Chapter One(s) [COMPLETED]

Facing The Music (Teen Fiction)

Benji squinted up at the glass front of Henderson Records. Late afternoon sunlight glared back at her. This wasn't how she imagined entering this building. She'd planned to come in with the knowledge that a contract signing her to the label waited for her. She imagined herself wearing a tailored pantsuit that made her lanky body seem elegant instead of awkward.

But no, she would enter this building in her bike messenger outfit.

That seemed fitting since nothing else in her life worked out, why would that dream be any different?

Shaking off her thoughts, she pushed into the air-conditioned lobby. The floor gleamed, reflecting her process to the front desk. Low half-moon couches dotted the space accompanied by potted palms. Where the decor lacked, the prestige didn't. Across every wall were the faces of the biggest names in the industry. Hey Farewell, Lennon Kayhill, Canadian Victors, Sebastian Colfax...Hutch Madison.

Benji didn't stop to gawk at the singers that all the world knew. Didn't stop to stare into the faces that couldn't walk down a street without being recognized. She did stop in front of the good-looking receptionist.

"Hi," she said.

The twenty-year-old guy raised his head, his gaze attentive but not overly accommodating.

"How can I help you?" he asked.

"I have a special delivery for..." Benji made a show of checking the name on the vanilla envelope. "Rick Harris."

The receptionist held out his hand. "Okay, I'll see that it's passed on."

Benji pulled the envelope away. "I'm sorry, I was given strict instruction that this envelope would leave my hands only when it was placed in Mr. Harris'."

The receptionist eyed Benji critically.

"I'll need to see some ID before I allow you upstairs."

With a smile, Benji handed over her ID as well as her bike messenger badge. The badge was real. The envelope's importance was fake. Well, it wasn't important to anyone but her.

After a minute of the receptionist scrutinizing the ID picture to make there the sun-darkened face was the same as the one of the card, he handed them back.

"Mr. Harris is on level thirty, office at the end of the hall."

"Thanks."

Benji called the elevator. When she stepped on, she sent the receptionist a wave. The doors slid closed and she let out her breath as she held onto the strap of her bag. The rest of her things were stashed away in a storage locker at the train station. Hopefully, they wouldn't be sitting there too long.

The elevator dinged and Benji stepped out into a smaller lobby than the one below. Another receptionist put her through the same paces before she was told Benji that Mr. Harris was in a meeting and had to wait. Benji itched to move but held herself back. But when the receptionist left to get coffee, Benji ducked into the hall.

She couldn't wait. If she waited she might rethink the stupidity of this plan and bail. So close. She was so close. She couldn't give up now. Through a glass wall, Benji spotted the man she was searching for among a dozen other people at a long table. He was in his mid-fifties with severe features and a suit that probably cost as much as Benji's life.

Though maybe that was even too high a number.

Bracing herself, Benji pushed open the door to the conference room. At the back, no one noticed her at first, giving her time to cross to Mr. Harris. As she got to him, the speaker at the other end stopped mid-sentence.