Chapter Eight #2
“You coming?”
“Nah.”
“Oh, now you wanna be silent,” Rahlo chuckled.
“Fuck you.” Czar gave him the finger.
Feeling like new money, Logic and Al strolled into the Roostertail as if they owned it.
They were probably the brokest niggas in the room, but you’d never be able to tell.
Dressed in a fitted navy-blue tuxedo from the Men’s Warehouse, Logic paired it with a pair of brown Stacy Adams and a matching belt from the same store.
Instead of getting his hair cut, he gave himself a line-up and sponged the mini fro on top.
His neck and wrist were naked, but the YSL cologne he spritzed on himself made up for his lack of jewels.
“This shit nice.” Al nodded, checking out their surroundings. He already counted three influencers he wanted to leave with, and from the way they were staring at him, it wouldn’t take much game.
“It is,” Logic agreed.
“Here’s our boy.” Al straightened his posture.
“What up doe.” Rahlo approached with another man they had never seen before. “I’m happy yall could make it. This my manager turned business partner Terri. T, this the young dude I was telling you about, Logic, and this his manager Al.”
“Good evening fellas. I heard nothing but good things about you.” Terri stuck his hand out.
“You a damn lie,” Rahlo snorted. “I told you how these niggas tore up the studio and wasn’t shit good about that.”
“I’m being professional,” Terri hissed. “You gentlemen can follow me to the back. I have everything set up.”
“Cool,” Al spoke for the both of them.
As they moved through the party, Logic could feel everyone’s eyes on them.
He didn’t look familiar to them, but if he was walking with Rahlo, he had to be somebody.
With his head held high, he bopped through the party as if it had been thrown in his honor, as if he had already signed his name on the dotted line and they were there to celebrate him instead of Rahlo.
Then he saw her.
People were surrounding her, but Tyler was in a world all by herself.
She was standing next to her lame ass nigga, looking like she had no business being in the same room as him, let alone by his side.
She was so fucking beautiful and her thick thigh sticking out of the slit in her skirt caused his dick to twitch.
The halter top she wore looked more like a bedazzled bra, but she rocked it well.
The open-toe heels wrapped around her ankles and complemented her thick calves.
As if she could feel his eyes on her, Tyler looked up just in time to see Logic checking her out.
With the wink of an eye, he sent butterflies to the pit of her stomach, and when he blew her a kiss, she slightly gasped for air.
“You good?” Dexter asked, staring down at Tyler as Logic disappeared behind a set of doors.
“Yea, I’m good.” She swallowed, smiling up at him.
???
Logic and Al entered the small boardroom and took a seat at the oval table.
Logic’s heart was literally beating in the palm of his hands as Terri and Rahlo joined them.
He had dreamed about this moment a million times, but he never thought it would actually happen.
There were thousands of niggas rapping and fighting to be seen, and Logic couldn’t help but wonder, why him?
His name didn’t ring bells, nor did he have a big following, and to be honest, he felt like a fraud sitting there.
He robbed trucks and sold pills. He was supposed to be behind bars for defrauding the system; being a signed artist wasn’t supposed to be in the cards.
“You straight?” Al whispered, feeling his energy.
“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.
He signed 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.
“3rd grade 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.”
“Ok, I-
“This is a social event,” Dexter cut Tyler off. “Talk to Carla, and if you can’t get at her, then holler at me, but at a later date.”
“I mean she right here.” Bhuda frowned. “I’m just trying to shoot my shot.”
“And I said now is not the time. If you can’t respect that, move the fuck around,” Dexter barked, louder than he needed to, drawing attention to them.
“Dex,” Tyler hissed, embarrassed by his outburst.
“I’m saying, we chilling and this nigga bumming for a verse.”
“Right,” Tilly cackled, causing Tyler to cut her eyes at him.
“Ah, I see what it is. She’s on reserve for your non-rapping ass, huh?” Bhuda chuckled. “Got it.”
It was no secret that Tyler only did features for Dexter. Whenever she tried to work with other people, Dex acted a fool and started beef with the other artists. Most of the time, the artist backed down, or to keep the peace, Tyler would simply chop the entire project.
“The fuck you just say to me?” Dexter frowned at Bhuda.
“Calm down, killer. Tyler, holler at me when you’re free, baby girl. Like I said, you’re talented and I’d love to get in the studio with you.”
“Move the fuck around nigga, my girl will never work with your wanna be J Cole ass.” Dexter shooed him away. “Standing here looking like you shop at Forman Mills.”
For the sake of respect, Bhuda silently retreated. Had it not been for the fact that he fucked with Rahlo, he would have peeled Dexter's shit back.
Tilly, Marty, and Bobbi laughed, finding the situation funny, but Tyler was embarrassed. She was high but sober enough to know that Dexter was tripping. Not only did he almost dislocate her elbow, but he was rude to reporters and other artists for no reason.
“That nigga be in your DM’s?” Dexter asked, clutching Tyler closer to his side.
“Ouch, Dex, let me go.” Tyler tried to wiggle from his embrace, but he gripped her tighter, digging his fingers into her ribs.
Everyone who was once laughing turned their heads as if they didn’t know what was taking place between the couple.
No one tried to intervene, even though pain was evident across her face.
“You trying to be an industry hoe? Let me know because if you want to sell pussy instead of albums, I can make that shit happen.”