Riding in the Time Machine - Eminem x Minaj Fan Fiction

A Draw

Marshall POV

Nicki and I spent four hours going over the initial details of a tour together. Although much of what we would do would have to be worked out among our representatives, we had our own ideas of how to make the dynamics of things work out. Our designers and choreographers and promoters would figure out a lot, but we were the kinds of people that wanted to have a good sense of what we were doing.

What we envisioned usually took a lot of work. There were contracts to be read through, negotiated, and executed. There were locations to lock down. Designers had to work on merchandising and amenities had to be secured. After Nicki and I agreed we were on board, it took all the people who handle the moving parts a month and a half to get things in enough form that we could announce.

Dropping the news was, itself, something that we had to talk through. After an unending number of different ideas were circulated and rejected, I finally told everyone to leave Nicki and I alone. When they all shuffled out of the room, I cocked a brow at her.

"You got any thoughts?" I asked.

In a move that was uncharacteristic for her, she'd been letting everyone else blabber on forever about their bright ideas. Her eyes looked a little flatter than normal, too, which had me wondering. If I had to guess, Nicki had some shit going on personally.

"Nah," she said, waiving a set of manicured nails. "I got nothin'," she denied. I frowned and leaned back in my chair.

"You going to be able to do this?" I questioned.

Her tone had been distant. She wasn't really with us today. The question, though, seemed to spark a fire.

"I said I would, didn't I?" she challenged. My brows rose and she groaned and put her head on her forearms on the table.

"Sorry," she mumbled around the table. "Things are blowing sky high with Kenny," she said as she lifted her head enough to rest her chin on her arms. "So, I could give a fuck right now how we announce. Just get me outta the damn country."

I nodded, understanding where she was coming from. I didn't know much about her guy, but I'd heard that they had a history that went back to when they were young. If anyone knew how the past had a way of creeping into your present and fucking with your future, it was me.

"What about wearing each other's shit?" I suggested. Nicki frowned and I pulled out my phone and typed up a couple things. When I had one of her more recent hoodies pulled up, I slid my phone across the table.

"I wear this, while you wear one of mine," I explained. "We get a photo of us walking toward a mic on a stage," I continued. Nicki smiled for the first time since the meeting had started almost two hours prior.

"That'd set the right tone," she said, her eyes starting to sparkle. "But, you know I'm fucking with whatever of yours I land on, right?" she noted and I nodded.

"Yeah," I replied. "I'm aware of your fashion sense, Nic," I stated flatly. Nicki grinned then and flipped me off, leaning back in her seat as she scrolled on my phone.

"Alright," she said, her voice becoming more lively by the second. "I'll pick the one you wear of mine," she continued. "And, I'll let you pick mine, with the caveat that I make it suit me better."

"We both know you're just gonna make it lose half of it's fabric around the midsection and over the top," I teased and Nicki nodded.

"When you aren't ashamed of what God gave you," she returned and I chuckled.

"No man out there would be sorry to see what you got," I replied, jogging my head to my phone. She mumbled something under her breath and I cocked my head.

"Nic?" I asked. She shook her head though, and waved a hand again.

"Nothing," she said. She paused for a second and then pursed her lips.

"What?" I questioned, certain there was something going on in her head. She smiled slightly and nodded toward the door.

"We should lose the stiffs more often," she explained. "We get more done when it's just us."

"Yeah," I replied. "But, you'd crush their hearts if you took the ability to worry over a dotted i or a crossed t away from them," I noted. Nicki's smile widened as she stood and walked around.

"Let's go do something," she said as she got to me. I cocked my head as my brows came together.

"Like what?" I asked, standing. She poked a thumb over her shoulder at the door.

"We tell them the plan and then we hole up somewhere with a collection and a booth," she suggested. "I bet I can spit some of Jay's stuff better n' you," she challenged.

"You think so?" I said, rolling my jaw as a grin tried to surface.

"Yep," she said over her shoulder as she made it to the door. "And, if I'm right," she continued as she opened it. "Then you owe me."

"Owe you what?" I questioned as we walked into the hallway.

The conversation paused as we caught up with our two nervous-appearing agents. When we explained our thoughts, they both smiled with relief and started jabbering away. Nicki and I then continued toward the end of the hall where the elevators were. She'd come to Detroit for these talks, but we were at the promoter's office. We'd have to drive to my studio to do what she was suggesting.

As we stepped into the early evening air, I took in a breath and smiled slightly. I'd been all over the fucking world. Yet, no place ever got me the way Detroit did. 

Gesturing toward my ride near the front, I jogged Nicki's shoulder. She looked at me in surprise. When it was clear she forgot my question, I asked it again.

"What would I owe you?" I asked. She smiled and shook her head.

"Not sure about that," she responded. "But, that's the thing about this industry and this life, isn't it? There's always something coming at us."

"Awfully open ended bet," I muttered, getting her settled into my car. When I came around to the driver's side, she copped a look at me.

"You sound like you know you're gonna lose," she teased, her eyes daring me. I shook my head and started up, angling the vehicle to the exit.

"And what do I get when I win?" I asked, ignoring her taunt for the moment.

"You won't," she said. "So pick whatever you want," she responded.

"Even bet," I said, deciding I liked her ambiguous terms. I could use it to my advantage, I was sure.

The ride to the studio didn't involve a lot of talking after that. Rather, as the tires spanned the pavement, Nicki and I warmed up to the occasional song on the stereo. When we hit some old school stations, we seemed to naturally split up the verses. As we got out of the car at my studio, we were cracking jokes at each other and goofing off, which bled into the booth.

Hours later, we had to call it a draw. Because there was no clear winner, we both lost. Each of us owed the other something of their choosing, to be decided at a later time.