Broken Records

by Cassie Mae

  The doors open to the second floor, and I have to level my breathing once again. Yeah, this is the person I gotta be. I never thought it would be so hard to play the villain.

  The elevator door closes, and I watch as the arrogant bastard disappears. He was cute until he started talking, spewing sarcastic niceties from his mouth like a freaking geyser. I know his type. Hell, I dated his type. Too serious for his own good, shirt buttoned to the top, tie so tight it’s a surprise his head doesn’t explode… A liar and a cheat who sleeps with your best friend and somehow has the balls to blame you for his indiscretions.

  I don’t care how good-looking he is… though there is something about his face that is familiar. As if I’d seen him many times before. But that is impossible. I don’t know many people here in California. Besides, if I’d looked into those beautiful gray eyes before I’d remember. The dark hint of mystery, the charming light specs, aren’t something you can easily forget. But I need to. People like him are the reason I left my life, my family, and everything I know and love back in New York.

  I moved clear across the country to rid myself of assholes just like that, but apparently the world has an abundance of them. If I’m lucky, I’ll never have to see that guy again. He can take his gray eyes and nice private elevator and shove it up his—

  Bing. The “employee” elevator dings, and I run toward it hoping I make it in time. Someone steps off, and I yell to them to hold it, but by the time they swivel around, briefcase flying out to the shrinking gap, it’s too late. The doors close, and the elevator is gone.

  “Sorry,” an older guy in a black suit says with a shrug.

  “It was a gallant effort. I appreciate it.”

  He nods and motions to a big metal door. “You might want to take the stairs. By the time that elevator comes back, it could be twenty minutes.”

  “Twenty minutes?” I exclaim.

  “Lot of floors. Old elevator. You’ll get used to planning your schedule around it. I’m John by the way. I work in finance.”

  Of course he does. I hide the laugh wanting to come out and offer my hand. “Paige. I’m an intern, but I’m hoping not for long.”

  He shakes my hand with a strong grip. “Ambitious. They like that here—well, at least they used to.” A sad look passes over his face, but he shakes himself out of it. “Good luck to you.”

  “Thanks,” I call out as he continues on his way. I bring the straw of iced coffee to my lips and wonder what he meant by his comment, but after a moment think nothing of it and head to the staircase. I don’t have twenty minutes… I don’t even have five.

  I take the stairs in a hurry, grateful for the fact that I’m in pretty decent shape, thanks to years of living in New York City and using my legs as my sole source of transportation. By the time I get to the floor I’m looking for, I’m not completely out of breath.

  There are two ways to go, and I stand in the hallway trying to remember what we were told at orientation. I wasn’t really paying attention; it was more or less a meet and greet with the other interns, and no one of importance was there. Though, I probably should have tuned in when they began discussing where we would be meeting today.

  I see a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye and hurry toward it. There are labels on doors, but none of them say Studio Three like I’m looking for, so I listen for voices.

  As I get closer, I hear someone giving a speech about the music industry and know I’ve found where I’m supposed to be.

  I slip into the room and head toward the only other female intern, Nora. The way she’s dressed—black knee-length skirt with a deep red sweater pulled over a black and white polka dot button-up—makes her appear ready to sit in an office and file paperwork.

  By the looks of it, she’d be perfectly content being a secretary. Not me. I want to be the person who finds the talent. Mentors them. Protects them. Keeps them from getting steamrolled… like I did. There are plenty of people in this industry telling you what you should and shouldn’t be doing, but not enough people willing to tell the new talent what to be careful of. Who to watch out for. And most importantly teach them how to protect themselves from being taken advantage of. I want to be that person.

  The man at the front continues to blabber as I sneak in undetected. When I’m settled in place, I take a sip of my iced coffee and glance in his direction. Standing in front of the group of interns is the jackass from the elevator.

  My mouth freezes on my straw as a knowing smile crosses his face. “Nice of you to join us,” he says, eyes locked on mine, causing every person in the room to turn and look at me.

