7 Isa

I'm beyond baffled. He doesn't know a good pizza place. Edward Cullen, a multi-generational New Yorker, born and raised usually orders in from Domino's. Not that there's anything wrong with that place or its food, but with a limitless wallet and access to anything…how can you not know the nooks and crannies in this town? How can you not be up to date when it comes to the best of the best, in any area of life?

So I give him an address. It's based in my neighborhood, around three blocks away from my apartment, in Astoria. That's not normally what I'd do. But I don't exactly think this man is up to anything fishy. He's got a clean background check, and security is only one text away.

He parks his Rolls, looking concerned as he clicks the fob. There's no valet in sight, no guarded car parks. And this is a half-a-million-dollar car. I offered to run out and get food, but Mr. Cullen insisted I don't roam the street alone. "It's not safe." is his explanation. I almost snort. Almost. I would have if it wasn't for that adorable look on his face. If the man thinks this is a bad neighborhood, he hasn't seen anything yet. Then I remembered, that Edward Cullen grew up in a gilded cage. A very privileged Park Avenue cage. He's been isolated his entire life, driven around from preschool to boarding school, to university, to work. Even now, even after breaking out of the family's society royalty mold, his job creates isolation as well. He's alone in his world, his brain too big for most. He's among scientists and labs and essays that are the size of the Lord of The Rings trilogy. I've checked. He's alone in one of the busiest cities on earth. And it would be so good for him to set foot outside every once in a while. Some of my clients book me for that very reason. To just get out of the house. It makes them sparkle. No matter who they are or how thick their wallets are.

I wonder if that's why I'm being summoned. Then again, I mostly never find out the actual reasons. I'm here to do my job, take the check, go home, and repeat.

My train of thought stops instantly when he steps in front of me, the cashmere of his coat sleeve brushing a sliver of bare wrist. It's electrifying, making me shiver.

"After you," he smiles sweetly. This man is an enigma for sure. He's masked and clouded at times, yet sometimes something shines through that I can't quite place.

"Are you sure you don't want me to hop in and get some slices to go? You could wait in the car?" I've asked him already on the way over. But persuading Edward Cullen isn't easy. I think it might be impossible to get him to change his mind once he's made his choice.

"What kind of picture would that paint of me, heh? Leaving my girlfriend all alone…waiting in the car like she's some kind of pizza delivery person?"

I roll my eyes.

"Chivalry… it's still alive in the upper echelon?" I wonder briefly. My coat is still wet, flapping around me uncomfortably.

Edward shrugs, his posture faltering. I guess I struck a nerve.

"What do you usually order here?" His eyes flutter between me and the glass entrance door to the pizzeria. I'm completely taken off guard by how young he looks. How worried. If I wasn't on the clock right now, I wouldn't let him change the subject so easily. But I can tell he's bothered by something, so I shut up and go with it.

"Depends on my mood," I shrug. "I make it my mission to never order the same thing twice until I've tasted the entire menu."

He breathes noticeably harder, more shallow. He's anxious. I've made him anxious. Good job, Isa.

"Hey." I put my hand on his forearm, trying to soothe him, changing the subject yet again. "I feel exceptionally disappointed by that fancy restaurant's food. You know what that calls for?" I don't wait for his answer because I've done my homework. I know what he loves and hates. And I need to get his mood up a few notches. "Mushrooms, red bell peppers, and a whole lot of pepperoni."

Green eyes light up, a dimple making itself known in one cheek. Adorably hot. If that's even a thing.

"That's what I get. My favorite pizza."

I know, Cullen. I know. But I can't tell.

"No way, really?" My smile could light up the entire block. But it's fake and tiring. So I order and gaze up lovingly at the man who's buying me a pie of pizza with dollar bills so crisp you'd think he printed them out himself. His manners are impeccable, his tip high enough to have the owner ask if he's heard it correctly. Another polite smile with a nod before he slides the Montblanc billfold back into his pocket.

This man has got every social cue and all of his personas firmly under control. Would he even know who he is, the man underneath it all? Or does that person never come out of hiding?

"This isn't exactly a socialite dinner spot, sorry. There won't be any gossip to get word out that Edward Cullen is dating," I say. It's a strange vision, him carrying a generic cardboard pizza box into a Rolce Royce.

"Don't worry about that, Isa." He says t with a shrug and a secret smile. "My sister's got that covered."

"That girl works fast," I mumble.

"And in mysterious ways." I laugh at the boy who cracks through the man's exterior, until his phone pings and he frowns at the message.

"I'm good on my own if you're busy," I tell him. "I'll just text my driver to meet me here."

"Not a chance." He takes in our surroundings again, no doubt that he's thinking about the state of this neighborhood. "I am busy," he says next. "Having dinner. With you."

The phone disappears. Once he clicks the key, bright lights envelop the entire street like the flash of a paparazzo's camera.

"I feel bad, I'm tainting this perfect interior and new car-smell with pizza." Edward chuckles.

"Don't feel bad. It gets washed so often that the dealership scent always lingers. It's insane."

"Washing it so often seems insane," I bite back playfully. Another laugh, another smile.

"Tell my father."

"I might." I wink.