Chapter 1

Pretty Tied Up
No, absolutely not.
Oh, please, Bella? Rosalie begs for the nth time. Please, please, please, please, please? I know
how much you hate cases like this, it's just that no one will take him on.
I pretend to rifle through my appointment calendar, tamping down the urge to kick Rosalie out of
my office. I've got a full load now, Rosalie. I don't have time to take on another case, especially
one that's unsalvageable.
Don't say that! Rosalie flung her arms forward, catching me on a deathgrip. God, the girl is
ripped. He's not a lost cause....he just needs help! You know I wouldn't ask if it weren't important.
Come on, Bella . . . he's in way over his head with this one and you you're the best defense
attorney for these kinds of things.
What things? VA cases of spoiled, self-indulgent rock stars? It's mean, I know, to call the other
bestfriend of your best friend as such. I already looked into his files. He was completely wasted
that night, Rose. The lab reports indicated that he had enough alcohol and drugs in his system to kill
a horse.
But the accident wasn't his fault, Rosalie argues, her voice laced with desperation. You've read
the reports, you know it wasn't. They never should have arrested him, in the first place.
I give her a grimace. In close to five years of being a lawyer, I've heard almost every excuse. I sit
back in my thickly cushioned chair and eye Rosalie over my thick, lawyer desk. That doesn't
change anything. If some one tests positive for illegal substances, then that person is automatically
held at fault for accidents. You know he's damn lucky they let him out on bail.
I know, I know . . . that's why we're really worried about this one. He'd never been involved in
something this...bad before. He's not a bad guy, really he's not. I was there, he didn't even look high
or drunk that night. The police only tested him because of who he is.
I shake my head at her, appalled at her unwavering defense. That doesn't matter, either. He
submitted to the test voluntarily.
He was set up!
Doesn't matter.
Well, it should.
Doesn't he have a lawyer? He's a rock star, for God's sake, and his rap sheet is about three miles
long.
Well, the last one told him that if he screwed up again, he was dropping him as a client so...
So you're just going to sic him to me because, in your own words, no one in his or her right mind
would take him on? Thank you for the `vote of confidence, Rose.

No, no, no..I didn't mean it like that, she pleaded. I'll I'll do whatever you want, just help him,
please.
No.
. . . Please?
Rosalie
How many years have we known each other?
Long enough.
And how many times have I asked for a favor like this?
Zero, I thought, grimacing inwardly. That's hardly fair.
Isabella . . .
I said no. Egads, she's persistent. I don't even understand your relationship with this freak in the
first place.
He's a good friend.
Whom you fuck everytime he comes around, despite the fact that he fucks a thousand girls on the
daily basis.
He's a good lay!
He's a pervert!
Rosalie rolls her eyes. Who he fucks and when has nothing to do with the case. You have to do it.
No.
I've known him since we were kids, and despite his propensity of sticking his dick in anything with
a skirt, he is a good guy.
That's no defense.
He'd pulled me through a lot of hard times, Bella. A lot.
Oh, don't give me that bull. I'm aware of Rosalie's hard times. I am also a sucker, and Rosalie
knows it. I don't know, Rose.
Please?
Egads, how can I ever turn Rosalie down? Not when she's using her sob story and making her pityme eyes at me? I'd have a better chance of kicking down a puppy. And Goddamit, she knows it too.
Rosalie jumps from her seat at the first sign of the fortress wavering and attacks with a fierce, aircutting hug. Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you. I promise, he'll be good. I'll tell him that he'd

better be on his best behavior.

