Candy Hearts and Red Roses By Aylah50.pdf

Candy Hearts and Red Roses By Aylah50

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6743846/1/

"Flower delivery for Ms. Hale," our receptionist's voice blared through the

intercom at my cubicle.

"Another one?" Angela asked, leaning back in her chair and looking over at me in

disbelief.

I stared at the phone, wishing I could have punched the stupid thing. This was

the fourth delivery this week for our Life and Style Director, Rosalie Hale. It was

only Tuesday, and Valentine's Day was still three days away.

"You want me to grab this one?" my other co-worker, Jake, asked. He didn't mind

picking up things for Rosalie; for him, it was just another way to kiss her ass.

"No, I'll do it," I huffed, pushing back in my chair. As I marched to the front desk,

I cursed myself once again on my inability to leave my stupid job.

I'd moved out to New York City two years before with a degree from Medill at

Northwestern University. My plan was to become a serious journalist. I wanted to

work for an intelligent magazine, like The New Yorker or Vanity Fair, and

hopefully, someday become a Literary Editor or Research Director.

When I'd gotten hired as an Editorial Assistant at The Guard, I'd been ecstatic.

The magazine covered everything from politics, to business, culture, and society.

While it still had the necessary focus on style and celebrities, the features and

columns were well written. Even though the job was low on the totem pole, it was

still a foot in the door and I was beyond excited to start.

I had hoped to be involved in the editing and proofing process, helping to decide

on content, maybe even passing on important ideas up to higher-ranking staff

members. Instead, more often than not, I'd ended up making copies, filing, and

arranging Ms. Hale's beauty appointments.

Jake and Angela were my fellow assistants, and we'd become close friends.

Together, we did just about anything and everything that all the editors wanted.

This week, it was collecting Rosalie's Valentine gifts from reception.

"Here you go, Bella," said Betty Cope, our receptionist, as she nodded toward a

massive bouquet of flowers in a glass vase waiting on the hutch of her desk. I

couldn't help but sigh as I saw them: they were exquisite, as were all the others

he'd already sent. This one, however, was a perfect arrangement of long-

stemmed, pale pink roses.

I'd never gotten roses for Valentine's Day in my entire life.

"That Mr. McCarty is a real keeper! He can't help but spoil Ms. Hale rotten, can

he?" Betty asked, smiling.

I tried to hide my grimace as I lifted the immensely heavy glass. "Yup," I

sputtered, the leaves on the stems hitting me in the face. "She sure is a lucky

one."

Rosalie was dating New York Giants superstar Emmett McCarty. He was filthy

rich, completely handsome, and spoiled her rotten. They'd met at the Sundance

Film Festival in January, and ever since then, he'd been showering her with gifts

and expensive nights out. Since the approach of Valentine's Day, it had gotten

even worse, with daily deliveries for her, sometimes more than one.

I really didn't mean to seem jealous; from what I'd seen of Mr. McCarty the few

times he'd come by the office, he really was a great guy. Even though he was a

huge football player, he was kind of like a giant teddy bear, and it was obvious

that he was completely in love with Rosalie, even though they'd only known each

other a few weeks. The way he looked at her made my heart ache a little; I was

desperate for someone to look at me that way.

Unfortunately, that someone never would.

It was the words of that someone that had incited me to apply to work at The

Guard; his Editor's note was brilliant, cultured, and scholarly. He was the reason

I'd stayed in this ridiculous job, passing up opportunities to transfer to other

magazines where the assistants had more responsibilities and room for growth.

He was Edward Cullen, Editor in Chief of The Guard. He was publishing royalty;

his father, Carlisle Cullen, was the C.E.O. of the entire publishing house. Edward

was incredibly intelligent, well-spoken and friendly, polished, refined,

professional; everything I wanted in a man. He also was possibly the most

gorgeous creature I'd ever seen in real life.

And he was, without a doubt, completely out of my league.

