Fireworks 3 and 4

Chapter Fifty-One

"You once said we said no strings attached 

and you still got tied up in that,

Now I'm all work until my checks are cashed,

But I gotta ask, where's the fun in that?

I want my baby back,

Fuck a stack,

My man's got racks on racks on racks

and where he slips I'll pick up that slack,

if I could just have my baby back.

Half of this is trash, so I might have to scrap."

    Mia ruffled her hair and rose from her chair. 

    Producer extraordinaire Real Ish looked up from his controls. "That wasn't trash."

    "You're just being nice," she muttered, pacing the studio. "Have you ever had a day where you knew that you wouldn't be productive or...or even functional, but you came into the studio anyway?"

    "You just described most days for me," the tall producer with medium brown skin said, grinning. "But you just work through it and eventually you find that well of creativity."

    She nearly laughed out loud. "I won't be finding that well of creativity any time soon," she said, shaking her head. "My head is scrambled. I'm thrown off. I'm..."

    "Trying not to fall for Drake again because your girls and the rest of the world would criticize you if you did?" Real Ish finished for her.

    "You really are real, huh?"

   He laughed. "Look...drama sucks. All right? But in this business, the only thing worse than living with drama is having absolutely no drama...because if you have no drama, what are you supposed to use for inspiration? What are you supposed to write about?"

    "I've tried to tell myself this shit," she said with a wave of her hand. "It's not working this time. I can't stop thinking about him. It's seriously interfering with my ability to create, to even think straight."

    Real Ish wheeled his chair around and peered up at her. "Well, there is a cure for getting over him."

    Something corny is about to come out of his mouth, I can just feel it, she thought, but still took the bait anyway. "What is that?"

    "You fall out of love with him when you fall for someone else."

    You don't even know how deep for him my love goes, or else you would have known better than to say that. There is no falling for anyone else, because no one else will ever compare to him. Ever. That's a part of the problem, really. That's why he's so hard to get over. He can royally fuck up the way he has, but he's him. He's the guy who looks all debonair and cool when he's on the red carpet, and then later at home snorts while laughing at a comedy movie. He's the guy who has the most adorable inner dork that he sometimes allows the public to get a peek at, the guy who could walk into a room and even though it's filled with his exes, the vast majority are still pining over him. There's good reason for that. He has the perfect combination of bad boy, certified lover boy, and dork elements. She sighed defeatedly.

    Real Ish stood from his seat. "You're down bad," he stated.

    A slow smile crept on her face. "Tell me something I don't know."

    "You look beautiful, even when you're down bad."

    Her smile faded, and she reassessed her surroundings. "I should probably get back to writing," she said, making as if to move past him.

    He grabbed her by the arm. "You don't have to rush back to work."

    "You might charge a flat fee but this studio charges by the hour," she reminded him, jerking her arm out of his grasp. "I should make an efficient use of my time."

    "My flat fee can always be renegotiated," Real Ish told her.

    She rolled her eyes and walked around him. 

    He approached her from behind and slid his hands down her sides. "Fumbling you might just be the most idiotic thing Drake has ever done. If you were mine, there's no way I'd let you slip out of my hands."

    "We really should be professional," she said in a shaky voice. Her eyes darted towards the door to the studio. She prayed that anyone would burst in, a studio engineer, janitor, hell...anyone. Flashbacks of past assaults sprang to her mind and fear gripped her when his hands started to move inward. "I'm being serious."

    "You're being too serious," he admonished.

    Every cell in her body wanted to punch him. In a very short amount of time, she evaluated the situation at hand. She could punch him. What were the ramifications of that? He was only one of the most sought after producers in the industry. He could decide to pull his track and not allow her to use it. She didn't know whether or not he'd signed a contract, didn't know whether or not his bill had already been paid. There was also the chance that he'd go around to blogs spreading lies about her, for having the audacity to reject his advances. He could sue her, if her punch injured him. The bad press could have a lasting negative impact on he image, and it could take years to come back from it.

    His right hand cupped one of her breasts. "Oh yeah, I think we could work out a really sweet deal where you wouldn't have to pay me one cent. If I could have a taste of the Mia Thomas? This would be a mutually beneficial arrangement. I get a taste of you, and I help you get over the rapper who fumbled you. Deal?"

    She clenched her teeth together to keep from screaming in despair. Her voice was dangerously low as she ground out, "If you don't take your hand off of my tits immediately, I'm going to chop your dick off."

    His hand froze on her titty. Then he removed it and took a step back from her.

    Just that small amount of space between them allowed her to breathe much easier. She breathed and blinked, gathering her composure before turning to face him.

    "Look...no hard feelings, shorty," he said with both hands raised.

    "It's nasty enough for you to do this shit to anyone." Her eyes were frosty as she tilted her chin up. "But even after seeing what I've been through in the press, you still have the nerve to proposition me, as if I'd want your community dick?"

    "Seems to me like you're already pining over community dick," he retorted. "What's one more?"

    She stepped forward and smacked him across the face. "The beat you were working up for me? I don't want it or anything to do with your sketchy ass." After collecting her belongings, she breezed out of the cramped studio and didn't exhale until she was completely out of the building.

    The sun shone down on her face and the moment she felt that warmth, she tilted her head back and exhaled. 

    Female artists go through bullshit like this all the time, she thought. I'm not the only one to have suffered something like this. Why is it that I feel so alone right now? 

    Her mind had already been so cluttered, first with thoughts of Aubrey and now she had to fight this memory off. Uttering a disgusted groan, she withdrew her car keys from her purse and chirped the alarm. She'd forgotten where she'd parked it, but was able to follow the sound until she found it.

    Once safely inside the car, she allowed herself to cry and scream at the top of her lungs.