“So, not from you?” Kiara asked, frowning.
“What you want from me, man? I’m not your nigga, Da’vi. You gave up a little pussy, I spent a little paper on you and let you get some shine. You not my girl. That was never going to be a permanent situation for you. This whole conversation taking up too much time,” Day stated. He was so nonchalant. His heart was in the gutter. The funeral had taken its toll on him, and he didn’t have the energy to cater to someone else’s emotions. He knew Kiara Da’vi wanted to remain attached to him. It was the company’s PR who came up with the idea to bring her out on his arm, boss her up, ice her out, and step out onto the scene together. Any woman he had ever been linked to, caught the public’s eye, and Kiara Da’vi was no different. Day had influence, so whoever he chose automatically became relevant. Kiara was one of the ‘it’ girls by proxy. All it took was for them to be photographed courtside at a Piston’s game, and social media ate her up. The culture was predictable that way. If he wanted to make a woman famous, he knew how, and he had done that for Kiara because it was in his best interest. Now, she had a few million followers, several brand deals, influencer friends, and an album that he had produced on the way. He was into her for a little while, but the conversation was too shallow to keep his attention long. She didn’t make him work for it, and Day was a man who enjoyed a chase. He had grown bored fast. He wished he had never indulged at all because she was clingy, and demanding, territorial women had never tickled his fancy. He had gotten rid of women before her for less. He had invested a lot of money into her album, however, so he knew he couldn’t just write her off like all therest. He also felt a bit of allegiance to her on behalf of her brother.
“I want you to let me do that thing you like,” she said seductively.
Day sighed and winced as he scratched his temple. See? Shallow shit. “I ain’t really in the mood. You know? Funeral and all.” It was like her emotional intelligence was non-existent, and he was more annoyed than anything.
He went into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a pre-roll. He had been grounded all day. He needed to get high so he could float away from the bullshit; all of it— dead kids, grieving potnahs, and women who chased him for clout. The only bright spot of his whole day had been the 30 seconds he had spent in the shadow of Stassi’s Prada perfume. The scent still lingered in his nostrils.
He took his time blazing up and inhaled deeply before blowing out a cloud of smoke. He deadpanned on her. “Why you fuck with me, Da’vi?” he asked.
She let off a nervous giggle. “Because you’re that nigga, Day. The fake humility is cute, though, but be for real. You’re the boss.”
“What makes me that nigga? Cuz I know plenty niggas with paper out here. Plenty guns. Plenty cars…”
She sucked her teeth. “That’s not why I like you,” she said.
“So, if I ain’t have none of that?”
“I don’t know, Day. It’s just something about you.” She was reaching, and he was letting her because the shit was comical. He wished it got deeper than this, but in his experience, it never did. The standards of women were so easily met these days. It took no effort to get them into his bed. The threshold was non-existent, and while Day appreciated an easy win, he respected a hard-fought one more. Still, business was business, and thesix figures he had put into studio time and brand-building with Da’vi had to bounce back.
A few public appearances can’t hurt,he thought.I still got a job to do.
“PR got the press run already lined up. They lined up a performance at the Hip Hop Awards in LA, and the company is hosting a brunch the day after. We’ll put you on the stage, something dope and intimate. Let you do your thing while everyone is locked in. Like an unplugged vibe. Put Charlie around you, have her open with an a cappella joint,” he explained. He could break an artist in his sleep.
“Charlie? Ehh. Nah, I ain’t feeling that. Why can’t I just do it by myself?” Kiara responded.
“Da’vi, it’s your name on the marquee, but it’s my name on the checks. I wasn’t asking for feedback, just your participation.”
“Don’t forget my brother’s name is on those checks, too. I really shouldn’t even be begging for anything in this bitch, Day. A part of this company technically belongs to my family. I could be coming for that. Treat me right, and I ain’t got to take it there, but it can go there. Those checks you and Demi sending monthly didn’t make me forget Duke helped start this,” Kiara Da’vi said.
“Is that a threat?” Day asked, bending his brow. The moment a motherfucker felt like they were owed something was the moment they became an opp in Day’s mind. Kiara Da’vi didn’t know shit about the business that Day, Demi, and Duke had indulged in. They were paying his mother out of loyalty, not necessity. Sure, Duke had helped fund the company, but upon his death, he was owed nothing further.
