Bebe Rexha

Dr. Darke walked out to see Bebe Rexha sitting on his couch with her heels on it. She was joking with the receptionist.

"Miss Rexha, I'm Dr. Drake. Come on in."

"Thanks, doc," said Bebe. She got up and walked into Dr. Darke's office. He sneaked a peek at her famous ass as she passed by. She went in and sat down. She sighed and looked a bit bored.

Dr. Darke sat at his desk. "So what brings you here?"

"A lot of stuff actually. I see these commercials with Ice Spice, Cardi B, Nicky, and even that little kid Jenna Ortega, and I ask, where am I?"

"What is your agent doing about it?"

"He's trying, but people should be beating down my door to get me to endorse shit."

"But you're doing quite well despite that."

"It's not the money. It's the fame. I should be doing those commercials, and it's not just that."

"What else is it?"

"I'm never been asked to Saturday Night Live. I mean fucking Megan the Stallion and Lizzo hosted for crying out loud. What do they have that I don't?"

"So you're jealous?"

"I guess," she said in a half-pout.

_Fucking entitled bra_t, thought Dr. Darke, should be grateful for your millions and your legion of fans. "Well, let's try something," he told her.