Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns these characters.

(If you don't know, "Beau" is Stephanie's canon male version of Bella in "Life and Death".) Yes this is slash. I couldn't get this meet-cute out of my head so I just had to write it out. It's been a sort of personal fantasy. Please enjoy.

Spotlight

I blew it. I completely bombed. My still shaking hands turned on the cold water. Pressing the cool water to my face, I moaned exasperatedly into my hands. My antagonized grunts reverberated around the public restroom until they were interrupted by the flush of a toilet. I froze and the blood drained out of my flushing cheeks. I instantly felt woozy from the emotional upheaval but I managed to go rigid into place. I thought I was alone.

A man in a business suit stepped out awkwardly and tried his best to ignore my frozen body at the sink. He flicked his hands under the water, not bothering with the soap that was in front of me. I was too nervous to read the name on his badge, and kept my eyes glued in front of me, peering out behind my fingers. However, I just read the NBC logo and that was enough to tip me off that he worked for the network. I kept my face covered while he reached over and grabbed the hand towels on my left. The door slammed behind him. The gong of the door, a sign that I was once more, to my knowledge, alone. I moaned again and let self hatred flood my system and surround myself again.

After I let it all out and made sure that my complexion was somewhat presentable again I stepped outside into the crowded streets of NYC. My phone rang again for the ninth time. I didn't have to read it to know that it was my agent. Probably to chastise me, no doubt. Or worse, I gulped, it could be my publisher telling me they were dropping me.

I sighed, deciding I couldn't hold back the flood gates and answered.

"What's the damage?" I asked while leaning against the black speckled building of 30 Rockefeller plaza.

"What." Alice breathed. "The." She paused. "Hell."

I combed my hair up from the back of my neck. Alice, my literary agent, my rock, my friend, and also my nightmare wrapped up into one frightening package had pulled every favor she had stored up to land me this TV spot on the Today Show. When I found Alice, I had been stalking a few agents on their instagrams and twitters, trying to get a feel for their personalities, and which one I could see myself working with in the long run. I knew if I sent my manuscript out to a hundred agents, eventually I would get a yes, but I didn't want one yes. I had to think about the future and if the agent that went out on a limb on me didn't like my other projects, then I had wasted my time. I didn't want to get into business with someone I couldn't see eye to eye with.

But through all my extensive research, Alice fell into my lap so to speak.

She had fired my ex, Mike as one of her clients.

Mike, god bless, did not have an original idea in his bone and after repeatedly telling him to rework the beginning of his work in progress and telling him he needed to amp up the climax, she told him to look for a new agent.

Funnily enough, I had told him the same thing when we broke up. He was pretty lousy in bed and not even good at making coffee in the morning. I think I might have been his first. He never admitted that, but he definitely didn't seem to know what he was doing with another man. It had been over a year since Mike and I dated. It was a mistake from the start and I thank the stars that it only lasted a few weeks. Most of that time was spent with me questioning how on earth I had ended up there and whether or not I could just leave. We met at a mixer put on by our publishers at the time for the debut authors to meet and invited some more established authors they had to varying degrees of notoriety.

I hated these things, but my contract said I had to attend at least one a year. I intended to sit in a corner and wave at people and drink until an appropriate time for me to hail a cab and stumble back to my hotel. Mike ended up stumbling with me that night.

He was boring. And it didn't take me long to figure out that we just were not a good fit. In any realm, we just didn't click. We were two bottoms and it wasn't working. Though Mike didn't even seem to notice. The last straw was when he insisted I read his rough draft.

It was. . . to put it tamely: shit.

He wanted me to prove his agent wrong. He wanted me to say that her criticisms were just biased bullshit.

I read over the email Alice had sent him and laughed at her wit. There were ways she insulted him that had gone over his head. I agreed with every single point. I knew then and there that I had to have Alice as my agent. So I shook Mike off as a lover, and took Alice on as my agent.

