Chapter 18
Day was used to controlling the room. He only shared power with one individual, and that was Demi.
Two kings. One kingdom. They reigned as brothers.
They had it all. They had come up dreaming of money and bitches.
They had achieved every single goal they had set for themselves.
They had wanted the streets, so they took them.
They had wanted to go legit, so they did.
They hadn’t heard ‘no’ very often, but suddenly, Day was being forced to reconcile with rejection.
All the money in the world couldn’t buy him favor with Stassi.
He knew because he had tried. Day had led with money with Stassi, and now he regretted it because he hadn’t taken the time to get to know her true weakness.
It wasn’t money. She was headstrong, and no other woman had ever given him this hard of a time.
He was interested. He was more than interested.
Day had a hard time lowering the guard he gave the public, but Stassi had cracked through it.
She had seen a different side to him, but she wanted him to be that way all the time and he couldn’t.
He only reserved that freedom for those he trusted.
For her, it felt like he was gaming her.
To him, it felt like he was extending trust. He knew he was going to have to cut Kiara Da’vi off if he wanted to prove to Stassi that he was serious.
He needed Da’vi to understand that this was just business.
He couldn’t give her the clout she was chasing, not anymore.
Demi had warned Day over the years of playing the celebrity game with different women, using his presence as currency.
“You a street nigga, let’s keep it street.
Be less accessible for these niggas. Bitches too,” Demi had said.
He had warned him again and again, but Day had fallen victim to the PR game.
Running up sales, building careers, fucking women, courting them, casually leaving them in the wind.
He always got what he wanted, and they got what they needed.
It was always a fair exchange—until now.
Stassi didn’t want fame. She wanted to earn her respect, and she wasn’t willing to accept his visage.
The fact that she was entertaining other niggas gave him a dose of his own medicine.
It was a bitter pill to swallow, and he didn’t like the shit one bit.
He hadn’t had to work for a woman in quite some time.
“Prove it.” Her words rang in his mind. He knew an ultimatum when he heard one.
He was an alpha male, and his ego was telling him to do the opposite.
He was insulted that she thought she had the pull to challenge him in the first place.
But the part of him that sought her company, the part that desired the unique way she went left when he said right, knew what had to be done.
Some women could just sway a man, and she was one of those types for Day.
Day’s phone rang, and Demi’s photo illuminated the screen just as Kiara Da’vi entered the room. He held up a finger to stall her as he answered the phone simultaneously.
“What up, boy?” Day greeted. He frowned when he heard the noise in the background. Demi was outside. He was never outside.
“Shit, bro. Just out here having a drink. Come fuck with me,” Demi said.
His somber tone couldn’t be missed; neither could the slur.
Demi was a general. He had kept his head on a swivel for as long as they had known one another.
Being out his body in public wasn’t a thing.
In fact, being out of body at all wasn’t a thing.
He knew this one-off was a direct result of DJ.
“I just might do that. Where you at?” Day asked. “Sound like you done had one too many.”
“I’m over here on the Northside. You know the old bar off Pierson,” Demi stated.
“Yeah, I know the spot. Signature. I know niggas be lurking ‘round them parts too. You got security with you, or you dolo?” Day asked.
“I buried my son, my nigga. Didn’t need no witnesses tonight, you know?
” Demi’s voice cracked, but he quickly recovered.
Day knew that Demi wanted solitude so that he could cry in peace, and still, Day doubted if Demi had allowed himself to.
The breakdown was inevitable. Day knew that when Demi finally lost his shit and allowed himself to process this, it would be ugly for everyone within proximity.
Day needed Demi inside where it was safe for everybody.
“You strapped?” Day asked.
“You know it,” Demi answered.
“Sit tight. I’ll be headed that way. Don’t drive, and nigga, don’t look at nobody. Ain’t no nigga eyeballing you, ain’t nobody stepping on your Air Force 1s. Order a water, nigga. Give me 30, and I’ma pull up on you. We’ll pour one out for nephew.”
“Nigga, what am I 20? I ain’t fighting in no bars these days. I’m posted. I’ll be here.”
CLICK.
Day turned his focus to the lovely girl in front of him.
