Just then, a voice called from across the soundstage, “Yo, Love, can we get your eyes on the mockup for the bedroom scene next?”
“Be right there,” she called back and turned on her heel.
As she walked off, Tara leaned toward Malcolm and whispered, “Told you. She’s in her feelings.”
He chuckled. “Yeah. And judging by how she just fluffed that throw pillow like it was personal? Deep ones.”
Meanwhile, Zay stood near the back of the soundboard area with his arms folded across his chest. He nodded along to the track playing through the monitors. A deep bassline vibrated quietly through the space, subtle but haunting.
“Nah, run it back,” he said and gestured toward the screen. “That drop needs to hit right when the main character walks into the room. I want it to feel like something’s off . . . like the air’s changed.”
One of the sound techs adjusted a knob. “So, more tension?”
“Exactly,” Zay said, leaning in. “Not horror-movie tension tho’. More like heartbreak you didn’t see coming. Keep it soulful. Almost like Dilla meets modern strings. You feel me?”
The other guy laughed. “You always got poetry for your instructions, man.”
Zay smiled. “That’s ’cause it’s not just sound, it’s storytelling.”
He turned his eyes back to the screen, watching the scene unfold again. As the music synced perfectly with the slow camera pan, Zay’s voice dropped a little.
“That’s it,” he said, more to himself than anyone. “That’s what it should feel like . . . when she realizes he’s still in love with her.”
One of the techs glanced over. “We still talkin’ about the scene?”
Zay blinked, then gave a slow smile. “Yeah, the scene.”
Everything was flowing. Smooth. Easy.
Until it wasn’t.
The studio doors opened, and a wave of perfume and designer labels rolled in.
“Heyyyyy, babes!” came the familiar voice of Amora, loud and saccharine sweet.
She was dressed like a walking billboard: Balenciaga crop top, leggings painted on like skin, her phone raised mid-livestream as she walked through the set. Over two-hundred thousand people were tuned into her feed. A ring light on her phone made her skin glow like she’d been blessed by the sun itself.
“Yo, that’s Amora from Hot Girl Hits TV,” a stylist whispered.
“I follow her!” another crew member added excitedly.
“Oh my God, she’s even prettier in person,” one of the actresses said.
Love tilted her head and squinted, unsure of who the woman was, until she watched her saunter over to Zay, throw her arms around him, and plant a kiss on his cheek.
Just like that, the walls went back up.
Love stiffened. Tara, who had seen the whole thing, walked up beside her slowly.
“Who is that?” she asked under her breath.
“I don’t know,” Love said, eyes forward. “Doesn’t really matter.”
The way Zay’s face twisted said it all. He had been caught completely off guard.
“What are you doing here?” he asked Amora, jaw tight.
She cheesed hard for the camera. “Just surprising my favorite rapper. How is work, baby?”
