Page 5 of Love's Free Will

I ain’t had no daddy in my house since that nigga was locked up for life, my mama worked her ass off to make sure me and my siblings ate, and I damn near had to fight my way out the streets to get here. And this nigga had the nerve—the unmitigated gall—to sit here and tell me I wasn’t big?

“Okay.” I nodded, fake calm, swirling my drink. “So, who this genius-ass producer and songwriter you bringin’ in, huh? Must be Kanye or some shit.”

Logan smirked, too satisfied. “Averi St. Claire.”

I blinked. Then I frowned. Then I laughed again, even harder this time.

“Ain’t no fuckin’’ way.” Logan just sat there stone- faced, waiting. “Nah, nigga.” I shook my head. “I know you ain’t tellin’ me that some bougie-ass actress from my lil’ sister’s favorite corny-ass witch show is supposed to come in here and tell me how to make music.”

Logan’s smirk widened. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

I clapped my hands together, mocking. “Oh, this is hilarious. So what’s next, huh? You finna bring in Zendaya to direct my next music video?”

Logan just let me get my jokes off, unmoved. “Averi is more than some bougie ass actress. She’s also a three-time Grammy-winning producer and songwriter, Royal. She got hits, her ear is unmatched, and she’s worked with the best of the best including me. I mentored her, I know personally what she’s capable of.”

I scoffed. “So? Nigga, I work with the best. I got the same producer and engineer I been rockin’ with since the jump.”

“And that’s the problem,” Logan said, voice edged in frustration. “You’re stagnant. You think you know everything, but you don’t know shit. You don’t wanna be great, you wanna be comfortable.” I felt my temper rising, but before I could let that shit fly, Logan hit me with the real blow. “If you don’t work with her, I’m shelving your next album.”

I stilled and the studio went dead silent. My fingers curled into a tight fist, my breathing slow and even as I clenched my jaw. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” Logan said flatly. “And I will.” I looked away, livid. I couldn’t even remember the last time a nigga had checked me like this, let alone threatened my career. Logan leaned forward, dropping his voice. “I want more for you, Royal,” he said. “I wouldn’t pull this shit if I didn’t think it was worth it. I know you can be one of the biggest in the game—but you gotta let go of your ego and trust that I know what the fuck I’m doing. You trusted me with your career when you signed with us; trust that I know this is the move to make.”

I didn’t respond. Because I didn’t trust nobody but me. And I damn sure didn’t trust some Hollywood-ass debutante to have any say in my music.

Logan pushed back from his chair, standing up. “You got a week to get your head straight.” Then he walked out, leaving me alone with my anger.

The bass was still thumping through the walls when Logan walked out, leaving me alone with my frustration. This was some bullshit.

I sat there for a second, staring at the blinking lights on the console, my jaw tight. Who the fuck did Logan think he was? I built my name by myself, came up, off my own pen, my own sound. Now he wanted me to just hand over my shit to some actress from a damn witch show.

Nah.

I pushed back from the mixing board and grabbed my phone. Zay and King were already waiting outside. I looked at King, my older brother who was also my manager, knowing he knew damn well that Logan was coming here and what he wanted to talk to me about. As my manager it was his job to keep me informed of this shit before it happened.

“Nigga, you knew he was coming here on that bullshit and didn’t think to warn me?”

King looked guilty, same big ass eyes he had since we were kids. He ran his hand down the front of his face; “Look Ro, I think it might be a good idea. A fresh perspective on the music. Petey is good when it comes to this producing shit, but he be sending you the same shit and it’s not challenging you. I been saying that shit for the longest.”

“Keep something else like that from me and I’mma fire yo black ass. Yo job is to protect me and my interests.”

“And I am nigga, even if that means I gotta protect you from yoself. You so fuckin’’ stubborn and think you know everything but you don’t. My job is to manage you, so I’m managing.”

“Fuck outta here.” I sighed shaking my head. “This better be worth my time or yo ugly ass really gon’ get fired.”

“Shut up bitch, you ain’t gon fire shit. If you try to, I’mma tell mama.”

“So, nigga. Queenie don’t run me.”

“I’m telling her you said that shit too.”

“Fuck yo’ big ass laughing at?” I asked Zay, my security and best friend since childhood.

Standing at 6’5 he was a big body type of nigga, broader than a doorframe. Zay always been dangerous and deadly. Once freshman year he knocked this nigga out cold and he was in a coma for two weeks. He would have gotten in trouble if that shit wasn’t self defense and plenty of people witnessed the nigga fuckin’’ with him. Growing up he played football but got injured in high school. I hated that shit for him, but I promised when I got on, I’d always take care of him.

“You ugly ass nigga.” He replied. “Y’all childish as fuck. I’mma tell Queenie on both you niggas. Now let’s go so we can eat, I know she in that kitchen throwin down and I’m hungry.”

“Just big.” I shook my head as we made our exit.

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