Artificial Sweetener

Chapter One

"I need a new ketchup bottle. Like, stat, Mike, I'm not pissing around."

"Yeah, well, you're pissing me off, so—"

"Mike, just hand me the goddamn bottle." Jessica Stanley leans over the counter top of the window that connects the Jazz Bar's dining room with the kitchen, feet dangling in the air.

Bella Swan shifts her weight to avoid getting kicked in the ankle. She stretches her arm over Jessica's back to sneak a new order into the almost-full basket of receipts, food waiting to be made. She peers inside and spies Eric assembling a pair of identical chicken sandwiches, the usual order for the very elderly and very sweet Mr. and Mrs. Linten, so she hovers a few steps away. The eighty-something-year-old married couple come in every Thursday, ask for Bella, and tip generously, so she does them the best service she can, including getting their burgers to the table while they're hot off the grill.

"Mike, hurry up." Jessica's tennis shoes smack against the fake hardwood floor as she straightens.

Bella watches Mike wipe his forehead on the sleeve of his grease-stained T-shirt, barely turning away from the burgers that he's flipping on the grill as he answers. "What's the problem with your arms and legs that you can't push open a door and come get it yourself?"

"C'mon, it's for Table 20."

Bella's eyes flicker to the back corner of the room, to the most private table that the restaurant has to offer, suddenly aware of why Jessica is in such a rush.

Table 10 is reserved for LOC customers only. It's an acronym that's only used by Jasper Whitlock, the owner of the Jazz Bar, but the entire staff knows it means Lots of Cash. LOC customers are Seattle's biggest businessmen who always have checks higher than $500 and always tip 40%—a dive-bar owner's dream.

Jasper assigns dining room sections to waitresses based on seniority, so Bella has never waited on anyone at Table 20; Jessica started working at the Jazz Bar two years before Bella and, as of six months ago when Irina walked out in the middle of a shift, is the most-experienced waitress. She's the only one who waits on Table 20 anymore.

Eric hits the bell on the counter and slides the plated chicken sandwiches towards Bella. "Tell 'em I said hi," he says. "And I gave them extra pickles."

Mr. and Mrs. Linten are waiting patiently when Bella walks up to their table, the huge black tray balanced on her left shoulder. Mrs. Lint claps her hands when Bella places her sandwich in front of her, and Bella feels a rush of gratitude for the no-stress regulars that often populate her small section near the front door. She may not be getting 40% tips, but she usually gets pretty nice customers.

Bella steps back, scanning the other five tables that she's responsible for. The bald man at Table 6 needs a refill on his Diet Coke, and a little girl with pigtails at Table 8 needs a new fork because she dropped it on the floor for the third time. The young couple at Table 3, with a toddler in a high-chair signals for the check, and Bella quickly drops it off, hoping they'll leave before their child starts wailing again like she did when they first sat down.

She's sliding a credit card into the register behind the bar when Jasper walks by. "You're forgetting something, Bella," he says as he passes.

Bella looks up to catch a few seconds of his glare before he enters the kitchen. Suddenly, she remembers that Angela has called off sick today, leaving the Hostess station empty, and apparently it's Bella's responsibility to do two people's jobs at once.

No one is waiting at the entrance, though, so Bella instinctively looks to Table 20. The three businessmen—maybe lawyers or accountants or CEOs—are sliding out of the booth and putting their coats on, and someone needs to see them out.

Bella drops the check off at Table 3 on her way to the hostess stand and offers a friendly smile to fancy suits and clicking dress shoes as they pass. "Have a good evening," she tells them.

The skinny blond-haired man gives her a nod as he pushes the door open, but none of them say anything in return.

Eventually, Bella's section clears out, and she starts wiping down her tabletops. The giant clock on the wall, next to the flat screen that hangs above the eight-seat bar to the left of the main entrance, inches towards 8 p.m., and if her section is empty and prepped for the next day, Jasper will let Bella leave early.

The silver bell above the door jingles as someone comes inside, and Bella tries not to let her shoulders drop; she sat the group that came in twenty minutes ago in Jessica's section, so this group is Bella's.

She sits the Mr. Clean bottle down on Table 4 and turns around, but to her surprise, Jasper is already counting out menus for the new customers.

"It's so great to have you here," he's saying. "Welcome, welcome. We have a special table reserved for you in the back, if that's alright?"

