Benton finished his conference call with the Senior Vice President of the Pacific Records studio in Singapore. He'd just returned from Singapore and would need another trip, soon as the label was investing heavily in growing out their artist development and music in the Southeast Asian region. He buzzed Mary into his office.

"Yes, Mr. West?" She appeared eagerly, sitting at the chair in front of his desk with her laptop resting on the tops of her thighs. She crossed her legs at the ankles with the formality of a woman from a different time.

"I'll need another trip to Singapore scheduled. Ideally within the month but not earlier two weeks out. I can't reschedule the existing meetings I have unless they are--"

"More than fourteen days out." Mary interrupted him gently, finishing his sentence. Benton's lips turned slightly downward, agitated by her sudden brazenness. It didn't suit her.

"Correct." He put his dark-rimmed glasses back on and scanned his calendar for the day. "Give me a run down."

Mary sat up straighter, enjoying any interaction between them that went longer than thirty seconds. "You have a finance meeting with the North American team in ten minutes and then a meeting with Cortland. The invite details have been kept private so I'm not sure what's to be discussed..." Mary's brown eyes scanned her screen, trying to surface up any details that could help her boss go into his meeting with his Chief Legal Officer properly briefed.

"I have what I need for that meeting, Mary. What's after lunch?" Benton didn't look at her when he spoke, scanning the rest of the day with his hand propped under his chin.

"You have a partnership meeting with Spotify and then two interviews for your next CFO." Benton's jaw flexed very briefly, his only reaction to the mention of a new CFO. His previous CFO had turned out to be rather unscrupulous, both with the numbers and with a few of the young female artists signed to the label, and Benton had no tolerance for intentionally breaking the rules. Mistakes, he could work to his advantage. Intentional transgressions usually warranted no second chances or possibility for recourse.

"Thank you, Mary." He didn't explicitly ask her to leave with his words, but she knew his tone well enough. She nodded and stood, glancing back once to see Benton reading through emails, his attention already onto the next fire that needed putting out.

After Benton's finance meeting he settled back into this office, a novel curiosity overtaking him at getting to meet one of the MarLow members that continued to turn his label's music into pirated hits. Jelena Kingston's Heart of Ice wasn't the first transgression by this anonymous digital team. Unforutanley, the volume of piracy rifling the industry today meant that Benton and his team had to selectively choose which breaches to go after guns blazing, but this recent MarLow hit was already soaring towards 1.5 billion streams. A number dangerously close to Heart of Ice's own 2 billion streams. Jelena wasn't going to like that one bit. He stifled an inward groan at having to deal with that woman. But she made the label an obscene amount of money and he viewed her just as he viewed Mary; she was good at her job, very good. Nothing more was needed. He heard the buzz of his conference line letting him know that he had visitors.

"Let them in, Mary." His voice was cool and aloof, his features settling into smooth, carved marble. Cortland entered first, his large frame and ruddy figure nearly filling the doorway. Benton could see the heads of two FBI agents peeking out overhead, rivaling Benton's own height of six-foot-three.

"Benton," Cortland nodded and started to make his way further into the room, "this is Stevie Marlowe. Her IP address was the one identified by my team in connection with the username MarLow."

Benton's brow flexed and his head tilted. It was perhaps the most emotion Corltand had ever seen on his boss' face during the several years they'd worked together and it wasn't much. But he couldn't blame him. He'd experienced the same sense of surprise and confusion at seeing Stevie in that all-white interrogation room. Benton looked at Stevie for a long moment before switching his gaze back to Cortland.

"What?" Benton couldn't keep the word from escaping his lips which had formed a strong, hard line across his handsome face. He didn't look at Stevie when he said it, but once the word was out, he heard her snicker in response and whipped his head in her direction.

"I know, I was doubtful too at first but then she explained her entire musical process to Aero and me, outlining how she'd created the musical score rendition for the remix and--" Benton cut off Cortland's rambling words with his palm raised in the air. The movement was sharp and languid at once. Cortland stopped talking and took a seat in front of Benton's desk. Stevie remained standing, a wild, electric energy radiating from her small but feminine frame.

