Regular Show Benson's Suit Novels & Stories

He worked hard to calm his racing heart, which felt like it might leap out of his chest. Silence fell between them. Bonita’s eyes scanned Benjamin’s outfit—a neatly pressed short-sleeve formal shirt and jeans. Typically, Benjamin dressed casually at home in T-shirts and shorts or training pants. His current attire suggested he was planning to meet someone important or attend a prearranged event.

“Usually, you’re the best drinker among us, even if you’re the first to pass out, but now you’re barely even drinking. You should go get laid later tonight, man.” Benson sneered and for the first time, he had stopped pretending to be Mr. Nice guy. He was obviously hurt and angered by what I just said, so he leaned forward in his seat. “You don’t have to worry about my dear cousin getting laid, guys.” He smiled again. “He changes women like clothes. But he wouldn’t have to go through that stress now that he has a surrogate in his house, doubling as his paid whore—“ I did not let him finish before I was leaning across the table, knocking his wine glass all over him and I grabbed his collar, ne

He was dressed in a black suit and his gray tie tugged firmly around his neck. All the years Sharon spent married to Derek, she had known he had many tricks up his sleeves. This time, she was curious on what new trick he would display. But, seeing this elderly, cooperate dressed man holding a suitcase, she said to herself "So, he's eventually going to give in." She smiled, praising her hard work. “Mr. Maxwell, you made it. Good to see you.” Mr. Benson stood up and shook his hand. “I’m sorry I’m late.” He apologized.

Shade's number. …………***********…........ Meanwhile, Mr. Benson was lounging on the bed with Kendra, watching her down another glass of champagne as they celebrated Nicole's setback. "It feels so good to see her struggle. Thanks a lot, honeybunch," she giggled, leaning in for a kiss. Just as she tried to pull away, the old man pulled her back in for a deeper kiss. "Stop," she protested, but Mr. Benson was eager to take things further.

Women in skimpy clothes filed after one another into the room, making him think he was in some sort of adult movie. He was obviously the only one who was uncomfortable by the 'entertainment' since all the rest of the men were drinking and talking like nothing had happened. After all, they were used to it. Even Yaacob had a beautiful woman in each arm. Benson never could get used to it, so he stood up and said to Yaacob, "Mr. Getson, I'll be making a move first if there's nothing else." Hearing this, Yaacob put down his wine glass and looked up at him nonchalantly. "Why are you going back so early?"

Two can play that game! Time for Mr. Benson to get a taste of his own medicine.

I shifted my wallet in my jacket and followed Aaron down the hallway. Mr. Benson was the kind of man who would grin at a funeral. Tailored gray suit, slicked-back silver hair, and a smirk only someone who always got his way could manage. He was already sitting, legs crossed, confidence oozing into the room. "Aaron Warner," he drawled, not rising. "And this would be the infamous husband." His eyes moved over me like I was some kind of curious animal he wasn't sure he wanted to pet. "Mr. Benson," Aaron said evenly. "Thanks for dropping by."

At least… that’s what it needed to look like. My hand reached the handle— “Rose.” His voice came from behind me. Smooth. Unhurried. Like nothing in the world was out of place. I turned. Benson stood there. Composed. Relaxed. Exactly the way he always is. No tension. No confrontation. No sign of suspicion. Just… normal. Too normal. “I was nearby,” he said lightly, as if this was coincidence. “Thought I should stop by.” I let a small smile form.

He barely acknowledged the two freakishly muscular males following me like baby ducklings after their mother. “What’s wrong, Benson?” I asked. “Your father’s best suit is at the dry cleaners. He plans on wearing it tonight, and I have no way of picking it up. My car is in the shop.” “Have Joe take you in the limo,” I suggested. “Alex won’t mind.” “He’s using the limo today, Miss,” Benson replied. “I could take you,” I offered. “I have time.” Benson sighed with relief. “That would be wonderful, Miss Wilson. Thank you.”

I said and she tossed her head coldly. Upon walking out to the visitor’s room I saw none other than ROD BENSON; he was donning a well-tailored jacket, cowboy hat and chest-fitted sleeves. He must have been working out harder because those thick arms were earned form the gym. Frankly speaking, that spoilt kid of a billionaire was elegantly charming than he had been. I almost mistaken him for some country side rock star, but inwardly I fought back the urge to admire him excessively. “Hi Melissa,” he said gorgeously and shot an engaging smile and then snorted, “Can we have a seat?”