I'd had no idea when I applied to work there that an inhumanly beautiful man

wrote the words I'd fallen in love with every month. When I'd first read it, I'd

assumed that the head of the magazine was someone much older. But when I'd

discovered during my first interview that he was actually a twenty-seven year old

Harvard graduate, with sexy tousled hair and the most incredible eyelashes I'd

ever seen on a man, I'd nearly fallen off my chair.

And there I was, nearly a year and a half later, doing the most menial tasks

imaginable because I had developed the most ridiculously pathetic crush on

Edward Cullen, and didn't want to work anywhere else.

Carefully walking back down the hallway, I gripped the vase tightly with both

hands and tried not to run into anyone. I had a horrible reputation of tripping

over my own feet at the office, and really didn't want to end up ass down in a pile

of roses and thorns.

Turning the corner into the doorway to Rosalie's office, I paused, listening to see

if she was on the phone or in a meeting.

"Yes, that will be perfect!" I heard her say. Inching my way forward into the

office, I pushed the door open with my elbow and held the flowers precariously in

my hands.

I was barely able to see through the spray of baby's breath in front of my face,

but observed that she was perched daintily in her luxurious black office chair, her

phone held in one hand. The other was held out for her manicurist, who was

carefully applying a coat of pale pink polish.

Rosalie Hale was truly one of the most beautiful women in the publishing

business, if not in the entire city. Her skin was tanned to a warm glow even in the

depths of winter, her hair had the perfect balance of silkiness and volume.

Rosalie's clothes were impeccable: always couture, the height of fashion. Her

hazel eyes were always shaded with perfectly applied makeup, and she had a

figure I would kill for.

I felt like a troll just standing in the same room as her. I was dressed, as I always

was at work, in my business-casual skirt and blouse. I glanced down at my pale

skin, my dark brown hair that would never behave no matter how much I tried to

style it. I always wanted to look sexy, but didn't have the fashion sense or guts to

wear what was on the runways.

"Okay, see you then!" Rosalie blew fake kisses into the phone before hanging up,

and I rolled my eyes, glad that my face was hidden.

"Make sure you put the fast-dry coat on," Rose ordered her manicurist. "I don't

want to mess them up when I go lunch."

I knew from having to manage Rosalie's schedule that she was speaking of a

luncheon celebrating a new exhibit launching at The Museum of Modern Art. As

the Life and Style Director, she was always going to publicity events like that, but

preferred the parties and club openings where she could be photographed with

celebrities and fashion icons. If she didn't leave soon, she was going to be late,

so I cleared my throat, announcing my presence.

"Are those for me?" Rosalie squealed.

Well, maybe not my presence, but certainly the monstrosity I was carrying.

"Yes, Ms. Hale. Another delivery from Mr. McCarty," I reported quickly, her face

barely visible to me through all the petals.

"Set it on my desk, will you, Bella?" she asked, blowing on her nails once her

manicurist had switched hands.

Taking a few tentative steps toward the desk, I lowered the vase, only to be at a

total loss as to where to place this delivery. The entire surface was covered with

bowls of peonies and tulips, surrounded by tiny votive candles, as well as mini

bottles of champagne and perfume.

"Um…where?" I inquired blankly.

"Oh, just find a spot somewhere," she replied in a bored tone of voice, studying

her fingers. I held in my sigh and scanned her desk, searching for a way to fit yet

another floral arrangement.

Tasks like this were one of the reasons I hated my job. Jake and Angela had been

on the staff before I'd arrived; the third assistant spot had opened when their

previous coworker got promoted. The two of them had gently dashed my hopes

on day one; explaining how the Editorial Assistants at The Guard tended to the

needs of all the editors, save for the ones that had their own personal assistants.

"Ms. Hale?" a voice from behind me chirped.

Speak of the kitten-heeled devil.

Jessica Stanley, Edward's assistant, was standing in the doorway to Rosalie's

office. She was a snotty bitch who paraded around the office with Lauren Mallory,

Assistant to the Managing Editor, Jasper Whitlock. The two of them, as well as

the other assistants, treated Jake, Angela and me like crap, occasionally handing

us the work they didn't have time for. But that wasn't the reason I hated Jessica.

