velvet paradise (ftm x fem)

Track 35

JAIRE

If it ain't one thing, it's a got damn 'nother.

When my girl sent a text message full of Kreyòl endearments, I assumed some bullshit was amidst. Turns out, my intuition was correct. Live in the flesh, the angelic songstress stands beside the gritty rapper. Their buoyant eyes and amicable grins plead with me to listen to a finished track. They resemble two kids requesting Daddy's blessings, expressing how supercalifrigil-whatever-the-fuck amazing their collaboration is. It's so phenomenal that Don called in his manager, and of course, Alaia summoned Serenity, building a team of defensive responses if I hate their "hit song." Whatever they worked on is sure to be a potential banger. Nonetheless, I've been explicitly thorough and precise with my artists regarding our vision. At this point, I'm weary of repeating myself over and over and motherfucking over again.

My body reclines deeper into the ergonomic office chair. The firm, leather seat soothes the knots in my upper shoulder. I blind myself to my artist's pitiful faces and savor the comfort. How can I handle this with the utmost politeness? I respect Alaia Lovelie and Don 500's artistries, but their constant need to second guess my guidance is too fucking annoying to break down. Seems like I have to stand on my label and remind them I'm the CEO.

I open my eyes as soon as Don whispers to Alaia, "Is this nigga asleep?"

"Nah, but you niggas must be dreaming if you think I'm signing off on this shit," I say, hands folded in my lap.

"You haven't even heard it, Jaire," Alaia complains, the pitch of her voice heightening with agitation.

"What do I need to hear?" I question, my eyeballs searching the room.

"Aye, if I may hop in," Dru says, hesitantly raising his hand. "I—"

"Nigga, why are you always in C4E business?" I snarl, rotating in Dru's direction. "This is my enterprise, and you're not signed to me. I respect your shit, so honor mine. Please refrain from sticking your nose in our internal issues unless asked, my nigga."

"Don't try to 'little bro' me, son." Dru sits up in his chair, ready to throw hands if needed. We can turn this into Def Jam: Fight for NY right now. Bet he'll stay in his place once I smash his face into the mixing console. "I'm older and have been doing this shit longer than you. You should listen to your artists."

"Why would I consider the opinions of people who refuse to take me seriously?" My deadpan glare focuses on all of them. "Alaia and I know what her contract entails. I've been gracious enough to allow her to explore her creative freedom. While velvet paradise is on its first run, I ask that no solo content be released. That's my only request. I—"

"Don't single me out," Alaia snipes.

An exasperated breath releases, my irritation surfing through the sound waves. "If you could wait until I finish, please? I let y'all yap to me, so allow me to speak."

With her arms tightly crossed, Alaia averts her gaze from me, her eyes flickering as she struggles to keep her emotions in check. A subtle hum of unease, only audible between us two surfaces. My sternness in my tone isn't always well-received, but it's not my intention to upset her. I'm reprimanding Alaia Lovelie, my artist known for being stubborn and impatient, not my girlfriend. The intersection requires respect and care on both ends, but when it comes to her career, I gotta be stricter. She's gotta receive criticism like the rest of my artists when they are out of line.

I shift my regard to my other artist, ignoring the heavy silence. "Bruh, I listened to your album. You went hard on it, and it's your best yet. It's the perfect size and range. There's nothing else you need to add, especially not a song you came up with in one session. Your weakness is doing more than you should. If this track is dope, we could release it on the deluxe. Make it a single later down the line. Regardless, it's not going on this current project. And if you want Alaia Lovelie on it any time soon, I have more bad news for you."