HONEY :: ORIGINAL

quickies & longies

"I just put in my two week's notice."

"Excuse me?"

Bobby laughed, taking his blazer off before sitting down at his desk. He barely really went to work—in the actual office, that is—and now he was tired. Today, was different however, because he had a few appointments from clients and he needed to turn in a few papers before he left.

Sanai was on the way because she was one of the appointments. She was dressed in attire she wasn't used to, claiming the blazer she wore was itchy and she felt like an opp for some reason.

"Yeah, I..." he started, sitting down at his desk and sighing, "I don't know, babe."

"Not fulfilling? Boring? Only because your dad got bank and you wanted the same?"

"Drag me," he laughed, sighing deeply and dusting off his desk, "it's crazy because I never really settled in for real. I have no personal items in here."

"What are you gonna do? Do you have a job backed up?"

"Not really," he shrugged, "I'm finna be in shambles."

"Sis, you got this," Sanai told him, "think about it. You made six figures, kid. You have time to find something you like. Maybe not working will help you get into something else. Remember when I dropped out of my masters program and you gave me a speech about how time helps you find your...your thing? What you actually want to do? I think you'll be okay."

"Right," he sat back down and leaned in his chair, "You almost here?"

"I just got off the elevator."

"Okay, it's unlocked," he said, hanging up just as she opened the door, "Hey, sweet pea."

"Hello," she closed the door and took the blazer off, "I swear there's a bed bug in here I feel disgusting."

"You look good," he said, his eyes scanning over her body. The white collard shirt was tucked into her shirt skirt, and the dark tights were just...whew.

"I know, but...I hate capitalism. Until there's a sale."

"As most of us do," Bobby laughed, "you set an appointment with me when we could have just talked about this at home."

"Right but I felt like playing the part," she sat down and crossed her legs, "hi, Mr. Yeboah, I'm Sanai De Brito—"

"Diana—"

"And," she continued, ignoring him, "I just need advice on marketing and improving my brand."

"Okay," Bobby clasped his fingers together, "how are you doing it now?"

"Well, currently, I dropped my entire team, except for three people. They're snakes. They stalked my stuff and sometimes gave it to a bigger UK artists, next thing I know, my song is on the radio but I'm not the one singing it."

"Babe, really?" he frowned, "you can't sue?"

"No it just gets me into deeper shit. Anyway, I'm stuck."

"Well, one. I've told you this many times but...stop getting friends to manage you. It never works out good. You need actual management. This year is kinda big for you, right? You're going to perform in Brazil and South Africa, that's huge. You don't need a friend messing this up. And since you're getting more recognition you can't do this all by yourself. A small team would be sufficient."

"Do you have any suggestions?"

"UK based or American based?"

"UK."