Chapter One: User Agreement
EDWARD CULLEN

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When I was a little kid, there was nothing I loved more than chocolate and my piano. My favorite movie was Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. I had always imagined myself as Charlie; hoping that I would one day unwrap a Swan Sweet Chocolate bar and find a golden ticket winking out at me. When all the other kids said they wanted to be firefighters and astronauts, I wanted to be a chocolatier when I grew up.

I work at Swan Sweet Chocolates, but I sure as hell am not a chocolatier. In fact, I don't even see the chocolates in my day-to-day activities. I spend my days behind the computer, doing research, organizing reports, collating presentation copies. I'm convinced that my job is one of the Seven Circles of Hell.

I really don't mind the grunt work, though. In fact, it wouldn't be fair to compare my job to Hell, except for one thing: my boss is literally Satan.

I mean it. She's the devil in Steve Madden pumps.

When I first started working at Swan Sweet, I was bright-eyed and bushy tailed, fresh out of an overpriced college that I followed with a top notch culinary school. I had worked under Michelin starred pastry chefs, I'd travelled the world to taste and bake things that would literally stop your heart and send you on a one way trip to Heaven. I was the shit. And the company knew it. I hadn't been at Swan Sweets for three months before I had received two promotions.

I remember the day that Garrett Pace himself had descended from the high throne of the Board of Directors to meet little old me as I walked into the building for another day of work.

"You keep doing what you're doing, and you'll be going to high places, kid," he said to me. He'd slapped me on the back like a proud father who's son just struck a home run. I couldn't keep the shit-eating grin off my face when he walked me to a bright and shiny new office. I mean, it was the real deal. Glass walls, a sweet view, and even my own secretary. Okay, I had to share the secretary, but holy hell, I had my own secretary.

My ass had barely kissed the leather chair that stood proudly behind the desk when Satan walked into the room. They always tell you that Satan appears to you as an angel of light. And that, she did.

She was fucking gorgeous. I don't use the word lightly, but it's the only word that comes close to doing her justice. Long, milk chocolate colored hair that shone gold in the sun like the ticket I'd always looked for. It tumbled down around her shoulders and dared me to run my fingers through it. Deep, warm pools of coffee colored eyes that looked right through you and made you feel worthless. When they looked at me then, the quick flare of surprise and recognition was chased quickly away by icy indifference. Plump, soft lips that could kill a man. They had tipped into a small, almost imperceptible frown at the time. The Devil sure didn't play fair. I knew I was fucked.

But despite the fire that she ignited in my loins, and whisper of my conscience telling me to chill out, I was consumed by an inferno of hatred. I had sat my ass down in my chair defiantly, and crossed my arms as I waited for her next move. When I heard her voice again, after seven years of trying to forget what she sounded like, she wasn't even speaking to me.

"Mr. Pace, did my father approve this promotion?"

I had forgotten that Garrett was standing in the room, looking between me and Satan, trying to figure out how we knew each other. He cleared his throat when he was addressed and handed the devil a sheet of paper that undoubtedly had Charlie Swan's signature at the bottom, clearing me for the promotion that had awarded me the office she was currently standing in. Her eyes didn't leave mine as she took the paper from Garrett and ripped it in half.

I had to give it to her. The action didn't come off as petty or childlike. She didn't even blink. If I didn't know her better, I would've probably been scared shitless. But something about anger and hate makes you bold.

"Please return to your assigned desk, Mr. Cullen," she said as she handed the torn sheet back to Garrett. I hadn't looked at the man, but he had probably been shocked dumb. "There has been an error. There is no promotion."

"My name is stenciled into the glass," I challenged. A large part of me had mistakenly believed that she didn't have the power to take my promotion away. I was stupid.

"A mistake," she answered icily. "Please return to your assigned de-"

"You can go fuck yourself," I had fumed, interrupting her. I even stood up to assert my dominance. She didn't flinch when I approached her. "I earned this promotion. Nobody out there can do this job as well as me, and you know it."

"Mr. Pace, please ensure that Mr. Cullen returns to his assigned desk," she said to Garrett, all the while never breaking eye contact with me. I finally broke her gaze and looked over at Garrett. I was incredulous at the look on his face. It was really happening. I hadn't even been in my new office a full hour, and Satan was ripping my promotion away from me. And there was nothing I could do about it, except save my dignity and stay silent. Once she was assured of her victory, Satan turned on her heel and clicked away.

