Upgrade You 2: My Brother's Keeper

By Noelle Vella

Chantiqua "Chan" Jackson finally found her 'happily ever after' when she fell in love with Fallon Green aka award-winning recording artist Slaya. Together, with their son Julian, Chan and Fallon have created the perfect family. That is until Maximillian Charbonneau, Chan's former lover and Fallo

• Language: English
• Publisher: Singleton's Press Book Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Sep 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9781955916202

Book preview

Upgrade You 2

My Brother's Keeper

Noelle Vella

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Singleton's Press Book Publishing, LLC

Copyright © 2023 by Noelle Vella

Singleton’s Press Book Publishing, LLC

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Contents

1.Prologue: Maximillian

2.Track 1: Chan

3.Track 2: Maximillian

4.Track 3: Fallon

5.Track 4: Chan

6.Track 5: Maximillian

7.Track 6: Fallon

8.Track 7: Chan

9.Track 8: Maximillian

10.Track 9: Chan

11.Track 10: Maximillian

12.Track 11: Fallon

13.Track 12: Chan

14.Track 13: Maximillian

15.Track 14: Fallon

16.Track 15: Chan

17.Track 16: Chan

18.Track 17: Maximillian

19.Track 18: Fallon

20.Track 19: Maximillian

21.Track 20: Chan

22.Track 21: Fallon

23. Track 22: Fallon

24.Track 23: Maximillian

25.Track 24: Fallon

26.Track 25: Maximillian

27.Track 26: Ana

28.Track 27: Maximillian

29.Track 28: Chan

30.Track 29: Fallon

31.Track 30: Chan

32. Track 31: Maximillian

33.Epilogue: Part 1 Fallon

34.Epilogue: Part 2 Chan

35.Epilogue: Part 3 Maxmillian

Prologue: Maximillian

It had been about an hour since I began making love to her, pushing in and out of her slowly, savoring the way her silky walls hugged my dick. She took the full length and girth of my manhood like no other woman could, and I was very well endowed, if I do say so myself. She caused her muscles to contract and relax around me, bringing me close to the edge.

Stop that, I said, still slow stroking her.

Stop what? she questioned beguilingly.

I took her arms, pinning them above her head. You…know…what, I replied, each word corresponding to a deep, hard thrust, eliciting impassioned moans from her. You’re trying to make me come. What’s the matter, too much for you handle? I looked down at her with a smirk.

Let me get on top, and I’ll show you how much I can handle.

That was one of the many things I loved about her; her ability to keep up with me sexually. Not many women could handle my sexual prowess or stamina. I released her arms, then, while inside of her, flipped both of us over.

Placing my hands behind my head, I said, Show me what you’ve got.

She simply flashed me a smug grin, turned round, and gave me her chocolate ass to ponder. She moved up and down, her pussy lips swallowing my dick. Damn she knew how to work me. She was a classy lady through and through, but she also knew how to ride a dick like a high-class whore.

Shit, I muttered, giving her ass a hard smack.

I felt the pressure build in my sac as she glided on my cock. I was going to release, but if I was going down, she was going down with me. I reached out, my hands grabbing her slender, yet shapely, thighs. I began to thrust upward, pounding that pussy like I owned it.

Yes, baby, don’t stop, she cried.

I looked down; saw my dick glazed with her juices. Jackpot. Once I knew she was satisfied, only then did I allow myself to come.

She climbed off of me, and made herself comfortable, placing her head on my shoulder. I love you, Max, she whispered in my ear.

I turned my head to face her, kissed her abundantly full lips. I love you too, Chan.

I woke up in a cold sweat with a hard dick. What the fuck was that about? And why in the hell was I dreaming about Chan, of all people. Yes, that was some exceptional pussy, but I knew for damn sure I didn’t love her, mainly because a year ago she basically deprived me of my child; a child that I didn’t even know I had. Instead, Julian, the name she gave my son, was being raised by Chan and that son-of-bitch brother of mine, Fallon, more famously known by his hip-hop moniker, Slaya. He even had the balls to give my son his last name Julian’s birth certificate.

