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Shameless Plug: This book has become my new baby and I would really appreciate if y'all checked it out! It's getting me through grad school, illness, and general procrastination. By the time you're reading this, the prologue should be up! Lmk what you think!
This oneshot is short, but Beyoncé has some real lowkey dom femme energy so it balances out! Y'all can't say I don't spoil y'all when I do come around now.
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Your POV
"Driver ETA is...twenty-three minutes!" One of the assistants announced over the murmur of voices in the luxury hotel suite.
The sudden announcement made me jolt, sending the pointy needle-like tip of the glass-head pin I was fumbling with through the tip of my finger rather than the folds of the dress. I hissed in pain as I held my hand at the wrist to assess the damage.
"You okay, Y/N?" The head stylist, Zerina, asked.
I quickly nodded. Luckily, it was only a small prick, and the pin had fallen to the floor rather than embedding itself in my skin.
"Yeah, I just...yeah. Everything's fine." I exhaled and picked the pin back up.
"You sure? You seem a little on edge," she mused.
No one else in the room was paying any attention to us, especially not to me, but she always did. Although I was just her shy assistant stylist, she always acted as if we were equals. She always asked for my input, included me in styling decisions, and most of all, learned what makes me tick.
"No, I'm fine. I promise. Just wasn't expecting the sudden yelling."
She nodded in understanding and went back to what she had been doing before. We were altering a dress in real-time while the person was wearing it, which always necessitated more care to make sure pins weren't visible to the naked eye and, more importantly, that they didn't end up poking the client. And this client, in particular, is one who made me focus even more.
She suddenly cleared her throat. "Water, please," she requested.
"Yes, Mrs. Knowles-Carter," someone else in the room answered. "Right away."
Zerina Akers is not only my boss, but personal stylist to Beyoncé Knowles-Carter. This wasn't some ordinary fashion model or small-time artist that I was working on; it was the queen. I deftly put the pin in place just above the dip in Beyoncé's back.
"Y/N," Zerina called. "Come here for a second."
"Of course, Zerina." I stood up straight and came around to the front, careful to not to bump into the woman who was curling Beyoncé's hair.
