Hell Bent (Rock Bottom #1) (4 page)

“You think that just because Daddy left you a company that you know what you’re doing? I can go anywhere else and find people that not only know what they’re doing because they’ve studied it and have been doing it for years but can give me what I want. No offense,
Izzy
, but you’ve probably been in this business for about half a minute, and I don’t plan on putting my future in the hands of a teeny-bopper playing dress-up as a CEO because she doesn’t have the talent to get up on stage.”

I purse my lips and nod to keep from yelling.
Why the hell would Abby send me out here for this?
His reputation precedes him, and I know that she knows all about it. The only thing I can think of is it is most likely because I refuse to hash things out with her.

“Do you hear yourself, Mr. Price? What the hell makes you think that I don’t have talent simply because I don’t use it publicly?”

Grabbing my arm, Bennett pulls me out into the center of the stage and slaps the microphone against my chest while telling everyone to turn shit back on. 

“Because anyone who is smart and has the resources you have at your fingertips would be up here if they could be.” He backs away slowly as his eyes fill with laughter. He’s waiting for me to submit and tell him he’s right, but I don’t fall to my knees for anyone, and I plan on proving him wrong on every thought he has about me. “You prove to me that I’m wrong with my assumptions about you and I’ll put aside my feelings about your lack of experience and hear you out without interruption.”

I’m an asshole. Not because I want to be, but because that’s what everyone expects from me around here. L.A. has sunk its claws into me and perception is everything. The last two times I’ve see Izzy I’ve been the person I want to be—the nonjudgmental guy I was raised to be. Here, surrounded by this crowd, I don’t get to be the person I
want
to be. It’s exactly why I want to switch gears. It’s time for a change. 

An
extremely
big change. 

When I first started out, I took any option that I could to get to where I wanted to be. I wanted this—the crowd, the noise, the music. But mostly I wanted to be able to give a life to my family that we didn’t have when I was growing up. 

If that means I have to be an asshole, so be it, but I’m not going to let anyone take away what I’ve worked so hard for.

Izzy’s eyes widen as I back away from her. She probably has no clue what to think since her name most likely has people bending over backward to do whatever she wants. I’m surprised she doesn’t carry around the silver spoon that she was born with. When I first met her, I thought she was more like me because I didn’t know who she was, but I was wrong. 

“Well, go on,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “Prove me wrong.”

Glaring at me, she shakes her head. I can’t tell if she is choking or thinking about how to choke
me
, but it doesn’t take long for her to start walking.
That’s what I thought.
Right when I think she’s giving up, she veers toward the band and starts talking to them, but it’s too low for me to hear what she says. When they all finally seem to agree on something and start playing, I figure I’ve stuck my foot so far into my mouth that I’ll shit it out later. When she opens her mouth, belting out the words to “Make Me Wanna Die” by The Pretty Reckless, I want to crawl into a hole so deep that I’ll never be found.

As the song goes on she doesn’t just sing, she performs for an empty arena. For me, or in spite of me, I’m not sure. Either way, it’s amazing, and I certainly didn’t see it coming. It does nothing but confuse me because anyone with talent like that shouldn’t be stuck behind a desk. They should be sharing their talent with the world.

Finishing, she heads back over to me and does the same thing I did by slapping the microphone against my chest. Straightening the low-cut, black shirt she has on, she pulls herself back into business mode, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ve screwed any chance I have at working with her company. The one company I actually
wanted
to be a part of because of all the good things I’ve heard about it.

“Contrary to what you may believe, Bennett, not everyone with talent craves the spotlight. Your career choices are your own; no one can make them for you.” Pausing, Izzy takes a breath before forcing herself to keep talking. “If you want to work with people because they have an office decorated with diplomas that say they know about business, go for it. Have fun. But if you want to work with someone who is going to actually help you become the artist you want to be and knows about
this
business, I’ll be back in Nashville tonight, and you know where to find me. It’s up to you, but you need to figure out if you want to be the wildfire that I think you could be, or a flash-in-the-pan that you’ll end up being by going elsewhere.”

“What the hell makes you think I’d be a flash-in-the-pan if I choose someone else?” I demand.
Who the fuck does she think she is?

“Your attitude.” Sliding her hands into the back pockets of her tight jeans, she cocks her head to the side and continues. She’s pissing me off, but all I can think about is slamming her back against the wall and taking my aggression out on her body. “I walked in here and you automatically made assumptions about me based on my age, but here’s the thing, I’ve been in this business since I took my first breath, not the short amount of time you think I have. I know every aspect of my company, which is something that I guarantee you won’t find in anyone else. I’ve worked with some of the best artists and written with some of the best writers. I produced my first platinum-selling album at
sixteen
and know what every single thing in the booth does and how to work it. You seem to think that the only thing about this business that matters is the person holding the microphone, but your assumptions are going to bite you. So you better pull your head out of your ass real quick.”