Over the year, she'd turn into more than just my agent. We'd become friends. It was nice to have someone to talk to that understood my frustrations, but I didn't feel like I had to compete with her. I hadn't had any deep conversations with her. I don't know her middle name or where she grew up. But I knew I could count on her if I needed help. I hoped she felt the same about me, though right now, I knew I had let her down.

"I told you." I sighed. "I told you, I don't do cameras."

"Oh, so it's my fault that you spilled water on Matt Lauer's trousers and knocked a light stand down into frame and it exploded on the carpet and set fire to the coffee table. That's my fault?"

"There were so many cords. You can't see them, but there are so many cords. It's so easy to just trip and-" I tried to defend myself.

"Beaufort Swan." Alice used my real name and I winced. I wrote under the pseudonym Bear Swanson, under my mother's direction who said I would never sell books to a younger audience with a name like Beaufort. She told me once again that it was my father's idea to name me Beaufort, which then started her looping monologue of reasons why my father was shit. My father, had a similar story as to why my mother wanted to name me Beaufort. To be honest, I liked my name despite the obvious tension it gave my parents even now after 27 years after naming me. My friends just called me Beau. But my mom had always called me her "little bear" growing up. And because I was writing action/thriller/mystery I decided to have a name that reflected that genre. I figured it would be beneficial for me in the long run. I always had my eyes on the long run. Bear became my alias in the attempt that it would attract a reader just on that alone. Though, thinking about it now, "Bear Swanson" was just as a ridiculous name as my own. However, it worked to a degree. My first book got picked up a publisher even without an agent. It sold and was well received for a debut author. The new york times called me "Daring" and "Vulnerable." But then I got screwed over as far as the contract deals go. I got very little payout with my publisher, which I'll let go unnamed. I didn't think I would actually make money on writing, so I didn't invest the time necessary to make sure that I wasn't setting myself up to be played. That was my mistake. I went in without having someone who knew the legalize of corporate publishers. Alice was a godsend. She was my warrior in the face of pencil pushing brown nosers. However, now, her mighty sword was pointing towards me.

"You were sitting in a fucking chair. You just had to sit and smile and say some cute self deprecating thing like you always do and tell people to buy your book. How?" I could hear Alice's blood vessel in her temple swell. "How are you supposed to be Bear Swanson? The light of the modern written word, Bear fucking Swanson, when you can't even string a few sentences together in an interview, let alone leave the set without setting the place on fire?"

"You don't think I know that?" I nearly yelled into the phone. "You don't think I understand what this does for my image?"

"Your image? What does this look like for me?" Alice whinned. "No publisher is going to want you to do interviews. . . ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. And do you know what that means?"

"That I can stay in my house and never come out?" I said hopefully.

"It means that I got a black listed author who can't show his face to the public, can't do tours, can't even talk to children, can't sell his book. And do you know what that means?"

"Alice." I gulped. "Are you dropping me?" My worst fear gripped me, worse than the humiliation I just suffered through in front of a live tv audience all across america.

"It means, that you better sell a damn good book." Alice grimaced. "Which, I know you've written. So now it's my job to make sure people know about it, because you are obviously too clumsy to take anywhere. Which means, I'm going to have a lot more sleepless nights. Are you still in the city?"

"I'm still at rockefeller."

"Perfect. My plane will be at JFK in about three hours. Chill out. Go back to your hotel, find a coffee shop. Don't think about The Today Show. And we'll talk in person about our game plan."

Like me, Alice was always thinking about the future and trying to predict next moves. She didn't focus on the present but was always calculating tomorrow.

I stepped outside of the shadow of the building and the brisk autumn air and the warm rays of the sun calmed me down some. Like the universe was trying to give me a space to take a breath. Then the sun was overshadowed and cold again. I popped my eyes open to see a double decker tourist bus. My face was three feet away from a larger than life promotional advertisement for a movie that had come out three weeks ago. "The Devil You Know." It was a melodrama with a star studded cast. Already the movie was getting Oscar buzz. I'd seen it. To be honest, I didn't think much of it. It seemed to be in love with itself too much to really peirce the veil of the relatable. The male lead was currently staring right at me from the advertisement. Green eyes staring up from a brooding expression. Waves of long blond hair pulled up into a ponytail. Elliott Cullen.

