A/N: This is an outtake that I donated to Fandom for LLS recently. Hope you enjoy it
Thank you all for all the lovely things you've had to say about The Plan over this past year.

The Plan – Outtake

Day of Employment: 13

6:35pm

Dinner: Being eaten on sofa

Roommate: Inquisitor, it seems

"So," I say, sounding too deliberately casual to my own ears, "there's this guy I keep seeing at work-"

"A guy? What guy? You never mentioned a guy." Alice stops mid-carrot bite. "You're seeing a guy at work?"

"I see him at work. Not 'seeing' him." My fork runs through the rice. I like Alice's idea better.

I think.

"Aren't there a lot of guys on your floor?" Alice talks around a mouthful of food. Somehow, she's still cute. I would look like a cow with a cud.

"Not like…not like him. They are guys. He's a, well…" I hadn't really thought about this before. Guys wear ball caps. Sometimes backwards. This is cannot picture. Guys swill beer and slap buds on the back and often can be observed being pleasant and have even been known to smile. I've never seen this man smile. "He's a man."

"Man." Alice hums the word.

Silence. I don't know why I brought this up. Why I couldn't contain it.

"I don't work with him." We interrupt this message to Thank God. "He's got a corner office and a commanding presence and wears suits so very, very well."

Alice quirks an eyebrow.

Another bite. Alice squirms in her seat. "Go on. What makes this one so special?"

I shrug. "He's not special. He's an asshole."

"Oh, yeah. Assholes aren't special, Bella. Assholes are your specialty."

I chuck a snow pea at her. But it's true.

She lobs it back to me.

"Probably not my Prince Charming then, you think?" I smile.

"You know, Bella, you kiss enough frogs you end up with HPV."

"Pretty sure that's just toads and warts."

Day of Employment 14

10:30am

Dress: Same red as my first day. Thus begins the repeat cycle.

Desk: Clutter-free

Cactus: Withering away

"Already?" I am in shock. I didn't even get to place a bet on this last one.

"You snooze, you lose," Eric says, fanning himself with the small handful of bills and looking disturbing akin to a cotillion darling.

Across the floor, a sniffly blonde packs up her belongings from the desk outside Edward Cullen's closed office door. Not her desk. The desk. No one has it long enough to lay claim.

"I wasn't 'snoozing.' I was discussing the P&L with Rosalie."

Eric remains unruffled. "Snooze, schmooze. Same diff. All I know is I'm gonna be buying some new shoes and you're still gonna be wearing those BOGOs." He looks askance at my feet.

Well, perhaps he's always a tad ruffly.

But, I note my shoes definitely are of the sensible heel variety.

I smooth my skirt and tuck my feet under my desk.

...

1:03pm

"Whoa." Eric nudges Angela. "Somebody skipped lunch." He points toward me.

She looks down. "Ooo, nice shoes. You went shopping? Without me?" She feigns hurt.

Spinning a quarter turn in my chair, I allow myself a moment to admire my shiny, distinctly non-sensible shoes, then I head to give Rosalie the reports before her meeting.

Unfortunately, she is not in her office.

She's also not to be found in the supply room, copy room, or bathroom. By the time my search reaches our deserted break room, I regret not breaking in the new shoes before wearing them at work.

I take a moment to lean over a table and take the weight off my feet. Just a second. Please. Ugh. A moment of relief, that's all I'm asking.

I'm sure I look a sight. My face on the cool table and my ass up in the air, feet swinging in the wind.

Thunk.

One heel slips to the floor.

My toes fumble around until I feel the leather, twist into it, and oh-so-carefully lift it behind me like a crane until I can reach back and put it on again.

I stretch and grunt and twist and probably channel all the grace of Cloris Leachman performing Swan Lake.

Well, that was certainly relaxing.

Grabbing the reports, I leave just in time to see Edward Cullen round the corner, gorgeous jaw clenched.

All the air squeezes from my lungs.

