One Shots || Bruno Mars

Writer's Block

Ba dum tuss. Crash! Thud! I was immediately snapped out of focus upon hearing the last portion of the successive sounds. Closing my laptop, I immediately jumped to me feet and headed straight into the recording booth, only to find Bruno striking his head repeatedly on a cymbal. I stifled a laugh and shot a hand between his forehead and the instrument. "Hey, hey, stop."

He lifted his face, red as berry, with a pronounced frown upon his lips. I finally let out a smile at his current disposition and glanced towards the digital clock propped on the shelf beside his Diamond Record plaque for Unorthodox Jukebox. 11:30 PM.

"This writer's block is fucking me up! God, Nikki, I just wanna run away to Dominican Republic, drink some tequila by the beach..." His face softens as he stares into the distance, consumed by his vacation fantasy. "...And eat a ton of food, like, burgers and lobster and pizza and ice cream. Not care about anything, you know?"

"Bruno," I glowered and pointed his boxing timer-like watch. "You've had a year off to do all those, now it's time to get some work done."

"I'm suddenly missing Dani," he pouted, referring to his manager's previous assistant whose position I've now taken over, before playing around his drum set once more. "She never told me off."

"Maybe you didn't need scolding back then," I smirked and crossed my arms across my chest. "You weren't the deviant you are now, always having your demands heeded by the label."

"Damn, look who's not afraid to speak up," he said, mirroring my expression and started picking up a beat before looking at me dead in the eye. "I just need inspiration."

I raised a brow, "Do you want me to call Gabrielle to come over and help you with that?"

"Nah," he dismissed the idea immediately without hesitation. "We ain't seeing each other anymore."

"Oh," I exhaled, not wanting to pry in one of our top artists' private matters. "Well then I don't know how else I can help you."

He started beatboxing along with the fast blues shuffle drum beat, and abruptly stopped before digging his phone out of his pocket and responding to a few messages. "The guys won't be here for another hour, care to join me for a drink?"

At that offer, I instantly felt uneasy, knowing personal bonding wasn't technically allowed by the company. "Uh, I don't think we should do that."

"Hey, come on," he stepped out of his enclosure and rested his palm on my back as he led a hesitant me towards the refrigerator outside the booth. He and I were never really close since I got the job six months ago and he hasn't really established his recording sessions until last week. He pulled out two bottles of Pliny's and unclasped the caps before handing one to me. "You might not know this, Nikki, but alcohol usually gets our juices flowing during songwriting."

He picked up an acoustic Gibson from his massive guitar collection and made himself comfortable on the leather couch on the far corner of the room. Proceeding to put his feet up on the coffee table next to my laptop, he began playing the intro of Marcy Playground's ' Sex and Candy' and looked up to see me still on my feet, with the full bottle of beer sweating in my hand.

"Nikki, come here! I don't bite," he called out to me, laughing, and slapped the empty space next to him. "Everyone I work with drinks with me and you're no exception. Think of this as an initiation."

I ignored his request and decided to take a seat on the nearby office chair to enjoy my drink without the guilt of breaking any rules. "No, I don't want to distract you from your process."

"What process?" He snorted before grabbing me by the arm and pulling me towards my original spot beside him. "I know you signed a contract and sharing a few beers with me alone might violate a few guidelines in there, yadda yadda."