If it wasn’t for the fact that he and Chan had blackmailed me into signing over all of my parental rights, I would have forced the issue, and fought for custody of my son, if for nothing else, to get him away from my bastard baby brother. Unfortunately, I couldn’t, because Katima, the woman sleeping peacefully next to me, had no idea that I had fathered a child with Chan, a woman who I told her meant nothing to me. I had worked long and hard to get Kat, the only woman I have ever truly loved, back in my life, and I wasn’t about to lose her again. I had recently asked her to marry me and, unlike the first time, I refused to let anyone or anything, interfere with our happy home. I took Chan’s threat to out me to Kat to heart, so I caved and gave up my son. That was a decision that I now realized I was beginning to regret.

Track 1: Chan

Iknew something was wrong when he came in and slammed the door behind him. It had been a little over a year since he and I had become a couple. The events leading up to that still replayed in the back of my mind sometimes. He and I couldn’t stand one another from the moment we met. No one could have ever told me I’d be in love with a rap artist I loathed.

Stupid motherfucker, Fallon spat as he slammed cabinets in the kitchen.

I looked at our son, who was resting peacefully beside me in our bed. I hadn’t gone to my shop today because I wanted to be home when he returned with good news; however, judging by the way he had slammed the front door, I knew something else was afoot.

The lights were dimmed, and laundry baskets sat near the door of the room. The 72-inch flat screen smart TV had his face splashed across the screen with the rolling words: Slaya’s new movie crosses the $100 million mark. First rapper outside of Will Smith to ever do so in history.

I smiled at that. Slaya’s crossover star power was something that hadn’t been seen in a long time. A Time to Die was an apocalyptic action thriller movie in which Slaya starred alongside top Hollywood male actors. The premise was that a Black man, who had once worked for the government, escaped prison to save his family because he’d gotten word about a virus spreading in the UK that made humans turn into cannibals, and because he knew it would soon reach the US, he had to get his wife and children to safety.

It was another take on the classic zombie genre, but this time, Black people were the stars. The movie outperformed every major film that was currently in theaters. For Fallon to star next to Samuel Jackson, and for the movie to be an instant hit, basically catapulted him into superstardom. Since then, he had been on a roll.

That told me something else had him in a funk. He had way too much to celebrate to be this angry. The double doors that led to the balcony were open and a cool breeze danced across the room. The tan and gold walls held pictures of our family while the hardwood floors needed a new polish. Things had been crazy for the past few weeks, and I hadn’t called in housekeeping because Julian was sick.

I looked toward the door when I heard Fallon coming down the hall.

Just as he shoved the room door open then slapped the light on, he noticed us. Oh shit. I mean shoot.

I watched his locs swish and sway around his shoulders. They had gotten longer now, cascading down his back, stopping just below his shoulder blades. Dressed in denim jeans and a fresh white tee-shirt with designer sneakers on his feet showed he was being his authentic self. The sharpness of his light brown eyes behind his glasses told of his anger. There were no gold grills. No gaudy gold chains. He didn’t have on baggy jeans and Timbalands. There was no thug appeal. The Slaya the world knew was a lot different from the Fallon I’d come to know.

I didn’t know ya’ll were here, baby. Thought you were still at your mom’s, he said, brows furrowed in that way that told me he was annoyed.

Suspicions confirmed, I sat up then looked at him. We came home early. What’s going on? I asked. You look upset? Something happen at the label?

He nodded his head toward the door which meant he wanted me to follow him out the room so Julian wouldn’t hear his tirade. I made sure our son was still resting comfortably before leaving the room.

Baby, what happened? I asked as I rounded the corner.

I found Fallon sitting on the sofa, hands clasped in front of him, elbows on his knees. It almost looked as if he was praying where he sat, but I knew better.

Max played me, he snapped before turning explosive eyes to me.

Sitting next to him, I laid a gentle hand on his back. Played you? How?

So you know today is the day I let the execs hear the songs, right? Also, remember yesterday, I played them for Ricardo? He was feeling it. I mean brother was hype as hell.

I nodded. Ricardo was A&R for the record label, and since Fallon had turned over a new leaf, the two had been getting along better. Before, Ric didn’t really care for him because the only person Fallon had shown to the world was his rap persona, Slaya.

