Page 65 of Are You Going to Love Me

Composed but still that curly-headed gangsta from Trae Way, Maximus gave just enough cool to the camera, making it clear that he wasn’t going to be playing the game. He was going to answer the questions and go about his day.

“‘Preciate it,” he responded. “Trae Way molded a lot of us. My whole team is from the neighborhood. Either Trae Way or the north side.”

“Tell me how Trae Way molded you into this icon you are now?”

“Icon?” Maximus smirked harshly, looking away from the interview to the block shut down for this moment. “I wouldn’t call myself an icon. That’s a setup because the moment I fall from what y’all think I am, it’s the axe. What I am is a man that believes in honor and respect and reaching back to pull up the young niggas coming up behind me. I don’t want to be an icon. I want to be the light.”

Miranda blew an impressed breath as if she expected Maximus to be anything other than him. “How do you want to be the light in a place that sometimes doesn’t see it?”

“Someone told me that everyone has light in them and sometimes it takes the right person or the right circumstance to find the light.”

“I’m curious, who was that someone? They seem to be very influential to you. Was it your mother or father? Brother?”

Maximus leaned up. “You ain’t from around here, are you? Big Paper? Is it owned by anyone in Waynesville? Do y’all know who kept the lights on so politicians could be who they are? Who made sure the roads stayed paved, families kept food on the tables, women and children were safe, and men had jobs? If there was a problem, you didn’t call the police, you called Poppi. Poppi Sage. She was the light, and everything she touched, nurtured, and loved had light. Some still to this day. Poppi was family when my own family wasn’t. So, Trae Way is more than me. I just put it on my back because that’s what I was supposed to do. I put it in my music so it can live on. You can’t talk about me, or Trae Way, or Waynesville without talking about Poppi.”

Keon appeared from the wardrobe trailer to the edge of the tent behind Miranda with an amused smirk on his face.

“Wow, I didn’t know Waynesville had such a rich history,” Miranda gushed, still fishing for something Maximus wasn’t going to give him.

“My suggestion, on some professional shit, before you step to a nigga like me in the heart of my hood, do your homework.” Standing to his feet, he looked at the cameraman. “Let’s get these photos done.”

Maximus roamed over to Keon. “What’s that look on your face, nigga?”

“That model? Yeah, she ain’t leavin’,” Keon shared with a hefty chuckle.

“Who said that?” Maximus asked with a frown, inching closer and closer to coming out of himself.

“Her rep, they said, if you want them gone, go tell them.” Before Keon was halfway through his sentence, Maximus was headed over to the trailer, banging his fist on the door.

When the door swung open, exposing Staysha and a grin, he grunted.

“What kinda shit you on?” Maximus gritted. “She in there?”

Staysha floated down the few steps and patted his arm. “Say thank you, Stay. And fix your face.”

twenty-four

. . .

"There’s goingto be five different looks,” the stylist spoke up as Eden sat in the chair, trying to juggle what was happening with Staysha moving in and out of the trailer, her hair being pressed out and the make-up artist.

“The first shoot will be here on Prince in a Lambo. Talent will be sitting in the driver’s seat, you leaning on the hood. We’ll walk down to Big Rod's and hit a few local spots. No need to worry about the gang,” the stylist continued, making Eden look up from her phone to the woman.

“I’m not worried about 3Way, EWG, or anyone else,” Eden shared, irritated and on edge, and couldn’t figure out why. As the minutes of being primped and primed and having this stylist talk to her as if she were some green model an agency sent over to be a warm body, it seemed her irritation grew. “I just need to know the location and looks.”

“Oh, excuse me, I was just trying to make conversation,” the woman huffed.

Eden bit the inside of her cheek, tempted to respond. “I’m not trying to be a bitch, but don’t. Thank you.”

She blew out a breath, trying to settle whatever feeling this was coursing through her being. She couldn’t figure out what it was. Hell, she’d spent days in the heart of filming alongside Maximus. Taking a sobering breath, her wayward feelings made sense.

Maximus.

He was like peace for her spirit, wrapped up in a tattooed, battle-marked body and handsome face. Eden groaned inwardly and looked toward the door.

“Who was that?”

Staysha took a seat behind her on the couch and finished eating her salad. “Talent’s representation is going over some final changes. Are you okay with doing a few shoots at the old house?”

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