Chapter One

When we first dropped our bags on apartment floors

Took our broken hearts and put them in a drawer

Everybody here was someone else before

~ Taylor Swift, Welcome To New York (Taylor's Version)

BPOV

"Okay, you need to relax," she said, a cool and calm hand falling to the conference table in front of me, perfectly manicured black nails shining up at me.

I nearly laughed out loud. There was no relaxing. Now with what I—we—she was about to do.

It had been a shock to every single person on my team when she called and asked me to open for her tour. A tour that would quite literally go down in history considering she was the most decorated entertainer… ever. Across just about every platform.

I had spent the months since the Grammy nomination fiasco in New York City. I was still public enemy number one in Nashville and I had to actively avoid all forms of the internet or news outlets because every time I saw Jacob's smug face I wanted to punch it.

It was easy to forget about all of that in New York. I had an apartment that I bought because I loved it and not because I needed out of the house I bought with the man I was nearly married to. Seth was a few floors below me but he refused my offer to pay outright for his place. He was technically my employee, so I reminded him I was paying either way, but he still refused.

Then we all got the call that I was, somehow, the first choice to open up for The Eras Tour and everything changed. Those shows in Chicago lit a new fire within me, and the few shows after only had me wanting more. And after she offered to buy me out of my Nashville label I made an impulsive decision to say yes.

Nobody knew better than her. Nobody had been as publicly scrutinized or torn apart as her. And she was still here, still on the very top.

So I said yes. I fought with my entire team for days about it and never faltered. And here we were.

"They could say no," I murmured, feeling the need to whisper even though it was only us and a few of her lawyers with us. One was her daughter-in-law and the other her nephew. Both sent me comforting smiles.

"They won't." She opened her mouth to say more, but her eyes suddenly started following the mass of men heading our way through the glass conference room wall. "Don't let them see how nervous you are," she said quickly before they filed in.

It was at least a dozen of them. All men I had practically grown up around. Men I trusted that now looked at me with disgust and disdain.

"Well?" she asked, sounding remarkably bored and uninterested as she eyed the men sitting across from her.

"No," Scott said firmly, frowning at the both of us. "She's worth—"

"First of all," she interrupted. "This isn't about her worth. She's a human being. Her worth is invaluable. This is about a contract."

Scott bit his tongue. "Her contract still has two more albums left."

"And my offer more than covers it."

"It's a lowball offer and you know it."

"It's hardly a lowball offer considering the lack of accolades achieved by her last album. We have one of your other artists to thank for that, if I'm correct."

Not a single one of them had the decency to look guilty. She had told me it would get ugly, and told me that she would use them blacklisting my last album against them. It didn't make it sting any less.

Scott shook his head. "We don't know what you're talking about."

"None of us in the room are naive enough to believe that."

The room got silent.

She looked nearly bored as Scott started to squirm.

"Same price but we retain right to the masters of her first three—"

"No," I snapped, surprising everyone at the table. Myself included.

I caught her smirking over at me before she turned back to Scott. "No."

Finally, finally Charlie spoke up. "It's a good deal, Scott."

I didn't bother looking toward him. Hadn't talked to him since I sent him a text eight months ago that I was moving to New York and Seth was coming with me. His response was a simple okay and that was that.

My father had co-founded the label decades ago with his friend, Scott. They grew up in a tiny town an hour outside of Nashville and loved the music scene. Knew it better than anyone.

He got me my first guitar when I was five. And somewhere along the way money and success changed our father-daughter relationship into a strictly business one. Especially after mom left when Seth was only four. I was six, but I did my best to keep the three of us together and happy.

I shook my head. Those were thoughts for another time.

"You're destroying the whole industry, you know that?"

My jaw tensed until I realized Scott wasn't talking to me, but the woman effectively salvaging my career.

She beamed over at him. "Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment," Scott snapped, turning toward me. "You'd rather she own your career than us?"

"I won't own anything. I had no part in making her music and have no right to own it. She'll own her work, as it should be."

"So you're just doing this out of the kindness of your heart?" Scott snapped.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes. I'm a horrible person and a money-hungry bitch. I've heard it all before. Sign the papers so I can get the fuck out of this town."

Scott begrudgingly scribbled his name down before sliding the paper over toward Charlie.

I tried to keep from looking at him, but couldn't help it.

"This is what you want?"

I nodded. "Yes."

He signed his name.

And I was free.

All of the men were quick to leave.

I couldn't remember how to stand. Could barely remember to take a deep breath every few seconds. "Thank you," I managed to gasp out.

"You're welcome."

"You can—if there's some catch you can tell me now. I understand how this works. I—"

"There's no catch," she said softly with none of the anger she hurled at Scott when he implied the same thing only a few minutes ago.

"Why not?"

