Broken Record

Chapter 7: Benton

"Where is she?" It was 8:15 AM. Today was Stevie's first day at Pacific Records and she was already fifteen minutes late. An absolute no-go for anyone working for Benton, let alone a woman who was in violation of federal law.

"I'm sorry, Mr. West?" Mary looked up from her desk, shocked to see him outside of his office and standing over her with what one might call an angry look on his face. Although with Benton it was always nearly impossible to tell.

"Stevie Marlowe. Where is she?" His voice was nearly a growl. Mary felt a flush crawl over her cheeks and neck as she nervously scoured her email. She immediately assumed she'd done something wrong based on Benton's frustration. Just then, a commotion was heard from the entry of the elegant office lobby and Stevie bounded in, her blonde hair flowing over her shoulders and her cheeks pink like she'd just been running.

Benton was frozen in place. This woman was not the alternative, pink haired punk he'd made a deal with last week. This woman was stunning. She looked like a sexy fairy, but in a far more natural way with her pale blonde hair and minimal makeup. She was small, maybe five foot three, but her presence somehow took up the entire room. And she didn't even seem to notice it or to care. Benton scanned her tight t-shirt with a smiley face that had two x's over the eyes and a pair of well-fitted light denim jeans. She wore a pair of black combat boots, the silver buckles glinting brightly under the office lights.

"Sorry! Shit, my bad." Stevie came into the center of the room adjusting the leather backpack on her shoulder. "You're Mary, right?" She offered Mary a friendly smile but Mary just scowled deeply in response. Benton saw the obvious female jealousy written all over her plain features.

"You're late." Benton had both of his hands in his pockets. His face was complete marble aside from a fire burning in his eyes.

"Yeah, no shit." Stevie huffed out a laugh but snapped her expression shut at the frightening look on Benton's face. "Sorry."

"Will you need the federal agents to escort you between here and the apartment my company is paying for, or do you think you can manage to not let this happen again?" The only thing that moved on Benton's person were his lips. Stevie felt like a deer in the headlights as she nodded slowly at his question which came out more like a command. Benton turned sharply, heading back into his office. Stevie started to follow him but he closed the door behind him so that her face nearly hit the frosted glass.

"He doesn't like guests going in there unannounced," Mary's cold voice came from behind Stevie, "you can have a seat in the waiting area. I'll get Cortland." Stevie nodded and sat down in one of the plush waiting room chairs. She thought to herself that this was exactly why she hated the music industry titans...way too many freaking rules and political norms. So she was fifteen minutes late? It's not like she'd murdered somebody on the way over here.

Benton paced his office, running his forefinger over his upper lip, deep in thought. He forced himself to analyze his own reactions the same way he would anyone else's. Stevie made him uncomfortable. Not in an entirely unpleasant way, but the lack of control he felt around her was disconcerting. It wasn't anything he couldn't handle. And he was confident it would pass quickly, citing the novelty of the situation as a reason for its top-of-mindedness. He was calling on the logical side of his brain, big time. He felt calmer and more in control already. But as an added measure, Benton took out his phone and sent a quick text, asking to move his weekly session up from Friday to this evening. That should do the trick.

"Mr. West?" Mary's voice came over his PA and he sat down at his desk to answer it.

"Yes."

"Richard Hemroth from Rolling Stone is here to see you." Benton had nearly forgotten about this morning's interview with a lead journalist. He ran his hand along the edge of his hair, composing himself.

"Thank you, send him in." As Richard entered his office, a vibrant man of his early forties, Benton caught a brief glimpse of Stevie's blonde head still sitting in the lobby. He glanced down quickly at his phone.

Unknown @ 8:18 AM: Your session has been moved up to this evening, Mr. X. Any other changes you'd like to request?

As Benton shook the hand of the Rollingstone reporter, his mind was distracted. Before he took a seat, he sent a quick text and then placed his phone in his desk drawer.

Benton West @ 8:19 AM: Blonde.