Page 1 of Mic Drop

Chapter 1

Bennett

The water pulses from above and I scrub harder. Why did Jenna get all defensive about using Untamed Coaster’s PR team? I was only being helpful.

My right leg bends as I wash it, careful not to aggravate the muscle pull. Again. How dare Lissa lie like a two-bit bimbo on national TV? There was no baby—not from me, anyway. Considering my background, no little Bennetts will roam this earth. Ever.

Those stupid hosts, Logan and Francis, suck. They certainly didn’t do any research into Lissa’s story. I duck under the shower head and let the water wash over my body.

It’s not refreshing.

I close my eyelids and hear echoes of sexy moans from Jenna. The way she loved exploring Graceland on our private tour. The freaking plaid miniskirt that drove me insane. The gray in her eyes that promisedmore.

I remember sharing showers with her. How adventurous she is, willing to try anything. Glancing down, my cock remembers too. My back takes the spray.

She’ll forgive me for offering professional support for her clinics. She has to.

Only a stubborn woman, like the one I’ve fallen in love with, would refuse the help of a professional PR team. Fine, she built At Your Service PT from scratch, but she’s facing a shitstorm outside her wheelhouse. No single person can bend the media to their will by sheer force alone. Damn woman has more control issues than Elvis’s manager Colonel Tom Parkeris rumored to have had.

Water sluices over my body, and this time I lean into the pseudo-massage. Jenna will either accept my help or not, but somehow she’ll come out on top. I hope she sees the wisdom in working with UC’s team, though, who have experience in handling media backlash. As for Lissa, she needs to disappear.

Looking back, I can still hear Lissa repeating the mantra that she was saving herself for marriage. As high school juniors, we’d kiss and I’d feel her up, only to be shot down by her “convictions.” I was in my gawky stage, not yet full-grown or filled out. Certainly not hitting the gym like I do now. Pre-contacts, glasses were my constant companion. In addition to her. A gorgeous blonde bombshell attached to my hip. I thought things couldn’t get any better.

Until Curtiss swooped in and invited her to theseniorprom, before I even was able to ask her to the junior prom. Some best friend he turned out to be.

Dumped and alone, I’d barely had time to process their betrayal before Dad died. Leaving me twenty-four-seven with the woman who birthed only me—and to her everlasting despair, not my twin.

Twisting, I turn off the shower. Enough with this memory lane. I need to correct Lissa’s bullshit and get my life back on track. Featuring Jenna. She better not still be annoyed with me. The fact she hasn’t joined me in here isn’t a good sign.

I grab a white towel and wrap it around my waist. With any luck, Jenna’ll help me dry off. At the mirror, I examine my scruff, which can wait another day to be trimmed. With a quick finger combing of my hair and a pat to the UC pendant Jenna gave me all those yearsago, I open the bathroom door ready to grovel for her forgiveness. Making her come a couple of times should do the trick.

My jaw drops when I see her packing her suitcase. “Where are you going?”

“Home! I never should have left!”

Jenna grabs a handful of clothes and tosses them into her suitcase.

My breathing accelerates. She can’t be leaving over my suggestion she use UC’s PR team. I shake my head to clear the wild notion. I position myself in front of her luggage.

“You have to believe me. If Lissa was pregnant, it wasn’t by me. We never had sex.”

She walks toward the bathroom, muttering, “Believe what you will.”

Believe what I will? What am I supposed to believe? She’s packing her things as if she’s leaving me. No, not only me, but the entire tour. This makes no sense. First Mom, then Lissa. I can’t survive another woman leaving me in the dust.

I stomp behind her and rephrase. “What are you doing?”

In response, she cradles her cosmetics and toiletries against her chest but doesn’t say anything. I rake my fingers through my wet hair. “Talk to me. What’s happening?”

She adjusts the bottles. “You’re always so distracting.”

Is that a good thing or not? “This isn’t making any sense.”

“The world doesn't!” She skirts around me and dumps everything into her suitcase.

Given her crappy packing job, she can’t be going far. No one in their right mind would pack a suitcase for a trip like this. My hands raise to the air. “Stop!”

My growl garners the first appropriate response all day—she stands still. I temper my tone. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

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