I Hate That I Love You: Episode 4 – Clash
WES
“Pardon me,” I said as I weaved my way around the lounge’s patrons, eyes focused ahead at the tall men standing at the far end of the room.
I was at the Savoy Club & Grill, an ultra-exclusive lounge in SoHo. This spot was all private booths, velvet seating, dark wood, low lighting. The kind of discreet atmosphere perfect for the very high-profile gentleman I was meeting with tonight.
My eyes locked onto the men in his security as I greeted them from feet away with a nod.
And when I was close, I held my hand out for a dap, which both security guards obliged one at a time. The guards immediately stepped to the side, clearing the way for my attention to land on Amir Jones, who relaxed comfortably on the lounge sofa.
“Wes,” he said, scooting to the edge of his seat to stand. Amir gave me a dap, then pulled me in for a hug, patting my back twice.
He was in town for a night with his wife, the both of them visiting family before flying out again.
I called him two nights prior, asking for his availability. I wanted to meet with him in person instead of speaking over the phone. I needed to request his presence, face to face.
“Amir. Cool as ever,” I commented as I took a seat on the couch. My hand was already up the moment my butt hit the seat and I spotted one of the servers weaving through the small crowd.
“Oh, please, my cool ain’t touching your cool though,” Amir said, signature smile and all. “How you been, Wes?”
I sighed, shaking my head. “I’ve had much better days.”
The server was in our section when I told her, “Cask bourbon. Neat. Thanks.”
Amir whistled beside me. “The hard shit, huh?”
“Not hard enough.” I shook my head. “And it’s much needed tonight. Trust me.”
I’ve known Amir for many years now. I was an intern running to get his former A&R coffee when Amir was visiting the labels for meetings. I always liked his style and how laid-back but magnetic he was. Amir was Dope’s shining star. The one artist that didn’t give us any trouble and made our label look good. Dope owed a lot to Amir.
“How are things?” I asked, turning to face him.
“Good, man.” He nodded, smiling. “Real good. Tour’s going well. I got my wife and son to join me for a few more dates, which is always a win for me.”
I nodded.
“Got a movie role I’m considering.” He tapped my arm. “It’s on some Black James Bond meets Love Jones shit.”
I made a shrugging motion with the sides of my mouth. “I love it already.”
“Yeah.” He reached for his drink, leaning back in his seat again and getting comfortable. “I’m strongly considering it. It’s been a minute since I’ve done a movie.”
The server had arrived at our area with my drink on a serving tray.
“Thank you,” I said to her, immediately tossing the drink back. Before she could walk away, I said, “Let me get another, please.”
“Shit.” Amir snorted a laugh. “Another what? My guy… you barely swallowed this one all the way.”
I laughed to myself. “I’m being modest, because I don’t even think two will be enough, Amir.”
He tilted his head to one side.
“I’m meeting up with Jazmine Reeves after this,” I revealed, pinching the corners of my eyes.
His brows shot up. “Jazzy…? From Voltage?!”
“Jazzy from Voltage.”
He stared at me for a moment. “Am I in the twilight zone right now or something?”
“Nah.” I chuckled while shaking my head. “You just in my reality right now… which is something else.”
A shocked Amir turned more to face me in his seat.
“Our meeting is for a charity event for a school she and I attended. A school a lot of us label execs attended.” I gestured with my hand. “She and I attended different years. But most of the execs at Dope and Voltage went to the same high school, and the school is at risk of shutting down—which is why I called you out here tonight.”
“Aight…”
“Kai has this idea to pit us up against Voltage on stage in a one-night-only mic battle.”
Amir’s brows shot up even more.
“Our best against their best.” I smirked. “According to Kai, it’ll draw in the right crowd, right funding. Get sponsors, donors. It’s sure to bring in the ratings.” I moved to the edge of my seat. “The way I see it, Dope can capitalize off the attention while doing what we already do—for a good cause.”
“I like it.” Amir nodded. “I’m in. When y’all planning to launch this?”
“In five weeks,” I said. “It’s fast-paced, but we’re already putting everything in order. The venue’s booked. Logistics finalized. Now it’s just bringing in our best talent. You.”
“Got you.” He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’ll have to move a few things around, but I’m down.”
I exhaled and nodded. “Cool, cool. One less thing to worry about.” I held my hand out for a dap and Amir accepted.
The server returned a short while later with my second drink. Much like with the first one, I tossed that one back too, feeling the burn all the way down my throat.
Amir chuckled. “Yo, what is up with you and Jazzy, for real?”
I shook my head.
“I get the whole Dope and Voltage shit, as silly as I think it is,” he continued. “But you two got y’all beef because of it?”
