Chapter 2
TWO
SINCERE
As I pulled up to the building where my assistant had asked me to meet her to sign the paperwork that they refused to allow her to sign, I double-parked my car because I knew I wouldn’t be in there for too long.
I was already pissed that, instead of getting work done, I had to do this bullshit.
The motherfuckers had already been paid for everything for the luncheon, so why the fuck did they care about who signed the fucking papers?
They were just being assholes, and they were lucky I was working on myself and trying to be a better person because I had half the mind to go in there and knock all that shit over.
As I crossed the street, I assumed all the cars would stop for me, which they mostly did.
All but one stopped and damn near hit me.
If that bitch had touched me, I would’ve yanked her ass out of the car.
I was working on myself, but I hadn’t reached the level it would take for me to just let her ass walk away from doing some stupid shit like that.
I didn’t give a fuck if I was crossing in the middle of the street.
Her ass was supposed to yield to pedestrians regardless of the situation.
“Maybe watch where you’re going next time, huh?” I heard her call out before speeding off and pulling into one of the open parking spots.
Sighing, I said to myself, “Breathe. Just breathe, Sincere. You didn’t come all the way down here to snap anybody’s neck. Sign the papers, and then get the fuck on.”
Ten minutes later, I’d signed the papers and was on my way back to my car.
As I stepped outside, I saw the parking lot attendant attempting to put a sticker on my car.
I knew one thing. If that motherfucker didn’t back the fuck up, all of that working on myself shit was going to go straight the fuck out of the window.
I was in my brand new Bentley Continental GT Speed Convertible, and I dared a motherfucker to even breathe on my shit the wrong way.
“Aye, you need to back the fuck up and away from my car,” I barked, slowly walking over to where he stood. I didn’t rush to anybody, and I wasn’t about to start right now.
“I’m sorry, sir. But, you’re double-parked, and I have to give you a ticket,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
“Nah, you’re not giving me shit. Now, back the fuck up so that I can leave,” I said, opening my car door and using my hand to push his ass back a little bit.
“You think because you drive this fancy car that you can do whatever you want to do and put your hands on people?” He asked, looking me up and down.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what the fuck I think. Now, back the fuck up before I do more than push your ass,” I said, starting the car and putting it into park.
Thankfully, he was smart and backed his ass up before he got hit.
I hated when niggas like him wanted to try me like I wasn’t crazy as hell.
Since I’d started my record label five years ago, I’d tried my best to work on my temper and be as legit a businessman as I could when I wasn’t handling shit in the streets, but it was a lot easier said than done.
I was constantly having to remind myself that there was a much bigger spotlight on me than before, and I couldn’t solve all my problems now with my hands or a bullet.
But, again, it was a lot easier said than done sometimes.
Anyway, now that I’d gotten that taken care of, I was headed to the office to get some work done.
I had a feeling that the moment I got there, one of my artists was going to do something that would piss me off.
I really wished someone had told me that having artists was like having a bunch of little kids you had to manage.
Sure, I had some that made their music and their money and didn’t give me a hard time.
Then there were others who found a new way to piss me off every day.
“What’s up, boss man?” Kru Savage, one of my newest artists, asked as I stepped into the office.
He was the one I thought I’d have the most issues with, but for the most part, he made his music and stayed lowkey.
I knew he was a street nigga without him ever having to say anything to me about it, though.
I was from the streets and could spot one of us from a mile away.
I wasn’t sure what he did out there, but as long as whatever he was into didn’t fuck with my money, I didn’t give a damn what he did.
However, with the way that he was going, he’d be making enough money to move the hell on from that life, and just focus on his music.
That was the goal for every artist we signed.
To get them to the freedom they wanted. I wasn’t a hard nigga to work with, and did my best to treat everyone fairly.
I wanted them to see that there was more to life than the streets, and even if, much like me, they chose to still be involved with them, it was because they wanted to be, not because they had to.
A lot of people didn’t think that there was a difference, but trust me, there most certainly was.
When being in the streets was optional, you moved completely differently in them.
“Ain’t shit. About to get some work done. You got your tracks done already?”
“Yep, been here since like two in the morning. You know I like to create when the world is asleep.”
“I hear that. Did you look at that email I sent you about doing a collab with Lyric?” I asked, already knowing he'd give me some static about it because he hated working with other people. And, I didn’t think they were too fond of each other.
For the most part, I let my artist have as much creative control over their music as possible and only offered my input when I felt it was needed.
But, when I heard the music Lyric was putting out, I knew the two of them would be perfect to work together.
Their voices complemented each other a lot, and I knew the chemistry would go crazy.
I’d already gotten her label on board with the collaboration.
It was just getting the two of them to agree to it that seemed to be the problem.
“Yeah, I’m thinking about it. You know I don’t like working with anybody, especially these females. I don’t have time for all the emotions and shit. But, I’ll let y’all know by the end of the month what I think about it.”
“Hey, that’s all I can ask. I would consider it a personal favor, though. But take some time to think about it, and let me know what you decide so we know how to move forward,” I said, holding out my hand for him to dap.
“I got you,” he said, dapping me up and walking out of the office.
Once I made it to my office, I realized it was damn near two, and I still had so much work to do. I already knew it was going to be a late night in the office, which meant that I was going to have to hear Logan’s mouth about me working late and not coming home at a decent time.
I wouldn’t say that she was my woman, but she was something.
I couldn’t find the right word to make the shit make sense, so I just called her my friend, and that had to be enough for us at the moment.
Taking a deep breath, I opened my computer and got to work.
The sooner I started checking things off my to-do list, the faster I could get home.
“Do you need anything else from me, Mr. Hill? I’m going to head out of here shortly,” Beverly, one of the assistants we had working around here, asked as she popped her head into my office.
“Nah, I’m good. Have a good night,” I said, not looking up from my computer.
“Alright, see ya’ on Monday,” she said.
I wasn’t sure what time my brain shut down, but when I began reading the same sentences over and over again, I knew it was time to go ahead and call it a night.
Although after looking at my clock and seeing that it was a little after four in the morning, I guessed it was actually morning.
As I packed my things up, I hit ignore on the twentieth call from Logan.
She’d been blowing my damn phone up since nine, and I wasn’t about to answer not one damn call and let her fuck up my vibe.
Because if she could do nothing, she could fuck up my vibe and piss me the fuck off like no one else.
As I stepped into my car and my phone connected, a call from Mitch, one of the guys I had running shit out in the streets for me since I couldn’t be out there all the time, came through.
Seeing his name on the screen gave me the feeling that I wasn’t going to be heading home to get some sleep anytime soon.
We didn’t talk often outside of our monthly meetings unless there was something wrong.
And, since we’d just done our monthly check-in a few days ago, I already knew something was wrong.
“Yo?” I asked, answering the phone.
“Aye, I need to talk to you now.”
“I’m on the way,” I said, hanging up and throwing the car in park.
We did have codes we used to communicate over the phone, but seeing that he didn’t do that, I knew this shit was big, and I knew I was about to use some of the bullets I was trying my hardest not to turn to.
While a lot of people in the corporate world only knew me as Sincere, the CEO of Hilltop Records.
A lot of people in the streets knew me as Sincere, the plug.
I worked hard as hell to get to where the fuck I was, and I wasn’t letting any motherfucker take that shit from me.
Over the years, a lot of motherfuckers had tried, but none of them had been able to make shit happen.
I built my shit on my back, and by myself, for the most part, so I wasn’t dealing with anybody’s bullshit.