"I-I am so sorry, Edward," Garrett said to me when Satan was out of earshot. "I've never seen Isabella behave that way. I will try my absolute best to sort this out, I-"

"Don't worry about it, Mr. Pace," I answered him. I knew that there was nothing that he, I, or anyone else could've done about it. "At least I don't have to move all my stuff," I shrugged. Garrett gave me a sorry smile as I went back to my desk.

That was two years ago. So, why did I stay at Swan Sweets? It's a question I ask myself daily, and I still don't know the answer. Garrett had secured me pay raises here and there. He'd even given me more and more titles and responsibilities. For all intents and purposes, I am a junior manager without the office. A junior-junior manager, if you will.

I lift my eyes from my work to the office that should've been mine. Jasper Whitlock strides around the room now, talking into his bluetooth. He's making grand gestures as he paces back and forth, so I know he's working hard to close a deal. I respect the guy, and I don't blame him for Satan's decision to promote him over me. Doesn't mean I don't want his office, though. I'm so distracted with thoughts of revenge that I almost miss an e-mail that I just received. It's from corporate, and they're inviting me to a meeting upstairs that starts in... 6 minutes. I curse and jump out of my chair. There's barely enough time to grab my binder of research and a notepad, before racing to the elevators.

Four minutes.

Jesus Christ. I'm going to be late to the first corporate meeting of the quarter because I was too busy dreaming up ways to bring Satan to her knees. As soon as the words cross my mind, they're followed by a shadowy memory of the days when I knew what it was like to have Satan on her knees before me, lips wrapped around me, pushing me into the hot cavern of her mouth. Embarrassed, and instantly pissed at myself and her, I push the memory away with a cold determination. That was the past.

Two minutes.

The organization of the building prevents certain elevators from reaching certain floors. It's great on a normal day because I never have to worry that I'll be caught in an awkward elevator ride with the devil. Today, it's a nuisance because I have to take the elevator down to the fourth floor and race across the floor to the E elevators that will take me to the executive level.

One minute.

My watch is not my friend as I watch the second hand race past.

Thirty seconds.

I'm on the floor and I contemplate running to the conference room, but I don't want to look like a wet-behind the ears associate. I don't know what the meeting's about, but I know that being late won't help my chances if I want a future in corporate. I get to the room a full two minutes after the meeting is due to start, but color me confused. The room is empty; but at the head of the long, oak table, Charlie Swan himself sits, reading something apparently intriguing. Two men and a stern looking blonde are sitting to his left. I clear my throat, and Charlie looks up.

"Oh, yes, Edward!" he says warmly, as if he and I are old friends. I've only met the guy once in my life, and that was at the job orientation. I offer him a warm smile anyways. He's a stern old bastard who retired from his position as Chief of Police to open up a candy factory. He's crazy as all hell. A real Willy Wonka. But I respect the shit out of him.

"Mr. Swan," I greet as I step further into the room. I'm glad my confusion doesn't show in my voice.

"Come, have a seat," he points to a chair to his right, and I oblige him. He sets down his reading materials, and I'm not the least bit surprised that it's a book about fishing. From the looks of it, he's scribbled corrections to the text in the margins. I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

"This is Ms. Rosalie Hale," he says, introducing the blonde woman. "And these are her associates, Michael Newton and Tyler Crowley."

I smile pleasantly at them, but I don't say anything because I'm still confused as hell. I've never heard of these people, but the way Charlie introduces them makes me think that they're pretty important.

"Ms. Hale is an extremely adept manager of a cocoa bean importing and refining company on the East Coast," Charlie continues, smiling paternally at the woman who's beautiful, but has the personality of a glacier. "We're interested in a mutually beneficial relationship with Hale Partnerships. Like all diligent businesswomen, she's here to learn more about us, isn't that right?"

Learn more about us? I almost snort. More like tear us apart with an investigation to make sure that she doesn't lose a penny if she partners with us. I know that Charlie knows this, but he's playing the ruse of a sweet old grandpa who doesn't know any better. From the look of The Glacier, she's not buying it.

"Swan Sweets is very thorough in reporting our financial assets -" I begin, opening my binder to provide evidence of the assertions I'm going to make. I didn't get a memo or an agenda, so I have no clue what points Charlie wants me to hit, but I'm gonna wing it. The Glacier cuts me off before I can get very far.

"Why did you end your partnership with Strong & Hammer?" she asks sharply. Her blue eyes are piercing into my skin, and I get the feeling that this woman eats scrubs like me for breakfast. I clear my throat and glance at Charlie. He nods graciously.