The only opening I have is next week, Thursday at one, and if he's late
He won't be late, I swear, and if he is, I'm going to put him in jail myself.
You owe me.
Of course, wouldn't have it any other way. . . put it on your long list of reasons I should give you
my first born. Or my first million.
Oh, you can count on that, I promise her, swallowing down the urge to sigh in defeat. I haven't
really said yes that I'm going to take his case, but I'm already regretting it.
-EdwardAtty. Swan will see you now.
Edward Cullen peeked up from the People magazine he'd been leafing through and casually tossed
it aside without taking his eyes off the young receptionist and pasting on a tolerant little grin.
Thanks, doll.
He started to rise as the receptionisthe'd forgotten her nameblushed and giggled before
hurrying away.
'Just fucking relax, I can handle this,' he remembered telling his manager when the other insisted
on coming along with him to the lawyer's office. Have a little faith, will you?
He'd been met with an incredulous expression and a warning. Make sure you behave. She's your
last chance. No one serious enough wants to touch your case.
Edward grimaced to himself, remembering his manager's stringent words, before striding toward
the nondescript cherry wood door bearing the hopelessly boring plaque: I. M. Swan, Junior Partner.
He didn't bother knocking; just swaggered into the room like he owned the place.
The woman behind the desk glanced up from the file open and seemed surprised for a moment as
she slowly rose to her feet, eyes narrowing as recognition flitted through her features.
Mr. Cullen.
Edward grinned and shook his head as he flopped into the chair across from her desk.
`Damn,' he blinked, struggling to hide the incredulity in his expression before she could discern it.
`Damn, she's hot.'
He pasted on a lazy, lopsided grin. Mr. Cullen? Fuck that. Call me Edward.
She sat slowly, her full lips twisting into a polite but not exactly friendly smile. Mr. Cullen will be
fine for the moment.

Edward rolled his eyes and chuckled. Whatever. So you gonna get me out of trouble, baby?
The smile disappeared as her lips pressed together in a thin, white line. I haven't decided whether
I'll take your case or not, she replied, adjusting the thick, clunky frame of her oversized glasses as
she leafed through the open file on her desk.
Okay, let's have it. What do you want?
She blinked, glancing up at him and slowly shook her head. What do I what??
Tickets to a show and backstage passes?
What?
You want to see me in the recording studio?
Excuse me?
He grinned almost lazily, fully aware that his baiting would land him in hell later. Or you just want
a really . . . good . . . fuck.
She gasped, pale cheeks paling even more seconds before they blossomed in indignant color. Wh
? I-I . . .No, I don't want any of those things, Mr. Cullen.
Deliberately letting his eyes travel from the top of her dark brown hair pulled back a little too
severely into a tight knot at the nape of her neck over the deep brown eyes burning with tempered
outrage, past the high contours of her still ruddy cheeks as he ignored the drop-mouthed expression
on her face, he nodded slowly.
`Yep, I could definitely do her,' he decided as he took in the boxy cut of the sack she passed off as a
business suit. She was hiding her figure on purpose, he realized, probably from dogs like him.
Yeah, I could fuck you, he decided at last, his tone playful despite the light of challenge that had
ignited behind his gaze. Definitely an eight out of ten on the old fuck-o-meter. You'd be a nineand-a-half, easy, if you lost the damn sack.
I'll pretend I didn't hear that, she returned coldly, or as coldly as she could make her voice, as she
drummed her fingers on her desk in an effort to hold back her temper. But if you insist on that line
of reasoning, I suggest you find yourself another attorney because I
Okay, okay . . . No need to sic the bitch act on me.
She drew a few deep breaths to calm herself and cleared her throat before speaking again. You've
been charged with something very serious, do you realize that?
Edward snorted, propping his feet on the desktop and crossing his ankles.
Like I could forget with everyone bitching about it, he grumbled. And it's not even like he's dead
or something.
He really hadn't thought that it would be possible for her to look any more outraged. He was wrong.

You don't really get it, do you, or do you just not care? Because of your actions, a man is laying in
the hospitala man you put there with your reckless behavior, and that man isn't going to ever walk
again.
Tell me something I don't know, babe. It's not like I meant to do it. I'm not a bad guy here, it wasn't
my fault.
Not your . . .? Are you serious? If you so much as try to say something like the devil made you do
it, I swear, I'll
I was bored, he cut in. I always do stupid shit when I'm bored. I can't help it; I swear!
She sighed and shook her head. So you were bored, and because you were bored, you chose to
drink an entire bottle of Jack Daniels, smoke a couple joints, slam your car into Mr. Carter's truck,
and that makes it not your fault.
From the first moment I looked at you, I knew you'd be a smart cookie, he drawled as he slumped
a little lower in the comfortably cushioned chair. Only he slammed his truck into my car, not the
other way around.
A set of arched eyebrows greeted his announcement. Really?
Oh, come on! You can't really think I'd be so dumb to scratch my car on a rusty, old bucket.
Honestly, Mr. Cullen, I can't say that I think one thing or another. I don't actually know you, do I?
You know I'm not that big an ass, Bitty-Belle.
Bitty-Belle?
Suits a pretty little thing like yourself.
She looked stunned that he remembered. He nearly laughed.
Whatever, she dismissed, I'd rather you address me as Ms. Swan on the duration of your trial.
Ms. Swan...hmmm...I like the sound of that, he said, drumming his fingers on his chin in
exaggeration. I've something better. How about Mistress Swan? I could call you that, no problem.
She didn't look like she wanted to answer him. Straightening her back, she stubbornly lifted her
chin a notch. Fine, just call me Bella, like Rosalie does.
Bella..., he considered that for a moment, nodding vaguely as another lurid grin broke out. I like
`Mistress Swan' better, though. It cuts to the chase.
Her cheeks reddened a little more, but she didn't back down. We are not on a race here, Mr.
Cullen.
He shrugged. Sure we are. Leaning forward, he nabbed the pen from her desk and grabbed a
blank notepad. She watched as he drew a large `V,' scrawled victory under it and turned it around
for her inspection.