“Nah.” I kissed my teeth. “Our beef is way deeper.”
“She your ex or something?”
“Worse.” I turned to look at Amir. “She’s my little sister’s best friend.”
Amir jerked his head back. “Oh, word?”
“Yeah, man. I’ve known Jazzy since we were kids and she’s been a pain since then. Now she’s just around all the time with a grudge.”
Amir snorted.
“It just so happens she’s at a rival label.”
“I don’t know why I thought you two had a thing.” Amir nudged me with his arm. “You know that’s what people been saying, right?”
“You can’t trust people, Amir.”
“I feel you.” Amir was sipping his drink again when he added, “But she’s a beautiful woman, you know?”
I turned my head to look at him. “What that mean?”
“You got eyes.” He smirked. “I know you see it. You know what I mean.”
I’ve always seen it. Saw it more when she entered her teen years and everything from her face to everything south of her neck changed too. She was way younger though. I was in my early twenties. I didn’t allow myself the agency to notice anything about her besides that she’d changed.
“And she don’t ever give me no problems when I’m around her.” He shrugged next. “She’s actually really cool with me.”
“Yeah, because you’re you.” I laughed. “You’d be hard pressed to find a woman looking to give you a hard time.”
Amir dropped his head and laughed.
“Jazzy…” I blew air out of my mouth. “That woman is pure chaos.”
“Nah, you just gotta be more honey around bees, and you insist on being vinegar.”
“I love vinegar.” I leaned my head back against the neck of the couch. “And I don’t plan to switch nothing up for the likes of Jazmine Reeves.” I clapped my hand against my chest. “I’m not a lover boy and I’m cool with that.”
“I’m just saying…” Amir continued. “She don’t give me problems. Try a different approach and maybe you won’t need to be at a lounge, tossing back cask bourbon like it’s water just to calm yourself to meet up with her, my dude.”
I stared at him and that made him laugh.
“I’m just saying,” he added. “Just try adjusting your approach with her and see.”
***
I arrived at Gray Area before Jazzy. So I grabbed a table that was in direct view of the door so I could see when she walked in.
The space was busy, which was the norm for a workday. The workweek crowd took up space, biding their time at the bar waiting for tables to open up.
I wouldn’t have chosen a place like this to meet, but then again, there isn’t a place in New York City—or the planet, honestly—that would have been an ideal meet spot for a meeting with Jazzy.
I just wanted to get this over with. I knew what I was bringing to the table and knew that Dope would deliver. We always did.
And with Amir secured, Dope’s roster of artists was complete. Which meant this meeting wouldn’t have to take too long.
I noticed the moment Jazzy walked into the restaurant.
The entire male population in the restaurant noticed.
What she wore was simple. White tank tucked into high waist jeans. But the hair, the bright red lipstick, the cleavage bursting through that tank, and the way her hips swayed in those damn jeans teasing her ass from the front made her outfit seem so fucking sinister.
As she made her way to my table, men turned in their seats to get a peek at her ass—some of them with women, needing to pretend to scratch the backs of their heads so they could sneak peeks too.
I inhaled a deep breath as she closed the distance, needing to force my eyes to remain on her face as she neared.
“You’re late,” was what I said once she got in front of my table.
She rolled her eyes. “Am I late or did you just get here too early?”
The second she pulled out her chair and sat in it, her perfume wafted through the air, making me moan a little under my breath.
She always smelled nice. Always looked good. Just… always.
I wasn’t all the way honest with Amir earlier. I could be cool with Jazzy, but I knew she was used to getting what she wanted, especially from men. And honestly, that frustrated me. But not as much as how much of a distraction she was.
The woman was beautiful. Stunning. With a personality that was easy to gravitate to. She was the type that made a man feel like he needed to trip over his feet to give her everything she wanted before she could even ask.
She made it hard to focus and not get distracted by how much of a force she was.
And for me, I liked to stay away from women like her.
Women like her reminded me too much of how lonely my ass was without their excitement.
“I see your party has arrived,” the server who greeted me earlier said as he approached our table.
“Yes, I have,” Jazzy said with a smile. “How are you this evening, handsome?”
The server smiled. “I’m great, thank you.”
“Oh, I can see that.” Jazzy winked, which made the server chuckle.
She flipped open her menu. “What do you recommend off this thing? You look like you give the best recommendations.”
The server licked his lips and chuckled again, and I inhaled a deep breath, an attempt to calm my annoyance.
“The grilled salmon over the roasted red pepper sauce is a hit,” the server announced.
“Then I’ll have that,” Jazzy said, handing her menu to the server. “And I’ll take a tall glass of your best red wine.”
The server jotted down everything, then turned to me. “And you, sir?”
