Confidential By wandb.pdf

Confidential By wandb

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6854722/1/

Prologue: Confession

It was late and the lights were all off, save a few, when I pulled into the parking

lot. I saw his car tucked off to the side of the lot and sighed in relief. Somehow I

just knew he'd come here.

The front door was locked, so I went around the back. I pulled my sweater

around my body to fight off the chill I felt, both from the cool night air and my

nerves. Something was off with him, and I wanted to find out what it was.

"Hello?" I yelled into the empty space. "Edward?"

I walked in, my heels clicking in an echo around the room as I closed the door

behind me. While the oil paintings and sculptures that occupied this space

provided serenity and calm during the daytime, at night they made me feel

watched.

I climbed the stairs and walked the narrow hallway to his office. The light was on

and cast a glow into the hallway.

His back was to me as I walked up, and his feet were propped up casually on his

desk. He had to have heard me coming given the echo of my shoes, but he said

nothing. I stood at the doorway, waiting for an invitation to come in, but it never

came.

He poured neat scotch into a short, engraved crystal glass and set the half empty

bottle loudly back down on the desk, taking a huge swig out of the glass.

"What are you doing here?" he finally asked. At least he was talking. It was a

start.

Edward's reaction earlier had surprised and annoyed me, and as always, I found

myself uncertain and desperate for answers. I was often in the dark with him -

something that infuriated and intrigued me in equal parts.

"I don't understand," I said softly, walking into the room. "Did I do something

wrong?"

He turned and looked at me, and if looks could kill, I would have been dust. "Did

you do something wrong?" He huffed and turned back around, shuddering slightly

as he emptied his glass.

"Won't you at least talk to me?" I didn't understand what I had done this time to

get him so angry with me.

He stood and walked closer to me; his balance was tenuous. He kept moving

closer, and I moved back unconsciously until I was flush against the wall. His

body was close, too close. I held my breath.

His thumb came up and grazed my cheek, his face serious and stoic, but still, he

said nothing. His breath was hot on my cheek, and I shivered under his touch.

"Where's Peter?" He wouldn't look me in the eyes.

"At home."

He nodded and walked back to his chair, sitting down again. My hand came up

and ghosted over my cheek where his fingers had been.

"Shouldn't you be with him?" Between his tender touch moments before and his

unmistakable vitriol, the puzzle was coming together. This was not about our

friendship.

I began to speak again, not liking the thickness of the silence between us. "He's

packing. He's leaving tomorrow." It wasn't a lie, nor was it the entire truth. I

knew I needed to tell him, but I couldn't form the words.

"Well, what a shame," he spat.

I walked over and knelt in front of him, my hands on his thighs. "It's not like that.

He's not who I want."

I tried desperately to get him to look at me, but he averted his gaze, looking

deep in thought.

I hung my head and repeated my words. "He's not who I want."

"Who do you want, Bella?" Edward asked flatly.

I was afraid to speak. I was afraid of saying the wrong thing and making a fool of

myself, but it was time to finally get my questions answered. If there was one

thing I'd learned in the last year, and even more so in the last few hours, it was

that not going after what I wanted was not an option.

Chapter 2: Harvest

Tonight was important. I needed to make an impression - a very good

impression. In a word, I needed to be dazzling.

Tonight was the Harvest Festival's Annual Ball. To most, that sounded like a nice

night out on the town, or a chance to get dressed up, but to me it was a critical

opportunity to get my name out there in the very competitive world of

restaurateurs in Napa Valley. The event was being held at one of the Valley's

oldest wineries and was world class from the food to the décor. All the who's who

of the Northern California food and wine industry would be there.

Those facts spinning around in my head had filled me with anxiety and

anticipation all afternoon. I had spent the better part of the day running to shoe

stores, dry cleaners and hair salons to make sure I looked the part tonight.

I'd just opened up my restaurant, Confidential, in St. Helena, right in the heart of

Napa Valley. It was the realization of my childhood dreams to be my own boss. It

was all I'd ever wanted.

I hadn't craved recognition when I became a chef, it just happened. I worked in

the top restaurants in New York after culinary school and quickly rose up the

ranks. I was "discovered" by the renowned chef Aro Volturi. He was known to

have a big ego and exacting standards. As his sous-chef, I learned all there was

to know about managing a menu in a five-star restaurant. It had been the

ultimate training ground.

The exposure to the high profile and competitive profession had taught me how

to attract investors and attention from people I needed, even if it wasn't really

my comfort zone. I wouldn't be intimidated or crack under pressure. I knew I had

the right team in place now at Confidential, and we would live up to big

expectations. If I could handle working under Aro, I could handle anything.

I never wanted anything pretentious, or to be the next celebrity chef. In fact, I

was happy to be away from the big city. Cooking was my passion, and I wanted

to share it with people and make them happy. I wanted to provide a place where

people could come and enjoy good food and drink in a pleasant and relaxing

atmosphere, and Confidential was just that.

I finally made it back to my house around three o'clock in the afternoon, which

only left me a few hours to get ready before my longtime friend and sous-chef

Alice picked me up.

I wanted to be taken seriously and look competent but not stuffy. I worked in a

very male dominated industry, and being a petite woman, especially being just

barely over thirty, made it difficult at times to stand out as competent. My entire

career I'd had to overcome stereotypes. People thought just by looking at me

that I was too fragile and young to be an Executive chef or to make difficult

business decisions, and as a result, I'd had to work hard to prove myself.