Leaving me speechless, she steps away from me and heads back toward the exit. As fast as I can, I pull myself together and remember that I’m the one she should be begging to work with.

“I didn’t dismiss you,” I yell at her back as she begins to walk away. Spinning on the toes of her blood-red heels, she steps back up to me. Her chest presses against mine, and I can’t help but notice the change in the way she looks at me, changing back into the girl I met that laughed with me in the park, but she quickly masks it. 

“I’m not sure if you realize this, but I didn’t put my lipstick on this morning to kiss your ass.”

My eyes immediately drop to her dark-red lips as they purse in aggravation, and I know I need to force myself to stop looking. They match the heels she has on—the ones that I would love to have dig into my ass—and there is no way that match is unintentional.
Quit fucking staring, asshole.
Not only has she fucked your best friend, but she’s someone you shouldn’t even think about in a sexual way.
I shouldn’t, but my dick seems to think otherwise. This wasn’t how this meeting was supposed to go.

Izzy starts to back up but raises her hands like she is weighing something in them. “You can spread like wildfire, or you can fizzle out like a flash-in-the-pan. It’s up to you, but don’t hold your breath expecting me to beg. You’ll die before
that
happens.”

Just like that, she disappears into the shadows backstage, leaving me to wonder what the fuck I’ve gotten myself into. Or what I just lost out on.

“I don’t know who the fuck she was—” Cal, the band’s drummer, speaks up while staring in the same direction I am “—but she can take your place if it means I can stare at her ass the entire time she sings.”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Have fun with that.”

I don’t understand the reaction I’m having toward her. She’s hot. So fucking hot. I’ll never be the one to deny that. But she’s the first person that hasn’t given in to me when I snap my fingers. Maybe that’s what I need. Well, at least from her. 

“Blood” by In This Moment pumps through the speakers as I pull into my parking spot an hour later than planned. It’s not my fault; traffic was horrendous, or at least that’s my excuse. There’s no need for anyone to know that Willow had to roll me out of bed and shove me into the shower just to get me moving this morning. The little bit of sleep I got after working most of the night in the studio obviously wasn’t enough this time. 

Grabbing my bag off the floor, I grab my phone before opening the door and sliding out. My feet hit the ground and I reach for my water bottle, popping a few caffeine pills to keep me going and down the cool liquid before I reach the front doors. 

Before I can make it to the elevators, my name is called out from behind me. I spin, searching for whoever said it and find my assistant, Meg, rushing toward me with her black and pink hair streaking behind her.

“You’re late,” she states, but quickly apologizes. I honestly don’t care that she called me out on it. I told her I was going to be here at a certain time and I wasn’t. I’d say something if she was late, but she never is. At her last job she worked for people that treated her like she was beneath them, and I promised her I wouldn’t do that to her. 

“Good morning,” I say, trying to smile through a yawn.
These pills can kick in any time now...
 “What’s so important that you had to chase me down instead of waiting for me to get upstairs?”

“There’s someone waiting for you in conference room B.” Meg can’t contain her smile when she continues. “He’s been waiting for over two hours. Says he won’t speak to anyone but you.”

She holds out her hand, and as soon as she has my purse in her possession, she races off toward the elevator that will take her back to our office. I can’t help but wonder who the hell would wait over two hours to speak to me. When I push the door open, I almost trip over my own feet when I see Bennett sitting at the end of the table with his head in one hand, scribbling on a pad of paper with the other.

“Stalking is illegal, you know,” I spit his words back at him to get his attention since he was so lost in whatever is on that pad that he didn’t hear me come in.

After flipping the paper over, Bennett pushes to his feet and steps around the table. His shoulders raise as he shrugs, and that’s when I notice that we’re alone. I hope that means I’ll get the Bennett that I can actually tolerate instead of the one I want to throat-punch. He certainly looks like the one I can deal with. Unlike when I saw him the other day, he isn’t dressed like he’s ready to go on stage. No eyeliner, no cocky smirk—just
Bennett
.

“What are you here for, Mr. Price?” I ask, sounding bored.

His eyes hit the floor as his chest rises with a deep breath, and when he finally looks up, the defeated look in his eyes kills me. “I don’t want to fizzle out.”

Pulling out the chair at the head of the table, he holds his hand out until I take it and sit. He holds on for a second too long, running his thumb across my knuckles. When he finally notices what he is doing, he drops into the seat next to me, running his hand through his dark-blonde hair and sighs.

“I’m an asshole.”

“Yeah,” I agree with a nod, trying to ignore the fact that I liked the way my hand felt in his. “You are.”