Hotline Bling

"Good work today mane." The man in front of you holds out his hand.

"Thanks Mr. Carter." You shake Dwayne Michael Carter, Jr.'s jewel-adorned hand, and get into your SUV. It's a short ride home, to the small but upper-class apartment you are renting out. You'd prefer you never have to stay at home at your employer's again.

Ever since Drake fired you, life has been better than ever. Chubbs gave you a glowing letter of recommendation, and apologized for Drake's behavior over and over. He even said something about Drake soon getting some receipts for his bullshit, but you didn't care anymore what he meant.

With your credentials, it was a walk in the park to find a new job, and Lil Wayne is a FAR better employer than Drake ever was. You genuinely like the guy. He's cool and funny and, despite his massive success and flashy appearance, unusually down-to-earth.

Once you arrive at home, you throw your duffle bag onto the floor and check your phone. It shows one missed call. It's from Drake. Fuck. You never wanted to think about that weirdo again. Luckily, he's been real quiet on social media for the past couple months. Hasn't even released any music, no concerts, nothing.

Just then, it rings again, showing Drake's number.

You fumble, almost dropping your phone. What the fuck does this MF want? You debate whether or not to pick up. On one hand, maybe he really was humbled the past months and now wants to apologize. On the other hand, maybe that nigga is drunk on his fruity seltzers and wants to tell you how much he misses you or some other cringe shit.

Fuck it, you pick up.