“I will smile. When I’m back on a plane.”
He turned, shuffled to his suitcase, and pulled out an all-black fit like he was dressing for court.
The venue was massive. Modern floor-to-ceiling glass windows wrapped in vines and soft amber fairy lights. It was the kind of place that made people lower their voices and raise their expectations. Inside, the Culture Circuit buzzed with a curated cool: Black-owned champagne, mood lighting, bass-heavy ambient playlists, and a sea of beautiful people pretending they weren’t starstruck.
Kam stepped in front of Zay as they walked up to the VIP area entrance with energy and confidence in a tailored suit and a gold chain that caught every camera flash. Simone followed right behind, already mid-conversation with someone from Apple Music.
Kam turned and handed him a sleek black pass. “Try not to look like you hate being here. Network. Shake hands. Say words.”
They walked through the VIP entrance, and Simone caught up behind them. Her lipstick was perfect, and her voice smooth. “Smile when people say they love your old work. It’s cute when you pretend you’re not a legend.”
Zay sneered just enough to keep the peace.
They drifted through the venue together and only paused for drinks and small talk with executives, influencers, and other artists. Kam did most of the lifting, and Simone floated between tables like she owned the floor. Eventually, Zay found himself close to the walls, taking in the artwork, the murmurs, the polished chaos.
He was mid-sip of his drink when a man with a deep brown blazer and locs tied back approached him with purpose.
“You’re Westside Zay, right?” he asked.
Zay nodded. “Who’s askin’?”
“Malcolm Waters. I’m a producer working on a new film. Been wantin’ to connect.”
Zay gave a lazy nod. “Is that right? What kinda film?”
“Adaptation. Book-to-screen. Real layered shit. Author’s got a strong voice. Whole thing’s set in Detroit, actually.”
That pulled Zay’s attention a little more. “Yeah?”
Malcolm took a sip of his drink and leaned in just enough to drop the pitch of his voice.
“It’s a teenage love story about grief, artistry, and healing. A lot of emotional weight, but it’s honest.”
Zay nodded slowly. He lost him right at the teenage love story part. “Cool.”
“You might like it. I know you don’t do the typical soundtrack stuff, but this one’s special.”
Zay gave a noncommittal shrug. He figured he could entertain the guy a few moments longer. “What’s it called?”
“When the Rain Stops.”
The title didn’t ring a bell, but then again, Zay hardly read anything since high school. His brow pulled slightly. “Who wrote it?”
“An author that goes by Love T. She’s also a Detroit native. Full name’s Love Tate, I believe.”
Still nothing.
Zay blinked. “Never heard of her.”
Malcolm raised a brow. “You don’t read much, huh?”
“I read contracts,” Zay muttered, “not novels.”
Malcolm laughed. “You might want to make an exception for this one. Her book has been flying off the shelves, very popular. We think this could be the next big thing. I could introduce you two.”
Zay shifted and half-glanced around the room, mostly out of obligation. “She here?”
Malcolm scanned the crowd. “Yeah. Right there by the photography exhibit. That’s her—black dress, curls. Her assistant’s with her.”
