Fireworks 1 and 2

Jungle: Chapter Twenty-Seven

    The media had a field day with Mia's "Skype. Naked. Often" quote. Drake was still in bed when the text message notifications started blowing up his phone. He rolled over, grabbed his phone, checked a few of the text messages, and laughed. "That's my baby," he mumbled groggily, setting his phone back down and rolling back over to catch a few more hours of sleep.

                                                                             ~~~~~~~~~~~

    "Tomorrow night, we have your performance. We have the afterparty after your performance. The following day, we are able to sleep in late but then we are off to the next city."

    Drake lowered a pair of shades over his eyes. "Got it," he told his assistant. Whenever he was in Miami, he tended to stay a bit longer than in the other cities. That was the case for Miami, Houston, Toronto, Memphis, and a few other cities that were near and dear to him. Most of the other cities, he often got in and got out. Arrive, kill his performance, take a night to enjoy it, maybe two, and depart.

    He couldn't just stay for one night in Miami and leave, though. Even his boys seemed to be enjoying themselves, hogging up the hotel swimming pool and smoking hookah out on the balcony.

    After showering, getting dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, and eating a late breakfast, Drake sat on the edge of his bed singing with his cell phone lying on the bed next to him. So many text messages were coming through, impossible for him to keep up with. Old flames he'd known in Florida were hitting him up. They knew he was in town and wanted to know if he wanted to hang out. Chill together. Some of them wanted to know if he had extra tickets to his show, or if he could get them in. He didn't respond. There was no benefit in responding. They were in the past. I should actually change my number again probably, he thought to himself. It's about that time.

    His day was a combination of work and play. Rehearsals, working with his friend and deejay Future on the audio, watching the tests for the light show portion of the performance, putting his stamp of approval on everything. Once that was over and done with, his boys wanted to go shopping.

    Going shopping was always an ordeal. He could wear a hat and pull it down low over his eyes, but that didn't seem to ever keep his fans from recognizing him. When they recognized him, they tended to follow him around the shopping mall, squealing and asking for pictures and autographs. It was all flattering and humbling. To this day, there were days when he couldn't believe that people thought he was important enough to put that much effort into getting his attention.

    Today's shopping trip was no different than the rest. A screaming crowd of fans circled around him and his crew as they walked through the mall. His security team fended them off and made sure they kept a certain distance, but that didn't stop the crowd from following. A lot of them held up their camera phones, recording him. He didn't mind that, not usually - sometimes it got out of hand, but today he was in good spirits.

    P. Reign, his friend and an artist on his label, held up his camera phone and started to record the fans. He was giving them a taste of their own medicine. "You got us on candid camera - now we got you on candid camera!" he joked.

    They squealed excitedly in response.

    Drake laughed and nudged him. So this was what being on top of the world felt like. The theme surrounding his last album was a question: could he have the money, the fame, the success, and love, too? It seemed that the answer to that question was yes. His relationship with Mia, so far, was amazing. Over a relatively short period of time, she'd proven herself to be much more than just a brief fling. The role she'd played in his life for the past year and a half was a major one. He could confide in her, he could vent to her. He could make love to her, but he could also just talk to her. About anything. Joke around with her. She cheered him on, and rooted for him no matter what he wanted to do. The support she'd shown him was unparalleled. It was coming to a point where he didn't know how he'd survived without her. He couldn't ask for a better girl to call his.

    In addition to the phenomenal relationship he had with Mia, his career was going nowhere but up. Way up. His album was getting critical acclaim and even though it was still early, it was harboring a lot of Grammy nomination talk. His boys, his family, everyone close to him was happy. Nothing but good times. He wanted to keep it that way.

    By the time they left the mall, the sun was setting. They returned to the hotel, and Drake dressed more formally in a black suit with a white dress shirt. He didn't go with a tie; he doubted that the meeting with Rihanna needed to be quite that formal.

    "Hey - Khaled wants to know if we're going to party with him at Story tonight," Ryan asked him, covering the speaker of his phone with one large hand.

    Drake stood near the hotel suite's living room couch, scrolling through his Instagram feed. "Story? Tonight? Yeah, done deal."

    OB, seated on the couch, arched an eyebrow at him. "A suit, huh? For Rih?"

    Drake pointed a finger at him. "Don't start."

    "Don't you start," Chubbs muttered, coming in from the balcony.

    "Mia knows about the meeting. She's cool with it." Drake pocketed his cell phone and adjusted the suit jacket on his shoulders.

    "More like she's pretending to be cool with it," Chubbs said, glancing at his watch. "Are we leaving out now?"

    Drake nodded. "Yeah, I'm going to head out now." He glanced around the room. "Behave yourself. Don't get us kicked out acting crazy."

    OB blew air out between his lips. "Crazy? Me? Pfft."

    Ryan laughed and shook his head.

    "Yeah, you," Drake said wryly. "Especially you."

    "I'll be the perfect little boy scout," OB vowed. "Unless we get some pretty little tings in here - then no promises."

    Drake rolled his eyes and nudged Chubbs.

    On the way to the restaurant, Drake was quiet. Deep in thought, wondering if he should even be doing this. He didn't need features on his albums. Neither did Rihanna.

    Chubbs sat across from him in the limo, wearing what was fast becoming a permanent expression of disapproval.

    The limousine pulled up to the restaurant and Drake stepped out, smoothing a hand down the front of his suit jacket.

    Chubbs climbed out and together they entered the restaurant.

    The maitre'd was quick to lead them through the restaurant's main floor, weaving in and out of tables.

    Drake spotted her right away. He could only see her profile. Flaming red hair that she'd curled into ringlets. Her makeup was bold and colorful, like graffiti art. What really caught his attention, though, were her legs. Long, crossed, and encased in thigh high Tom Ford gladiator heels. The skirt of her dress was barely there, daringly short with a pattern just as colorful as her makeup. Drake turned his head, a signal to Chubbs, who immediately made himself scarce.

    On occasions like this, it wasn't uncommon for his security team to sit at a nearby table while Drake met with prospective artists to collaborate with, or anyone else interested in a possible business venture.

    He walked into view and pulled out the chair that was opposite from hers.

    Rihanna lifted blazing hazel eyes and smiled at him. "You finally decided to grace me with your presence, did you?"