  “Sorry, I had elevator issues,” I say, not about to let him bully me.

  “Everyone else managed to get here on time.” He crosses his arms, and I can’t help but notice how his suit sleeves tighten around his biceps with the movement. He leans against a soundboard, casual yet expectant, as if to say ball’s in your court.

  “I’m sure none of them had to deal with an arrogant asshole who doesn’t understand the concept of sharing.”

  Gasps echo around the room, and maybe those weren’t the best words to use, but either way I stand my ground.

  “What’s your name?” the guy in the suit asks.

  A lump forms in my throat at the intensity of his stare, but I swallow it down and push my shoulders back, refusing to let him intimidate me. “Paige Teller.”

  “Miss Teller, maybe tomorrow you should leave early anticipating… I’m sorry what did you call him?”

  “An arrogant asshole,” I say.

  “Yes, that’s right. So maybe tomorrow, instead of walking in ten minutes late, you should leave a little early just in case you have another run-in with an arrogant asshole.”

  “If I’m lucky. I’ll never see him again.”

  His face hardens as a collective gasp fills the room. “People get fired for less around here. Keep that in mind.” His eyes bore into mine, and I try very hard not to let my fear show. I don’t know who he thinks he is, but I’ll be damned if I let some guy on a power trip ruin this opportunity. I spent my entire life savings to get here, away from my life back home, and there is no way I’m going to let some pompous jerk ruin my plans.

  Some people say I’m living on hopes and dreams, but at the end of the day when I go back to my shitty ass apartment with my four actress roommates and sit down to my five-star meal of Ramen Noodles, at least I’ll have my dreams to take me out of my reality. Even if it’s only for a little bit.

  A head pops in the door, and Mr. Fancy Tie breaks the patronizing gaze he has on me. “Excuse me,” he says to the group and walks over to the door. As soon as he’s away from my peripheral, my heartbeat returns to normal.

  One speed bump, but that doesn’t mean my day is ruined.

  “I can’t believe you,” Nora turns a judgmental brown eye on me, mouth dropping.

  “Can’t believe what?” I twirl my hair around my finger, happy I opted for red and not purple. A smile touches the corner of my mouth as I think how much Mom will hate it. Going from my natural dirty blonde, like hers, to red is a drastic change, but it’s what I needed. It might just be hair, but for me it represents the start of a new beginning.

  “Do you even know who he is?” she asks, and I’m tempted to lean over and push her chin up; she may catch a fly if she’s not careful.

  “No one of importance,” I say. I can tell by the way he fidgets with his tie every few seconds. How when he was blabbing on, his voice was labored and unsure. If he was someone I had to worry about, he would exude confidence and not fake it. The only time he seemed to get his act together was when he focused his attention on me. Clearly, being an asshole wasn’t something he had to fake.

  “Are you out of your mind? That was Ethan Davis.”

  The smug look on my face melts into pure shock. I swallow the panic rising in my throat and grab Nora’s arm. “The Ethan Davis? As in the Ethan Davis who just inherited this entire label?”

  She take
s her eyes off my hands and looks at me, tucking her light brown hair behind her ear. “Yes, that was him. And if you’re smart, you’ll start kissing his ass, especially after how you were just speaking to him. He has your future in the palm of his hand. He isn’t someone I’d be making an enemy out of, that’s for sure.”

  I bite on my straw, reliving the last half hour in my head, starting with the elevator. Oh God. What did I say? It doesn’t matter because I basically just called him an arrogant asshole in front of all the interns. Mom was right. I do have a big mouth, and it finally caught up to me.

  Now I understood why he looked so familiar. I’ve seen his face a million times before in the tabloids, on entertainment news, and on gossip blogs. I didn’t recognize him because he didn’t have a half-naked blonde on one side and a brunette on the other. He’s known to be a womanizing, party loving douchebag whose only hobby is spending his daddy’s money. His face has been more prominent these last few months after it was announced he would be the new CEO of Broken Records.