Another group of three is standing in a semicircle at the hostess station, but this time it's two men and one woman. The woman, dark-skinned with straight, black hair and a maroon-colored evening dress, is holding hands with the man in a gray suit to her right, whose skin-tone matches her own. The other man wears a black suit, and Bella isn't sure if it's because he's standing next to two nicely-tanned Native Americans or if he's really just a pale ginger, but he looks like he hasn't seen the sun in years. And in Seattle, Bella thinks, that's entirely possible.

Jasper leads the group to Table 20, and Bella retreats to the bar with her cleaning bottle. The bartender, Tyler, always forgets to wipe down the smaller half of the L-shaped counter top, and she doesn't want to start her Friday off with one of Jasper's lectures on cleanliness tomorrow morning.

Above her, the news is on the TV, and she slowly draws circles on the counter top with her rag as she listens to the weather report. She reaches for a mug from the drying rack next to the wine glasses and pours herself a luke-warm cup of coffee, adding one of the Mini Moo half-and-half creamers. She examines her sweetener options: white packets, blue packets, pink packets, and yellow packets. She opts for the last one.. The blue and green lights reflect off of the brown and clear beer bottles that hang from the ceiling for decoration, and Bella finds herself zoning.

"Excuse me," a voice says behind her.

The redheaded man from Table 20 is resting his hand on the brown leather cushion that lines the bar, a blackish-silver credit card between his index and middle finger. He opens his mouth to speak again, but then his eyebrows pull together, like he's changed his mind. "You know that isn't good for you," he says after a pause.

Bella grips the side of the bar with one hand, feeling his gaze pin her in place. She glances down at the mug in her other hand. "The—uh, the coffee?"

His lips tug up at the corners. "No. The Splenda." He uses his chin to gesture to the yellow packets still sitting on the bar, torn in half and empty. "Artificial sweetener is supposed to be worse for you than sugar."

"Well, it's been, like, twenty-two years. Give or take a few diapers." Bella swallows. "And it hasn't killed me yet."

The man leans closer until his torso is pressed as flat against the bar as it can be. "I didn't know what I wanted to drink when the waitress asked," he says. "But I do now. Can I order here?"

He's standing as close to Bella as the bar's counter top between them would allow, and this does not go unnoticed to her. He stares directly into her eyes, unmoving, lips parted.

Bella puts her coffee mug down and stands up straighter, smoothing down the front of her apron. She realizes she was biting her lip only when she opens her mouth to speak and suddenly hopes she hasn't created an indent from her teeth. "I—of course. What can I get you?" she says.

"Scotch, please," he says, "on the rocks."

Bella finds herself staring at him for a moment too long. She hopes he didn't notice the way she was desperately trying to find any flaw on his face—a scratch, a blemish, a birthmark, a patch of uneven skin tone. She finds only a single freckle underneath his right eye, in the middle of his cheek, and tries not to think about how attractive he is.

Bella prepares his drink, keeping her eyes on the glass in front of her. When she finally looks up at him again, he's still watching her, eyes drooping. He dips his chin as she walks closer and smiles, running a hand through his messy-but-on-purpose hair.

Bella moves to sit the glass on the bar top, but his hand reaches out before she can do so. Her heart beats unevenly for a second when his thumb brushes over her empty ring finger, and she wonders briefly if he's touching her on purpose when he repeats the motion as she takes his credit card.

She sneaks a glance at his name while the receipt prints: Edward L. Mason.

"Thank you," he says after Bella hands him his receipt. He glances down at her chest, and Bella is momentarily offended until he adds, "Bella," squinting at the name tag pinned to the neckline of her dark gray shirt.

Bella tries and fails at not making it obvious that she's watching him to back to his seat, but she's not embarrassed that he catches her looking, especially when he turns around three times on his way to look at her, too.

"You tending bar now?" Tyler teases, appearing at the sink to wash his hands.

"Sorry," she says. "He asked, and—you know. Table 20, and all that."

Tyler nods. "Thanks. You probably saved us all from a Jasper Lecture." He tilts his head to gesture to where Jasper is standing, peeking out at the LOC customers from the ordering window. He's watching Jessica's every move as she approaches the table and asks if they're ready to order.

Bella checks that her section is properly cleaned and ready to go, forcing herself several times to hold back a glance towards Table 20. She wonders if, just maybe, Edward Mason will be watching her if she caves and checks over her shoulder, but part of her doesn't want to know. She'll only be disappointed if he isn't, she reasons.

Remembering his topaz eyes and the intensity with which he met her gaze, though, sends a shiver up her spine.

Bella is in the kitchen when Jessica bursts through the swinging doors.

