Page 4 of Hired By My Rich Baby Daddy

“Hi, Ozyris…” She paused. “Happy now?”

I set the ice pack on the table in front of me, confused by her attitude.

We weren’t the best of friends, but she was acting like I’d fucked her best friend.

“Man, Gin…the fuck wrong with you? I just finished a bomb-ass tour. Thirty states. Packed-out arenas every night. Instead of telling me how much you enjoyed my final show, you on some bullshit?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Enjoyed your show? Why would I? It’s not like you remembered it was my birthday.”

“Aww, shit. Gin, my bad. Cut a nigga some slack. You keep forgetting we ain’t in a real relationship. Why would I remember some shit like that?”

She stood up abruptly.

“Whatever. I’ll be back when you’re ready to go live.”

As she headed for the door, my assistant, Ky, rushed in carrying my business phone. It was strictly for social media, fan pages, my artist account, and anything work-related.

I yelled toward the door, “Happy birthday, Gin Gin!”

Without turning around, she threw her middle finger in the air.

“Fuck you, Ozy.”

Ky set up the tripod, clipped the phone into place, and adjusted the ring light.

I chuckled, leaned my head back, and closed my eyes for a second.

“Okay, Mr. Love, I’ll give you a few moments to gather yourself, but you’re all set up and?—”

“Yeah! You’s a jive turkey!” Derez hollered from one of the back rooms.

Ol’ girl must’ve been doing her job right.

I cracked one eye open.

Ky looked absolutely disgusted. “If you need anything else, just call me.”

She hurried out, and I let out another sigh, ready to get this shit over with.

“Girl…” I said, out of breath into the receiver of my pink, cheetah-cased iPhone 17.

Tonight was definitely one for the books, but my poor little legs were on fire from all the walking we’d done. My little sister, Nourah, and I had gone to see our favorite artist, Ozy Love. It was the last concert of his tour, and it had been worth every bit of the walking, standing, screaming, and singing I did.

My ass was exhausted and ready to shower, hop in bed, and not be bothered for at least three damn days.

“When I say that was the best concert, hands down, I really mean that shit. That man is so fucking fine. Oh my God! And I really enjoyed my birthday.”

I walked into my apartment holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand and balloons in the other.

“Oh, shit,” I mumbled, kicking off my heels and nearly tripping over them.

“What happened?” Nourah asked, concern filling her voice as I headed toward my sectional and set everything down, immediately freeing my arms.

“You already know my clumsy ass almost fell, just like when we were at the concert. I don’t know who told me to try standing up in that chair, but Ozy jumped down from the stage, and I lost it.”

“Sis, forget you almost falling. That man got punched right in front of us, then turned around and told that man he should’ve been fucking his wife better.” Nourah screamed with laughter. “I know his management somewhere throwing up right now.”