Page 1 of Hired By My Rich Baby Daddy

Twenty-One Months Earlier…

Ozy Love! Ozy Love! Ozy Love!

Twenty thousand people were screaming my name, and I never got tired of that sound. Not once in ten years of doing this shit.

The pyro hit the second I belted that last note. Flames shot up on both sides of the stage while thick smoke rolled over the front row, looking like clouds.

Phones were up everywhere I looked, thousands of screens glowing back at me like stars. Women were straight-up crying, screaming my name at the top of their lungs.

I ate that shit up.

Every last bit of it.

“Atlanta, I love y’all for real,” I said into the mic, my chest still heaving.

The crowd roared back even louder, and I let my head fall back, soaking every bit of that energy in.

Ten years in this industry, and they still screamed for me like it was the first time. Three platinum albums, two Grammys, sold-out arenas on three different continents, and this crowd right here still made me feel like all the bullshit going on in my life meant absolutely nothing.

I walked toward the edge of the stage, reaching down to slap a few hands stretched over the barricade, but it still didn’t feel close enough. So, I jumped down, knowing damn well I wasn’t as young as I used to be and my doctor would probably cuss my ass out later. Still, I wanted to make sure my fans, especially the ones who paid all that money for front-row seats, got their money’s worth.

According to all the fucking Ozy Love haters, I was losing my touch. They swore I was the biggest asshole in the industry because of how I carried myself.

Yeah, I had a temper. My mouth could get reckless as a muthafucka too, but that came with being a perfectionist. I liked shit done my way, on my time. Had I gotten into a few fights? Absolutely. A few disagreements? Hell yeah. Broken a couple of paparazzi cameras? Yeah, but the nigga got too close to me, talking shit about me losing my brand deal with one of the biggest headphone companies in the world. So, fuck him. Yeah, I broke his fucking camera.

But none of that mattered. Not right now.

Right now, people were still screaming my name, and after everything, they still showed up for me.

Security jumped down behind me, but I’d moved just a second too fast for them to catch up.

I grabbed a few shirts, signed a couple of titties, dapped up a few fans, took a few pictures, and then stopped right in front of a woman who looked at me like she was tryna fuck me right here. She licked her lips at me, then held up a sign that read:

I WANNA HAVE OZY LOVE’S BABY.

I ain’t even seehimcoming since my mind instantly went left. I couldn’t help it. One quick thought about bending her fine ass over the balcony in my penthouse…

Then…

Boom.

Somebody jumped the barricade and hauled off, punching me dead in my shit and causing me to drop the mic.

I spotted my head of security and little brother, Princeton, better known as PB. The look on his face told me he was finna body this nigga right here in front of twenty thousand people.

Pain exploded across my face. I stumbled backward, tasting blood instantly while my ears rang louder than the music.

The crowd’s screaming changed in an instant. Excitement turned into complete chaos.

I swung back without even thinking. Singer or not, I never backed down from another nigga, and I damn sure wasn’t about to start tonight.

“Muthafucka, is you stupid?”

Baow! Baow!

I caught his ass once in the nose and again in the eye before security pulled me away, trying to rush me backstage.

PB tackled ol’ boy like a straight-up linebacker.