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This is Bella’s story from the same day.
~*~
Bella Swan was not having a good day.
Scratch that, this was the worst day of her life.
It had not looked promising when she had braved the early morning drizzle for her daily run. As she ran it subsequently became a torrential downpour – the type that she had left behind in Forks, or so she had hoped – resulting in a slow time and several near broken ankles on the slippery grass.
It had looked foreboding when the heel of her favourite pair of slate grey pumps snapped as she walked down the stairs – another near miss for her unfortunate ankles. After she realized that there was no milk for her cereal, she began to curse the gods for choosing today of all days for everything to go wrong.
But, Bella was determined to not let anything get the best of her today. She needed to stay calm and level-headed. She was going to need all her faculties about her today. Calm and level-headed. It was her mantra today.
~*~
First on Bella’s agenda for the day was a press conference on behalf of the White House. It was purely a formality that was insisted upon, despite the fact that only a handful of people ever attended and even then the majority were bored rookies looking for the experience. Nothing got more on her nerves than when they snapped their gum and left their cell phones on loud. They had no respect for the integrity of White House media.
As she contemplated their blank stares and slack jaws, she struggled to maintain the tranquillity she had tried to muster on her morning commute. Calm and level-headed, she told herself again. Calm and level-headed.
At precisely nine in the morning she faithfully delivered her speech, displaying none of the irritability or boredom she felt. It was a skill that her colleagues admired her for and one that had made her one of the most sought after press and media experts in the industry.
It had surprised everyone when Bella had announced her intentions to study media and communications at college. They had not expected shy, quiet Bella to last five minutes under the spotlight of a camera, a recorder shoved up her nose.
But it was exactly there where Bella was in her element.
During the first public speaking class of her degree, the professor had, in an attempt to weed out the kids who were obviously way over their heads, picked on a petite brown-haired girl deliberately not making eye contact, and asked her to deliver a pre-prepared speech. Bella would not admit to anyone that even she had surprised herself when a wholly different Bella emerged when she took to the lecture and delivered the printed words in front of her with confidence and conviction.
The suitably taken aback professor had commended her and held her up as an example for the rest of the class. While she had body-blushed a flaming red as she took her seat, the experience had set her pulse on fire and the adrenaline pumping through her body. To this day, it was a high that she never got over.
From then on, Bella used her shyness to her advantage. Just as she had during that first class, she was often under-estimated and looked over, but when people saw her in front of the camera, they simply could not look away. She was captivating while managing to remain neutral on complex issues, could pull off any look and set the tone for any media appearance with ease.
After graduating college with honours, Bella was offered a job with the local mayor’s office where she thrived. By the next election she had worked her way to the top and successfully headed the press department, contributing majorly to his return to office. During her time with the mayor, she realized that it was within political media where she really wanted to work.
When she felt she could do no more in Boston, she moved herself to Washington D.C., which is, of course, the heart of American politics and its press.
As she returned to her office in the West Wing, Bella contemplated the rest of her day. She would be attending the traditional lunch with the current outgoing President and White House staff. She had been asked to deliver a short speech detailing her time with the President; it was a great honour and she had spent a long time constructing a spiel that she thought was both touching and humorous.
Later, she had to visit the vying political parties before they moved their operations to the White House for the final count. She needed to brief their Chiefs of Staff on the procedure should their candidate win, and also the procedure should their candidate lose. There would be nothing worse than the next morning’s headlines screaming about a sore loser lashing out instead of an inspiring picture of the happy, waving new President.
Then, she would return to the White House and watch the broadcast of the final count until the name of the new President of the United States was announced. There would be a quick press conference congratulating the new President she would have to deliver but afterwards, her work would primarily entail preparation for the incoming President and his arrival.
And depending on the outcome of the night, Bella doubted that his arrival would be something she would be looking forward to.
~*~
The magic of Bella’s mantra was lessening. It hadn’t helped when the first candidate, James Hunter, had given her the sleaziest of looks and suggestive remarks that had made her skin crawl, and then when the chauffeured car blew out a tyre. Just fucking great, she had thought to herself.
