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♬ ▃▃▃▃▃▃
I slumped back in the leather seat of the private jet, eyes heavy as hell. Between jumping from meetings with label execs, studio sessions, and nonstop flights, it felt like I'd been moving at a hundred miles an hour for weeks. All this work for the album—recording, interviews where they keep asking the same tired-ass questions, photoshoots, press runs—and on top of all that, I'm tryna plan this secret birthday trip for Harmaya. It's a lot. I barely got time to breathe.
My phone buzzed in my hand again with another email. I sighed, rubbing a hand down my face. "Damn," I muttered, scrolling through it. Every time I check something off, it's like two more things pop up.
"You good?" Jayson looked over from across the aisle.
"Yeah, just tryna keep up with all this shit. Might need to get me an assistant or somethin'," I sighed again, glancing at the screen before locking it and setting my phone down. I looked over at Persus, knocked out cold in the aisle diagonal from me. He was out like a light, and I couldn't blame him. We'd been moving nonstop.
