Page 49 of Juliet's Echo

Unsure if I let him see I was too comfortable hearing his sister's name, he would cancel the meeting on the spot.

The man had designed his entire workplace around accommodating her disability.

That itself was a different type of love and devotion, one you’d see from a parent.

And besides, no one had really seen Nazir or his homeboy since the fight at Sunday’s.

I mean, they were alive. That had been confirmed.

But they were hardly ever around anymore.

I didn't need my career-changing opportunity disappearing the same way they did.

Echo smirked like he knew exactly what I was thinking.

“It’s cool, little nigga. You ain’t gotta act like you don’t know who Juliet is. I know every important detail about everyone who walks through any door of my establishment.”

He nodded down the hallway.

“Let’s go.”

And just like that, I followed.

When I walked behind Echo into the meeting room, I was star-struck to see Optimus Grind sitting at the head of the table.

Optimus was a living legend in his own right. His rhymes told stories you could aspire to, and although he didn’t mind getting his hands dirty, his image always reflected that of an upstanding, respectable Black man.

Even though I wasn’t an aspiring rapper, I admired his brand.

I knew him and Echo were close, but I didn’t expect to see him here and definitely not sitting in my meeting.

Echo took the seat next to him, and confusion took over my body because, on impulse, I looked over at Optimus.

“Why you looking at him?” Echo asked.

“No reason, really. I just always assumed the boss sat at the head of the table.”

“In the military, leaders eat last. I let my subordinates eat before I do. Shine while I take the backseat. But best believe they know rank,” Echo winked.

“Shut your ass up,” Optimus laughed, exchanging dap with Echo.

“Anyways, Mr. Mitchel,” Echo continued.

“Psalm, please,” I politely corrected.

Echo placed his right hand over his heart, signaling a sign of respect.

“Psalm, please have a seat. You are here today based on a submission you sent back in 2024. Optimus and I listened to your video a few times and—”

“Little nigga, you cold,” Optimus interrupted. “Had that guitar singing like the rent was due. I fuck with it.”

Hearing that Echo had actually listened to my work and that Optimus was a fan not only felt good, but it was also reassurance that maybe my own talent did get me through the door, andshehad nothing to do with it.

That maybe the timing of the fight at Sunday’s and this meeting was merely coincidence.

“Thank you,” I responded.

“You can read and write music?” Echo asked.