asset to this newspaper."

I nodded and he continued. "The reason I asked you to my office was not to butter you up and shower you with compliments, though I have quite a few more. I asked you in here to see if you'd accompany me to dinner."

I was dumbfounded and I could feel my jaw hanging open. "What are you getting at, Mr. Cullen?"

He blinked at me and furrowed his brow. I noticed the line that formed between his two eyebrows as he frowned. "Ms. Swan, you are a beautiful, bright girl. I happen to like beautiful, bright girls. I would like to talk more about you're project."

I shook my head. Was he asking me out because he thought I was attractive? Or because he wanted to discuss work, as colleagues. I was having a mental argument with myself about the possibilities and when I looked up at him, he was grinning a lop-sided grin. "So, how about it, Isabella?"

God, he made my legs weak when his velvety voice said my name. How about it? Did I want to waste my time on this famed player? Did I want to get wrapped up in him, only to have him discard me like next week's trash? Damn right I did. Because I'm lonely, desperate and horny enough to lower my standard's this one time. As long as I told myself that this was only a fling, that I did would not gain me a higher position in the newspaper, and that I could not get attached.

I nodded slowly, blushing as I did. "Sure. But I don't expect anything out of it. Like a raise or anything. The coffee this morning really was a nice gesture. Nothing else."

He laughed heartily. "I know. So, if you'd go get your stuff we can be on our way."

I nearly choked on my own saliva. "We're-we're going tonight?"

He laughed again. "Well, aren't you hungry?"

"No," I lied. My belly growled traitorously. "Yes. But-but I'm not dressed nicely. I've got a lot of work to do, I-I…"

"You're making up excuses, Isabella. You look fine, very cosmopolitan. And I'm the boss and I say it can wait. Now, would you like to eat, or not?"

He was growing impatient, and I could feel my opportunity slipping away. "All right. But no where ostentatious. I'm horribly under-dressed for a date."

"A date? Is that what this is?" he asked, smirking once again.