Page 6

AVERI

I was one argument away from throwing my phone off the damn balcony. “Royal, you can’t be fuckin’ serious right now.”

“That shit don’t fit my sound, Shawty. It’s all trash.”

I inhaled deeply, closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose. This man was going to make me lose my damn mind. Plus, I hated when he called me Shawty. Hearing it so much while growing up put a sour taste in my mouth behind it. Still, I didn’t correct it.

I had been sending him tracks for weeks, carefully curated beats and compositions that I knew fit his style—shit that could elevate his sound without stripping it of the essence that made it his. And yet, this arrogant pain in my ass rejected every single one of them.

“Okay, so what exactly is your sound then, Royal?” I asked, voice dangerously calm.

“Nigga, it’s me.”

Oh, I hated him… like really fuckin’ hated him.

I felt my eye twitching as I clenched my jaw. “You sound exactly the same on every track.”

“If it ain’t broke, why fix it?” he shot back, smug as ever.

“Because it’s tired. Like yo’ damn attitude.” His end of the line got quiet. Good, I knew I hit a nerve.

I heard him exhale sharply. “You done?”

I let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, Royal. I’m done.” And I meant it. I was over this bullshit.

The moment we hung up, I texted Logan.

Me: We need to meet ASAP

I waited for a response, surprised that it came sooner rather than later.

Logan: Meet me at my office in an hour.

Exactly an hour later, I walked into the mid-sized office building that housed offices for LA Records, Los Angeles location. If there was one thing about LA Records, it was that they made sure you knew exactly who they were before you even stepped foot inside.

The 10-story glass building sat on a prime corner in West Hollywood, sleek and modern, with blacked-out windows and a massive digital billboard showcasing their biggest artists on rotation.

There was Reese, another rapper also from Atlanta who gave Wale vibes with his soulful rhymes.

Heaven, the beautiful songstress who I had lent my pen to and won a grammy with, Amiri Peoples, a female rapper from Chicago, Royal’s dumb ass and Lux LA at the top of the food chain.

He had made LA Records what it was today and had been in the game for over fifteen years and didn’t look like he was going to be stopping anytime soon.

The entrance was a whole experience. Double glass doors, gold accents, and a red-carpeted walkway that made even the most regular-degular industry people feel like they were walking into a movie premiere. Inside? Minimalistic luxury meets pure hip-hop energy.

The lobby was damn near a museum, full of platinum and gold records mounted on the walls, all carefully curated under soft LED lighting. The floors were polished black marble, reflecting the overhead fixtures like a scene straight out of a music video.

To the right was a wall-sized LED screen that played a constant loop of LA Records' biggest moments—concert footage, Grammy wins, interviews with Lux LA and Logan, and behind-the-scenes clips from the studio. To the left was a waiting lounge that didn’t even feel like a waiting lounge—plush black leather seating, art-deco coffee tables, and a fully stocked espresso bar that also doubled as a liquor station after 6 PM.

At the reception desk, two assistants sat behind a curved black stone counter, typing away at their MacBooks like they were running the country instead of a record label.

Upstairs, the building was split into two main sections: Floors 3-7 were dedicated to the studios—each one state-of-the-art, fully soundproofed, with custom lighting, floor-to-ceiling windows, and lounges that put most five-star hotels to shame.

Every studio had a name, all dedicated to hip-hop and R I want a place that feels inspiring. Where dancers—especially little Black girls—can come and feel at home.”

We all melted at that.

Arielle clinked her glass against Serenity’s. “Whatever you decide, you know we got you.”

I nodded. “A hundred percent.”

Egypt grinned. “A thousand percent.”

Serenity beamed. “I love y’all.”

“Okay, my turn,” Egypt announced, flipping her braids over her shoulder. “So… I booked the lead in a movie.” The table erupted in cheers.

“Bitch, what?!” Arielle gasped, eyes wide.

Serenity clapped her hands together. “Egypt! That’s amazing!”

I shook my head, grinning. “And you weren’t gonna tell us?”

She laughed, holding up her hands. “I wanted to wait until it was official. It’s a romantic drama, shooting in Toronto for like three months.”

Arielle sipped her wine. “Big Hollywood shit.” Egypt shrugged casually, but we all knew she was lowkey screaming inside.

I smirked. “Alright, lead actress. Who’s your co-star?”

Egypt wrinkled her nose. “Damson.”