As the car approached Tudor Place in Georgetown, anxiety began to take over. That made Bella pissed. Why should she feel anxious and nervous about seeing him? He was a good-for-nothing douche who didn’t deserve the time of her day, let alone America’s.
She began recounting the reasons she had to hate him and by the time they stopped outside the crowded gates, Bella was fuming; her mantra long forgotten. As she pushed her way through the enthusiastic supporters, her anger flared as they cheered and catcalled excitedly for the very man that she hated with a passion.
Bella stopped outside the front steps and scrolled through her iPhone contacts until she reached Jasper Whitlock, her PR and Media contact within the Democratic Party. Just as she was about to press ‘call’, her phone began chirping its Kim Possible ringtone. While it might seem childish, Bella had loved the show as a child and today, wouldn’t change the channel if it happened to be on TV. She had always been enamoured with the naivety and uncomplicated happiness of children and she loved how entertained they could become with the simplest of characters and jokes. Their belief in the joy of pretty much everything was something she tried achieve herself.
Well, when she wasn’t trying to channel her anger away from physical violence, that is.
Angela Weber’s picture flashed on the screen and Bella breathed a relieved sigh. Finally, someone who could understand her rage. Angela, apart from Rosalie, was the only other person to know the entire story behind her resentment.
“Hey Ange,” she said happily.
“Hey Bella. How are you holding up?” Angela questioned knowingly.
“Not so good,” Bella admitted. “It’s just a little hard when everyone is so in love with him and all I want to do is wrap my hands around his throat,” she said through gritted teeth.
Angela didn’t speak for a moment, silently communicating to Bella that she was being slightly overdramatic.
“I know, Ange! It’s just...,” she groaned, rubbing her temples. “It’s just really hard. Every time someone mentions him or I think about working for him, I remember everything that he did and how much hurt he caused and I just get so fucking mad!”
“Have you thought about how you’re going to be when you’re working with him? Seeing him every day, having to talk to him?”
“I swear to God, Ange, if that bastard wins tonight, I’ll quit,” Bella spat angrily into her phone.
“Surely he can’t be that bad. You’ve worked so hard to get this job,” Angela replied.
“Of course he is. You remember what I told you, right? He’s a class-A fucking dickhead.” Her phone buzzed with the calm voice of her friend. “Edward fucking Cullen can go to fucking hell. I hate him and I’m hoping like hell that he loses tonight. I-”
“Excuse me,” a Southern male voice came from behind her, followed by a tap on her shoulder. Bella whirled around in surprise before whispering, “Gotta go, talk to you later,” into her phone. She switched off her phone slowly and took her time looking the man in front of her in the eye.
“Mr. Whitlock,” Bella said, blushing while trying to control her expression. Jasper Whitlock was the candidate - Edward Cullen’s - best friend and campaign manager.
“Miss Swan.”
Her name carried many implications. His inquisitive and slightly disapproving look told her that he had heard everything she had said.
“Was that Edward you were just talking about? Surely he isn’t that bad...”
Ugh, Bella thought, that is so typical. Defend the bastard. I bet they have no fucking idea.
“I’m sorry, can I help you with something Mr. Whitlock?” she said primly; completing ignoring his statement and unspoken request to explain herself.
Jasper’s face twisted into a confused frown. “I was wondering if I could have a word with you about-”
“No, I’m afraid you can’t. I’m extremely busy at the moment.” God, I’m such a bitch, Bella thought to herself. She would just email the information she had wanted to tell him.
Now his eyes darkened and his voice lowered. “Is there something I can clear up for you, Miss Swan?”
She let her expression remain blank, as if she were speaking at a press conference. “Let me assure you, Mr. Whitlock, there is nothing left to clear up. Everything is crystal,” Bella replied before haughtily storming off to her car.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, she thought to herself. So much for calm and level-headed. I’ve never been that rude to anyone before. I thought I could keep it together so well. And now I’ve gone and lost it at the person who I could be working with for the next four years about the person who I might be working for, for the next four years.
Bella began to regret her words as she hopped inside the car. A great sense of foreboding filled her stomach, matched with dread for the coming night’s result and the subsequent, possible repercussions of her actions.
She had no idea.
~*~
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