“I’ll take a glass of scotch.”
“And to eat?”
“The scotch.”
“Oh.” The server nodded toward me. “Okay.”
“Thank you, handsome.” Jazzy smiled and batted her lashes at the server once more, which made his smile grow even wider as he walked off.
“Must you flirt with everybody?”
Jazzy’s eyes snapped to mine. “Oh, I don’t flirt with everybody.” She looked me up and down. “Present company being everybody.”
I unclenched my jaw to ask, “How many times you have to call him handsome?”
“As many times as I want,” she replied. “And you call that flirting? I was just being nice. When I flirt, you’ll know.”
“Seemed like flirting to me.”
“That man is handling my food,” she said. “I want him to put a face to my meal so he handles it like it’s his. Everyone working here is serving and deserves to be treated the way I want to be treated. That’s how I roll. Plus…” She smirked, then licked her lips slow. “I think he’s very handsome, and I thought he should know.”
I kissed my teeth. “Whatever, man. Let’s just get to it.”
“Let’s.”
He ain’t even that handsome.
I shook my head at myself.
Why her flirting was bothering me, I don’t know. And I didn’t want to give it any attention to figure out why either.
“I just secured the final act on Dope’s artist roster,” I continued. “Amir. He’s agreed to participate in the event.”
She made a shrugging motion with the corners of her glossed lips.
“I got a list of the other artists we’re going with that I can send via email.”
Jazzy dipped her hand into her bag and placed a folded page on the table.
“And here’s my list.” She smiled. “Peruse and do your best to match appropriately.”
I unfolded the paper, my eyes scanning the names, slightly impressed. “Won’t be difficult.”
She sneered. “Doubt it.”
Our server returned with our drinks.
“Your food will be out in about ten minutes,” he said to Jazzy, his smile impossible to contain the moment she locked eyes with him.
“Perfect.” She smiled. “I knew you’d hold me down.”
He chuckled, turning and practically floating away.
I released a scoffing laugh. “All of the artists have confirmed they can participate in the event. How about yours?”
“Mine have too,” she replied, lifting her wine and taking a sip. “That’s why they’re on the list. My people are reliable and are eager to participate.”
“Cool.”
“So I was thinking about the vibe we should go with.”
I arched a brow.
“Since this is a battle, we should do things the proper way.”
“The proper way?” I questioned.
“I’m thinking stripped down sets—”
“Nope.”
Jazzy jerked her head back. “Nope, what?”
“This will be live,” I explained. “The people tuning in will want a show.”
“And they’ll have a show,” she insisted, moving her glass out of the way. “They’ll get to see their favorite artists in rare form. Live instruments, microphones on.”
“Mics don’t necessarily need to be on.”
“Say what now?”
“For the acts that incorporate choreography into their stage performances,” I started, “a backing track—”
“Backing tracks?!” Jazzy scoffed, then scrunched her face up. “So what? People will be tuning in to listen to artists lip-sync albums fans can simply stream on an app?”
I sighed.
“Who the hell will want to donate to that?”
“Plenty of people.”
She smirked. “Are you worried that your artists can’t perform live, Wes?”
“I’m more than confident my artists can out-sing yours in a rainstorm with the flu, Jazzy.”
She kissed her teeth. “Please, you fucking wish—”
“I’m just saying that the show should look professional.” I pressed a hand to my chest. “I’m thinking structure and polished performances. You’re talking about some raw, stripped-down, intimate bullshit that’s an acoustic guitar shy of MTV’s Unplugged.”
“Yes, I am.” She nodded. “Because how often will fans get to see their faves like that?”
I lifted my scotch to my lips and took a large sip.
I knew this was going to happen. The clash of our differences. I was all about structure, and Jazzy didn’t prioritize that at all. She found structure to be optional.
Chaos and clarity happening in real time.
I don’t know why Kai insisted we work together.
“My artists can give an excellent performance without pyrotechnics and backing tracks. Can yours?”
“You’re focused too much on the art of shit.”
“Whatever.”
“Too concerned with getting your artistic nut off—”
She scoffed and rolled her eyes.
“… and less concerned about giving the people a show they’ll want to invest time and money into.” I gestured at myself. “My artists don’t need none of the shit you’re talking about either. Dope Records did not make it to the top of the food chain signing studio artists. But the goal of this whole event is to keep the people tuned in. A stripped-down show will be interesting for a song or two, maybe, but the point is to keep people interested and talking long after the show is done. That shit you’re talking about will get old real fast.”
“Dammit, you’re such a suit,” she spat, hiking her thick top lip in disgust. “Talent is going to be what keeps people tuned in, Wes. Talent.”