Fallon had been on his hustle lately. From shooting movies, commercials, and guest appearances on TV shows, he had been on making moves. On top of all those things, he had also been recording songs that he wanted to lead his next album, as far as singles. His image had gotten a complete revamp. He’d gone from rapping about money, clothes, cars, hoes, bitches, and everything else that seemed to catch fire amongst his fanbase to rapping about love, the ills of the Black community, police brutality, his love for Black women, and there were even a few Rated-X songs about sex as well. Even those were done in a way that caught people off guard when they realized he was rapping about making love to his only girl: me.

Fallon continued, So I played the top three songs for the execs, including Max’s fuck ass, right? Now all the execs were feeling that shit. I’m talking Shaheed, Devina, and Preston! All of them had their heads bobbing, feet tapping, that look on their faces when they hear something that got some stank on it, right? Even Max seemed impressed, which should have told me he was up to some shit.

I knew of all the people he’d named. They were the big bosses at World Hitz Records. Fallon shoved up from the sofa then started over to the bay window overlooking the Brooklyn skyline. His shoulders were tense, and he kept shrugging and rolling them as if he was preparing to fight. The tension in the room was thick.

So, after all the hype, they started talking marketing and how these songs would go well with the social climate right now with all the social justice activists using their platforms to speak out against police brutality and shit. I’m geeked as fuck, right? Because this is what you and I discussed. This is what I envisioned, correct?

I nodded, anxious for him to get to the point.

After all that, this nigga stood up and made a presentation about why the label releasing such inflammatory, anti-cop rhetoric at a time when cops feel under attack wouldn’t be a good look, legally speaking. Each word Fallon spoke came through clenched teeth. It was as if he had already had that shit planned, Chan. Like he had been waiting on this moment the whole fucking time. His lips tightened as he slammed his right fist into the palm of his left hand. Ric didn’t tell me he was gonna let Max listen to that shit before the execs did, and I’m not saying he did, but based on the way all this shit went down, baby? I know these niggas planned this shit.

You think Ricardo would do something like that? I asked, not sure I thought he would.

While Ricardo and Max were best friends, they were nothing alike, which was odd. Ricardo was down-to-earth and a good person to boot. Max was a grimy-ass nigga. There was no other way to put it. He was lowdown and when he had a vendetta, nobody was safe.

Max was still upset that Fallon and I were a couple and raising Julian together, as a family. He hadn’t even wanted our son. When I’d told him I was pregnant, he told me to get rid of it. Yes, he’d called Julian an it. I had never been so humiliated in my life. After an internal battle over whether to have an abortion or not, I decided to keep my baby. It was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. Soon after, Fallon and I became an item.

"I don’t know, Chan. I can’t call it, but why else would he play that shit for this nigga, knowing we ain’t friends. We barely making this shit work professionally. All I know is I’m angry as fuck and I want to hurt this nigga."

His words sent chills down my spine as I stood and walked over to him. I laid my head against his back before adjusting my stance to wrap my arms around his waist. Fallon, please…don’t talk like that. I know Max can be an asshole, but—

His muscles stiffened and I felt the rumble of his bass reverberate through me when he responded. "Ain’t no buts, Chan. This nigga playing with my money, baby. Our money. This is my livelihood. I got shit I want to do for you and Julian. I take care of my brother, our parents, and some family back home too. I promised your brother Levi some things that I refuse to not come through on. I could see if this nigga was doing this on some real G shit, you know? Like, if he was looking out for me. But you and I both know, that ain’t what this is."

Fallon’s voice was tight with aggravation and rage. Yeah, but you’re on a roll right now. You have the number one movie in the country. Your last album still got singles in the Top 10.

Yeah, and those checks cleared. It’s in the bank. I still got people to take care of, baby. I’m carrying us on our backs, and I don’t mind that shit. So don’t think a nigga complaining, but those checks were for those assignments. I’m on a mission, and I gotta keep the cash flowing. On top of that, I put my soul into those songs, baby. They mean something to me. I ain’t just rhyming over beats. I poured my heart into those songs.

When he removed my hands from his waist and then stepped out of my embrace, there was no malice on his end, but I knew he needed space. I was quiet as I watched him pace, wishing I knew what to say to make any of this better for him.

