Dont-kill-the-party--feat.-tyga-.aiff -

Jace looked out the window. Tyga’s car was parked outside. No driver. Engine running. Headlights aimed straight at Jace’s front door, blinking in slow threes.

Jace was a ghost producer—the kind of talent who made platinum records for people who couldn't find middle C. He’d worked with Tyga once, four years ago, on a throwaway track about champagne flutes. It paid for his mother’s surgery. He hadn’t thought about it since. dont-kill-the-party--feat.-tyga-.aiff

He wasn’t a ghost producer anymore. He was just a ghost. Jace looked out the window