"Mr. Cullen is ready to go to the opening. He asked that you meet him at his

office in five minutes," Jessica announced.

That was why I hated her.

As the Editor in Chief's Assistant, Jessica was privy to every single thing Edward

did, and gloated about it endlessly. I was pretty sure she wanted to sleep with

him, but just in an attempt to worm her way into a better job. She was too

shallow to really care for Edward. Not like I did.

Never gonna happen, I reminded myself, and resumed my task of finding an

uncovered spot for the bouquet, which was quickly becoming heavier in my arms

by the minute.

"Ugh, are they dry yet, Maria?" Rosalie whined to her manicurist. "Jessica, tell Mr.

Cullen I'll be right there."

"Yes, Ms. Hale." Jessica scampered off, not acknowledging me at all, as usual.

"Okay, I've got to run!" Rosalie jumped up quickly, practically knocking me over,

and I backed out of her way, nearly dropping the stupid glass on the floor. Finally

finding a spot for them, I listened to Rosalie rattle off some tasks for me to do

while she was out of the office.

Once she'd finally slid into her coat, she dashed out into the hallway. I peeked

around the corner of her door, watching her run toward Edward's corner office in

a fabulous pair of Christian Loboutins.

How does she run in those? I wondered. I can barely walk in my flats without

falling down.

Chewing my lip, I gazed down at my comfortable, boring shoes; I'd never worn

anything sexy to work, not even once. I didn't think it was appropriate, and I

shuddered to think what an embarrassment I could make of myself in heels.

I made my way back to the area where my desk was, in the center of the office

where all the editors could bark instructions at us. Slowly sinking into my chair, I

watched as Rosalie and Edward stepped out of his office, discussing something.

My heart spasmed in my chest, as it always did whenever I laid eyes on him.

Today, Edward was wearing a black button down with matching pants, the only

splash of color being a green and blue tie that picked up the glittering hue of his

eyes. He'd let the beginnings of a beard grow in, and a soft layer of stubble was

accentuating his chiseled jaw. My fingers twitched as I imagined what it might

feel like to touch his skin.

As he and Rose passed by us, Edward glanced in our direction and I gasped

softly, feeling the shockwave at meeting his eyes start in my stomach and

ricochet down between my legs. I crossed them quickly, attempting to squeeze

away the lustful ache that had become my constant companion. Once they were

out of sight, I buried my face in my hands.

"Ohh, poor Bella!" Angela cooed, reaching out to rub my head affectionately. "So

hopeless."

"Don't remind me," I groaned.

"Rosalie's shoes are incredible," Jake murmured, causing me to lift my head and

stare at him. He gazed back at me, smiling. "What? They are!"

I laughed and Angela just shook her head. Jake was very much out of the closet,

and simply loved working for Rosalie. He said he always got the best fashion tips

from her.

"He looked so….just…unf!" I cried softly, turning to look at Angela, who simply

smiled and shrugged. She was dating an I.T. guy named Ben who worked

downtown, and pitied me for my hopeless crush on our boss.

"Never gonna happen," Jake teased in a high-pitched voice, echoing my thoughts

from before.

Suddenly, we heard the familiar sound of a fist banging against a desk nearby.

"Where the hell are those mock-ups from advertising?" the Art Director shouted

from his office. Giving each other knowing glances, the three of us got back to

work.

Later that night, I threw my jacket over the couch in my living room and slumped

down onto the soft cushions.

"Rough day?" my roommate and best friend, Alice, asked me from the floor

where she was stretching out her legs. She was a dancer, and was currently in

rehearsal for a small production of Romeo and Juliet. The two of us had met when

we were nine years old, at our ballet class back in Forks, Washington.

While I was only attending the class at the urges of my mother, who hoped it

would make me less clumsy and awkward, Alice was a natural, pirouetting across

the floor with perfect grace. I'd dropped out once we were old enough to advance

to pointe, but Alice had continued, quickly discovering that dance was her

passion.

She'd already been out in New York when we'd both graduated college, having

received her M.F.A. from Julliard. When she told me she was looking for a

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