"Bella, Bella, Bella, please," Jessica says, tugging her apron over her head and tossing it onto a counter that's covered with flour. "Before you leave—can you please, please, please be on stand-by for Table 20 while I go to the bathroom?"

"I really think they can wait long enough for you to pee," Bella says. "If they need something." In truth, the thought of having to walk up to Edward Mason thrills her so much that she's sure she'll trip on her way over.

Jessica glances towards Mike, who's concentrating on cooking whatever Edward and the other two have ordered, but she uses her hand to block her mouth so that only Bella can read her lips. "I have to poop," she mouths silently. She raises her voice to a normal volume when she adds, "Jasper's still out there, and you know how he is when there are LOCs at Table 20! I really don't want to start the day tomorrow—"

"With a Jasper Lecture," Bella says, nodding. "I got it, yes, okay, I'll hover around until you're back."

"Thank you," Jessica says, already halfway towards the employee restroom.

Bella walks over to lean against the ordering window, peeking out at the dining room. Jessica still has customers at three tables, including Table 20, but the other two groups are already eating. Only Table 20 still waits for food.

Bella sneaks a glance at Edward Mason, and goosebumps raise over her skin. He's looking her way, and Bella meets his gaze as soon as she pokes her head out far enough to see him. She startles and tries to retreat back into the kitchen like a turtle in its shell, but it's too late.

Edward raises his hand and waves, the universal waitress-I-need-something signal.

Bella makes eye contact with Jasper, who's counting twenties at the cash register. He gives her The Jasper Look, and she swallows all of the saliva in her mouth.

Left with no other choice, she exits the kitchen, notepad in hand and attention on her careful footsteps.

Edward watches her every move as she approaches, returning her grin when she stops in front of their table. "I'll take another scotch, please," he says.

Bella looks away from him before his gaze makes her blush. The other two guests aren't paying her any attention, their eyes on a thick stack of papers on the table in front of them. Bella bites her lip. "Can I get you two anything?"

The woman lifts her head but stares right at Edward, as if Bella hasn't spoken at all. "I thought we agreed that we're selling as is."

Edward cuts his eyes away from Bella to glare at the woman. "We haven't agreed to anything yet, Emily. That's why we're here, isn't it?"

The man next to Emily leans back and crosses his arms. "I don't think this deal is going to work out, Edward."

Edward smiles, but it's sarcastic compared to the grins he's given Bella. "I'd wait until you see the price I'm offering before you make that decision."

Emily flips to the last page of the document and bends her head as she reads.

Bella shifts her weight, uncomfortable to be listening to a business negotiation that has nothing to do with her but unsure whether or not she should walk away with only one customer's drink order. "Um—so it that just one scotch, then?"

Edward's expression lightens when he meets Bella's eyes again. "Thank you."

Bella manages to not spill alcohol all over the floor when she brings it to him, a difficult thing for her to do when an attractive LOC is watching her every step.

Eventually, Jessica returns, and Bella makes it all the way to the computer in the back, ready to clock out, when Jessica bursts into the kitchen again.

"Someone made an impression," she says, walking towards Bella with a white piece of paper in her hand.

Bella slides her time-card back into the clear folder that's stapled to the wall behind the computer. "What?"

"That hottie at Table 20," Jessica says. "The redhead?"

Bella blinks, forcing her shoulders to stay slumped, like she's not intrigued at all.

"The one who was, like, literally leaning around me so that he could stare at you?"

Bella feels the pink start to creep up her neck and down her back and turns away, gathering her purse straps in her hand. "Oh," she says. "Yeah, I made him a drink."

Jessica grabs Bella's hand and presses a small rectangle into her palm. "Oh, I know," she says, wagging her eyebrows suggestively. "I asked for their drink orders, and he told me he prefers to order alcohol at the bar." She makes air quotes and winks, reaching out to tap Bella's arm like she's just won a prize. "I mean, who does that? And then I turn around, and you're there, and he's staring right at you, so I walk away, and he goes right up to you and starts talking, and—"

"He came over to the bar on purpose?"

Jessica grins, and her eyebrows wag one more time. "He looked right through me. If I hadn't just sworn off men last week, I'd be offended, because damn." She pretends to fan herself dramatically.

Bella looks down at the paper in her hand—a business card.

Edward Mason

Founder and CEO

Mason Entertainment Networking

She flips the card over and finds a phone number, but one that's different than the number listed under his name on the front. It's handwritten and personalized:

Bella — Let's do lunch. E.M.