Twi-Fic Promotions "Don't Mess With the Help" Contest

Story Title: Neon Forks

Pen name: SuzsPetals

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Stephenie Meyer, but the story and artists in Neon Forks are mine.

To view all other entries for the "Don't Mess With the Help Contest" visit the C2 community here www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/~dontmesswiththehelpcontest Neon Forks

Neon Forks

SuzsPetals © 2010

Chapter 2Monday

Bella woke much earlier than she wanted to, lying there in the dawn thinking entirely too much while she watched the melted gold light seep into the room. Idly, she wondered how rich she would be if only she could bottle that color, provided solely by Mother Nature, and make it into paint.

She sighed heavily and punched the pillow in frustration until it was comfortable. So, she may not be rich, but she did get a job offer that changed everything. Only problem was, she couldn't figure out why she wasn't ecstatic.

Saturday morning, Bella woke to the phone ringing — or opportunity knocking, if you liked a good metaphor. She had almost wished for a hangover to celebrate the previous evening, but rather than drink too much and enjoy her special night, she wandered around looking for the very man she wished into the fiery pits of hell barely a week ago.

So when the cell rang on her nightstand the previous morning, she was instantly alert and professional. Just in case. Whoever she expected it to be, she was wrong. Sage Luna was one of the most up and coming galleries on the west side of Chicago. Bella had idly chatted with the owner at their opening a few months ago and they exchanged information. Concerned about graduating, paying bills, and plotting a future, she thought little of the meeting after that night.

A simultaneous offer to work at the gallery, as well as show her work, was so out of left field that when Bella hung up, she shook her head in bewilderment. Maybe it was too good to be true, but it was definitely too good to turn down. The money was nowhere near what Cullen paid, of course, but even if the gallery folded in three months the contacts Bella could make would be invaluable. Not to mention a serious gallery representation on her resume.

It was a no-brainer, so why the angst? She acknowledged her weekly vigil with the want ads, promising herself to escape E.A. Cullen's studio of misery, not to mention her belief that painting lime green forks over brilliant landscapes constituted blasphemy and soul bartering. The thought of Cullen's artistic soul just reminded her of his curious moment of anguish at the party. What made him so angry?

When the alarm finally did go off on Monday, Bella was already showered and dressed. She sat on the couch turning the envelope over and over in her hands. It was a career changing opportunity, she insisted to herself. Then she stood and headed out to work.

For such an anal bastard, his office was actually a mess. Bella pivoted at the desk with her letter of resignation in hand, looking for a clear space to leave it. It would be beyond awkward if she quit and he didn't even know about it for a week. There didn't seem to be anything too personal so she decided to simply tidy up, thereby making a place to leave her letter.

She steadfastly ignored the whisper in her head that said, letter of abandonment.

Bella knew damn well there would be several dozen grad students salivating for this internship — as long as they hadn't heard what a prick the guy could be. She cringed guiltily at the thought, although she had been at the top of that reference list not long ago.

First, she put the file folders in a neat pile on the corner of the desk. Then she compiled all of the little Post-its and index cards into a pile by the computer so he could figure out which ones were of importance. As soon as moved a couple of large envelopes to the credenza, there would be room to—

"What the fuck?"

The large manila envelope Bella picked up had spilled its contents and as she tried to catch the photographs in her hands, the images shocked her like a bucket of ice, cold water. Every one was of her.

Painting.

Concentrating.

Stretching.

Dancing.

Thinking.

All of them here in the studio while working, but all of them undeniably intimate. Edward Cullen had taken pictures of her without her knowledge. Suddenly, the letter of notice burned in her bag, just as the rage began burning in her gut.

"Bastard!" she cried, flinging the photos across the room.

A low moan from the doorway caused Bella to spin around. Cullen was standing there, an expression of intense remorse on his face.

"Shit, it's not what you think. I'm sorry — I should have asked, but posed — it just wouldn't have been the same," he said in a rush, as though that explained everything.

"What! What wouldn't have been the same, you sick asshole?" She tried to block out the image she had of him doing — things — while admiring her photo. Granted, she was fully clothed in all of them, but still...

He held his hands out, placating, pleading. "I'll show you. It's really not what you think, Bella. Please calm down and let me explain."

His obvious humility broke through her outrage, and she took a few deep breaths, calming herself as requested.

"What could possibly explain this invasion of my privacy?" she said, her voice low and steely. Rather than react with more regret, he smiled a little wildly and grabbed her hand. Before she could register how out of character the gesture was, he was towing her out of the office and across the main studio. There were several smaller rooms off of the studio for supplies and what not. Bella hadn't even been in a couple of them.

Edward opened the door to one of these and turned to look at Bella fiercely.

"I'm sorry. But, thank you," he said. She looked at him, her brow furrowed with confusion.

"What does that mean?"

But rather than answer, he turned the light on and pulled her into the room, never taking his eyes off of her face. She gradually pulled her eyes from his and scanned the room.

It was her. Everywhere.