  The tabloids have had a field day with the news, pulling every criminalizing and demoralizing photo from the past and plastering them all over their covers.

  It’s almost a joke that he’s now in charge of his father’s company. Cameron Davis was a well-respected CEO who had an amazing ability to discover fresh new talent. He was an icon in the music industry. Someone who will go down in history as one of the greats.

  How in the world a person with no experience—other than doing body shots off model’s stomachs—is expected to fill such big shoes, is beyond me. I only hope that there is more to Ethan Davis than what I’ve read in the tabloids, because if not, everything I left behind will be for nothing. This label won’t have a chance to survive.

  Anybody can buy a razor and bury themselves in layers of Armani, but a clean shave and fancy clothes can only hide so much. Underneath the suit is what really counts.

  Still, for now he’s the man in charge, and I managed to get on his bad side on the first day. As much as I hope he carries his father’s drive and talent, I pray he isn’t as ruthless. I’d imagine it had been difficult growing up in the shadow of someone so amazing, but maybe Ethan Davis acquired a sense of common decency because of it, and just maybe he’ll cut me some slack and pretend today never happened.

  He comes back in the room, readjusting his tie before standing in front of us. “I have a meeting to attend, so I’m going to have Alex take over from here.”

  Alex pushes off the wall he is leaning against and goes to stand beside Ethan. He’s more casually dressed, opting for a green and white fitted plaid button-up tucked neatly into a pair of dark jeans and secured with a light brown leather belt. At orientation he wore something similar and doesn’t seem nearly as uptight as the man he is standing next to. It’s not just the outfit either. His slim frame lacks the tight tension that plagues Ethan’s body. And his dark brown eyes are bright and full of light while dark clouds float through Ethan’s.

  I let out a sigh of relief as Ethan steps away and leaves Alex to the front of the room. Hopefully Ethan will be busy with meetings for the rest of my time here, and I’ll never have to see him again. I send up a silent prayer and cross my fingers.

  Ethan catches my eyes from the doorway. “Miss Teller?”

  “Yes, sir?” The word “sir” sits on my tongue like acid, burning me right down to my insides. If I had a tail, it would be lodged between my legs.

  “Do me a favor and pick up my lunch.”

  I stare at him. Is he serious? I’m not here to do his bidding—I’m here to learn about the inner workings of the industry, to discover talent, and to make a difference for artists. If I wanted to deliver food, I would’ve gotten a job at a local pizza shop back in New York.

  “I’m sorry, but that’s not what I signed up for,” I state, refusing to let this man take advantage of me.

  He fidgets with his tie again, and the corner of his lip quirks up. “There were over a hundred and fifty other intern applicants who were denied. I’m sure any one of them would love to run an errand for me. Shall I call them?”

  I bite my tongue—hard—keeping my mouth shut until I can weed out all the expletives and find the nice words.

  “That won’t be necessary,” I manage. “I’ll go.”

  “Great. Get something spicy. Got a hankering for it.” His eyes sparkle like silver before he looks down at his watch and then back to me with cool, undefined spitefulness. “You better hurry. My meeting is in fifteen minutes on the third floor, and I’m famished.” He spins on his overpriced shoes and disappears.

  “You’re screwed,” Nora mumbles under her breath.

  “Thanks,” I mutter as I take off in a sprint, ignoring the judging whispers. The sound of the elevator echoes down the hall, and my sprint turns into full fledge running. I come to a skidding halt right in front of the open doors.

  My victory is short-lived when Ethan glances up from his phone and smiles. “Your elevator is to the left. Though, if you want to save yourself from arrogant assholes, I suggest you use the stairs.”

  My eyes narrow, and a thousand horrible words form in my head, begging to be let free, but I force them back. I worked too hard to get here only to lose it all because I can’t keep my big mouth shut.

  Ethan looks at his phone, then pins me with those dark eyes, a smug smile spreading across his lips. “Thirteen minutes and counting,” he says just as the doors slip shut.

