God Don’t Like Haters 3
By
Jordan Belcher
Smashwords Edition
Felony Books, a division of Olive Group, LLC,
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Copyright © 2015 by Jordan Belcher
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
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God Don’t Like Haters 3
By
Jordan Belcher
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Chapter 1
Sundi Ashworth
Manhattan, New York
I sat at the table looking down at the smartphone in my lap, as I waited for Thomas Dyer to show up. I was surfing The Site, scrolling by every post, not reading a thing, just scrolling away with my thumb—because I was nervous as hell sitting here alone. I was starting to think that Thomas wasn't going to show up, that he was on to me. He knows I'm working with La'Renz, I thought, as I finally looked up and scanned the upscale restaurant for his friendly face. Why else wouldn't he be here? He knows ...
"Refill?" the waiter asked me, appearing out of nowhere. He didn't give me a chance to answer. With a white cloth draped over his forearm, he bent slightly at the waist with the smallest, most accommodating smile—a sign of a seasoned Manhattan server—and filled my glass from a pitcher of icy tequila.
"Thank you, sir," I said.
His smile opened up perfectly. "You're very welcome, Ms. Ashworth." Then he was off, disappearing again.
I noticed that he didn't ask me if I was ready to order this time. It would've been repeat question number three. If he had asked, I would've said no again but this time I would've got up and left. I was tired of waiting. And I couldn't shake the feeling that Thomas was privy to my new role as a Taylor Music Group spy.
I sipped some of my flavorful alcohol, even though I'd had too much already.
"Hey, girl."
I was surprised by a man's hand on my bare shoulder, then Thomas Dyer was drawing his arms around me. I had wanted to stand up to embrace him, to give him my full body as a way to remind him that I was a longtime friend and hopefully lower his defenses, but he didn't give me a chance. He hugged me sitting.
Then he sat across me, his stomach bumping the table.
Thomas had gained weight since becoming the incumbent CEO at Mount Eliyah Ent. He'd been eating very well, with one of the top salaries paid to any music exec in the industry. It was going to be next to impossible to convince him to leave.
"What are you drinking?" he asked me.
I bit my bottom lip, feeling like an idiot. Thomas Dyer was still my boss. He had full authority to fire me for drinking alcohol during lunch. "Tequila?" I said. It came out as a question. Then I said, "You don't mind, do you?"
"No. Sundi, c'mon. One glass won't be an issue."
Mmph. What he didn't know was that I was on round two.
Thomas ordered a plain Coke with house-cured salmon and smoked bacon. I ordered a salad and piled on the croutons and candied walnuts—and I made sure not to get another refill of tequila. We were halfway through our meal when I asked the first of three questions that La'Renz had texted me. I had been peeking at my phone periodically to make sure I worded them right. While plucking a walnut off the top of my salad by hand and popping it in my mouth, I made question 1 of 3 sound casual.
"Have you ever thought of leaving Mount Eliyah Ent.?"
Thomas shook his head no instantly. "I wanna retire here."
"You don't wanna grow?" I asked. This was my own question.
"Sundi, we're working at the number one label in the world. I'm CEO here. There is no more growing to do."
"There's always room for growth. That's the crutch of capitalism. No growth equals bankruptcy."
"If there's room for growth, then I'm doing it with Mount Eliyah. I've never made this much money in my life. I'm making more than almost every top dog in this industry."
"I know. But you used the word almost. If Mount Eliyah is the number one label in the world, then you should have the number one salary in the world."
He stared at me as if I crossed a line. "That's not always how it works."
"True. But when you were an A&R at TMG, you were the highest paid A&R in music history."
This fact should have made him smile but it didn't.
He said, "But do you know that no one else knows that or cares about that? Anyway, in today's standards I was grossly overpaid."
"I would rather be overpaid than underpaid. Eliyah Golomb runs you ragged. I'm not around you 24-7 but I see how stressed you've been. You should be compensated for it."
He chuckled. "If I go in there demanding more money I'd be a fool. Eliyah would fire me."
"That says a lot about the man you work for. With La'Renz, you wouldn't even have had to ask."
"Maybe." He folded a piece of bacon in his mouth whole and chewed for a minute. "But with Eliyah, I don't have to worry about him prouncing around the office high on cocaine starting fights with people."
"La'Renz was funny sometimes, you have to admit."
"Yeah. But he was dangerous most times."
I nodded, not denying that. Then I asked question 2 of 3: "Thomas, are you happy though? At Mount Eliyah, are you happy?"
"I guess."
"You guess?"
"I'm content, I'll put it that way."
"One thing you can’t deny is that out of all the drama we went through at Taylor Music Group, it was never a dull moment. I don't remember going a day without hearing you laugh."
He looked at me with concern. "Have you been talking to La'Renz?"
