Breaking All the Rules (20 page)

              Benson spun her around to face him. His eyes, once the color of a clear summer sky, now resembled cloudy pools. Mia focused on the water that rimmed the eyes, surprised by the presence of the tears. He kissed her hard and rough, the bag dropping to their feet with a heavy thud. When he finally pulled away, she expected him to say something. Her eyes begged for him to stay, and when he stepped away, she couldn’t help the wave of tears that fell.

              But he didn’t leave. He stalked over to her wardrobe, throwing it open so forcefully it was a surprise the door didn’t break. He grabbed a few garments and a pair of heels, then stopped briefly at her dresser and rummaged through for some underwear. He shoved everything in his small bag, not caring if it wrinkled. He looked her up and down and then went back to the wardrobe, returning with a pair of slip on canvas shoes.

              “Put these on.”

              She didn’t question him. He slid her phone in the pocket of his sweats and tugged her along with him, swiping her set of keys from the small bowl beside the front door. He pulled her into a vacant elevator and pressed to take them to the lobby. Mia stood braless in a thin tank top and tiny cotton shorts. She was hardly dressed for the October evening.

              She didn’t have to endure the stares from strangers or the cold air for long. Victor was waiting curbside for them. Mia didn’t ask questions on the drive, unsure of what to say. Benson welcomed her silence. His eyes were on her the entire drive. She felt his gaze move with her. They pulled in front of a striking high rise building. Benson climbed out and reached for Mia.

              Under the eyes of the doorman and the inside staff, Mia suddenly felt self-conscious. Suits and ties gazed at her and Benson; both wildly underdressed, though he didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t go to the main elevator that had let off a small group of people as they entered through the clear glass doors. Instead, he directed her to a set of steel doors tucked in a corner near the front desk. He slid his own set of keys out, pressing a thin black device against a computer screen. The screen flashed green before the doors opened revealing a private elevator.

              There were only three buttons inside the elevator. One was labeled ‘lobby’, one was unmarked, and the other was a red emergency stop. Benson pressed the unmarked button and turned to Mia as if he was waiting for a slew of questions. She diverted her eyes. She had a healthy bouquet of questions, but she didn’t want to ask any of them.

              When the doors opened again they exited to a room the size of her apartment. The floors were an exquisite white marble. The bottom half of the walls featured an intricate wainscoting, the top a mute cream color that screamed luxury. Two stone pillars held in the middle of the room between the elevator entrance and the massive chocolate wood door. By the large window overlooking Central Park sat two tufted white wingback chairs and a glass table. An expensive looking statue of a horse sat on top of the table. Aside from the few pieces of furniture, the room was bare.

              Benson put his free hand on the small of her back and directed her towards the heavy doors. He paused and fished out his keys, using the black device once again. The light flashed briefly and Benson opened the door and invited her in with a sweeping motion.

              Mia fought to keep her mouth from opening in awe. She’d never been in a penthouse before. Even compared to the pictures she had seen in magazines, Benson’s home was a stunning display of beauty. It was so perfectly him. The open floorplan combined dark woods, slate greys and splashes of white to create a modern alpha male pad. The furniture wasn’t overly sleek. In fact, the seating was rather large and plush. The juxtaposition of glass pieces next to fluffy cushions made for an attractive design.

              “I’ve never brought anyone here before.”

              She snapped her head in his direction, “What?”

              “My parents haven’t even been here… not that I try to associate with them very often,” Benson had placed the bag on the wide sectional sofa and crossed back over to her spot near the entrance. “Apart from the designers, cleaning staff, and Victor, you’re the only person who has been in my home.”

              She met his eyes, “Why?”

              “It is my home. I don’t like bringing strangers here.”

              “No,” Mia shook her head. “Why did you bring me here?”

              He smiled, “You’re not a stranger, precious.” Her breath hitched and she tried not to look at him, though he was making it rather difficult. He guided her face back to his. “You want to push me out so badly. I just want you to see – to know- that I care about you. You may think of yourself as damaged or beneath me, but Mia, I see so much more.”