"Last year, we discovered that one of the batches of refined cocoa that we received from Strong & Hammer was misdated. The cocoa would not have expired before reaching the shelves, but they would have expired before our printed date, thus compromising the quality of the goods that we manufacture. Of course-"

"Who discovered the error?" The Glacier asks again. Tyler and Michael are scribbling away on their notepads. I feel like I'm being interrogated. I look at Charlie again and he gives an encouraging nod.

"Me," I answer.

"How?" The Glacier demands.

"I cross checked the shipment date with the growers harvesting date and our reception date. There was about a week discrepancy in a batch."

"Is that normal protocol?" The Glacier demands. I can't tell if she likes that we paid close attention to detail, or if she hates it, so I answer honestly.

"No," I answer truthfully. "We trust our cocoa providers to be honest in their dealings with us, so we don't have a standard protocol for date-checking. Informally, however...well, we're committed to making the best chocolate to ever hit shelves, and we take every precaution to prevent mistakes."

"Every precaution?" The Glacier parrots back to me. "Does that mean that there is truth in the rumors circulating last year that Swan Sweet receives FDA report sheets on cocoa and other fruit quality before they are released to other manufacturers and the public?"

I open my mouth to defend the company, but Satan beats me to it.

"Those rumors are baseless," she answers as she breezes into the room. "Swan Sweet was accused of receiving early reports because we are the only company in the nation who processes and tags the reports within hours of receiving them. We are diligent, Ms. Hale, not cheats."

Charlie's face warms with delight as he lays eyes on his daughter. It's no secret that Charlie has an extreme soft spot for his daughter, so I have to make sure that my hatred of her doesn't show too clearly. When she sits down in the chair next to me, I try hard to ignore the scent of honeyed spice and crisp, clean clothes. When she leans over to set her bag down, I try my best to ignore the creamy swell of her breast beneath her white blouse. I clear my throat and discreetly move my chair a few inches away from her. As much as I hate her, and as much as I know that her soul is black and beyond redemption, the woman calls to me.

Come closer, said the spider to the fly.

For the first time since I had stepped into the room, I see a flicker of emotion cross The Glacier's features. Confusion.

"I'm sorry," she says. "You seem to know my name, but I don't know yours."

Tyler and Michael pause their incessant scribbling to drool at the Devil. I can see the unabashed lust burning deep in their gaze. If only they knew that Satan is a black widow spider, drawing men to her so that she could eat them up.

I can't blame them, though. I'd been there, once.

To my left, Satan gives a warm smile. To the unknowing observer, she looks the picture of innocence and kindness.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes as she stands up and reaches across the table to introduce herself.

Yes, the devil has a name, and it is Isabella Marie Swan.

"Isabella and Edward will be flying out to New York to settle any further fears your company may have," Charlie says, pushing back his chair after Satan has shaken The Glacier's hand. "They will oblige your company any questions you may have, and as a gesture of good will, I have given them permission to sit with your board during the partnering process."

Flying to New York? Sitting with the Hale Partnerships board? I am beyond confused, but I kept my concerns to myself. I'm pretty sure that I haven't received an email informing me about any of this. I stand politely when The Glacier and her goons stand to leave. The Glacier even says that she looks forward to hosting us in New York. When they exit the conference room, Charlie's sweet old grandpa facade leaves with them.

"I'm rethinking the whole thing," he says, shaking his head as he sinks back down into his chair.

"It'll be okay, dad," Satan soothes her father. "Once we've taken care of the partnership details, we won't have to deal with them again."

Charlie, however, refuses to be soothed.

"The nerve of him," he fumes. "Sending his daughter instead of coming up here like a man. You know I played football with Matthew Hale?" Charlie closes his eyes and rubs two fingers into his temple.

I'm a smart guy. I know when to keep my mouth shut and disappear. This is obviously one of those times. I close my binder and stand to leave.

"Where are you going?" Charlie asks, opening his eyes to fix me with a leveling gaze.

"Back to my desk?" I answer, more timidly than I would've liked.

"No," Charlie answers. "Sit down. There are a few...things that we need to discuss."

Do you ever get a sense that something bad is going to happen? It's like your brain connects with the cosmos and you just know that if you don't get out of there, you're going to have a bad time. Looking between Satan's carefully set face, and the grim expression on Charlie's, I knew that I was in for a really bad fucking time.

Satan pulls a manila envelope out of her bag and slides it across the table to me. I pick it up and pull out a stack of papers that is thick enough to be a few books of the bible. On top, in thick, bold print, are the words: Terms and Conditions.

"What is this?" I ask Charlie, setting the contract down with a soft thud. "What are you asking me to do?"

"What do you know about Hale Partnerships?" he asks gruffly. I shake my head.

"Nothing," I answer honestly. "Except what I've learned today."