Does that mean they won’t be releasing any of those songs? I asked, curious about the outcome of Max’s presentation.

Fallon hadn’t recorded any throwaway songs. A throwaway was a song that Slaya recorded just in case he had to leave one his favorite songs off his album for whatever reason. It was to ensure that if the label tried to pull stunts like forcing him to move his album up, giving him less time to record, then he had backup songs he could use as filler. He hadn’t done that this time around because every song had been carefully cultivated for this specific album. We had flown to Zimbabwe for three months so he could finish this new project. To know it might not see the light of day stung even me.

As my man stood in the darkest corner of our front room, I felt helpless. He had his head against the wall while his strong arms propped the rest of his body up. The slow inhale and exhale of his breaths could be seen as the fabric of his shirt strained against his muscles.

When he turned to me, I couldn’t see his eyes that well because of the shadows in the room, but I felt his pain. They said I can’t release the album, Chan…

I gasped, shock socking me in the gut. The whole album, Fallon?

If I hadn’t been paying attention, I wouldn’t have heard the slight crack in his voice. The deep breath he took before he realized that he was showing too many emotions almost broke me to my core. Anger settled in. Fallon was a strong man who stood on his values and convictions. I had watched him do a total one-eighty. We had grown together. My mother often made comments about how fast I’d matured after learning I was pregnant with Julian. She also loved Fallon and often applauded all the changes he’d made as well.

Before Julian, I was a regular girl from the hood. The only stereotypes I didn’t fit was that I hadn’t become a teen mom, I’d graduated high school, and I had more going on for myself than some girls from my hood. Other than that, I was the proverbial loud, hood Black girl, and I wasn’t ashamed of it. No matter how much shit people talked about Black people from the hood, they would never make me feel bad about it.

I was hood. I was loud. I wore long, curved fake nails sometimes. I blasted rap music in my high-end salon. I twerked whenever the mood hit me. I also wore booty shorts and tank tops, rings on every finger, and I wasn’t afraid to throw down if need be. I was all of those things, proudly.

I was also well-read and studious with a keen business sense. That was why my salon showed a huge profit margin within the first year of being in business. My goal was a simple five percent. It had been a low margin, but I wanted to be realistic. Turns out, I’d set my goal too low. I would have settled for a ten percent healthy margin. However, when I came in at a thirty percent high profit margin, I stopped doubting myself. It had been up from there ever since.

I said all that to say that with all the changes I’d made—that Fallon and I had made together—to see all his hard work basically pushed to the side and flushed down the drain hurt. We had goals. We wanted to leave Julian something tangible. Fallon and I had also talked about expanding our family, but we still had more talking to do.

After I closed the double doors, I called out to him softly, Baby?

He didn’t respond. All that could be heard was his breathing and the light pattering of rain that had started to fall.

May I come to you? I asked, needing to comfort him in some way, but also understanding that he may not want or need that at the moment. When he still didn’t respond, I said, I love you, Fallon. We have worked our butts off for this. All the time spent in Zimbabwe with you recording and writing… I know this shit stings, and I’m sorry…

Shit don’t sting, Chan. It hurts, baby, it hurts. His voice was low and throaty, and the pain was audible.

Nodding, I asked, What can I do to help you right now?

He glanced at me, but then movement in the hallway caught both our attention. Daddyyyyy, Julian’s whiny, sleep-filled voice sang as he rushed down the hall.

His caramel skin was a bit lighter than normal because of the cold weather and while he did have some of my looks, he was almost an exact replica of his father; Maxmillian Charbonneau.

Fallon’s mood instantly brightened as he bent to scoop Julian into his arms. My son was tall for his age, and he was quite smart. He was already trying to read and write letters. Dressed in his green turtle pajamas he wrapped himself around Fallon.

I missed you, Daddy, Julian told him.

A wide smile adorned his features. I missed you more, lil man. Were you good for your mother today? Fallon asked once Julian sat up in his arms.

Nodding eagerly, Julian said, I was, Daddy. Mama got me ice cream and cookies. We went to see turtles too.