I rolled my eyes. Of course, like the rest of the world I had a crush on him in my teens. I knew more about him than the girls in my class who talked obsessively about him. But, like all things, I grew up. I got older. My interests changed. I realized that actors were just people and they shouldn't be idolized. I learned quickly that movie stars were not what you should expect from love interests and I set my goals on more realistic expectations. Which meant a long slew of men who I'd more or less settled for, dumped, and moved on. Elliott had too, throwing away his heartthrob pop roles for more serious work. I guess, I had always been a fan and we just grew up together that way.

Standing in front of the advertisement now I felt foolish. Maybe I was taking the movie too seriously when I watched it before. Maybe I was going in with jaded glasses because the film industry and the book industry had always had a bit of a tumultuous relationship. The worst words an author could hear are "I'll wait till the movie comes out."

There was a starbucks on nearly every block. I stepped inside the closest one and immediately regretted it. I forgot why I tried to stay out of the city as much as possible, especially this close to all the tourists. The small coffee shop was crammed with people in bulky clothes and long complicated drink orders and full of impatience.

One of the usual perks of working from home, was that I didn't normally have to interact with anyone except for my dog and my cat and that's how I liked it. I loved writing. But I hated selling my work. However, I couldn't afford to write if I couldn't sell my work. That's why I was in NYC and not my apartment back in New Mexico. I was a long way from home, but this city was starting to grow on me, despite the crowds. There was a way to be alone like I never could in my apartment. The more I thought about it and the more time I spent here, the more I realized this was the loneliest city I think ever existed. That wasn't a negative in my book. Even though you couldn't go two feet without bumping into someone, you were very much not interacting with anyone. Everyone was their own ecosystem here, little planets scurrying around on sidewalks and orbiting around different buildings, but careful not to collide with other's course through space. Rotating lonely planets on their own floating through the city. It was exhilarating.

However, as much as I loved being alone together with strangers, right now I need to be secluded and to forget where I was. I didn't need a crowded starbucks.

After thirty minutes of staggering around the streets of manhattan I found a small basement level cafe with a sign reading "Coffee Nook."

I ambled down the stairs and looked inside. The walls were a dark slate grey, with small cracks running up the side. My feet creaked along the old wood flooring, announcing my presence. A barista looked up from the counter holding a paperback book in his hand. He nodded in my direction, saw my hesitation, and then turned his attention back to the book.

I looked for a menu or a black board with their specialities. After a few minutes of slyly looking to no avail I walked up to the counter and placed my order.

"London Fog, please." I tried to say with confidence. I wasn't sure it worked. I had to use the reserve tank and I was worried I wouldn't have enough to get through even one human interaction today.

"Vanilla syrup?" He didn't even look up as he started marking a cup.

"One pump." I nearly grinned, thankful I didn't have to explain what a London Fog was.

"Coming up." He tossed the cup in his hand and I heard him pouring hot water for the earl grey near the espresso machine.

I glanced around the room. Nearly every table was taken except for one in the front by the door. Most of the patrons of this establishment were either reading, on a laptop or talking quietly in reserved tones fitting for a cathedral. I sat there and began to take my jacket off when the barista put my tea latte on the counter. When I bounded for the counter I turned back to my table by the door and got a full view of the next person coming in. Of all the places. Of all the cities. Of all the coffee shops. Mike loser Newton walked into this one.

I zigzagged and angled myself away from his line of sight. I bit my lip as the hot latte spilled on my hand and I had to stamp down the reaction to jump and shout. Hopefully Mike didn't see me as he was closing the door behind himself.

Keeping my head down I shuffled quickly towards the back corner. If I had to chose between two evils, I would go towards the stranger than the annoying ex that wouldn't let go of me. I didn't even have to think about it.

I sat down at a table occupied by someone with his face obscured by a book. All I could see was reddish brown hair peeking out over the top.