I shook my head and looked off. “You’re being reckless with shit as usual—”
“And you’re being a heartless, corporate motherfucker with a stick so far up his ass it’s in his head interfering with his common sense…”
I focused on her again.
“… as usual,” she added, lips balled and eyes squinted into slits.
We eye-warred across the table for a breath or two before she broke our silence with something too heavy to ignore.
“Is this what happened with Saint, Wes?”
The swallow I did the moment she got all the words out was so loud I’m sure she heard it.
“Go back and forth with him about what he wanted and what you thought was better only to fuck up his career when he finally gave in to your pressure?”
I inhaled a deep breath and let it out slow through my nose.
“Is that what happened?” she ground out through her teeth.
I hoped that this wouldn’t come up. Hoped that we could have this meeting in this very public space and be as cordial as possible, but when it came to Jazzy, nothing was ever cordial.
She had brought up the one artist I hated discussing. The one mistake I couldn’t take back that I wished I could. But to admit that would be to admit that I wasn’t the best at what I did. And I was. I just made that one mistake that one time.
“What happened with Saint had little to do with what I wanted.”
She kissed her teeth, dropping her back against the back of her chair.
“It was a label decision.”
“To completely abandon his style and adapt a sound that was so far off from what his fans loved him for?” Jazzy sat up in her seat again. “To appease suits like you, strip that man of his voice, and to produce then distribute an album that had so many trash ass tracks his fans were left depressed from the disappointment—”
“You’re overexaggerating—”
“You know he blocked me everywhere online, Wes?”
I said nothing. Just held my stare with her.
“So, years ago, I searched and found his phone number, called him, left a voicemail and he never returned my call. So, I called again, and do you know he blocked me there too?” She scoffed a laugh and shook her head. “I’m now in the perfect position, a position I busted my ass to get in with him in mind, where I can help that man and help his incredible sound bloom and I can’t even get in touch with him. Because he wants nothing to do with me.” She shook her head. “Before he signed with y’all, he would sell out small venues with fans, some of which would travel from other countries just to see him live. And that’s a fact, because I was there. I saw that with my two eyes.”
I ran my tongue over my teeth.
“I mean… his core fans still love him, but a lot of them left after that shit-for-an-album y’all let him release. Now, me?” She pointed at her chest. “I’d know exactly what to do with a talent like his. But I can’t now, because although he has never said it, he blames me, Wes. Every time he puts out a song or EP that I know could get more streams, more attention, more love, but doesn’t? A little part of me gets so angry it dies from rage. Because my dumb naïve ass hopped in his private messages to insist on the daily he attend a Dope Records showcase, knowing that he would be chosen, but also not knowing that y’all would misguide him and then drop him after he did exactly what y’all told him to do, but it didn’t work. I hate you and your label so fucking much for ruining that man’s career, his life, before he could even begin to soar. That hate might kill me one day if I’m not careful. I swear.”
“And here you are,” the server announced as he approached Jazzy from behind, placing her plate in front of her once he arrived at our table.
Her chest was rising and falling, her eyes locked on mine in a death stare I could feel in my chest. She inhaled a quick deep breath, blinked a few times. Fixed a smile on her face and focused up at the server.
“If it’s not too much trouble,” she started, “can I please have this to go?”
“Oh!” His eyes moved to me before they returned to her. “Sure. I can wrap this up if that’s what you want.”
“I would, thank you,” she answered. “If you can wrap it up and leave it at your pickup counter, I can pay for it there.” She smiled. “I’ll leave your tip there too.”
The server smiled, nodded, and collected her plate just as quickly as he had set it down.
“Jazzy—”
“Fuck you, Wes.” She pushed her seat back.
I closed my eyes and shook my head. “May I remind you whose idea it was to meet up here tonight?”
“Please don’t,” she said on her feet. “Because I’m regretting it enough.”
I didn’t say shit after. Just watched her walk off, eyes falling to her derriere. I shook my head, then dropped it a little to scratch the top of it.
Fucking Jazzy. Fine and frustrating as fuck.
My drink was in hand next. I tossed it back, swallowing the rest of it in one big gulp, grunting at the burn on its way down.
I would turn into an alcoholic by the end of this shit. Because five weeks would be a long time dealing with Jazzy and her grudge against me.
How the hell am I going to be able to work with her if we couldn’t even sit for a meeting for more than twenty minutes?
Because for the first time, I wouldn’t be able to keep my distance from Jazzy. And I wasn’t sure if keeping my distance in the past was protecting me… or hurting something I never expected to feel again.
Guilt.
Author’s Note: There was a cameo from Amir Jones in this episode. Below is the story he first appeared in, in my book world. Click the link to start reading.