As Julian filled Fallon in on our day, Fallon cast a glance in my direction that said we could finish the discussion later. Julian would have his undivided attention for the next couple of hours. No matter what was going on in his life, Fallon always made sure Julian and I came first.

As the late afternoon turned to evening, the three of us enjoyed dinner as we rewatched the original Jurassic Park, one of Julian’s favorite movies. We ordered authentic Italian from a small Black-Italian owned eatery down the block. Even though we made sure our son was the center of our attention, I could tell Fallon was still upset by all that had transpired.

He kept checking his phone, responding to emails and texts with frowns while mumbling under his breath. When two phone calls did come in, he was curt with the callers. For as bad as I wanted to be up under him, I allowed him time with our son for the moment.

After Julian had gone to sleep for the night, and as Fallon and I lay in bed, the rain serenaded us. I missed my man. Wanted to feel him inside me. It had been a little over a week since we’d last had sex. Our schedules had been hectic, leaving little room for quality time. Before he had told me of the events of the day, I wanted to talk to him about so many things. One being expanding my business.

Now, all I could think about was kicking Max in his dirty dick. I couldn’t believe I had once loved him. Why had it taken me so long to see him for the evil person he was? And it was still hard for me to believe at times because he had been good to me when we were together, but only if he wanted to be. Max could be cold and evil, but he also had a generous side. Even after we ended things, he still made good on all he’d promised me. The evil side to him was dangerous because his adversary would never see it coming.

Well, that wasn’t true. Fallon and Max had been at one another’s necks since I’d first met Max, and according to Fallon, long before then. Max made it clear that he did not like Fallon early on. However, even with Fallon knowing that Max was a snake-ass nigga, things had been silent. Max had been cordial and so had Fallon. This sudden sucker punch was unprovoked.

I was about to close my eyes and try to sleep when I remembered something. Hey, baby, I said, knowing he was awake by the way he was breathing.

After clearing his throat, he answered, Yeah?

Remember that time you told me that Max tried to pull some shit like this before? I asked.

Fallon was quiet a moment then said, Naw. Not really…

I propped myself up on one elbow, looking down at him. The room was dark, but the blinds to the balcony were open, allowing faint hints of the night sky to shine through. He had taken his glasses off, so I wasn’t sure if he could see me all that well. Still, his eyes pulled me in. I almost forgot what I was about to say when he licked his lips then propped one arm behind his head. Some of his locs spilled onto the pillow, others got tangled under his arm.

I could have been seeing things, but I swore a faint smirk adorned his features. Chan?

Huh? I said, completely bereft of the fact I’d been staring at him like a lust-crazed young woman with her first crush.

The man was fine, and it couldn’t be denied. Also, I missed sex with my man and my brain was becoming addled because of that shit.

With his brow now quirked, he said, You were saying something about Max pulling this shit on me before.

I shook my head to clear it. Oh yeah. So remember when he tried to go to the big bosses on you, but you knew he was going to pull some shit like that? You told them that if they didn’t get him off your back you would put out shitty music for the duration of your contract and there would be nothing they could do about it?

He took a deep breath, a frown marring his features. Yeah, I remember that.

So why not make good on that?

His eyes gave my body a slow perusal before they settled back on mine. Keep talking.

I sat up then crawled to straddle his waist. Once atop him, his hands came down to my waist and he adjusted my position to better suit him. The thin cotton tee-shirt dress I had on rose to expose all my thighs.

Butterflies had settled in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t know if it was because Fallon was watching me as if he wanted to pounce or if it was because I was getting excited at the thought of him bucking the system and beating Max at his own game.

So tell them since they won’t allow you to release what you want, from here on out, you’ll only do what you’re contractually obligated to do. You will make music, but it will be crap music. In the meantime, you can put out a mixtape with all the songs you originally wanted to release. That way, you’re not breaching your contract, and you still get to release the music you want, your way. And don’t tell them about the mixtape. Drop it randomly one night at four in the morning or something.

Fallon was quiet for so long that for a minute, I thought I’d said something wrong.

Damn, Chan. Now why the fuck didn’t I think of that? he finally replied.

Track 2: Maximillian

Three Weeks Later…

This is on you, Max, Chief Executive Office Shaheed Matthews bellowed, pointing a stern finger in my direction.