  I spin around and head to the employee elevator. The light dings, showing me it might as well be a million floors away. Shit. Screw the elevator. I make a mad dash to the stairs and call information as I go. I get the number for Fortune Palace, quickly hang up, and dial.

  “Thank you for calling…”

  “Yes, hi. Can I place an order for your fireball chicken? This is for Ethan Davis,” I say.

  “Tell Mr. Davis we’ll have it ready by the time he gets here,” the girl on the other end of the phone says, making me wonder why she would think he’d be picking up his own order. Either way, I want to jump through the phone and hug her for being so quick.

  “I’ll actually be picking it up for him. Paige Teller.”

  “Okay then. You got it.”

  “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be there shortly.” I swipe my phone off and shove it into my black and gold studded crossover bag.

  Six minutes later, I have Ethan’s order, and it takes me another four minutes to run back to the building. The lobby is full of people going in every direction, and there’s a long line for the elevator. This elevator is becoming the bane of my existence. I bypass it and take the stairs for the hundredth time today. Luckily, it’s only three flights.

  I round the corner and run through the door, stumbling out in front of the large glass conference room. Ethan leans against the doorframe with his eyes on the clock above the conference table.

  I breathe in deeply, trying to catch my breath, and head over to him. He taps his phone and looks up with a smirk. “Twelve minutes and forty-two seconds. Impressive.”

  “I’m kind of impressive,” I say before I can stop the words from coming out.

  I brace for the scathing rebuttal I know he has. To him I’m just an intern to do his bidding. A dime a dozen. He couldn’t care less how fast I can get him his food because there will always be someone else who can do the same.

  A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, and his eyes have a slight twinkle. “I don’t doubt it,” he says.

  I adjust the strap of my bag. “Is there anything else I can get you?” I ask even though it kills me to do so.

  “That’s all for now. You can rejoin the rest of the group.”

  “Thank you.” I hurry away before he can change his mind, but just as I reach for the staircase door he calls out to me, and I turn back. “Yes?”

  An amused look crosses his face. “Don’t be late tomorrow.”

  The lamp on the corner of my street flickers as I walk past before completely burning out. Fittin
g, I think, for today the last bit of my soul has flickered into this suit.

  I adjust the large bag in my arms, pushing it to the side as I stick my key into my front door. Along with the label, I inherited a duplex my father used as a second office before the divorce, a permanent home after. I plan on renovating the damn place until there is nothing left to haunt me while I sleep.

  A scratch and exuberant bark can be heard on the other side of the door before I can even click the lock. “Back up, bud,” I say through the thick wood, knowing if I don’t say something, the excited, overweight pup will pounce the moment I manage to get the door open—well, as much as he can with that giant belly. I welcome the behavior on any day I’m not carrying twenty pounds of dog chow.

  Pepper, my rowdy Dalmatian, pushes his wet nose up against my pressed slacks the second my foot crosses the threshold, and I drop the bag of dog food and scratch my big guy’s ears. His tail beats against the wall, thumping in a cadence that is music to my ears—and the only music I like anymore. After the day I’ve had, I’m tempted to rest right here in the doorway and let Pepper convince me I’m still the same person I was yesterday.

  “Hey, buddy,” I greet him. “You hungry?”

  He bounces on his feet, attempting to control the urge to jump up. His training has been a work in progress for over five years now.

  I wave him over to the kitchen, listening as his anxious nails move from carpet to linoleum. The bag makes a thick tearing sound when I pull on the strings to rip into it, and the click, clock of the food pouring into his dish fills the emptiness of the place. I’ve often wondered what people in my situation listen to when they need something to break the silence of living alone. Music, I think. Maybe some people’s lives aren’t as achingly quiet as mine is now.

  I pat Pepper a couple times on his soft head before making my way to my bedroom on the second level. The second the suit is off and I’m back in my jeans, I feel like myself again.