              “You didn’t leave,” She found the words and they spilled out in an almost amazed tone.

              “I was going to,” Benson admitted. “But after all we’ve gone through these past few days, I couldn’t. I may be an asshole, but I’m not prepared to lose you.”

              Her eyes darted from his and around the room, then a wicked smile crossed her face, “Hey, Benson. If you don’t let anyone in your home, why do you have an air hockey table in your living room?”

              His eyes looked over his shoulder, then he looked at her playfully, “Victor is rather good at the game.”

              She sprung from her spot in front of him and raced over to the rarely used machine. She searched briefly for the power button and the game sprung to life with a gentle hum and a flash of colors. She motioned him over with a laugh.

              “I bet he isn’t as good as I am! Come get your ass kicked, Mr. Ward.”

              Benson quickly followed, not hiding the amusement on his face or the laugh in his voice. He was, however, hiding the unwavering thump in his chest
that beat a love song for Mia.

Chapter Nine

              Sunday had been something straight out of the movies. Mia and Benson had stayed up late Saturday evening watching TV and drinking champagne naked on his balcony. They slept in Sunday morning, waking just to lose themselves in half-lidded pleasure. Mia enjoyed the amenities of the master bathroom, soaking in the tub that was the size of her entire bathroom. She didn’t bother wearing clothes after, something Benson had enjoyed.

              They spent the day together uninterrupted. Their weekend stay-in hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but Benson was determined to at least give Mia one day of bliss. By Sunday evening, she had beaten him a dozen times at air hockey and managed to get him to sing along to some of the music she seemed to constantly have playing. He didn’t mind the music. He especially didn’t mind it when Mia was singing along as she danced naked throughout the penthouse.

              In Benson’s frenzy the night before, he had managed to snag a decent outfit for Mia to wear Monday to work. It allowed the two one more night together before the week threw them back into reality. The only reality Benson wanted to know was Mia.

              He loved how she felt curled in his arms at night. It was a comfort he had never known before. Waking up to her was even better. Her big emerald eyes were always more seductive in the mornings. Looking at him through her lashes as she muttered a low morning greeting, the blanket pooling at her waist, she was a picture of pure sex to him. She was perfect. And he told her frequently.

              Benson had never gotten ready for work with another person. He didn’t want to admit he was nervous for the overwhelming domestic gesture, but the knot was hard in his stomach the moment they woke to his alarm. Even through a joint shower where admittedly, neither got very clean, he wasn’t sure how the morning would go. That is, until he saw Mia standing on her toes bent over the sink as she brushed her teeth. His adoration grew tenfold as he watched.

              She dressed him, claiming it was only fair since he had picked out her clothes the day before. Standing in a blush colored satin and lace demi bra and the matching underwear, he was barely in a position to tell her no. She had picked one of his darker suits, pairing it with a black and grey herringbone design tie and a matching pocket square. He didn’t know exactly what he had grabbed for her to wear, just that he was determined to have her stay with him for as long as possible.

              Mia looked through the few pieces before putting on a chic dress. The black piece featured short sleeves and a high neckline. Buttons trailed from her neck down to the high waist of the skirt. The skirt was black as well, though it featured a bold white pattern of triangles. It flared out, only adding to the appeal of the garment. Even without jewelry, the ensemble made Mia look like she meant business. On a day where she had to face the hounding press and the litigation following Max’s eventful weekend, she was going to need that boosted confidence.

              They stopped for coffee and pastries on the way to Mia’s office. When they pulled up in front of Monarch’s building, a slew of reporters were waiting as if an up and coming drummer’s addiction problems were big news. Immune to their presence, Benson helped her out and walked her to the front of the building, then dipped her down into a graceful kiss lit by the flash of expensive cameras. When he pulled her up straight again, he pecked her forehead and said goodbye before turning and going back to the Bentley on the curb.

              On cloud nine, Mia ignored the reporters and drifted to her office. When she stepped off the elevator on her floor, cloud nine erupted into a frenzy that signaled the end of her romantic weekend. The PR department for Monarch Records was fluttering about in an almost comical manor. Despite the fact that Mia dealt with Burnside’s public image and relations directly, the entire department was stirring restlessly.