Charlie nods and is silent for a brief moment, as if he's thinking about how to phrase what he says next.

"Rosalie doesn't have decision making power at Hale Partnerships," Charlie explains. "She's...a glorified Isabella. Her father, Matthew Hale, is the one who calls the shots. We grew up together, but my world was very different from his. Matthew grew up as a member of a strict religious sect. Time has softened him, but he's still a hard ass."

It's all I can do to keep from raising my eyebrows at Charlie's choice of words, and the bitterness behind them.

"All due respect, sir," I interject. "What does that have to do with me?"

Charlie bores into me with his gaze. It's so similar to Satan's. In the few seconds of silence that pass, I wonder if he's going to fire me for speaking out of line.

"You're the best, Edward," Charlie says bluntly. "You know Swan Sweets inside and out. Almost better than I do. I'm getting old, and that means I'm getting tired. I need to know that this company will be in good hands when I decide to pass it on. So I want you to go to Seattle with Isabella, and I want you to show those Hale Partnership pricks that just because we're a chocolate company doesn't mean we're soft."

I stare at Charlie, and I can't even begin to list all the reasons why I absolutely do not want to go to New York. Especially if Satan is going too.

"Sir -"

"I know this is short notice, son," Charlie says, holding up a hand to silence me. "But this is important. If you do this, and if you come back with positive results, there is a senior manager position waiting for you."

His offer blows me clear out of the water. I'm like a fish on land, all I can do is open and close my mouth. To my left, Satan is silent. Charlie offered me the job in front of her, so I know she can't walk into my office when I get back and take it from me.

Holy shit. Senior manager.

A slow grin spreads on Charlie's face and he knows he's got me.

"I-" I try to thank him, or to accept his offer, but clearly my brain is still stuck on shocked.

"Don't thank me yet," Charlie warns. "You'll bring Emmett McCarty with you. Garrett says he's a good pick to fill your job when you move up."

I nod dumbly, because I know that if I speak, I'm gonna whoop and holler like a little kid. I might even dance around Satan, singing, na-na-na-na-na in triumph, so I make sure to not even look at her, even though I can feel the heat of her displeasure rolling off of her in waves.

"And finally, you will pose as Isabella's husband for the duration of your stay in New York."

Jesus Christ. I figure I must've been a mass murderer or something equally horrible in my past life, because that's the only reason I can think of to explain this punishment. Like cold water dumped over my head, I'm sobered up from the excitement at my promised promotion.

"Sorry?" I say politely. "I think I misheard you." What I really want to say is, what the fuck? Hell fucking no. Your daughter is a fucking sociopath, and I'd rather stab myself in the balls than pretend, even for one second, to be her husband. I'm expecting Satan to be in an uproar, but she's silent as stone. I wonder if she planned this as another sick way to torture me and see me squirm.

"Like I explained before," Charlie answers. "Matthew Hale has some pretty old fashioned beliefs. He won't give Isabella the time of day because he doesn't believe that women should run businesses. That's why Rosalie was accompanied by those two young men. You will help Isabella overcome Matthew's archaic beliefs, in addition to being competent representative of Swan Sweets."

I want to say no, I want to tell him and his demon spawn that they can go fuck themselves, but my tongue is like lead in my mouth.

"The terms of this agreement, including your promotion, are outlined in that contract," Charlie nods to the stack of papers before me. "In addition, there is a binding agreement of confidentiality."

I look up at him, and his eyes are hard with gravity.

"If a word of this leaves this room, and if anyone knows of this beyond the three of us, we will legally and financially crush you."

I don't shudder like a little bitch, but I sure as hell want to. On the last page of the contract they handed me, is a spot for my signature. Satan's delicate cursive and Charlie's heavy signature are already there.

"All you have to do is sign," Charlie says to me. I chance a glance at Satan. She's looking straight ahead. To my surprise, she looks as pained as I feel. The wheels in my head start turning immediately. This may quite possibly be the worst contract I have ever entered into, but there is a chance here that I can make Satan's life a living hell. The thought gives me just enough courage to pick up the pen. I hesitate for a long moment.

With a flick of my wrist, I sign my life away. I've literally made a deal with the devil.

Oh, what the hell.

A/N: It has been a long time since I left this site behind. The world beyond this website is a hard one, but I have learned so much. I would like to think that a community still exists out here, still reading, still reviewing, still reaching out like so many axons trying to make a connection. If you are here, if you are reading this, I see you, I appreciate you, and I implore you to push beyond your normal habits and leave a review. Drop a PM. Let me know that you see me too. This story is for you.