FIXED ON YOU TRILOGY: Jayoncé ❤️ 18+🥵🔥

CHAPTER 3 : PROPOSAL!

Chapter Three

 

I took a cab to the club that evening, which had been a mistake. Unusual traffic had me arriving at three after nine. I hurried toward the office but was stopped at the upstairs bar by Megan.

“Kendrick and hot owner boy are already in there,” she said over the club music, playing with a strand of purple hair. “Shawn told me to have you wait here. He’ll let you know when he wants you.”

“Dammit! I’m not that late, am I?”

“No, they went in there about ten minutes ago. They have no idea what time you got here.”

I relaxed, thankful that my exclusion from the meeting wasn’t because I’d been tardy. I hopped onto a bar stool nearest the office and set my computer bag on the floor at my feet.

“Hold on, Bey,” Megan said coming around the bar. “Let me see you.”

I stood up again and turned around, displaying my bodycon dress. I’d picked it because the white tie color had a business style to it, but the tight black skirt said nightclub instead of office secretary.    “Fuck, girl, you look good!” Megan’s validation calmed me more than she could ever know. Or maybe she did know. She was a good friend.    “Thanks. I needed that. Especially after Mr. Disapproval last night.”    “He is now known as the Bar and Wardrobe Nazi.”    I laughed and hopped back onto my stool. The same stool Shawn had sat on the first time I saw him. “Hey, you know he’s the suit I was telling you about, the one who gave me the hundred.”    “You’re shitting me!”    “I’m not. Do you think he wants me to blow him to get the promotion?”    “Would it be that bad if he did?”    “Yes. It would be utterly, wonderfully, horrible.” But mostly it was horrible how
Not bad that idea sounded.

While trying to empty my mind of Shawn blowjob images, I surveyed the club. The place was slow, even for a Wednesday night. From the bar, I had full view of the ten bubble rooms that circled the perimeter of the upper level. The bubble rooms were The Sky Launch’s highlight. Each room, round in shape, featured a glass wall overlooking the dance floor on the lower level, and had private access much like box seats at a stadium. They all had a curved seating area around a table, and fit eight people comfortably. The bubbles provided a relatively quiet and discreet area while still being very much part of the club. When the occupied lights were on, the outer walls of the bubble rooms glowed red. Only two were lit up. A shame. If the club had the kind of notoriety it could have, those rooms would fill within the first ten minutes of being open.

“God, I hope it picks up,” Megan said, draping her torso across the counter next to me. “I can’t make it through a full shift at this pace. It’s so boring!”

“I hope so, too.” We should have been busting with the summer crowd by now. The lack of business made me feel more confident about my ideas for the club. I fidgeted, anxious to get in the office and share them with my bosses.

“What did you do today?” Megan asked.

“I worked on a PowerPoint presentation all morning. I crashed about two.”

Megan narrowed her eyes. “You need more sleep than that, Bey.”

“Nah. Five hours is plenty.” I actually felt pretty good. Gathering the best of my thoughts for The Sky Launch into a presentation had been very therapeutic, easing my concerns about my future at the club. Shawn couldn’t fire me after he saw how much time and effort I’d put into the business, could he? Not if my ideas were good, and I knew they were.

I pulled my phone out of my bra cup where I kept it—no pockets in my skin-tight dress—and checked the time. It was almost nine-thirty. How long would they keep me waiting?    They walked out minutes later. I stood the moment I saw them, smoothing my dress down and looked to Shawn, eager for a sign of approval.    But the expression that met me took my breath away—an expression of total male power and dominance. Even in the dark of the club, I could make out his eyes as they perused me—the way he did every time we saw each other. Again I felt claimed by his overwhelming magnetism, my heart racing just at the sight of him. My legs turned to jelly and my knees buckled, tipping me forward.    Into his arms.    He caught me with a graceful ease that contradicted the solid body that held me steady. My hands clenched his dress shirt—how did my hands get under his jacket?—and I resisted the urge to run them across the firm pecs I felt under my grasp.    He mistook my motion, seeming to
Think I was searching for further stability. “Beyoncé,” his voice flowed over me like liquid sex. “I’ve got you.”