I utilized every last second I had perfecting my look. I'd even gone down to San

Francisco last weekend and purchased a gorgeous royal blue dress. It was knee

length silk with spaghetti straps and a satin trim in the same blue tone. I paired it

with strappy gold heels and simple gold jewelry. I pulled my long brown hair back

loosely into a chignon to make it look carefree when it was anything but that. I

wanted my look to be understated elegance.

The doorbell rang, and with one last glance in the mirror, I decided I was ready,

pleased with how my look came together.

"Be right there, Alice," I yelled as I ran through the house grabbing my purse and

my coat.

Alice looked stylish as always in a strapless dress with a white skirt and black lace

on top. It was short, but she had great legs and pulled it off easily. We

exchanged compliments, and then chatted on the way to the venue in her car.

The sounds of the band and the crowd were easily heard as we approached the

venue. The adrenaline pumped through me, making me anxious to get inside.

Tonight was a big deal, and I was extremely nervous. I'd never been shy and had

always made friends easily, and it came in handy in this business, especially at

times like this. I was expected to work crowds, and I was good at it. Making small

talk and conversing with strangers came easily to me. I was thankful I had Alice

with me as well; she always made a great impression on people.

"Okay, look at me," I said as we approached the entrance, turning Alice to face

me with both hands on her biceps. "This is big for us. You look like a million

bucks. You'll be fabulous. Now, take a deep breath and go in there and knock 'em

dead."

I sighed deeply and straightened my dress. "Okay, Alice. Let's do this."

With that, she smiled brightly and pulled me toward the door.

It was dusk, and the sky was a deep blue with fading shades of red and orange.

The party was in a large tent on the back patio of a beautiful brick building that

looked out into the vineyards. White twinkle lights strewn overhead delicately

illuminated the scene below. Each table had a tall flower arrangement with fall

colors abundant. The china and crystal were in their proper places. It was

stunning. I'd been to numerous events like it when I worked for Aro. This time,

however, the pressure was on me, not him. The distinction was palpable, but I

was ready for the challenge.

A waiter passed by, and I grabbed two glasses of champagne from his tray,

giving one to Alice and taking a quick sip of the other.

Just do what you do best, I thought to myself as I sighed heavily and

straightened my posture.

Alice pointed discreetly to a small group huddled by the bar. "I think I see Garrett

over there, so I should probably go say 'hi'. Will you be okay on your own?"

Garrett was Alice's former employer and Executive Chef at one of my competitor

restaurants. He was well respected in Napa, so even though Alice had been

unhappy working for him, ultimately leaving to work for me, it was necessary for

her not to burn that bridge. He had substantial influence in our industry.

I waved her off, not wanting to be a leech, but inside I felt my nerves turn in

knots in the pit of my stomach. I was a social person, but I'd never been in a

position before to sell my own product, and it was a whole new ballgame. I was

uncomfortable bragging about my restaurant and my skills, but it was critical to

my success. Even though I wasn't particularly fond of talking about myself so

much, I had to suck it up.

I moved through the crowd and mingled; happy the conversations flowed so

easily despite my nerves. I was elated to hear that people had heard good things

about my restaurant and even me as a chef. I knew the culinary world was a

small community, but it was still nice to hear compliments, and it definitely made

me feel more confident.

After making small talk and feeling generally exhausted from all the self-

promotion, I was thrilled to see Rosalie, our Sommelier, and one of the newest

additions to the Confidential team, sitting at a table at the front of the tent.

"Oh, thank God," I said as I sat down next to her and rubbed my aching feet,

subtly slipping my shoes back on before anyone noticed. "A familiar face."

She smiled and handed me her drink. "Here. You look lovely but a bit worse for

wear. You could probably use this more than me."

I nodded and returned her smile. "You have no idea. My feet are killing me."

"You should be really proud, Bella," Rosalie said, turning her body to face me.

"I've heard a lot of positive comments from the people I've talked to tonight.

There's a lot of really good buzz about Confidential. That's a great sign."

"Really? That's encouraging! I've heard some good things, too, but I'm trying to

keep it in perspective. Plus, I'm just a little starstruck in this room. There are

some heavy hitters here tonight. Unlike when I worked for Aro, this is all on me."

She put her hand on mine reassuringly. "Hey, you're one of the heavy hitters,

too, you know."

I sat back and relaxed slightly. It was weird to think of myself like that.

I was contemplating getting up and leaving the relative comfort of Rosalie's

company to mingle more when I saw him – the most beautiful person I'd ever

seen.

He was wearing a black tux, as were most men here tonight, but instead of

blending in, he stood out. He was tall, about six feet two inches, taller if you

counted his perfectly tousled bronze hair. He was laughing and talking to a young

couple, and his smile was absolutely breathtaking.

I had no idea who he was or what I was going to say, but I wanted to talk to him,

if for no other reason than to have an excuse to get a closer look. For a split

second I felt guilty thinking like that when I had a boyfriend in New York three

thousand miles away, but I talked myself out of it, telling my conscience it was all

about business.

I hardly took my eyes off him as I squeezed by people to get closer. I was polite

and smiled as I brushed past people I knew I should stop and talk to, in favor of

meeting the handsome man on the other side of the room.

At one point, his eyes caught mine and his smile fell. His beautiful pouty lips

parted slightly, and then his jaw tensed as if he had seen something upsetting. I

looked around me to see if something or someone had caused a scene but quickly

deduced the look was for me. He had no reason I was aware of to dislike me, so I

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