My heart skipped a beat. I had been putting on the persuasion too heavy. "Uh ... no. Have you?"
"As a matter of fact I have. Nearly his first day out of prison he tried to attack me. I had to fend him off with a letter opener. You know he's out of prison, right?"
"Yes, I heard."
"I'm surprised he hasn't tried to contact you. After he attacked me I read in a blog that he broke a bouncer's hand trying to get in a club. He hasn't changed, Sundi. I know we're sitting here talking about the good ol' days that weren't always so good but the reality is we'll never live those days again. We live in a better day now, with restraint and a lot more structure. I wouldn't trade this for what we had, if that's what you're asking me. Let's not pretend that La'Renz wasn't a maniac. Let's not pretend that he didn't choke a bootlegger nearly to death against the tire of his Range Rover, because me and you both sat in the backseat and watched him do it. Let's not pretend that he didn't toss his young wife from the terrace of an architectural monument in a foreign country because she had the smarts to leave him for the company we're blessed to be working at now. We can talk about the past, but let's not pretend that it wasn't anything but what it was—and that's complete chaos."
Question 3 of 3 was, Would you ever consider working for La'Renz Taylor again? But I didn't ask it because I had a good idea what the answer would be.
***
I stepped off the elevator onto the second floor, and for a moment I thought Th
omas was coming out with me. Then I remembered his stop was up top. I had gotten so wrapped up in reminiscing about the past that it had sort of slipped my mind again that he was my boss here.
At Taylor Music Group, he had felt more like an equal.
"Thanks for lunch," I said to him with a smile, still putting on the charm. I was holding my clutch purse at my midsection. I turned slightly as if heading away from the elevators, but I really just wanted him to see the curve of my bee-hind before the doors closed. It felt wrong playing with an old friend's mind like this, but this is what La'Renz wanted me to do. "See you later, I guess."
Thomas tapped one of the buttons, keeping the door open longer. "We should schedule another lunch. I don't want to end on a 'see you later.' It's too open-ended. I like concrete times and dates."
"Okay. Promise not to be late next time?"
He smiled. "I promise."
"Well, you pick where we go and when. Email me or inbox me what you come up with."
"How 'bout I call you?"
"Even better."
I was asking myself what the hell did I just do, as I headed back to my work area. I had flirted with Thomas Dyer, and he seemed to actually believe I liked him beyond the realm of friendship. It made me feel sleazy, a feeling that didn't sit well in my heart—the exact same feeling I had resigned myself to over and over again when I was in an adulterous relationship with La'Renz in the past.
I promised myself I would go to church this Sunday and repent. Really actually go this time.
Closing my office door behind me, I slid my purse strap off my shoulder. And not until I turned on the lights did I notice that someone had been in here. I was for sure I’d had a visitor because my whole damn company computer was gone from my desk! I noticed that my packages, my faxes, my sticky notes, and even my external hard drive was missing too. But they left my power cables and adapters.
A bunch of cords, but all my stored information was gone. Everything had been intact before I left for lunch and I was for sure I had locked my door. I always locked it.
I stormed out of my office and went next door, walking in on my co-worker who rarely ever left the building for lunch.
"Did you see who went in my office?" I asked her accusingly, as if she had something to do with it.
She frowned without taking her eyes off of her computer, then finally glanced at me. "No, Sundi. Did you lock it?"
I shut her door without answering her dumb question, then went back in my room and felt a small rage quaking inside of me as I sat down on my empty desk and tried to figure this ordeal out.
Had I been fired? If so, why? Did Eliyah Golomb find out somehow that I was working for La'Renz again? Why didn't Thomas give me a heads-up?
Then, as if to answer my questions, my phone buzzed. I looked at it and saw that I had just received a work email from human resources. The preview bar across my screen read "URGENT," and that made me afraid to open it up.
Heart beating fast, I tapped the bar with my thumb and began reading my fate.
From: MEENT Human Resources
To: Sundi Ashworth
Subject: Termination
Hello Ms. Ashworth,
Your employment at Mount Eliyah ENT (MEENT) will be terminated as of today. The workforce is changing and your position is no longer needed to fulfill this company's ongoing needs. Attached to this email you will find a detailed statement of your severance package in pdf format. If you have any questions or concerns about this correspondence or the attached file, please contact human resources during business hours (8am-4:30pm). Thank you.
Good Luck To You,
Natalie Mance
MEENT, HR Rep
Chapter 2
Kirbie Amor
Manhattan, New York
I had been recording with Timbuck, a Grammy-winning producer whom La'Renz had scheduled me to work with, for five hours straight now. My throat was stiflingly dry as I stepped away from the microphone and pulled my headphones off my head, resting them on my shoulders.
I needed a breather but I didn't want to quit.
"Take five," said Timbuck through his state-of-the-art pushbutton intercom system.
