"What's been going on with you Rob, haven't heard from you since I let you hop on Pullin' Up."
"I been living life, making a home." He says looking at the girl that I consider mine. I cringe at his weird affection. May as well call us Micheal and Paul.(if you don't get this reference go take a nap😂) Rob goes into the kitchen, shuffles through some cabinets, and returns with three glasses and a bottle of Henny. I take the bottle to get a better look at it. "Cognac? Nice." I state as I admire the label.
"I wish we could've kept in touch."
"I know but you were on tour. How was it?" I ask sitting directly between him and her on the couch.
"You know the tour life better than anyone Abel. The only difference is I had my girl with me every step of the way." He smiles past me at her.
Is he trying to throw shade? I crack a bothered smile and my hand shakes as I pour myself a glass. Taking a gulp rather than a sip I get ready to speak. "Well my girl is not an entertainer. She's a model and she's got her own shit going on but she's always there when it really matters." I say in a chill tone.
"I guess the only time it really matters is when she doesn't have curfew." He mumbles, pouring some for himself.
I grip my glass so hard that it breaks leaving the contents on my hand and on their white carpet. My fingers begin to bleed. "I'm sorry, I'll pay for that." I say while trying to stop the bleeding.
"It's fine babe." I smile at her slip up.
"What?" Rob says.
"I said Abe, I said it's fine Abe. I can pay for the carpet to be replaced." He looked at her like she was crazy.
"No I got it, really. How much is it?"
"We can pay for our own shit man. You think cuz you're balling now that you can just assume we can't afford something?"
"I'm not assuming anything I just-"
"How'd you even get the address to this house? This isn't the address that everyone knows." By that he means this isn't Nicki's big-ass mansion. "I suggest you leave."
"I was trying to-"
"Now. Get the hell out of our house."
I look over at Nicki then back at him. "Well if you want to talk about this you know where I stay, and if you don't then ask your girl...she probably know the way." I say while staring him dead in the eyes. I slam the door walking out of their ugly ass house and climb into the back seat of my Bentley Mulsanne. "Get me the fuck outta here Oliver." I tell my driver.
"So things did not work out, sir?" He asks, his British accent thick as ever.
"I don't know why you call me sir, you're only a year younger than me and nope. If his flop ass wasn't there everything would've been fine."
"Meek Mill?"
"You're working around a bunch of celebrities, you need to know first names." He turns and gives me a blank look. I sigh. "Yes Meek Mill but his name is Rob. I told you about me and Nicki before you flew back to England for a vacation, right?"
"Yes and I'm so glad you trust me with information like this."
"Oh nah. I don't trust you. I don't trust anyone. If you ever repeat anything I've said to you you'll end up taking a permanent nap in a shallow grave." He gives me a worried look through the rear view mirror and I smirk at him.