What's this?
Chuckling again, he tossed down the pen and sat back, drawing his feet up on the desk once more as
he grinned lazily at her. It's you at the end of the chase. . . flat on your back with your legs spread
for me.
You're disgusting, she gasped, ripping the paper off the tablet and tossing it into the trash can as
her cheeks darkened from ruddy to crimson. Why are you so disgusting?
Wanna hear what I'd do to you if you spread your legs for me like that?
No.
You sure?
Yes.
Rather feel it, wouldn't you, baby?
Really disgusting.
Damn straight. Disgusting and dirty. I'd get down and dirty with you, Mistress, eat your pussy until
you were red and raw and begging for me to fuck the hell out of you. Tell me something. . .?
She didn't look like she was going to take the bait. She also looked mad as hell, and he stifled the
desire to laugh outright. She was spirited, he'd give her that much, and he had a feeling that she just
wouldn't be able to help herself, either. What?
Slowly, deliberately, he leaned forward, his mocking grin quickening her pulse. In the absolute
silence, he could almost hear her heart pounding, and the smile widened. Do you swallow?
Swallow? she echoed, shaking her head in confusion.
He chuckled softlyhuskily. Yeah . . . if I shot my load into your pretty little mouth, would you
spit it back at me or swallow it?
Her gasp was all the more startling in the quiet. He chuckled as her eyes brightened, snapping
angrily as her cheeks shot up in violent flames.
God, you really are an ass.
Relenting with a soft chuckle. Edward slouched back in his chair. So you gonna help this ass,
Bitty-Belle?
I don't think I should.
Why not?
Her eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. Give me one good
reason.

You said you didn't want to hear it.

Heaving a sigh and shaking her head, she drummed the end of her ink pen against the desk blotter
and narrowed her eyes on him. For the record, I don't really care if you rot in prison for the rest of
your life.
Awww, that's not so nice, Bitty-Belle.
Her answer was a long, pained breath designed to keep her shaking hands from reaching out and
throttling him. If you want my help, you have to do exactly what I say.
Ah, bondage! Catching up already, aren't we? You know, I haven't actually tried it, just watched
someone play, but I think I'm going to enjoy it a whole lot with you.
Cullen
Edward.
She ignored his interruption. Judge Banner doesn't like rock stars. I don't think he'd have a second
thought about locking you up for the maximum sentence allowed by law.
'Didn't think he wouldn't. But it's your job to make sure he doesn't, right?
Cullen, I'm serious.
He grimaced at her tone. She sounded so...earnest. Fine, fine...let's hear your terms.
Satisfied that he was going to listen to herat least for the momentBella sighed and pushed her
glasses up once more. You have a preliminary court date in a month, though I'd advise that we
have that delayed. It'd be in your best interests if we allow enough time for the press to find
something else to chew on. That said, until your court appearance and sentencing, should it progress
that far, you need to be on your best behavior.
I can do that.
Can you?
He nodded.
She rolled her eyes. That means that until then, you need to be a model citizen . . . In simplest
terms: no parties, no alcohol, no drugs, no women.
Snorting in disbelief, his eyes widened in surprise as he waved his hands to cut her off. Hold on,
sweetheart. The parties and drugs, fine. The booze and women? Why don't you just cut my dick off
now, then feed it to the dogs while you're at it?
And home by ten every night unless you've got prior obligations.
Come again?
Those are my terms. If you don't like them, feel free to find another lawyer.

