Page 8 of Hired By My Rich Baby Daddy

“Nah, big bruh, that’s all you. Get up, though. Chef got breakfast ready, and we got shit to talk about.”

I sat up slowly. “What time is it?”

“Don’t worry ’bout that. Just get up.”

I threw on some sweats and headed for the bathroom. I had to piss bad. With my eyes still half-open, I handled my business, washed my face, brushed my teeth, then headed for the kitchen, yawning like a muthafucka.

Chef Marcus had the kitchen smelling good. Pancakes, turkey bacon, cheese eggs, and those little seasoned breakfast potatoes he always made. He was the best of the best, and the icing on the cake was that he was our uncle.

I believed in keeping it all in the family by any means necessary. Unc was more like a father figure to us. It wasn’t that our pops hadn’t been around. Ozyris Sr. had been a good man when he was alive, but Unc stepped up and helped keep the family in line after we lost him. I would’ve given Unc anything he wanted in a heartbeat, but he loved to cook and would rather work for it.

Who was I to turn down good food and good help?

Unc slid a coffee mug in front of me as soon as I sat down. PB was already sipping on his.

I wrapped both hands around the mug and breathed it in for a second before taking a sip. “Why the fuck you stroll yo’ dumbass in here, waking me up? It better be fucking important.”

PB smirked as he stirred the eggs around his plate, and I could tell something was weighing on him. PB didn’t get quiet for no reason.

“Reesie called me last night,” he finally said.

Just like that, the whole room felt different. My sister’s name always did that to me.

I sighed, taking a moment to gather my words. “The fuck she want now?”

“Money. She said she’s behind on rent, needs groceries.” He wasn’t looking at me. He just kept pushing his eggs around. “I don’t even know what to tell her no more, O.”

King, our nephew, was five years old now. He was the coolest little man you’d ever meet, with big eyes just like Reesie used to have before all that shit got ahold of her.

Reesie was on drugs bad. I had been giving her big lump sums of money in hopes that she’d do the right thing and get the help she needed. I had even offered to take lil’ man while she went to rehab. Each time, she’d agree and then never follow through, so talking to her was like talking to a fucking wall.

King’s father helped as much as he could, but even he was struggling to make ends meet. Oftentimes, everything fell on Reesie. That was the only reason I still had sympathy for her. Raising a small child alone couldn’t be easy, but damn. She couldn’t try hard enough to get off that shit for her son?

“We paid for what, three programs now?” I set my mug down harder than I meant to. “She do good for a couple weeks, get herself together, then she right back at it.”

“I know.” PB rubbed his hand down his face. “I’m just tired. I got King asking me why his mama look sick all the time. What the fuck am I supposed to tell a five-year-old?”

I didn’t have an answer for that either. If it wasn’t for this voice God gave me, there was no telling where I would’ve ended up.

“I got too much on my plate for this right now, man. Real talk.” I shook my head. “The contest, the label ridin’ my dick, and a new album on the way. I love my sister to death, but I swear, bruh, I’m not ’bout to keep enabling her ass. You know she always been good with numbers and shit. I needed a real good accountant, and she turned down the position. She don’t wanna work. She thinks because I am who I am, she can just keep holding her hand out, but I’m tired of her shit bruh.”

PB didn’t say anything. He just nodded slowly because he felt the exact same way.

I glanced down when my phone vibrated on the table. The time illuminated across the screen, shocking the hell out of me. It was almost one o’clock.

“Hold up. They announced the winners already?”

PB laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, they picked the six. The team already sent the names over to Derez.”

I rubbed my temples. The whole thing had been Derez and the label’s idea in the first place. It wasn’t like a nigga wasn’t a people person, but I wasn’t in the mood for any of this shit.

I thought the situation with Gin would’ve been enough to “soften me up,” in the words of Derez, but he thought the contest would help with more damage control. After a month of fans submitting videos, essays, and whatever the fuck else, talking about why they deserved to spend a weekend with me, the team had picked six winners out of the thousands who entered.

For three days, starting tomorrow, we’d be documenting the whole thing. I’m talking camera crews following us around and filming damn near everything since the label also thought it would be good to give the fans a documentary to go along with the new album.

I exhaled.

“Six people for three days,” I said, more to myself than him. “Derez better have somebody vetting these folks. I ain’t tryna wake up on no blog for cussing out somebody’s grandma.”