“Da’vi,” he greeted, sitting back in his chair, and swiveling it left, then right, as he steepled his pointer fingers and positioned them over his nose.
Any last-minute thoughts of keeping her around were fleeting.
He was about to fumble a big bag for Stassi, but it was time.
Her entitlement alone meant the cut-off was overdue.
She thought that she was owed more than she was, simply because of her brother’s initial dealings with Dynasty records.
Duke had died years ago, however, and the way Demi and Day had taken a dream and turned it into reality, was far removed from those beginning struggle days.
They had taken care of Duke’s mama, and Kiara Da’vi had been given an opportunity.
Any debt that was owed had been paid. They couldn’t change what had happened to Duke in jail, and she could no longer use it to guilt trip or force her prioritization at the company.
“Not Big Demi in the middle of the hood all by himself. He better remember where he at. Nobody cares about them big names in the city. The way y’all walk around with the jewels, pushing big boy wheels in the foreigns, y’all stand out like sore thumbs.”
“Yeah, a warning ain’t necessary. Niggas know the land and the rules to the land,” Day stated arrogantly. They may have been CEOs of a music label, but they were CEOs on the block, too.
“My bad, just saying,” she shrugged.
“Look, Da’vi, there’s no easy way for me to cut this, but I’m releasing you from the label.”
“Wait, what?” He saw her temper go from zero to one hundred. “My brother started this fucking label.”
“It’s not gon’ work out, Da’vi,” Day said sternly, cutting her off before she could get on her soap box. “I can’t give you what you looking for here. The music is good, but it can’t sustain itself. You need a story. I can’t be that story no more. I ain’t feeling it.”
“Since when are you not feeling it? Because I literally have physical video proof that you were feeling it,” Kiara snapped. “Been feeling it, nigga. What about the brunch? You promised me, Day!”
“I can talk to your management team, help them develop a plan that will give you longevity in the game. Don’t you want that? Like, how long you think you gon’ be relevant just from affiliation with made niggas? You’re talented, Da’vi…”
“Miss me with the ‘you’re better than that’ speech,” Kiara spat.
“That wasn’t quite where I was headed, but since you said it, you could be better than a social media gimmick,” Day said.
“And you could be better than a washed-up rapper buying pussy, but here we are.”
He was certain she had lost her mind. Everybody knew Day wasn’t tolerant when it came to disrespect and her anger had her straddling a fine line.
“This is where we part ways, Da’vi. Good luck.” His voice was calm, but he was expressionless. The blank stare he hit her with almost made her feel like she didn’t even exist, and it was because he had disconnected. Any guilt he had felt had exited stage left. This only pissed her off more.
“I promise you, I’ma have the last laugh.
You’re ruining my career, and for what? Cuz your dick a little tender over a nobody-ass bitch.
Fuck you, Day.” She was animated and way too loud for Day’s taste.
He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a blunt.
He kept one rolled for stresses just like this.
“You can see yourself out. Consider that advance check we cut you severance, my baby.”
He was being more than fair. Most companies would have asked for it back.
She stormed out, and Day watched a three-million-dollar investment walk out of his life.
It wasn’t the smartest play he had ever made, but he was trying to change.
He was trying to win over a girl that could possibly be ‘the girl,’ and he realized that would take some sacrifice.
Kiara Da’vi was one of many he was sure to make in his attempt to win favor with Anastassia.
Day hit the lights in the office and shrugged into his Amiri jacket before pulling a skull cap over his head.
He hit the code to his office safe and then headed out into the night.
When he made it to the parking garage, he immediately saw red.
His beautiful foreign car was sitting on two rims, and the paint was scratched from the etch of a key.
There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Kiara Da’vi had lost hers.
She was in her feelings, so she was making him go in his pockets. He pulled out his phone and hit Demi.
Day
I’ma be a minute. That bitch, Da’vi, don’ put a nigga tires on flat. I’ma call the tow and then Uber there. DON’T DRIVE, NIGGA!
Day sent a picture showing the damage, and Demi sent back crying and laughing emojis.
Day chuckled, too. This was young girl shit. “Fucking with her crazy ass. That’s what the fuck I get.”
Demi
I’m about to make my way to one of my rentals, my nigga. I’ll tap in with you tomorrow.