We sat around the large mahogany table in the World Hitz Records conference room, called together for an emergency meeting. Also in attendance were Chief Operating Officer Devina Herrod, Chief Financial Officer Preston James, and my best friend and head of A&R, Ricardo Travers. At six in the morning, on a Saturday no less, I generally wasn’t at my best, and being scolded like I was in the principal’s office wasn’t helping, especially with an audience.

The board wants your head, he continued, standing up from the leather executive office chair. "You were the one who talked us into passing on Slaya’s album and look where that’s gotten us.

Look, I—

I don’t want to hear it, Shaheed said, cutting me off. Your beef with Slaya has turned into a shit show that’s become a public relations nightmare, not to mention a financial one, for this company. He sat back down, slumping in his chair as if exasperated.

Preston let out a hard sigh before picking up where Shaheed left off. "No lie there. While Slaya’s single Your Love is Genuine is still topping the charts, and his album sales are still good, they can’t compete with that mixtape, especially the first track Ain’t My Life Worth It?. It’s become the new activist anthem. With it being released on all streaming platforms, and with the announcement that all proceeds from the mixtape were going to social justice causes, people are downloading it like crazy. The organizations he’s pledged the profits to are raking in the dough, money that should have belonged to World Hitz."

Don’t get me wrong, he paused, taking a sip of his coffee, Slaya is also profiting from his newly found activist status, but there’s a caveat. According to published, and verified, reports, he has endorsement deals with a major athletic shoe company, an urban clothing line, and an extremely popular distillery. Thing is he only agreed to sign with them if a portion of the profits were donated to The Boys & Girls Club of Harlem. He’ll still be raking in millions; none of which we can touch because he’s fulfilled his obligation to us.

Not to mention the press coverage surrounding this debacle, Devina chimed in. You have no idea how many calls I’ve taken from reporters asking if Slaya is leaving the label. It hadn’t been lost on the press that his latest and, according to some, best work yet, wasn’t released on World Hitz Records. It’s not a good look for us, especially considering this label prides itself on fighting for the underdog artist. Then there’s this.

Devina passed a folder containing news articles and photos to each of us. The caption of the first article read ‘Rapper, Actor, Activist. Slaya is the Social Justice Warrior We Need’. The picture underneath the caption showed Fallon dressed in an expensive suit, standing with his head bowed, black-gloved fist held high in the air in a Black Power salute, reminiscent of Tommie Smith and John Carlos’ stance during the 1968 Olympic Games. I had to wonder if Kat designed that suit for him since she was his favorite designer and she loved creating clothing just for him. Another picture showed him standing in front of the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture in Harlem, wearing a sweatshirt with the words to his hit single ‘Ain’t My Life Worth It?’.

In the three weeks since his mixtape dropped, Slaya’s become the new darling of social activism, never mind that he was already a media sweetheart, especially after his movie debut. He’s performed at several protest rallies, has had numerous interviews on some of the top cable news shows to promote his platform, and has even been invited to the White House. Like Shaheed said, this has been a public relations nightmare.

We passed on his album based on your presentation, Max—

"Yes, and I presented you with nothing but facts, I retorted, banging a fist on the table, giving Shaheed the same consideration he had given me. Slaya and I may not get along, but in this instance, I was doing my job trying to protect the interests, and reputation, of World Hitz Records. You can’t tell me that putting out those incendiary lyrics wouldn’t have led to problems down the road. I was being proactive instead of reactive. We all remember what happened back in the day when groups like Public Enemy and NWA came out with harsh anti-law enforcement and anti-government rhetoric. Politicians were all over them. They were targets of not only local governments and police unions, but the feds, as well. Individuals, as well as their record labels, were put in the crosshairs of numerous investigations."

I studied the faces of each person sitting at the table. They knew I was right. My eternal dislike of Fallon notwithstanding, I did have the best interest of the company that I had been a part of for most of my adult life at heart. It was my legal prowess that kept World Hitz Records from being decimated by lawsuit after lawsuit from Fallon’s former shenanigans. Yes, he eventually revamped his image, and had become more socially acceptable in the past couple of years, but before that drastic change, he was a foul-mouthed, brown-liquor swilling, womanizing, disrespectful asshole who garnered a lot of negative press, not to mention financial losses, for this company. Unfortunately for me, his album sales, sold-out concerts, and lucrative endorsement deals outweighed all that, making him a much-needed asset for World Hitz Records.