His tone of voice and the change of his mood were enough for her to backtrack, but Day made a mental note that this could become a potential problem. He would be contacting their lawyers tomorrow to ensure Duke had been removed from all shareholder documents upon his death.
She rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her chest. “No, I don’t have no smoke. I’m just saying, remember that we’re family, and look out for me. If Duke was alive, this wouldn’t even be a conversation.”
If Duke was alive, you wouldn’t be asking to sit on my dick, either,Day thought.
“I would be a priority. I don’t understand why I have to share the limelight with Charlie,” she pressed.
“Because Charlie can sing a cappella. You need a track and autotune. You really want to get up there by yourself?” he asked. “It’s hard to grab attention from celebrities. Especially from people who do the same thing as you. Niggas who think they the biggest star in the room don’t look at the sky. Got to give them a shooting star for them to notice. Nobody’s doing what Charlie does. She’ll make them notice, and you’ll keep their focus once she sets the tone. Besides, Demi owns half of this company. If you used your head a little more, instead of being jealous of every artist you see as competition, you’d see it as a smart move to hitch your cart to Charlie’s horse. Charlie’s performance will have the highest budget, her tours the most support, and her promotion will have no limit. If you’re co-headliners, you reap the benefit of his love for her.”
He could see the idea blossoming in her simple mind.
“Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” she said, yielding. “And we’re going together, right? I still need that look, Day.” Her persistence was exhausting. “We were vibing, and then all of a sudden, we fell off, and you were out with these other bitches that ain’t got shit on me.” She huffed her displeasure. “And I really, really miss the dick.”
Day hit the blunt. Did he miss her? He couldn’t say he did. Day was never alone long enough to miss anyone. Women were everywhere in his life. His phone was full of first-round draftpics that most niggas would kill to be in contact with, including Kiara Da’vi, but Day had become immune to their beauty. He required a little more to keep him tuned in.
“You just talking, Davi. You ain’t about that life. You a runner. Don’t act like you can handle a nigga now.” He had turned her pretty little ass inside out when she was in his bed, and she could barely take the dick. The culture had labeled her musicSex & B,which was the title of her impending album, but she wasn’t truly the siren she claimed to be. She talked big. He smirked as he remembered the way his name had bounced off the walls of their hotel rooms.
She smiled mischievously because, for her, his words were a challenge. She approached him, pressing her body into him as she kissed his neck. The voluptuous woman was made in cookie cutter image. She looked like every other Instagram model these days. The aesthetic was pleasing, but nothing about it was unique. That ass was fat and beautifully done. Her artist development budget had contributed towards that, and her doctor had given her dangerous curves. Her face was caramel in hue and stiff from the Botox shots she had indulged in, and those titties sat up at attention. Everything about her was manufactured. From the body to the 30 inches of hair sewn into her head, and the claw-like nails on her fingers. She was stunning, but he had seen it before. She straddled him. The discovery that she hadn’t worn panties made his dick jump simply because he was a man, and his dick was going to dick whenever it was in the vicinity of wet pussy. Shewas throwing it at him, and he contemplated breaking her off one last time. It had been a rough week. Days had been long and hard. Something easy felt warranted, but there was something nagging in him all the same.
“You can’t do stuff like buy me brand-new cars and think I ain’t gonna want to sit on this dick to thank you, Day.”
A man was a man on every day of the week, and her words aroused him. That was the one thing a girl like Stassi couldn’t provide. Ho shit. Kiara Da’vi used seduction as currency. He had clout; she wanted to buy it, so that pussy was for sale. He would be lying if he said it wasn’t good as fuck. She was wet and tight and clean. He palmed her ass with one hand, pulling her into his dick. He pulled in a long toke of the weed and blew the smoke slowly into her face. The fact that she giggled instead of correcting him made him shake his head. She went to kiss him, and he lifted his head to avoid her lips. He brought his hand up once more to hit the blunt.
“Promise me that we’ll hit LA together. The awards, maybe an after-party or two, then the brunch the next day? I can come in with you on the PJ.”