"Holy shit." Stevie's words were whispered under her breath as she let herself take in the elegance and corporate splendor that was Benton's office. The floor to ceiling windows, the sparse but expensive furniture, a litany of framed platinum and diamond albums adorning the wall behind his desk. Benton wanted to command her to take a seat, an unfamiliar feeling that he wasn't in total control with this elf-like, pink haired woman in his space.

"I'm Stevie. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Benton West." Stevie's eyes flickered to Benton and she approached his desk with her hand extended. The gesture was polite on the surface but dripping with sarcasm. This woman, with small features and big eyes, doll-shaped lips and anime-looking make-up, was laughing at him. He could see it in her expression. He squinted in return, chastising himself for revealing as much as he had in his movements. He took her small, warm hand in his and shook it a little too roughly. The movement brought a mischievous smile to Stevie's lips. Benton released her hand and gestured to the other chair in front of his desk, the smoldering look in his eyes commanding that she quit her charade. Stevie acquiesced for the moment and took a seat.

"And your team?" Benton sat, his hands steepled in front of him.

"It's just me. MarLow, like Marlowe. As in, Stevie Marlow." Stevie draped one slender arm over the back of the chair. Her voice was a toxic mix of nerves and arrogance when finally admitting her online identity so boldly out loud. Benton looked at Cortland.

"It's just her, boss." Corltand's voice was resigned but contained a trace of admiration.

Benton nodded slowly at Corland's response, knowing there was a lot more detail to this story than what was currently being shared. But he trusted Cortland and Aero's assessment of Stevie's story. Cortland's temperament was less than impressive, but Benton greatly admired Cortland's uncanny ability to detect bullshit. It's what made him the best lawyer in the music industry. Benton didn't respond right away, glancing up to see the FBI agents still standing outside of his office through the frosted glass of the door.

"Cortland," Benton turned in his seat, focusing on Cortland's ruddy face instead of Stevie's intricately makeuped and far more interesting one, "perhaps we keep our enemies close? Do you view this, Stevie Marlowe, as someone who should be punished to the full extent of the law? Or perhaps as an asset to our team, albeit temporary, while we work to shore up the protection of our artists and their work?" Benton chose each word with care. His tone was measured, but a dark, smoldering fire was starting to burn deep in his stomach, a feeling he went to great and extreme lengths to avoid having at work.

"I feel that Stevie...well, I think she has a real instinct for making hits. And Aero was really impressed with her process and creativity. I say we exploit that for Pacific Records. Claim the success of the remixes as our own." Stevie visibly flinched at Cortland's words and it didn't go unnoticed by Benton. Nothing did.

"Woah, hold on," Stevie sat up straighter in her chair, her eyes darting between the two men, "Those hits are...they're mine! I won't just give them to Pacific Records, that would defeat the entire point."

"The point? What is your point exactly?" Benton leaned forward, his expression unreadable but still incredibly dangerous. He could see a flush spread on the apple of Stevie's cheeks, her heart clearly racing.

"I make my own music. My way. I've never wanted to work for a record, especially not one as big as Pacific Records." Her words weren't meant to be insulting. They were spoken with such a genuine and pure ferocity that even Benton had to respect them, even if he'd never admit to that.

"Well, Stevie, I'm so sorry to hear that you feel Pacific Records is a worse place to be than federal prison. What's the maximum sentence, Cortland? Ten years? I'm pretty sure I golf with the District Attorney, perhaps I should give him a quick call to double check." Benton may as well have been talking about the weather or what he had for dinner. Nothing in his expression or tone hinted at the severity of the words. It made Stevie shudder before him.

"Wait," her voice was breathless and Benton could see the internal war she was waging within herself, "I can make new hits. Better ones. Whatever you want. And I'll sign whatever to promise that I will never, ever pirate from Pacific Records again," she clasped her hands in her lap, "but please, please do not take credit for the remixes I've already made. I don't even charge for them! I only get paid for live gigs, I--" she cut herself off, trying to reign in her own reckless energy.

Benton's eyes flashed at her and Stevie balked a bit at the intensity she saw there. She fidgeted in her seat, wondering if doling out demands and requests to an insanely powerful man who was perfectly within his rights to have her arrested had been a fucking terrible idea.