"Sorry." I whispered to the stranger in front of me and cranked my head towards the wall to the left, still worried that if Mike looked over he could see me. "I'm trying to avoid someone that just walked in. I'm terribly sorry for interrupting. I'll leave when the coast is clear."

The man in front of me peered around his book. I could see the movement in my peripherie but I kept my eyes on the wall, too self conscious to look back and too nervous to be discovered.

Without a word the man returned back to the book and though he didn't say anything, I knew there was an understanding between us.

After a few a minutes, my neck started to hurt. I tried to sneak my hand into the messenger bag I slung to the floor and grabbed a book out of it. The left overs from when I was signing this morning. I used it as cover so I could stretch my shoulders.

"Is he still here?" I whispered through tight lips. I hoped that the stranger understood my predicament and could help a fellow out, even in the dog eat dog world of NYC. I hope he didn't mind that my planet was hitching a ride on his gravitational plane.

He nodded and I got a quick glimpse of distinguished eyebrows popping above the book in his hand. Instinctively, I turned to look at him. That was a big mistake. I regretted it almost immediately.

"Swanson?" Mike called from across the floor.

"Shit." I hissed. While his footsteps drew near I braced myself and pulled on a fake smile.

"Good god, it is you." Mike swung a well meaning hand in my direction. I shriveled away from it.

"Mike." I sighed. "How nice to see you." I was never a great actor and didn't care if he heard the slime I coated with every word. "It's been a while."

"It sure has. You never returned my emails." His eyes narrowed.

I just shrugged.

"Hoh, there." Mike looked at the book in my hand. "Are you reading your own book?"

I glanced down and grimaced anew. "Just checking for typos." I said through clenched teeth.

"You're not thinking about making a sequel are you?" Mike shook his head. "Oh, no. I can see it. You got, 'Maybe I should write a sequel' written all over you. I know that look. Trust me, it's a bad idea."

I rolled my eyes.

"What brings you to the big city?" Mike kept asking questions. "Oh, wait. I saw Alice's twitter feed. You were on the Today show this morning, weren't you?"

I stopped myself from banging my head on the desk.

"Yes." I responded quietly. He didn't know. He hadn't seen it. He hadn't seen my epic failure.

"How'd it go?"

Should I lie and tell him I did great, only to know that he would find the clip on youtube later and probably masturbate to it laughing hysterically. Or should I tell him the truth and hear him laugh in my face. I didn't answer.

"I did a few tv spot a few months back. You know, for the book your agent called 'food for the swine.'."

"I'm aware." I droned.

"Well, I'm sure you did fine. As long as they didn't point the cameras at your nose." He laughed thinking he said some funny joke but I didn't move and neither did the stranger in front of me oddly. "You're cute enough, I suppose. I mean that's the only reason I dated you to begin with."

I couldn't help the sigh escape my lips. And I could see the stranger drop his book slightly from his face but I was too embarrassed and stunned to do or say anything.
"I'll let you in on a secret, because we have history."

"History." I guffawed. I didn't consider a few weeks stint long enough or important enough to be called "history."

Mike continued to give me his advice on whatever bullshit he could come up with to seem superior. If I was in top form and my interaction tank hadn't been depleted I probably would have done something to stop him, but as it was I was a deer caught in headlights and Mike was the car zooming towards me and not hitting the breaks. "So with interviews, the trick is to let the interviewer answer their own questions. I would know, the camera loves me. You really shouldn't have been ignoring my emails, I could have been a great asset."

I couldn't believe he was trying to give me advice. And no. I couldn't believe the camera loved him. He was not interesting in the slightest.

"Excuse me." The stranger I was sitting with interrupted him politely. He placed his book down on the coffee table."If you don't mind. We'd like some privacy."

Mike blinked at him and then back to my face and then back to him. He took a few steps back. It took me just a moment to figure out why. I turned to face my rescuer and found myself staring, just a few inches away from the high profile A list celebrity, Elliott Cullen.