I glanced out the sound-proof glass at him, saw him waving for me to come on out the booth. He was a big guy with genuine muscle, more like a fitness trainer than a famous guy who made great music for a living. He was wearing a plain white tee that would've dwarfed my frame but looked appropriately small on him. From the waist down he wore even tighter designer joggers. Coras did that sometimes too, the small equals big thing, but Coras wasn't nearly as buff as Timbuck.
I showed the producer my forefinger, which meant "one more time." I wanted to get this song perfect and not look like an amateur who got tired easily.
"No, you need a break," he insisted. "Come out of there, Kirbie. I can tell when an artist is tapped."
I hung my headphones on its stand and left the booth. Timbuck had a chair for me and a bottled water already on hand.
"Tip your head back for me," he said to me after I sat.
"Do what?" I asked.
"Tip your head back and open your mouth. Trust me."
I did what he asked, feeling like a baby bird waiting on a worm. I watched him uncap the water and softly take hold of my chin as he poured the bottled water in my mouth with his other hand.
"That's it. Drink up. You should be feeling better already. Drink it, baby."
It filled my mouth slowly and I swallowed what I could, trying not to choke.
"More?" he asked me.
"Umm ..." I did want more but I'd rather not drink from his hand again so I said, "No, I'm fine. Thank you, Timbuck. I needed that."
He sat back down and scooted his chair so close to me our knees touched. "You have to let me know when you're feeling fatigued. You have a million-dollar voice and we don't wanna overwork it. You could do permanent damage."
"I just don't like starting and stopping a lot," I said. "I wanna get it done and done right."
This was a flat-out lie. I was the take-a-break queen back home at Gee Beats's studio. Coras was the one who always complained about me stopping and starting and not getting things done in a timely manner. But I wanted to impress Timbuck and ultimately La'Renz, who dropped me off here early this afternoon and told me specifically to give it your all.
"The only way it's gonna get done right is if we're enjoying ourselves," said the muscle-bound producer. "And we can't have fun if your throat is in knots."
"I agree."
"Let me loosen you up."
Timbuck hooked his fingertips behind my knees and, with little effort, pulled me closer to him until I was sitting on the edge of my chair and our knees were in between each other's legs. He brought his hands up to my neck and delicately massaged trigger points just under both ears. It felt amazing and heavenly, causing me to close my eyes and let his professional fingertips manipulate my tight skin.
"Breathe normal," he said. "Don't hold your breath."
"Sorry."
"Take it easy. Think fun and relaxation. Think of a sapphire blue ocean whistling against the wind."
I chuckled and so did he, as he flexed my neck sideways bringing one ear down closer to my shoulder. Tilting me to the other side, he said, "You know why La'Renz brought you here?"
"Mmm-hmm," I hummed melodically, my eyes still closed.
"Why?" he said, testing me.
"To make hits," I answered.
"Not just hits. But classics. Anybody can make a hit and be here today and gone tomorrow. But I only produce classics. Everlasting music. My first classic piece was with Caylene Hope over fifteen years ago. I also produced Jazzmine Short's breakout single. That's why La'Renz brought you here. He knows I'm the best."
"I'm a fan of your work," I said.
"Are you?"
"Yes. But an even bigger fan of yours than me is a producer friend of mine named Gee Beats from my hometown. He's recovering from being shot still but you're like his idol a
nd he won't believe I got a chance to work with you."
I could remember when Gee told me how he started out producing music. He would take tracks made by Timbuck and other super-producers and try to re-create them from scratch, by ear. From those beginnings, he crafted his own sound and became a real talent locally. I had heard of Gee through word-of-mouth before I met him. That's how good he got.
And now I was sitting here with one of his inspirations, enjoying an impressive neck massage.
How cool is this!
"You know one thing that's gonna give you an advantage over Jazzmine Short?" Timbuck said.
"What might that be?" I asked.
"Your natural beauty far exceeds hers."
I opened my eyes—and Timbuck was staring into me with an intense desire that seemed primal and ... threatening. This close I could see the age lines in his face, and it reminded me that he was closer in age to my father than myself. Also, with his hands lingering on my skin as he stared me down—why was he still staring at me anyway?—the danger-sensing part of my brain jolted me with memories of tabloids I'd read as a teen that I thought I had forgotten. In his heyday Timbuck had been rumored to sleep with a lot of female artists whose careers he'd help boost, including Jazzmine Short (before her marriage to La'Renz) and even Caylene Hope (though this rumor held little plausibility). Timbuck was a known music industry playboy and I had walked in here without even taking that into account.
I wanted him to let me go.
"Close your eyes again," he said to me softly. "I'm not finished."
"Um ... I'm loose now. Thank you." I put my hands on top of his, thinking he'd let me go. When he didn't, I moved my hands to his wrists. He still didn't budge. "I'm ready to get back in the booth, Tim. Thank you for the massage."
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