There was a long pause and Stevie had to literally bite down on her tongue to keep from cutting the tension in the air. Benton was clearly thinking. He was staring at the wall behind their heads, an absolute air of zen coming over him. One identifying feature of the ultra-successful is that they don't mind silences. They revel in them. They are the decision makers. Benton had all the time in the world.

"Six months. Stevie, you will be a contract producer for Pacific Records, and in that time will ensure three additional remixes, under our ownership, get 1 billion streams each." He smiled at Stevie but the smile didn't reach his eyes. In fact, they looked downright deadly, somehow so calm and yet so lethal. Stevie felt a chill ripple down her spine but she fixed a trademark look of apathy on her face. Benton continued, "You can keep your prior work and you will sign more than one legal agreement to ensure any future pirating activity of Pacific Record's intellectual property will land you within a twenty-year sentence, no questions asked."

"So, if I don't get three hits to 1 billion streams each, I'm still going to prison?" Stevie looked at both men, her blonde eyebrows raised high on her forehead.

"Correct. Well, to be more accurate you'll go to court. Endure a trial. Negotiate a deal. And then go to prison." Benton smiled in response, showing his teeth. It was hot and machiavellian all at once. "And to be clear, even if you do get three hits with 1 billion streams each in 6 months, you could still face legal time. But your agreements with us would go far longer than any testimony you could make on your own behalf." Stevie forced a smile on her face in return but swallowed a lump of fear in her throat. Benton slid a large, veiny hand along the perfectly quaffed side of his light brown hair and Stevie followed the movement as if it held more meaning than what appeared on the surface. "You'll need to relocate to Los Angeles immediately." Benton turned back to Cortland, "We can set her up in one of the temporary apartments we use for interns and visiting artists." Benton hit a button on his desk and Stevie turned as the door to his office opened. Her heart raced slightly at seeing the four federal agents still there, standing like a wall between Stevie and her previous freedom.

A dainty brunette with a pretty but plain face entered the room and Stevie smiled at her. The woman did not return the gesture. Her pale brown eyes went wide and she glanced quickly between Stevie and Benton, trying to piece together a puzzle that wasn't there. Stevie turned slowly back in her seat, wishing she could get the hell out of here.

"Mary, this is Stevie Marlowe. She will be working for us for the next six months. Please make arrangements for her at one of the temporary apartments. We can have her personal items shipped from..." Benton glanced back at Stevie, realizing he didn't know where she was from.

"Uh, Seattle..."

"Seattle. That will be all." Benton dismissed Mary more sternly than usual and she flustered a moment at the door before closing it quietly behind her.

"Wait." Stevie sat up in her chair, a new wave of urgent energy nearly springing out of her again.

"I'm sorry?" Benton's tone betrayed his choice of words.

"It's just that...my sister is getting married this week. And she's going to kill...like literally murder me and bury me in the ground if I'm not at her wedding." Stevie looked nervously between Benton and Cortland, both with furrowed brows.

"You've stolen several songs from the most respected artists at my label. You are in custody of the FBI with a hefty prison sentence looming dangerously close to your head. And you're worried about missing your sister's wedding?"

"Yes." Stevie didn't pause. Benton dragged his forefinger across his upper lip, his eyebrows pinched together as a slight and stubborn tug pulled upward at the corners of his lips.

"You must really be scared of your sister?" Benton knew he was dancing on the edge of dangerous territory, baiting the eccentric young woman, but he couldn't help himself.

"She's truly the worst case bridezilla you could possibly imagine." Cortland laughed at the level of seriousness in Stevie's voice.

"You start next Monday at 8:00 AM. Don't be late. Cortland will ensure you sign all proper agreements and NDAs before then." Stevie leapt out her seat at Benton's response, clapping her hands together.

"Negotiating terms with the CEO of Pacific Records? Pretty badass."Stevie addressed the room more than she addressed the men in it. Benton studied her expression, noting how quickly her mood shifted between excitement and fear. He liked it a little too much.

"Let's go." Cortland shook his head good-naturedly and pushed himself up from his chair. Stevie bounded up after him, relieved as hell to be headed back to Seattle right now and not to the four walls of a prison cell. Although part of her personal moral code screamed at her from the back of her mind that working for Pacific Records may as well be a sort of creative prison. She glanced back briefly at Benton. He stood above his desk like a man looking at the world from a place far above it. Except he was looking right at Stevie.