A wicked grin spread across my face as I turned from Elliot back to Mike. "Yes, please excuse us. If I need you I'll have Alice get with your people. Who's representing you again? The Mitchum group?" Like I had received a power up in an 8-bit game, I had a second wind. An extra life. A power up. I had Elliott Cullen on my side. He was a level of famous that was. . . so so so so much more than an author ever could hope to be (and I didn't hope to be famous at all. I just wanted people to read my books). Elliot was on a completely other universe. Snap-and-the world-listened kind of famous.

Mike sprouted out in red patches, completely at loss for words.

"That'll be all." I said, as if putting the final arrow into the back of the dragon that Elliot had just grounded by himself.

Mike, like a disobedient puppy, shuffled away with his tail between his legs, but he kept throwing glances back our way.

Elliott watched him leave. And I watched Elliot.

"Thanks." I stared up at him. "I owe you one."

"Don't mention it." Elliot shrugged. "I'm Elliot." He grinned, the corner of his lips pulled to one side in a devious smirk. He held out his hand and I somehow managed to shake it without combusting into a million pieces of human confetti. Holy mother of god.

"I'm Beau." I said, using up nearly all of my second wind in sounding self assured and confident in front of him.

"Beau?" His eyebrows raised then he glanced at the book on the table. My book. The name on the spine read Bear Swanson. Shit. And Mike had called me that too.

"It's a fake name." I fessed up.

He grinned. "My name's not really Elliot." He whispered to me, as if we were confidants. I stared up at him. Those green eyes looking up from those tail tell brooding eye lashes, so much more beautiful than any advertisement could show.

"Thanks for saving me. I was drowning." I managed to say.

"I've been there. Stuck in public with some guy that thinks he knows you and that he's better than you. He was a real louse. Mike, was he? Yeah. Just forget about people like that. I've been there." He smiled at me again but I turned away from him. My introvert was showing. Like Cinderella, the clock was striking midnight and I had to leave the ball before I turned into a pumpkin. I quickly opened up my book on the table and with the sharpie still in my pocket, wrote an inscription. My glass slipper. I wordlessly shoved it in his direction.

I got to my feet. I opened up my mouth to say 'thank you' or 'goodbye' or, 'I love you', or 'you smell nice', but I didn't end up saying anything. Then, I paced out of the Coffee Nook and didn't even take another look behind me.

Hours later I was replaying our interaction over and over and over again. I had been so close to an actual. . . to Elliott, or whatever his real name is. And I just. . . left. I just walked out and left like a fucking idiot. He was talking to me. Like a person. Not like I was some fan boy. I probably could have had a conversation with him. . . if I were able to have a conversation at all.

I beat myself up over lunch, cursing my inability to socialize like a normal person.

Alice, sensing my mood, kept quiet while nibbling on her cobb salad that she ordered over room service back in my hotel room. I had given up going anywhere else today. Alice was going to argue, she had planned to take me to a great place in little italy but something in my tone stopped her. I was too in my head at the moment to even really perceive her presence. She didn't know the full extent to why the day sucked, and then was amazing, and then sucked again. She was normally a calming reassurance but after one mishap after the other today, not even she could calm the hurricane of self loathing that raged inside my chest. I didn't hear her phone ring. In my head I was trying to think of all the ways I could die and which would be better. Less painful. As an author of a mystery novel, I had researched the subject often enough. I thought myself a scholar on the various ways I person could snuff it.

"Beau." Alice called my name. "Beau. Hellooooooo. Earth to Beau." She snapped her fingers in front of my face.

"Yes. Sorry." I blinked, and let reality swallow me once again. I was not dead. And as much as I wished, I was not going to kill myself. And as much as I hated it, I was still me, Beau Swan, midgrade author of little to no importance and a huge colossal disaster."What is it?"

Alice was sitting straight as an arrow on her knees on top of my bed. Her hand held her smartphone to her ear. "I'm on the phone with a representative for Elliott Cullen. He would like to have dinner with you tonight."

Dying of shock. That was a new one.

AN: I couldn't get this out of my head, so I wrote it out. I just kept thinking about this meet-cute. I hope you enjoyed this. I doubt I'll continue with it. I don't know. *shrugs* Who knows. If you liked it, let me know.

xoxo

Rosalie