Page 7 of Hired By My Rich Baby Daddy 2

"That's so exciting, babe. I'm so happy you're getting back to what you love." She went right back to her phone.

Simone climbed in a second later after the driver got the last of the bags loaded. "Alright, all the luggage is in the car. I've got my checklist. Do you guys want me to go over everything, make sure we've got it all?"

"Nah, we good," I said. "I'm pretty sure we got everything."

"Okay, sounds good." She tapped the driver's seat lightly. "We can head out."

The truck pulled off, soft music playing through the speakers, and for a while, it was quiet, just the sound of the road and Ginger scrolling through her phone. About ten or fifteen minutes in, Simone let out a gasp.

"Oh my God."

"What?" I asked, frowning.

She looked up slowly, a nervous look on her face. "Sir, I don't want to upset you on your birthday, but⁠—"

"Man, what's wrong?"

"Corven Athletic just pulled out of your deal. They're saying they're going in a different direction with the new campaign, wanting to lean into fresher, younger faces." She handed her phone to me, and I read it myself.

An eight-figure deal gone, just like that.

I felt the heat rise up in my chest before I even fully processed it, and I slammed the phone down onto the seat hard enough that Ginger jumped.

"I'm sorry," Simone said quickly, reaching over to grab her phone back. "I-I didn't mean to upset you."

I rubbed my hand down my face, pissed and confused as fuck. “It’s not on you, Simone… my bad,” I apologized, my mind racing like a muthafucka.

Fresh new faces? Man, what the fuck?

"Baby, it's okay," Ginger said, rubbing my arm. "You'll find something better."

I wasn't trying to hear that right then, so I just looked out the window and pulled my arm away from her. I was pissed enough that I didn’t want nobody talking to me right then.

By the time we rolled onto the private ramp and pulled up planeside beside the jet, there was already a small crowd of paparazzi with their cameras up and fans who’d somehow found out we’d be there.

When we hopped out, Ginger and I signed a few autographs and took some pictures before heading up the steps onto the jet. Simone stayed behind to handle the bags with the driver.

Once we were seated, Ginger got straight to snapping pictures, then climbed onto my lap. "Smile, babe." She got her shot, then slid into the seat beside me, back on her phone, laughing at something and typing away.

My phone pinged from Derez. It was a link, and when I opened it up, I saw a few clips from the documentary. There we were, me and Noree in the booth, heads close together, harmonizing on that unfinished record. Watching it back, I felt something warm creep up in my chest, remembering how good it felt being around her that weekend, how easy it was, how pretty she was, how good she smelled, her laugh, our conversations, and how good her pussy was.

Noree was… amazing, real talk.

I was smiling to myself when Ginger leaned over, trying to peek at my screen, so I closed it out.

That's when the stewardess came down the aisle, a tray of shots balanced in her hand. Leaning over toward me, she had to probably be about twenty-five, young, pretty, brown skin, nice natural hair, nice lips, all that shit, but none of that fazed me anymore.

"Happy birthday, Ozy Love. We're so happy to have you on board."

"Thank you, love," I said, reaching for a glass.

"Bitch, are you fucking crazy?" Ginger was already up out of her seat within a matter of seconds.

The girl straightened up fast, confused. "I'm sorry?"

"Why the hell is your cleavage out like that in front of my man?"

"I'm so sorry, ma'am. I didn't realize. I'll go fix my top." She turned to walk off, and Ginger shoved her hard enough that she stumbled and the whole tray of shots crashed to the floor.