He doesn't spare me a glance.

Whew. A few moments earlier and that would've been really embarrassing.

...

4:45pm

Email: Empty

Spreadsheets: Done

Mind: Preoccupied. To say the least.

Edward Cullen.

His door stares back at me.

I watched him go there about five minutes ago.

Or twenty.

Navy suit, sky blue tie.

Outline of his frame burned into my retinas.

"…Bella? You okay?" Angela peers over her cubicle wall.

"Hmm? Oh…oh, yes. Yes, I'm fine." Shake the cobwebs from my head. I need to do the same for other parts of me. "Long day."

"They all are," Angela says, and shuts down. "I'm heading out after I run over to HR with the picture that PA left today."

"She was in a hurry to get outta here, huh?"

"More likely, to get away from Cullen," she laughs. On the betting pool chart, she makes a winning mark for the day under Eric's name. "Be ready tomorrow, Bella. Eric is taking us to the cleaners."

She's right. Eric is winning all the time. He must have a system.

Or – I think back to his comment about my shoes, my whereabouts, everyone's happenings – he's just observant as Hell.

Hell, I can be observant.

I look at the closed, hardwood door.

There are worse things to look at.

Oh, I'll be ready tomorrow.

Thinking about Cullen, I'm ready now.

Angela leaves.

The office sounds fade away.

No clicks. No buzzes. No chatter.

Nothing but me and that unforgiving door.

Clearly, I've been reading far, far too many trashy romances – because I cannot help myself. I imagine it opening.

Cullen would emerge. Starched white shirt. Crisp.

Jacket over his arm. Hair…doing whatever the fuck it is that it does.

I'd be at my desk.

Fans blowing my hair back. No. No, that's a bit much. Scratch the fan.

I'd be at my desk. Pretending to work.

Pretending not to hear him approach.

"Miss…Swan, isn't it?" His voice spills over my shoulder, warm like coffee along my neck.

I shiver at the thought alone.

I spin, look up at him through my lashes. Suppress the urge to say I'll be whoever he wants me to be.

"Yes. Mr. Cullen, is it?" As if I don't know.

He looks down at me. Tongue darts. Lips glisten.

"I'm told you handle…" Steps so close I can feel the heat of him. "…spread…" Hand runs along my chair. "…sheets."

"Yes, I do." I cross my arms, push my breast together. Subtle.

Or maybe not. "Anything you want me to handle, you can put in my box."

"I need to whip it out by five."

"Well, that'll be hard." My eyes dart to his zipper. "I'll need it on my desk now."

I want to assume an entry-level position.

He looks around the empty office and then to me. Like a predatory cat, he makes a final move forward, leans around my body, breathes into my hair, and his white linen arm sweeps the papers from my desk.

His hand goes under my hair, fingers dig into my neck, bends me, bows my back. I crush into him, part my lips and breathe in the scent of him. He leans in, searches my face, eyes to lips to neck, then he's on me. Covers my mouth with his. Again. I'm open and swallowed up.

Underneath his tongue is smooth and sweet.

My ankle wraps around his leg and he lifts me against him before pushing me down against the desk that I shall henceforth never be able to look at again without thoughts of Edward Cullen.

Hands everywhere. I feel him at my ribs.

I fumble with his buttons, he tears mine free.

I touch his face. He wraps my legs around his waist, grinds into me. Deep. Hard.

Even through clothes it's better than any of my real sex.

One hand at my throat, thumb under my jaw, lips parted and panting down on me, his fingers tear through my hosiery, slipping-

"Bella?"

Wha-?

"It's after five." Rosalie looks at me questioningly. "Are you having trouble? I haven't overloaded you, have I?"

"I'm fine." Load-free even. Regrettably so.

We both turn to the sound of Cullen's door opening. He looks to Rosalie briefly then goes on his way.

I feel my cheeks burn.

It's no big deal.

One office daydream.

Not like I'm going to let myself get obsessed with him.

I clock out.