"Rapper and now singer, Chanel Little confronts Pop star Mila London at the Legendary Yaya's birthday bash in West Hollywood. Sources say that the two artists may be sharing some bad blood after the BET Music awards, and clips that were released by TMZ earlier this month, where Mila announces that she feels she made Chanel's career and is responsible for the hit single 'Take my Love' -going Gold and now Platinum in the last week. The little dispute lasted less then five minutes but left it's mark on Mila as she shared her thoughts on twitter the following evening. Mila says 'There is nothing wrong with admitting that someone has helped your career. The song would have been nothing without me.' Chanel has yet to respond to Mila's social media addressing. Chanel's sources tell E! News that Chanel is more entertained by the drama than she is bothered. " The dark skinned, bald headed reporter shrugs and then looks to his co-host, Ashley Simmons, a brunette with short hair and eyeliner too heavy.

"I find it incredibly childish for Chanel to even approach Mila at a party. Has her publicist taught her anything at all? You don't take those things publicly." Ashley says. I roll my eyes and adjust myself in Flex's couch.

"I didn't go HAM on her-" I began but Flex interrupts.

"Listen." He says authoritative. Trevon looks from my face to Flex's, to the TV pinned up in the small Bronx studio.

"She's very recently gained fame, I like that she approached her mid-party, I thought that was brave. She felt that she needed to speak up for herself, especially since her and Mila formed some sort of friendship in the past few months." The bald man says. I find out his name is Kevin Lade. I didn't like him before but I am starting to.

"We have seen maybe three pictures of the two together, they were merely just acquaintances keeping up the facade to sell the record and it worked perfectly well. That is a business move, now the business is over, she won the award. Of course Mila is going to be upset about it, but who the hell cares, that's how this business goes. But what you do not do, is go up to Mila in public and cause a whole scene." Ashley speaks while sitting up right in her chair, she keeps a small smile on her face as she states all her points.

"I do agree, maybe it wasn't the best PR move, especially in a place with so many elites. But hey, she said what she wanted to say to Mila. There is little to no record of the words that were actually passed and she hasn't responded on social media. I think this is a clean move. 'Don't mess with me. Don't lie and tell people you made my career. Enjoy your life.'' Kevin finishes and places his papers on the glass table, seeming to end the argument.

"Her people probably got a hold of her. I think she would have responded or will soon." Ashley chuckles. "They're young, the pettiness is expected."

"Well the fans are eating it right up, aren't they?" Kevin laughs loud. Ashley joins in.

"They are, Chanel's album sales have skyrocketed since this whole 'beef' started. Maybe she is smarter than I give her credit for." Ashley winks at the camera. Her thin lips pulling back.

"In other news-" Kevin begins but Flex switches the TV off.

He turns around to me, in his spinning chair and stares blankly into my eyes. I stare back, waiting to see who backs down first.

"You can't do that." He finally says.

"Flex, I literally just spoke to her at a party." I say in defensive.

"You confronted her at a party, with over 100 other celebrities and press available." He speaks calm but annoyed. "What if they spun the story to turn your fans against you?"

"They didn't!" I raise my voice and Flex raises his.

"THEY didn't." He points to the TV screen. "Did you check 'Music Mag', did you check 'Real Hip Hop Online', did you check 'Entertainment One'" His voice lowers as he realizes he has gotten my attention.

Trevon shifts awkwardly in his seat. His arm still around me but his body still. I look up to the ceiling and then to the side of the room, my eyes avoiding Flex's.

"They're all headlined 'Chanel threatens Mila', 'On the Rise Brooklyn Rapper attacks Pop Star', do you know how easy it is to get negative press? Listen when we speak to you Chanel. We've been in the industry longer than you. If Mila wants to turn her fans against you she can. Just over an award. She's clearly in the wrong, let her be in the wrong." Flex finishes and I press my lips into a hard line.

"You're lucky I'm the one talking to you and not Mac, cause I'm being nice. Y'all can't have the label thinking that the artists they JUST signed are bringing negative press to themselves. You have Casey for a reason. You have a publicist for a reason. A publicist who called you right after you found out Mila was talkin shit."

"I thought all press was good press! At least they talkin bout somethin, at least i'm relevant. Y'all actin like I punched the bitch in the face." I snap back.