On easels, on the walls, leaning on the floor, were dozens of paintings of Bella Swan. Just as with the forks pieces, the backgrounds were sublime landscapes found only in Cullen's imagination. But rather than being defiled by cutlery, these were superimposed by the female figure.

Painting.

Concentrating.

Stretching.

Dancing.

Thinking.

And, unlike the freaking forks, these were true works of art. Bella tried to find her voice, but a squeak was all that came out.

Edward laughed nervously. "Is that a good reaction or will you still be filing charges?"

She turned and looked at him, still wide-eyed and confused. Speech returned, but she almost wished it hadn't.

"When? Why? How?" She sighed in frustration. "What's going on here?" Her eyes were immediately drawn back to the work, gaping at the subtle differences in each one, but the common mood among all of them.

"Do you like them?" he asked, avoiding her question.

"You're kidding, right?" Dragging her eyes away from the paintings, she looked at him, incredulous. "These are stunning. Can I say that without sounding conceited? I mean, it wouldn't matter who it was, you've captured something... something feminine and mystical. I don't know what to say."

His eyes glittered with excitement. "Bella, you just perfectly described what I wanted to achieve: the essence of a woman that can't be defined with words."

Bella nodded, still dumbfounded by this discovery. It was hard to wrap her head around the fact that while she was painting thousands of neon forks, he was making magic. She walked around the room, looking closer at each one, appreciating the details. She knew he was following her, waiting for reactions, but she was caught off guard when he placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently.

"Bella, you're wrong. It does matter who the model was. You're the feminine, mystical creature I saw and had to paint. It's all you." His breath warmed her neck, but his words sent a shiver through her body. She was rooted to the spot, well aware that if she turned her head even slightly... Her subconscious was brusquely reminding her of her animosity for this man, even before she knew he had taken photos of her.

She looked at the painting before her, a sensuous image of her arching her back, no doubt to get the kinks out after a long painting session. It was as though he had already made love to her in each brush stroke. Maybe it was a false intimacy between them, and maybe she had imagined the entire "moment" at Friday's party. And maybe she didn't care.

Bella turned her head to the left and met his eyes, her intentions clear. His eyes widened slightly, but perhaps the intimacy had been there for him for weeks. He didn't hesitate to lean in and kiss her on the mouth. Before she could respond, Edward took her shoulders and turned her to face him.

Their kiss deepened and Bella moaned as he buried his hands in her hair. She wrapped her hands behind him and grabbed his shoulders, ensuring he didn't stop any time soon. Their tongues tangled and their bodies collided, both of them seemingly annoyed at the merest space between. Eventually, Edward growled in frustration and hoisted Bella's ass, wrapping her legs around his waist. She welcomed the chance to be even closer and sucked gently along his jaw and neck until he too moaned in response.

He whispered in her ear between kisses, "I'm so sorry, Bella. I didn't know how to tell you and I — well, I was just an ass."

She suppressed a groan at having to stop, however briefly and address this. She just wanted to stay caught up in the moment, surrounded by his genius, by her own image created with the very hands cupping her ass.

"Yes, you were," she conceded. "But, I'm not sure I understand why. If you were painting me — if you felt this way," she sprinkled light kisses over his parted lips, "why did you seem so angry at me?"

He ducked his head in shame then looked back up to her, resolved.

"Every stupid fork you painted reluctantly, but dutifully, just made me feel more like a fraud. I could see you knew it, and I hated to see that truth in your eyes every day. I took it out on you, then I came in here and made it up to you." He kissed her deeply and when they finally pulled apart, she was gasping. Edward mumbled, again, "I'm so sorry."

Looking around the room, Bella shook her head imperceptibly. "I might forgive you, but I still don't understand."

He looked at her, fearful that her forgiveness was so close, but so vulnerable. "What, Bella?"

"How could you do this kind of work, this brilliance, and make millions of dollars with those — those fucking forks!" she wailed, unable to hold in the confusion any longer.

He dropped his head to her shoulder and mumbled unintelligibly. She slid her legs from around his waist and stood in front of him. Gripping his face, she looked intently at him and demanded, "Tell me."

"It was a bet," he sighed heavily. "I got drunk one night with the sculptor Jacob Black — have you heard of him?" He continued when she nodded warily. "We were both beginning to be stars in our fields, so we bet each other to see who could create the biggest load of crap and get away with it. Last time I checked my sales, I was winning," he added guiltily.

Bella stared at him, not sure what was worse — the notion he had sold his soul to be a successful, wildly rich artist, or that he spent the better part of the past year creating garbage over a juvenile, drunken bet. Before she could decide, the truth behind the fork paintings suddenly hit her along with a case of the giggles.

She laughed for a solid few minutes while he waited, unsure if it was good or bad. Finally she gasped, catching her breath, "So, what are you going to do now?"

With utter solemnity, Edward replied, "I'm done. I'll never do another one of those God-awful pieces again. They're done."

Bella burst out laughing again. Overcome with her own amusement, she managed to ask, "So we can stick a fork in it?"