DJ wasn’t feeling it, and Demi knew it.
“Can I go back to my game? My friends are online,” DJ stated.
“Yeah man, go ahead,” Demi answered. “I luh you, boy.”
“I luh you too,” DJ grumbled.
When Demi walked out, his heart was heavy, and his head was pounding. Lauren didn’t even look his way.
“I apologize, Lo,” Demi said.
She spun on him, suddenly revealing the wine glass in her hand. Yup, she was pissed, pissed. She had filled it to the brim, and she was the queen of pouring no more than five ounces, leaving room for aeration. Tonight she was overindulging.
“Do you even know what you’re apologizing for at this point? All this pain. Was she worth it? Was your teenage girlfriend worth the implosion of your wife and son’s normalcy?”
The wine wasn’t the only bitter thing. Demi could taste her notes with every word that poured from her mouth.
“Leave it alone, Lo,” he said.
She was taken aback because he wasn’t even decent enough to appease her with regret. Her feelings were destroyed.
“See yourself out and make sure you show up for your son this weekend. I’m not his only parent, and your bitch isn’t invited.”
Chapter 11
Stassi checked and rechecked her account for two days. She was terrified to spend even a dime.A threesome was the starting point. What’s he gonna ask me to do next?
She kept anticipating his call, his text; hell, she would take a fucking raven from Winterfell at this point. She just needed him to lay out his terms. He had offered a hundred thousand. She had turned it down. So he had sent two. She had never had that much money at one time and it was intimidating.
She wanted to tell Charlie, but she couldn’t.
Bitch, you’re a prostitute. A high motherfucking paid prostitute but you still hoeing.
The mental conversations she had with herself since receiving the money were a mixture of comedy and judgment. The silence from Day was killing her.
“You know what? Fuck this.” She grabbed her purse and called an Uber. She knew where he was. Sunday morning studio sessions were like church for the popular musician. She needed answers, and she was tired of waiting for them.
The not knowing was worse than the proposition itself. When she entered the building, the receptionist greeted her.
“Welcome to Dynasty Records. Do you have an appointment?”
The girl was beautiful. Petite with a big ass and wide eyes. She resembled Livi a little, and Stassi wondered if Day had hired her. Was she another girl that Day was intimate with? That he had paid?
“I’m here for Day,” she told the receptionist.
“Do you have an appointment?” The girl asked again.
“I don’t need an appointment. Tell him Stassi’s here,” she said.
The girl nodded and retreated, clicking away in red bottom heels as she disappeared to the back.
Within minutes, she came back. “You can go back. Studio B.”
Stassi suddenly lost her nerve. When she pushed open the door, weed smoke choked her, and bass deafened her.
Day sat at the engineer’s booth in an expensive sweatsuit, wearing Timberland boots and a Balenciaga beanie on his head. He nodded at the track playing, face bent in a grimace of satisfaction. He liked the beat.
“Lock the door,” he instructed without looking at her.
