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Beyonce Knowles January 8
Being the CEO of a company is hard, especially because you're responsible for so many things at once. If one department falls, all the rest will too.
I don't tolerate mistakes; I need immediate answers. I like for everything to be in order and for everything to make sense.
I was sitting at my desk with the phone in one hand and my pencil in the other as I adjusted a sketch I've been working on-I have a huge project to complete for my celebrity client, Janet Jackson.
"This is Beyoncé," I answered.
"Beyoncé, so nice to hear from you again, sweetheart! How's the family?" Tim from Vogue said. I knew that distinct voice from anywhere. Tim was basically family-he and his dad and my father literally go golfing every Sunday.
"You just saw Dad, and Mom is doing well, enjoying life. You know her; she's probably out of the country relaxing. I can't keep up with that woman," I said, and he laughed. "But how can I help you today?"
"Oh yes, Vogue is hosting a private party this Sunday, and I would love for you and your family to join. I haven't mentioned it to Matthew yet, but you know we don't want you all to miss it," he said, and I nodded, still sketching my drawing.
"When is it?"
"This Sunday. Oh, and please bring Kelendria," he added. I laughed. Tim had been crushing on Kelly for years now. He would never say anything, but we all knew he liked her. Kelly was all about structure; she needed you to be upfront with your intentions.
We don't do well with hints. Closed mouths don't get fed.
"Tim..." I laughed. "I will make sure to tell her."
"Thank you so much, and as always, you all are encouraged to bring a plus one if you'd like. We look forward to seeing you all there," he said.
"Bye, Tim."
I hung up the phone and glanced down at the sketch in front of me. It wasn't right-again. Letting out a frustrated sigh, I crumpled it up and tossed it into the trash.
That was five today. Five. This Janet project had to be perfect.
I still had time, but with tour coming up, and needing ten different looks, I couldn't afford to waste any more of it.
Just then, the door swung open, and before I even looked up, I heard her voice.
"Girl, not you in here stressing," Rihanna said.
I glanced up, rolling my eyes. "Robyn, what did I say about busting in here like you're the police?"
She smirked. "And didn't I tell you to quit calling me Robyn?"
"Isn't that what it says on your birth certificate?"
She shrugged, strolling over and plopping down in the chair across from me, all casual like she didn't just interrupt my entire thought process.