              As soon as she stepped into the room, the frenzy calmed. All eyes were on her. And then the dozen eyes glanced to the closed door of Anne Rope, the head of the department. Mia bit her bottom lip and strode confidently over to Anne’s secretary’s desk.

              “Is she available?” Mia questioned after clearing her throat.

              The young blonde nodded, briefly looking up from a notepad she had in front of her, “She’s been waiting for you. Go ahead.”

              Mia’s stomach dropped as she knocked and then stepped into Anne’s office. Her boss was on the phone when Mia stepped in. As she sat down, she heard the tail end of the conversation before Anne ended the call and turned to Mia with a strange look on her face.

              “Everyone is looking at me like I’ve got a gigantic spider on my head.”

              Anne tersely rubbed her neck, “Everyone except you knows the great news.”

              Mia winced at the sarcasm in her boss’s voice. Anne had always been pleasant, even when dealing with bad news. She almost hated to ask.

              “Which is?”

              “As you know, Max overdosed and was found with substance and paraphilia on him. Possession is typically a Class A misdemeanor, but because Max had over an ounce of methamphetamine on him, as well as a handful of prescription pills, it is classified as a Class A felony. That charge alone is punishable by three to ten years in prison.”

              “Fuck,” Mia swore loudly. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

              “You haven’t heard the greatest part yet,” Anne said, her voice scarily flat. “There was a girl with Max that night who overdosed as well, but she didn’t make it. They’re pinning second degree murder on him.”

              Mia inhaled sharply, her eyes wide, “No.”

              “He’s facing up to forty years, Mia. We’ll know more this afternoon, but it’s bad.”

              “I can’t believe this,” Mia muttered. “God, I told them. I lectured them about getting caught up in drugs.”

              “You won’t be dealing with the PR for the case, either.”

              Mia’s brows furrowed as she looked at her boss, “What? Why?”

              “This is too big for you,” Anne shook her head. “You’ve dealt with a hell of a lot here, but never a murder charge.
I’ve
only ever had one way back in the nineties. This is a big deal. Monarch wants me to handle it.”

              “They’re my band, Anne.”

              “And they’re your friends.”

              Mia fiddled with her fingers, “So, now what? Their contract is void, isn’t it? They don’t have a record deal anymore.”

              “Technically. Monarch likes their sound. He thinks they’re the next Charlotte’s Drive. He could try to have Max record on bail, or he could bring in a substitute drummer. Or he could shred the contract altogether. We won’t know anything until this makes progress.”

              “Burnside is supposed to open for Charlotte’s Drive Saturday at The Dark Room. They have a contract with Ward Industries. If we break that-”

              Anne interrupted her, “Mia. I don’t know any more. Our legal team is offering counsel for Max. His parents are on their way. I will keep you updated.”

              “Fine,” Mia stood and grabbed her handbag. “This is a disaster.”

              “This is business,” Anne glanced at her. “You’re too close to those kids for it to be business to you. Now go. I’ve got a press release to figure out.”

              As Mia crossed the floor to her own office, she noticed less people staring at her like a medical oddity. Her secretary quipped a brief greeting, letting her know she had a handful of voicemails waiting. Mia closed the thin blinds of her office as she walked in. She set her bag down and resisted the urge to slam her head into her desk until she forgot everything that was happening.

              Once the suicidal bubble of emotion passed, she lifted her head and stared at the blinking red light on her phone.
Nope
. She decided to wait to listen to the calls and scanned the web first. Burnside was finally getting press, but not the way any of them wanted. A run down and afraid looking Max was plastered all over the internet. Speculation over his charges ran side by side with memorials to the young woman who never woke up. 

              She was pretty. There was a photo of her in front of the Gershwin Theater, dressed in a pretty red dress. Her blonde hair was thin and impeccable. Another photo showed her between two blurred out individuals. The three were sitting on a bench in a park. She looked so innocent and happy. Mia sucked her bottom lip in and frowned. The young woman would never experience theater again. She’d never get to hang out in the park on a sunny summer day.

