“Made it to the top and pulled my niggas in. Whole hood wearin’ Mink, bitch we all win. No losers over here, that shit’s a sin. Gotchu girl in the kitchen whippin' chickens, call her mama hen,”Rahlo rapped into the microphone.
“Leaving dust on these tracks, Harleys. Lil booty chick on my side, call her Marley,” Czar joked, winking at his wife.
“I’m going to smack you,” she hissed, trying to stop the smile that pulled at the corner of her lips. She loved it when he rapped to her in public but hated it when people started turning it into memes. Thanks to Czar and his nickname for her, they started a“little booties matter” movement, and fans made her the face of the organization.
“What?” Czar grinned. “I thought you like it when I rapped to you,” he replied, leaning down in her face.
“Nah, I like it when you sing.” Marley licked her lips.
“Nigga you sing?” Rahlo chortled.
“Mind your business nigga.”
“Ole Chris Brown ass nigga.”
“There goes your boy.” Czar tossed his head to the left.
“You coming?”
“Nah.”
“Oh, now you wanna be silent,” Rahlo chuckled.
“Fuck you.” Czar gave him the finger.
Feeling like new money, Logic and Al strolled into the Roostertail as if they owned it. They were probably the brokest niggas in the room, but you’d never be able to tell. Dressed in a fitted navy-blue tuxedo from the Men’s Warehouse, Logic paired it with a pair of brown Stacy Adams and a matching belt from the same store. Instead of getting his hair cut, he gave himself a line-up and sponged the mini fro on top. His neck and wrist were naked, but the YSL cologne he spritzed on himself made up for his lack of jewels.
“This shit nice.” Al nodded, checking out their surroundings. He already counted three influencers he wanted to leave with, and from the way they were staring at him, it wouldn’t take much game.
“It is,” Logic agreed.
“Here’s our boy.” Al straightened his posture.
“What up doe.” Rahlo approached with another man they had never seen before. “I’m happy yall could make it. This my manager turned business partner Terri. T, this the young dude I was telling you about, Logic, and this his manager Al.”
“Good evening fellas. I heard nothing but good things about you.” Terri stuck his hand out.
“You a damn lie,” Rahlo snorted. “I told you how these niggas tore up the studio and wasn’t shit good about that.”
“I’m being professional,” Terri hissed. “You gentlemen can follow me to the back. I have everything set up.”
“Cool,” Al spoke for the both of them.
As they moved through the party, Logic could feel everyone’s eyes on them. He didn’t look familiar to them, but if he was walking with Rahlo, he had to be somebody. With his head held high, he bopped through the party as if it had been thrown in his honor, as if he had already signed his name on the dotted line and they were there to celebrate him instead of Rahlo.
Then he sawher.
People were surrounding her, but Tyler was in a world all by herself. She was standing next to her lame ass nigga, looking like she had no business being in the same room as him, let alone by his side. She was so fucking beautiful and her thick thigh sticking out of the slit in her skirt caused his dick to twitch. The halter top she wore looked more like a bedazzled bra, but she rocked it well. The open-toe heels wrapped around her ankles and complemented her thick calves. As if she could feel his eyes on her, Tyler looked up just in time to see Logic checking her out. With the wink of an eye, he sent butterflies to the pit of her stomach, and when he blew her a kiss, she slightly gasped for air.
“You good?” Dexter asked, staring down at Tyler as Logic disappeared behind a set of doors.
“Yea, I’m good.” She swallowed, smiling up at him.
???
Logic and Al entered the small boardroom and took a seat at the oval table. Logic’s heart was literally beating in the palm of his hands as Terri and Rahlo joined them. He had dreamed about this moment a million times, but he never thought it would actually happen. There were thousands of niggas rapping and fighting to be seen, and Logic couldn’t help but wonder, why him? His name didn’t ring bells, nor did he have a big following, and to be honest, he felt like a fraud sitting there. He robbed Amazon trucks and sold pills. He was supposed to be behind bars for defrauding the system; being a signed artist wasn’t supposed to be in the cards.
“You straight?” Al whispered, feeling his energy.