"Because I've spent a long time trying to change how things work around here. And it's useless if other people don't start fighting the system too. You've got too much potential to be stuck here and told what to do."

"What if I don't?"

She shook her head with a smile. "You do."

—How You Get The Girl—

When those handful of Eras Tour shows turned into another year full of international shows and a second round through the states, I took in every minute of it. Learned as much as I could from watching a woman who had fought her way through the industry a hundred times over perform for three and a half hours a night.

And I wrote. And wrote. And wrote some more.

I was signed to her former label, Millenium Records, and they were surprisingly… patient. No one was hounding me for a record, no one was telling me to keep it country or clean or proper. I wasn't sure if it was because of her pull there or if it was the change she had been talking about working so hard for, but I appreciated it. The time.

Because even though I had been touring and even though I put on a smile every time I knew a camera or fan was around the corner, I was thoroughly and completely broken.

The disappointment of an album I had put my heart and soul into being so disregarded was more of a blow to myself than I would ever admit to anybody. The accolades weren't everything and I knew that, but having to go on the internet and see hundreds of thousands of fans and insiders and experts say how disappointed they were in it was fucking hard.

And Jacob broke me into a million tiny little pieces with a single post. A post on Instagram. That was what our six year relationship ended with. Some plain white text on a black background talking about an amicable and civil ending of a relationship posted the morning I was going to put on a pretty white dress and marry him.

All because the week before, I was named Country Music Association's Entertainer of the Year and he wasn't.

I was better now. Sometimes. Most of the time.

I had gotten over losing the man I had once loved, because he was long gone. He never would have left me that way, and he never would have so maliciously gone after my follow up album and actively sabotaged me at every turn.

The Jacob I knew had been replaced by a man so egotistical and vengeful and money-hungry I barely recognized him the few times I accidentally ended up looking him up online.

I was ready for something new. Ready to stop being the butt of every joke, done being the click bait headline wondering who I was dating now or what I thought of the newest model warming my former fiancé's bed.

As the show for the night came to an end, I packed up my few lingering belongings from my dressing room, tossing my phone and tablet into my tote as I heard the door swing open behind me. It was half a second later that my brother—and guitar player—plopped himself on the couch behind me.

"Hey," he said softly.

I was immediately skeptical. "What?"

"The polite response to someone saying hello is saying it back."

"Hello, Seth," I sighed. "Now tell me why you suddenly care about manners."

"I don't care about manners. I care about you."

I paused and turned to look at him. He wasn't his usual, aloof self. I assumed he would have been sprawled on the couch with a grin on his face as usual. Instead he was sitting with his elbows on his knees and an uncharacteristically concerned furrow of his brows as he stared at me.

"What?" I asked hesitantly. Far less defensive than last time, and much more nervous about where he was going.

"When was the last time you went on a date?"

I scoffed out a laugh. "According to TMZ—"

"I'm serious, Bella."

"Since when do you care about my dating history?"

Seth's eyes softened. "It's been over two years at this point, Bella."

"I know how long it's been."

I wasn't good at the dating thing, I had learned. I never had to be. But I had been on a few dates over the years. Most of them a waste of time but there had been a couple that lasted longer than an awkward dinner. One even lasted a whole three months before I decided I had forced myself to like everything I actively hated about the guy.

I frowned down at the scrap of paper Seth held out to me. "What is that?"

"A guys number."

I coughed out a gasp. "I know my love life is pathetic but I do not need you—"

"I didn't do it. He asked me to give it to you. Well, I guess he had his team ask to meet you before the show but you shot him down."

"What?" I asked for a third time.

"He's a football player. He's, I mean, kind of the best quarterback in the league. I might have been… lingering outside of his suite to talk to him. That's besides the point."

"Oh, no," I countered. "I think that is very much the point."

I loved my brother. Would do absolutely anything for him. Except pimp myself out to a football player just because he wanted to stalk him apparently.

Mostly because I knew absolutely nothing about the sport. Or any sport, really.

"Look, my admiration of him aside, he seems like a cool guy. Different from anyone else you've dated. And maybe it'll lead nowhere but you deserve to be happy, Bella. You… you're everyone else's biggest cheerleader. Always have been. And you deserve someone—besides me—to be yours."

I sighed, swallowing back the lump in my throat. I had slowly but surely closed myself off from most people I had once had on my side the last few years. Jacob and I had a very intertwined friend group, and most of them chose his side. Moving out of Nashville severed the few lingering friendships I had in town.

I hadn't realized it, not really, how few friends I had these days. I worked and I had my band who had been by my side since I was seventeen and I had my team who were practically family at this point. And I had Seth. Who was looking at me with such sincere worry and compassion that I hesitantly took the still outstretched scrap of paper from him.

