“Really?” She sits up from her slumped position, one hand open on her forehead, the other at her belly. “You sure you’ll be okay without me?”
“Yeah. I’ll probably just follow up with the band and make sure Elle came through.”
I don’t mention the dozen other things I need to do that have made this week hell because she might feel bad.
“Okay.” She stands gingerly and is making her way toward the door. “I’ll just close out this one last email and be out.”
“Sounds good.”
My cell rings, and I glance down to see who it is. Will Silas. A fellow manager.
“Will, hi. What’s up?”
“Bristol, hey. Nothing much. I wanted to talk about tomorrow night.”
“What about it?” I walk back to my desk and sift through a few contracts I printed and started marking up. “The venue is all set. I spoke with them earlier. Sound check is at seven. Everything else is in the email I sent.”
“Yeah, the email you sent at two o’clock this morning.” He chuckles, a note of admiration in his voice. “When do you sleep, girl?”
“When all the work is done.” I give a little laugh and check my impatience. I really need to look at these contracts. “So if we’re all set for tomorrow’s performance, what can I do for you?”
There’s a pause on the other end screaming Will’s reluctance.
“Uh, Qwest has a special request,” he says after a few seconds more of screaming quiet.
“Okay. Let’s hear it.”
“I know you have that reporter Meryl scheduled to talk with Qwest and Grip after the show.”
Grip's upcoming album is Prodigy's first release. Even though Grip will be his first solo project, his popularity has grown through features on other artists' singles, all of which went platinum. He built a sterling reputation as a writer and producer over the years, along with hugely popular underground mix tapes. Now an artist in his own right, there’s nothing like him out there. He has it, and brings it to everything he does. His current single “Queen” featuring Qwest, currently sits at number one, and the album hasn’t even dropped.
“Yeah. Legit is doing that in-depth piece on Grip,” I tell Will. “And I agreed to a chat with the two of them before she flies back to New York the next day.”
“Yeah, she has, um, some other things she’d like to do after the show.”
This time the pause is mine. The reluctance is mine. Qwest doesn’t have some things she’d like to do after the show. She has someone she’d like to do after the show.
Grip.
“Oh, yeah?” I drop the contract and run my hand over the back of my neck where the tension always seems to gather. “Like what?”
“She was thinking she and Grip could hang out after the show. They haven’t seen each other since they wrapped on the “Queen” video a month ago. So . . .”
Pairing Grip with Qwest, the hottest female rapper on the scene right now, was sheer brilliance. I wish I could take credit for it, but Qwest approached us about working with him.
“So . . .” I pick up where Will left off, waiting for him to voice the request.
“Could we cancel the chat with the reporter so Qwest and Grip can go out after the show?”
I swallow the big no that lodges in my throat. It’s true that Meryl will be irritated if we cancel. She’ll be shadowing Grip for the next few weeks leading up to the album release writing this piece. I don’t want to start our working relationship not delivering the one-two punch of Qwest and Grip together. But, if I’m honest, that isn’t the only reason I want to refuse Qwest’s request to spend time with Grip.
I clear my throat before responding.
“Um, let me see what I can do, Will. I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try. I don’t want to alienate this reporter. This piece she’s doing is great exposure for Grip’s album.”
“I get that, but you know how Qwest is.” Will laughs, probably to keep from crying, because Qwest is a handful. “If we make her do the interview, she’ll probably say some outrageous shit and ruin it anyway.”
Irritation prickles under my skin. Qwest is undeniably talented. And undeniably hot for Grip. I’ve seen it for myself. She practically engraved an invitation for Grip to screw her at the “Queen” video shoot. For her to put her libido above a commitment is highly unprofessional, but then, it is Grip. She wouldn’t be the first woman I’ve seen lose all sense of decency where he’s concerned.
“If I can’t get them out of the interview without potentially damaging this piece,” I say, stiffening my words just enough. “Then I’ll expect your artist to be where I need her to be when I need her to be and to conduct herself professionally. If you can’t control Qwest, don’t make me do it.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Will’s tone stiffens a little, too. “It shouldn’t be that big a deal. Promise the reporter something else. Something bigger.”
“Like what?”
“Like what if she goes with us next month? She’d get Qwest and Grip performing in Dubai. The optics alone will be a great add to her story.”
Damn. Wish I’d thought of that, too. Grip and Qwest are giving a sweet sixteen concert for the daughter of one of Dubai's ruling families.
“That’s a great idea.” My tone still makes no promises. “I’ll pitch it to Meryl and get back to you.”
“Sounds good. See you at sound check.”
With a million things clamoring for my attention, demanding action, I stand still at my desk for a full minute, staring unseeingly at the work waiting for me.
Qwest and Grip.
They’re perfect for each other. Not only that, but it would be good for business. Their fans would eat up a romance between them. They’d be the king and queen of hip-hop. All the ideas spin through my head of how to maximize on a relationship between my artist and Will’s. I could spin a street fairy tale of it. It’s what Qwest wants. It’s what everyone would want.
But I’m the one thing I know without a shadow of a doubt Grip wants. Over the years, we’ve managed to become friends. Really good friends actually, and I was thrilled when he finally agreed to let me manage his career. But that’s all. Grip has made it clear he wants more, but that’s all I can give, and that’s all we’ll be.
So if you won’t have him, Qwest can.
That little voice of conscience and reason whispers to me every once in a while. Depending on the circumstance, sometimes I listen. Sometimes I ignore. I know this time I should listen.
Sarah’s groan from the outer office pulls me from minutes of contemplation I can’t afford. Despite all the work I’ve already done, I still have so much to do.
“You’re still here?” I call out, walking to the door.
I fight back an ill-timed smile when I see a Hershey’s bar, a Costco-sized bottle of Midol, and a legion of tampons spilled on the floor from Sarah’s purse. It’s like a Menstrual Survival Kit.
“Yes.” Sarah sighs, pressing two fingers to her temple. “I forgot about an errand I’m supposed to run. Ugh. I just wanna crawl between the sheets and die for a little while.”
“Let me handle it.” Another thing I can’t afford. Doing other people’s jobs, but it feels like I’ve been doing that all day. All week.
“You sure?” Doubt pinches Sarah’s pained expression even more. “I know you have a ton to do.”
“As you can see by the state of my desk,” I say, pointing a thumb over my shoulder toward my office. “Work isn’t going anywhere. Anything I don’t finish today, will still be there tomorrow.”
“Oh, good.” She blows out a relieved breath. “Let me get Grip’s bag.”
“Let you get what?” Tiny thrills of panic and anticipation alternate through me. “Grip’s bag? What do you mean?”
“He left his bag here earlier today when he met with Rhyson.” She bends to gather the spilled items from the floor, shoveling them into her purse. “He needs it tonight, and I told him I’d drop it off on my way home.”