The bass was heavy enough to make the walls shake, smoke drifting through the living room of the Detroit loft where the party was in full swing. Laughter, the sound of cyphers in the corner, bottles clinking against each other. Jimmy B-Rabbit hadn’t stopped smiling all night. A few hours ago, he was just another hungry rapper with a dream. Now? He had a pen-to-paper contract with Shady Records, his name signed right beside Eminem’s.

“Yo, Rabbit, raise that cup one more time!” one of the guys shouted over the music. Dre smirked from the couch, nodding at him. Eminem leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching with that mix of pride and warning in his eyes.

Jimmy lifted his drink again, voice slurred just slightly. “Man… I told y’all I’d make it. They ain’t believe me, but look where I’m at now!” The room erupted in cheers. But by the time the crowd turned back to their conversations and freestyles, Jimmy stumbled nearly dropping the bottle and landed heavy on the arm of a chair.

Em looked at Dre. “He’s gone, man. We should call somebody before he makes a fool of himself.”

“Yeah,” Dre agreed. “Get his girl on the line.”