“Yea.” Logic cleared his throat.
“Then loosen up nigga, we good.”
“Fellas, yall want something to drink?” Rahlo asked, extending his hand to the variety of beverages in the center of the table.
“Nah, we can handle this first,” Logic spoke up.
“Aight, so like I said at the park, I’m starting my own label.”
“How and you’re signed to Eastwood?” Al questioned.
“Artists do it all the time,” Terri explained. “It’s called an Imprint Label. For example, Lil Wayne is signed to Cash Money. He turned around and made his own label, Young Money. Hesigned Nicki, Tyga, Drake, and a few more people. It’s the same label in a sense, but it’s Wayne’s shit, like Southwest Ent is Rahlo’s. He’s still signed to Eastwood, but he’s further along in his contract and has time to focus on other projects.”
“So Logic would be his first artist?” Al asked.
“Yes, and this is new, so we’ll be working and growing together,” Rahlo answered. “You’re a damn good rapper and your flow is undeniable. If you let me, I’d like to round out your sharp edges and put you up there with the greats.”
“Round out my edges?” Logic repeated with furrowed brows.
“I did my homework, so I know shit,” Rahlo replied. What was understood didn’t need to be explained.
“In front of you, there are two folders with a copy of the contract we’ve put together,” Terri said. “We don’t expect an answer tonight, in fact, I would take and read over these contracts with a fine-tooth comb. Rahlo is a very honest man, but I’d still advise you to get a lawyer to look over it with you.”
“If you need a lawyer let me know and I can hook you up with a couple of people,” Rahlo proposed. “Not on no shady shit.”
“Cool,” Logic nodded.
“Last thing, are you cool with me playing the songs we made?” Rahlo asked. “I had my producer clean them up and nigga… the shit is fucking fire. Czar even had to jump on the track.”
“Fuck outta here,” Logic grinned. “A remix with you and Czar? Hell yea, you can play that shit.”
“Cool, let’s go get a couple of drinks, mingle, and please try not to fuck up my party. Dex is here and I already warned him.”
“What’s your problem with Dex anyway?” Terri quizzed.
“I think he a lame and I have a crush on his girl,” Logic answered honestly.
“3rdgrade ass nigga,” Al chuckled.
“Oh lord.” Terri rolled his eyes.
“Told you the lil nigga just like me. Remember when I snatched T-baby from that old nigga.” Rahlo grinned.
“I remember all the trouble it caused,” he grunted. “Logic, are you trouble?”
“Nah,” Logic denied.
“Yea, we’ll see,” Terri grumbled, pushing up from the table.
???
Tyler stood next to Dex, who had his hand planted on her ass. She was talking to Bobbi, but it was hard to hear with Dex cackling in her ear. She hated it when he got drunk and started talking loudly. The longer they stood there, the clearer things became to Tyler. She was with the man that no one wanted to talk to. People were literally trying to avoid him. They'd excuse themselves in the middle of the conversation or pretend to need to use the restroom. A couple of people had even completely ignored him, only greeting her with a kiss on the cheek. None of this stopped Dexter from bragging on his name, making corny ass jokes, or randomly groping her, letting anybody looking know she was off limits.
“So, Tyler, when are you going to bless my track?” An upcoming rapper named Bhuda asked, cutting Dexter off in mid-sentence. Bhuda couldn't care less about Dexter’s jewelry collection and flopping ass album. The real prize was on his arm, looking very disinterested at the moment.
“I didn’t know you were looking for a feature,” she replied. “I’d love to work with you. My best friend is obsessed with your new song “Show Money.”
“You the hottest thing out right now, everybody's trying to get to you. I’d sell one of my cousins on my daddy side to get a feature, but your manager be on bullshit. Figured, I’d try my luck with bringing the request straight to you.”
