Eminem Fan Fiction Shorts II

Eminem Loses His Voice

I was just getting off the elevator at Paul's offices when I saw her. She was sitting in a plush chair by the windows, wearing some kind of black, close fitting jeans that looked oddly patched, and a black leather jacket. Her hair was a deep brown and it was in a thick braid that came over one shoulder. She had her feet up on the table, showing dark, scuffed boots.

When the elevator dinged its intent to leave, she turned her head toward it and her face lit up in a breathtaking smile. She tossed her feet down to the floor and strode toward me with long, determined strides. I was thunderstruck.

She was slim, but there was plenty to capture in your hands if she let you. Her eyes were a piercing blue, edged with dark makeup that made them stand out on her face like those of a doe. She had a full bottom lip and a slightly crooked nose - like it may have been broken at one point and not fully reset. As she came closer, my body locked into position and my mind shut down. I was unable to form words or thoughts other than the obvious:  she was fucking banging.

"Paulie!" She cried, catching him around the waist in a side hug. He had been talking to one of the other artists with us, and so he hadn't seen her coming. When he looked down to find her, he grinned and hugged her back.

"Jazz!" He called back, shaking his head. "I haven't seen you in ages." He commented. Jazz stepped back with a nod, shrugging a little as she did.

"Yeah, you know how it is when you're on tour." She said, perking my ears up. She was an artist? I thought I knew all of Paul's clients by this point. How had I never heard of someone named Jazz?

"Well, you wouldn't have to do all those signings if you were shit." He responded with humor and I frowned, puzzling it out in my head. That sentence didn't quite match up what I'd expect him to say to another entertainer. Jazz smiled again and nodded.

"I can't complain. People buying my shit means that I have a roof over my head." She responded. She looked to me and the other rapper, then, flushing slightly.

"I'm sorry, that was terribly rude of me." She said. "I shouldn't have interrupted." Paul answered her just as I was shaking my head to deny her words, still unable to speak.

"Nah. It's fine. Have you met Righteous? Marshall?" Paul asked and she shook her head and put out her hand to Righteous first, then me.

"You know I haven't met Marshall, Paul. You practically forbade me." She said, earning Paul a severe 'what the fuck' discussion later. She must have seen the question in my eyes because she shrugged and gave a half smile.

"He was protecting you." She explained. "I may, or may not, have had an entire room plastered with posters of your half-naked body when I first met Paul." She noted with a teasing gleam in her eye as she looked at Paul from the side.

"Not me, baby girl?" Righteous said, his hand covering his heart in mock hurt. Jazz smiled and shook her head.

"Nope. My unhealthy obsessions are laser focused." She replied, her tone light and airy like she wasn't the most beautiful fucking woman I'd ever seen talking about surrounding herself with pictures of me. I shifted on my feet, desperately trying to come up with something to say, when she looked back to Paul.

"Any chance I could get a favor, big guy?" She asked. Righteous took that as his opportunity to leave, but there wasn't a thing on this Earth that was taking me out of her presence right now. Paul nodded, turning serious.

"We were just going to get some lunch. You want to join us?" He asked, looking to me to see if I were okay with it. I nodded slightly and he turned back to look at her.

"Perfect," she replied. "Where to?" She asked.

"Angelo's would be good." Paul answered and she nodded and then pulled some gloves out of her back pocket as she started to turn.

"Alright. I brought my bike, so I'll meet you there."

---

Two minutes into the drive, my voice finally came back.

"Who the fuck is she?" I asked, my voice a little raspier than I would have liked. Paul looked at me from his position behind the wheel, surprise in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Em. I shouldn't have put you on the spot in inviting her like that. I can cancel." He offered. He must have decided that my utter lack of normal human interaction at his office, combined with my ever so eloquent question, meant I didn't like her.

"No, it's not that." I said, looking out the window. "Just, who is she?" I asked again.

"She's an author." Paul said and I nodded. That at least explained the comment about a tour and signings. "I met her almost twenty years ago, when she was still just a kid." He continued and I turned to look at him, waiting for more. He sighed and looked back at the road.

"She was working underage as a dancer." He explained, securing my entire focus. "I stumbled across her - literally - when I was piss drunk at a bachelor party at her club." His face faded into a bland expression as his memories surfaced.

"She was on her own. Dancing was the only thing that paid the rent." He said softly. Shaking his head out of his memories, he glanced back at me. "She kept it up until she got a couple of book deals, which was about seven or so years ago now, I think." He concluded and I nodded.

"You two get close?" I asked. When he looked at me in question, I shrugged. "She said you knew about the posters all over her place." I explained and he nodded with a smile.

"Yeah," he said, tapping the steering wheel. "I can't remember how it happened, but I got into the habit of swinging by to check on her. Along the way, I found out that she had a serious fucking crush on you." He said as he shook his head. "She didn't speak to me for months when I told her I wasn't going to introduce you to her."

"Since when do you play guard dog?" I asked. Paul shrugged as he pulled into the lot of Angelo's.

"You were on and off with Kim. I didn't think it wise to set up a meeting between you and a not-even-legal stripper with the hots for you." He answered and I nodded. I could picture the disaster that could have turned into.

We stepped out of his car in time for Jazz to pull her motorcycle up to the front. Fucking Hell. It was like a damn movie scene, watching her dismount and take off her helmet. I stared like a moron, once more unable to formulate words.

"You coming, Em?" Paul asked as he moved around the car and I startled into motion.

"Probably in the shower." I muttered under my breath as I started walking inside.