Flex stares at me, tired of talking. He stares at me like an annoyed Father, and that's just what he is.

"They said it themselves, album sales went up! Why aren't we rejoicing?" I stand to my feet.

"Because you need to maintain your image and reputation. People find out you confronting rivals in broad daylight at a party, they don't know if they want to work with you. That's some sloppy shit." Flex answers with his hands in prayer form, like he is trying to relax himself.

It is silent for a few moments and Trevon looks at me through the top of his eyes, his face slightly amused, but looking a little scared of asking the question.

"What did you say?" Trevon asked.

"I just said, you didn't make me and that you want war, you got war." I shrug.

"Haaan!" Trevon yells and ends it with a laugh. "That's my girl." He says to Flex.

Flex doesn't smile at neither one of us.

"I'm bout to kick both of y'all out my studio." He says spinning his chair back around to the control board.

He fiddles with some of the EQ knobs.

"Trev get in the booth, we have a lot of catching up to do." Flex sighs.

"Copy." The tall dark skinned beauty answers. He kisses me twice before he heads into the small empty room with just a mic, it's pop filter and sponges hanging on the wall for sound displacement.

It felt weird being in the place where it all started and for once I felt like the old me. Just us three in here, hanging out and vibing to music. Even with the tension of the recent events I couldn't be mad because I'm completely nostalgic. Everything feels the same, the studio looks the same as we left it. Like for a moment, or more specifically, for a year and five months, everything went on pause in New York and everything else went on fast forward in California.

"Ready? Taking it from the chorus." Flex says.

"Iight." He responds and his voice travels through the speaker. The beat starts.

I zone out watching him and realize that my brain has still not fully grasped exactly how much I have missed this man. And it isn't just his touch and his smile or his body. I missed his passion for music, I missed his drive for excellence, I missed the fire inside of him. A big part of me failed to realize that Trevon is the reason for my writing. I wrote poems while he was away but for some reason they don't matter much, they lack something. Something I've found only on his return. My entire body feels awake, my brain feels more active, my inspiration soars.

The chorus comes on and he bobs as the pre-recorded chorus plays. He was always so much better at adlybs than me. So much better at bringing the exact sound that he wanted the listener to get from that one specific song. Everything flowed, everything came together in a matter of minutes. With me it would take hours on hours for just one song. I can't be jealous because I'm too proud.

"Let me do that verse over, I want to add something." He says stopping Flex.

Flex loops the track and hits record.

"A game of catch up

Where lil niggas be hoping and prayin to sell a couple bricks n buy kicks, we slaves without the whips,

our women ain't met a nigga that wasn't playin tricks, call em tricks when they fall for it

Shit, a game of catch up

Spent some time behind the cell, a young nigga need to get his cash up, couldn't post the bail

A game of catch up, yea

They almost tore my life a part after my wifey got snatched up

Made it out n now i'm back up.

Young nigga a feen, record labels on the prowl. Show me how bad you want it, laugh it off, give them a scowl. The devil playin games, tried to hold me back a mile, i'm back in this bitch n heres how it's goin-down

A game of catch up

Y'all niggas ain't givin me much to catch up to, ya started from the bottom,ya still remained on the gravel. The rest of ya underground, it ain't much to look up to.

Play on these slick words like a play with the curves on your girl- Iight cut it." Trevon says.

Flex looks busy as he clicks different keys and plays with the audio lines on the monitor, the whole time shaking his head in what looks to be amazement. Trevon looks through the booth glass and winks at me. I can feel my mouth open but I can't close it. It's amazing how much better he's gotten, I know he was working in jail, it shows more than his muscles. But not even just his bars, but the emphasis he says it with. He feels differently now. There is so much strength and power in his voice that even if the bars were trash, the song would still be a hit all by itself.

"Holy shit." I mumble on the couch, my eyes still set on Trevon.

"That shit was fire." Flex comments after me.

"It's like he's a completely new artist." I say walking to the control board.

"Jail does that. He's hungry." Flex says. "It's the best time to work."

Trevon stares at his phone and practices the following lines while Flex is mixing down the vocals. Flex clicks into Trev's headphones.

"Yo, you killin it. I want you to stay here overnight. I have an idea." Flex says rubbing his beard.

"Was gonna stay overnight anyway." Trev responds.

I see it in his eyes.

It's go time.