Edward heaved a sigh. Don't you think you're being just a little
Those startling eyes narrowed dangerously. A little what?
He grinned. Bitchy?
No, I don't think I am.
You can't really expect me to follow those rules.
Bella sat back and shrugged. This isn't a comparatively petty deal like the time you flipped off the
police when they tried to give you a speeding ticket.
I didn't do that, he pointed out. I was rubbing my eye.
She arched an eyebrow and opened the file again. Indecent exposure?
I had to take a whiz, and there wasn't a fucking toilet anywhere.
Lewd and lascivious?
He grinned wolfishly. She swallowed.
Ugh, Bella uttered, her expression showing exactly what she thought of his behavior. What you
did this time was serious. Driving under the influence of illegal substances isn't something that
you're just going to get a hand slap for. According to the officers on site, you weren't only drunk,
turned out you were also stoned up to your eyeballs. You had a ten ounce bag of marijuana in the
car with you. Are you listening to me now?
Edward heaved a sigh and nodded once. All right; I hear you. The straight-and-narrow, huh? Fine,
fine . . . Can I think about this?
Those are my terms. Take them or leave them; I really don't care.
If I do, are you willing to babysit me, Bitty-Belle?
Of course not.
But I told you, right? I get in trouble when I'm bored.
She looked like she was teetering on the brink of losing what little control she had over her temper.
Then I suggest you find a hobby.
Edward stood up and shrugged. You just outlawed all my hobbies, he informed her.
Then I suggest you find yourself some new ones.
Damn, Bitty-Belle. . . you're sexy as hell when you're mad, he informed her with a raised
eyebrow.
It's Bella, Cullen or better yet, Ms. Swan not baby or Bitty-Belle or...Mistress Ms. Swan . . .
Do we understand each other?

He chuckled. Absolutely, Ms. Swan.

She didn't look like she believed him, but she finally nodded as she rose to her feet. Good. You
need to make another appointment. There are a few more things we should discuss before the
preliminary hearingthat is, if you want my help, and if you agree to my terms.
-BellaBella heaved a sigh of relief as the door closed as her last client for the day left her office.
Massaging her temples, her thoughts wandered back to her one o'clock appointment as she sank
deep into her leather-cushioned chair.
'Dear God, what have I gotten myself into?'
She'd figured that Edward Cullen was going to be just as bad as the other entertainers she'd
represented before. She had been wrong. Edward Cullen was much, much worse.
Wrinkling her nose in obvious distaste as she picks up a folder and frowns at the photographs that
were supplied with the file of his various crimes, she couldn't help the disapproving little growl that
escaped her. He looked dangerous, on edge, even slightly insane. Despite the almost boyish charm
of his features, the soft angles and hollows, there was a strong air of unpredictability to him.
Bella snorted. Then again, maybe it was the multiple piercings . . . Lip, left nostril, both earsthe
left one with a series of holes that ran around its perimeterand right eyebrow made up the metal
menagerie, and each of those holes had silver loop earrings of varying sizes hooked through them.
If the piercings weren't bad enough, he also had a series of tattoos running down the length of both
arms, across his chest and abdomen, and, from what she had seen in pictures before, he had even
more on his back. Add the ever-changing hair and eye colors, and, well, it seemed as though the
man were trying to be a chameleon.
`The classic bad boy,' she supposed. Guys like him were nothing but jokes. Not too shabby-looking,
though. And he does give as good as he gets. Four platinum albums, ten number one singles.
She looked at the photographs again, remembering his face, his inappropriate comments and leers.
'Mistress Swan? Bella grimaced as she remembered her new nickname and the manner with which
he'd use it to get a rise out of her easily. What was that song again? That one supposedly inspired
by a bondage encounter with a dominatrix and her client? The one he supposedly composed one
night when he was so high on heroin that he mistook a cymbal for a sitar?'
The song came to her mind easily, alongside Edward Cullen's leering grin.
''Pretty tied up, indeed, Bella grimace to herself as she realized the hole she just dug herself into.
She had no doubts that taking his case was going to make her life a living hell. Edward Cullen was
nothing but trouble.