When the track ended, the room was silent.
Michael exhaled slowly and rubbed his chin.
"Two weeks," he whispered. "He made this in two weeks. How is this even possible?"
Clara looked nervous. "Sir?"
Michael shook his head, a gesture that indicated that he wasn't talking to her.
He stood up and walked to the window. The city lights glowed against his reflection; his thoughts were in shambles, and he couldn't understand how Dayo was able to make such a quality album in two weeks if it were a single. Throughout, it would have been believable, but there were four featured artists; he felt that even if he made these songs, they would be crap. This was why he was lax on the issue when Clara brought it to him, who knew that it would later come to bite him in the ass.
"Damn," he muttered.
He wasn't just angry — he was impressed, confused, and even a little shaken.
He had underestimated Dayo again.