              Though her stomach churned, Mia read the reports. Hannah Burton was a nineteen year old from Pennsylvania. She was attending Julliard for drama, which accounted for the Gershwin picture that was being prominently displayed in the media. Reading through the articles, Mia wondered how such a sweet girl got caught up in with sex, drugs, and rock and roll.

             
What if I never woke up in that ER? What if Aaron had survived an overdose, but I had died? Would the reports look like this?

              Mia closed the handful of tabs she had open and took a deep breath. Hannah Burton was a good girl who fell in the wrong scene. Mia, on the other hand, was a bad girl who had continued her bad ways into college. There would probably be no flattering pieces on her. She’d be another overdose from a runaway, problematic child of the streets. Nothing more, nothing less.

              Mia picked up the phone and listened to the voicemails, a pad and a pen in front of her. There was one from Anne. A few from a panicked Tyler. One from one of Monarch’s lawyers. A couple reporters who had managed to get her personal work number. And a very confused and angry one from Grant.

             
Why the fuck am I getting my ass shoved full of reports and calls about that drummer of yours going to prison? Also, why is your cell not on? This is an emergency, Mia. We have a gig this weekend. You can’t have a gig without a drummer. I’m not about to lose out on this opportunity because you have shitty bands. Fuck. Call me.

              Mia rolled her eyes as she deleted the last voicemail. Typical Grant. It was always about him. Begrudgingly, she dialed his number. He answered immediately.

              “Finally! Jesus, Mia. I’ve been trying to call you all weekend.”

              “Hi to you too, Grant. I only had one missed call from you.”

              She could hear his scowl on the other end, “Seriously. What kind of PR agent ignores calls when there is an emergency. If you haven’t heard, your drummer is going to prison and we have a show this weekend. I did you a favor by agreeing to have Charlotte’s Drive play, and now everything is getting fucked up. I was looking forward to that extra gig.”

              “How was I supposed to know this would happen?” Mia hissed.

              “Burnside isn’t mature enough to have a record deal.”

              Mia laughed loudly, “Are you kidding me? Nobody is mature enough for a record deal. You got Charlotte’s Drive signed when they were the same age as Burnside. Don’t give me that bullshit. You’re mad at me; don’t take it out on some innocent kids.”

              “They’re not innocent! One of them is going to
prison
, Mia!”

              “Did you just want me to call you back so you could yell at me or was there another reason?”

              “Is the contract with Ward Industries void now? We’ll be out of a truckload of money if it is. The special posters and shirts are already being made. Not to mention the publicity-”

              “Don’t talk to me about publicity,” Mia interrupted, rolling her eyes. “Anne told me we don’t know anything about Burnside’s contract right now. Monarch has been in meetings all day dealing with it. I will let you know what’s going on as soon as I get word, okay?”

              “I was looking forward to seeing you,” Grant said abruptly, his voice long gone of any anger or frustration. It took Mia by surprise. She was quiet. He continued, “I know we’ve got some bad history, but I thought maybe I could take you out or something.”

              “I’m seeing someone,” Mia blurted. “And even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t go out with you, Grant.”

              “Right. You’re with Rich Boy Ward. Hey! Since you’re fucking him, you think the gig can still happen? You can be very persuasive with your-”

              Mia slammed her phone down and bit her thumb to prevent herself from screaming. Grant had that effect on her. She knew calling Benson next was inevitable, but she wanted to postpone the phone call for as long as possible. They were in a good place. She didn’t want to ruin it by bringing business into the mix. Ripping the proverbial Band-Aid off, she quickly picked up the phone and dialed the number she had on file for his office.

              When Thomas answered, she told him who she was and where she was from. He put her on hold, explaining he was on another call at the moment. She waited a few seconds before hanging up. She opened up her email and sifted through anything Max related. She had other musicians assigned to her. She had barely read through one email from a manager when her phone rang, flashing WARD INDUSTRIES in bold letters.