Master of the Universe.pdf

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Pun}r->----

I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror. Damn my hair, it just won’t behave, and damn

Rose for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal. I have tried to brush my hair into

submission but it’s not toeing the line. I must learn not to sleep with it wet. I recite this five

times as a mantra whilst I try, once more, with the brush. I give up. The only thing I can do is

restrain it, tightly, in a pony tail and hope that I look reasonably presentable.

Rose is my roommate and she has chosen, okay, that’s a bit unfair, because choice has had

nothing to do with it, but she has the flu and as such cannot do the interview she’s arranged

with some mega industrialist for the student newspaper. So I have been volunteered. I have

final exams to cram for, one essay to finish and I am supposed to be working this afternoon,

but no - today - I have to head into downtown Seattle and meet the enigmatic CEO of Cullen

Enterprise Holdings, Inc. Allegedly he’s some exceptional tycoon who is a major benefactor

of our University and his time is extraordinarily precious… much more precious than mine -

and he’s granted Rose an interview… a real coup she tells me… Damn her extra-curricular

activities.

“Bella I’m sorry. It took me nine months to get this interview and it will take another six to

reschedule, and you and I will both have graduated by then. As the editor I can’t blow this

out… Please.” Rose begs me in her rasping, really sore throat voice…

I stare at her red-rimmed runny eyes, her bright pink nose…

“Of course, I’ll go Rose. You should go back to bed. Would you like some paracetamol?”

“Yes please. Here are the questions and my minidisk recorder. Just press record here. Make

notes, I’ll transcribe it all.”

“I know nothing about him.” My voice is anxious.

“The questions will see you through… go… I don’t want you to be late.”

Pun}r->

“Okay… I’m going… I have a long drive. Go back to bed, but please make sure you eat - I

made you some soup to heat up later.” I stare at her fondly…. only for you Rose would I do

this.

“I will. Good luck… and thanks Bella, you’re a life saver as usual.”

I smiled wryly at her and head out the door to our room.

I cannot believe I have let Rose talk me into this. But then Rose can talk anyone into

anything. She’ll make an exceptional journalist. She’s articulate, strong, persuasive,

argumentative… beautiful, and she’s my dearest, dearest friend. The roads are clear as I set

off from Portland; it’s early and I don’t have to be in Seattle until two this afternoon.

Fortunately she’s lent me her car. I’m not sure my old truck would be up for the journey.

Well, it is the least she can do - I frown into the rearview mirror - but I have to say her sporty

BMW Z4 is so much more fun to drive than my truck and the miles slip away as I put my foot

down.

It’s cloudy, but at least it’s not raining as I make my way into the city. The Seattle traffic is

heavy, but I have an hour to go and I’m feeling fairly confident that I should be able to find

somewhere to park… Thank heavens for the Sat Nav on the Z4 otherwise I’d be royally

screwed.

My destination is the headquarters of Mr Cullen’s global enterprise. It’s a huge thirty-storey

office building, all curved glass and steel, an architect’s utilitarian fantasy with Cullen House

written discreetly in steel over the glass front doors. It’s a quarter to two and I feel an

immense sense of relief that I’m not late as I walk into the enormous, frankly intimidating,

glass, steel and white sandstone, first floor foyer.

Behind the solid sandstone desk a very attractive blonde haired young woman smiles

pleasantly at me. She’s wearing the sharpest charcoal suit jacket and white shirt I have ever

seen… she looks immaculate.

“I’m here to see Mr Cullen. Isabella Swan for Rosalie Hale.”

“Excuse me one moment Miss Swan.” She arches her eyebrow slightly as I stand self-

consciously in front of her. I am beginning to wish I had borrowed one of Rose’s jackets

rather than wear my navy blue peacoat. I have made an effort and worn my one and only skirt.

It’s brown, and I have sensible brown knee-length boots and a blue sweater. For me… this is

smart. I tuck one of the escaped tendrils of my hair behind my ear as I pretend she doesn’t

intimidate me.

“Miss Hale is expected, please sign in here Miss Swan. You’ll want the end lift on the right,

press for the 30th floor.” She smiles kindly at me, amused no doubt as I sign in. She hands me

a security pass that has VISITOR very firmly stamped on the front… personally I think it’s

obvious that I’m just visiting, I don’t fit in here at all… nothing changes, I inwardly sigh… I

thank her and walk over to the lifts, past the two security men who are both far more smartly

dressed than me in their well-cut black suits.

The lift whisks me with unseemly haste to the thirtieth floor. The doors silently fly open and

I’m in another large foyer, again all glass, steel and white sandstone. In front of me there’s

another desk of sandstone and another young blond woman dressed impeccably in black and

white, who rises to greet me.

“Miss Swan, could you wait here, please?” She points to a seated area of white leather chairs.

Behind the leather chairs is a large glass-walled meeting room with an enormous dark wood

table and twenty dark wood chairs around it, beyond that a floor-to-ceiling window with a

view of the Seattle skyline, looking out through the city towards the Pacific Ocean. It’s a

stunning vista. I stand and admire it, momentarily distracted before I sit.

I fish the questions out of my satchel and go through them, inwardly cursing Rose for not

providing me with a brief biography. I know nothing about this man I am about to interview.

He could be 90, he could be in his 30s… My nerves are beginning to kick in - I am

uncomfortable with this one-to-one stuff. I am much better in a group scenario… preferably

not asking any questions… sitting somewhere in the back. Well, judging by the building - all

clinical and modern - he’s probably in his thirties… fit, tanned, blond, to match the rest of the

personnel.

Another elegant, flawlessly dressed blond comes out of a large door to the right. What is it

with all the immaculate blonds? It’s like Stepford here… I take a deep breath and stand up.

“Miss Swan,” the latest blond asks.

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