"Besides, except for Ric, you all agreed with me that his album should be scrapped based on my thorough research. How was I to know that Fallon would one-up us? That’s not my department," I countered. I refused to address my half-brother by his stage moniker.

Shaheed sat at the head of the table, looking very much like the CEO he was. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He had an expression on his face that I had seen many times before. He had something up his sleeve. There was an eerie silence in the room for several long seconds.

Okay, Max, fair enough. There’s plenty of blame to go around. That said, we need to fix this shit, sooner rather than later. There’s a solution to all this, and, Ric, this is where you come in. You were the only one who voted in his favor when we decided to kill Slaya’s album. As someone who has a…decent relationship with him, and, more importantly, as head of A&R, we need you to convince Slaya to stay with the label.

Oh, so now you care what I have to say? Ric asked, spreading his hands, his voice tinged with contempt. He rarely showed anger, but when he did, it was with good reason. "I tried to tell you this was a bad move, and that although some would oppose the content of Slaya’s lyrics, in this current climate, his words would resonate with many. Hell, I backed him because as a Black man who’s been unjustly hemmed up more than a few times, I truly believe in what the brother’s preaching. I also felt it was time this company stopped cowering and finally take a stance on these issues. I get it from a legal perspective, he began, looking in my direction, but since most of our artists, as well as their fans, are Black, we need to do right and support the cause. If I agree to talk Slaya into staying with us, and that’s a big if, I’ll be advocating for him and his terms. Nothing more, nothing less."

Again, the room was quiet; so quiet my own thoughts annoyed me.

Shaheed nodded several times, biting down on his bottom lip. He did that whenever he was deep in contemplation. Finally, he spoke. We’re gonna have to suck this one up and eat a lot of crow. Much as I hate to admit it, we need Slaya way more than he needs us. I’m sure we’ll face some blowback from certain groups, but if he agrees to come back into the fold, it’ll be well worth it. Devina, I need you to start working on a joint press release. Make it appear as if Slaya was playing hardball in order to get a new contract, which, essentially, he is. He’ll go along with it because he knows how to play it up for the press. He is an actor after all. He scoffed at that last statement.

On it, Devina replied, scribbling notes on her pad.

Preston, start crunching some numbers. You know Slaya won’t come cheap this time around. We need to make sure that regardless of whatever we offer him, we’ll be able to stay in the black.

You sure about this, man? With all the money Slaya’s making from his endorsements, he’s raking in a grip, even with his large charitable donations. We’re going to have to offer him a hefty sum to even compete with what he’s making now, and—

Shaheed raised a hand, abruptly quieting Preston. I’m sure; we cannot afford to lose Slaya from our roster. He holds a lot of sway with the other artists. His releasing that mixtape was bad enough, but if he jumps ship, it could lead to an all-out mutiny. Better to spend some coin now in order to make a huge profit later.

Turning to face me, Shaheed said, Max, only thing I need you to do is play nice when Slaya gets here.

Wait, he’s coming to this meeting? I asked, clearly taken aback.

Ric and I shared confused glances. His expression told me that he was just as clueless as I was.

We need to strike while the iron is hot, Shaheed said, ignoring my question. If we don’t talk to Slaya now, we may never get another chance. Word on the street is he’s already been courted by several other record labels, one even offering to give him his own subsidiary label with complete creative control. If he leaves and takes some of the talent with him, it could sink us. This meeting has to go smoothly, understand?

While his eyes briefly surveyed the room, they settled on me. I was wholly aware that his comment was directed toward me. I raised my hands as if in surrender. Nothing I said was going to make a difference anyway. As if on cue, there was a knock on the door to the conference room.

Shaheed stood up and answered it. Slaya, my man, come on in, he said, extending his hand to him.

Fallon regarded his hand for a few seconds before reaching his own out, giving it a brief, but firm, shake. Without a word, he walked over to the table, taking