Written in a surprisingly elegant script was the name Edward Cullen followed by a phone number.

—How You Get The Girl—

It was nearly four in the morning by the time I settled myself into the fluffy hotel bed, fresh out of the shower in an old t-shirt that had seen better days and still too wired from the evening to sleep.

A deadly combo that lead to me pulling up one Edward Cullen on instagram.

"Oh," I gasped out loud at the first glimpse of him. The profile picture was too small to fully appreciate, so I quickly found a clearer image on his feed. Posted an hour ago. Him and his group in a private box of the stadium I had just played.

He was quite possibly the most handsome man I had ever seen. His copper hair was a unique blend of various shades of red and brown, and in complete disarray that made me subconsciously smile. His smile was tilted slightly to the left and his jawline had me biting the inside of my cheek.

Maybe it was because I didn't know the first thing about football, but I had a stereotypical image of a beefy jock in my head. Someone with more muscles than anyone truly needed and a steroid-induced sneer on their face.

Edward had the muscle. Very obviously peeking out of the sleeve of this t-shirt. Lining every inch of his body, but in a naturally honed way that was like he was made for what he did. He towered over the tiny little thing of a woman beside him who, according to the tag, was his sister.

I scrolled further through his feed, shamelessly admiring the man based on looks alone. Half of his feed was football related, a lot of it obviously posted by a social media manager or publicist. Which I understood completely. And could easily sift through to enjoy the ones he posted himself.

A lot of family photos. And a picture of him winning the Super Bowl a couple years ago that—

"Fuck," I snapped as my finger accidently double tapped the picture and that traitorous little heart appeared.

Nothing was quite as humbling as getting caught stalking someone's instagram feed at four in the morning by liking a two year old picture. Bonus points for it being a complete stranger.

I scrolled back up to the top of his page and impulsively hit the follow button. Knowing full well there would be fan theories flooding the internet in waves at the change in my following count, but not caring at the moment.

Because Seth was right. I was lonely.

I threw myself into work after Jacob. Then threw myself into work even harder after he and the label decided to blacklist me and the album.

But I missed having someone on my side. Someone to hold my hand, someone I could trust without thinking twice about it, someone to fall asleep next to every night.

Throughout everything, I was still that same hopeless romantic I had been when I was sixteen and discovering what it meant to be in love. I was still that love stuck eighteen-year-old who wrote Fearless on the floor of my bedroom as I daydreamed about a love that would chase away all of the anxieties that plagued me day by day.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when my phone beeped in my hand and a notification of a new message from one appeared.

: Seth?

I snorted to myself and typed out a response before I could think too hard about it.

BellaSwan: You think I have my brother run my social media? At four in the morning?

Three little dots quickly appeared. Then disappeared. Then popped up again.

: Shit

: Fuck

: Sorry

I giggled to myself. And took pity on him after I watched the dots disappear and reappear a few more times.

BellaSwan: Was the number you gave Seth your actual number?

His answer was immediate.

: Of course

I closed out of the app and opened my messages, carefully typing in the number.

B: I'm sorry my manager didn't let you backstage tonight. I'm getting over a cold and was on vocal rest most of the day.

I hadn't even known it had happened.

E: I'm sorry I smooth talked your brother into giving you my number.

B: The way I heard it you should consider getting a restraining order against him.

E: Nah, he seems like a cool kid.

My fingers danced across my phone screen and I typed away before I could second guess myself.

B: Why did you give him your number?

E: Because I've had a thing for you for years and had to shoot my shot somehow.

I scoffed to myself.

B: I'm serious

E: So am I.

I rolled my lips together. Dating in general was hard. Dating when the world had been speculating about your love life since you were seventeen was even harder.

Because I never knew. If a guy genuinely liked me or if he liked the idea of being able to say he had been with me. If it was some sick game to get himself a headline or a bet amongst his friends he wanted to win.

All I knew of this guy was that he had a nice smile and played football for a living.

Just as I was about to toss my phone on the nightstand and try to fall asleep, it pinged with another message.

E: You were on The Today Show a few years ago. I always have it on for my morning workout, not usually paying much attention. You were playing this ungodly sparkly guitar and had the biggest smile on your face while you performed. Then when they tried to interview you, you spent a majority of the time making faces behind their back to the crowd and talking with them instead. And I just thought you seemed like the coolest chick, not giving a fuck about anything other than the music or people who probably spent hours waiting for you.

I read his message half a dozen times. Then one more time for good measure.

B: Do you have something against sparkly guitars?

E: No.

B: Good. Sparkles and I are kind of a package deal.

A/N: I hope you guys like this so far. I honestly don't know exactly where this story is going to go, but I'm already obsessed with these two. Also: playlist of this Bella's discography is up on my twitter :)