Submission {UNFIN}

Chapter Twelve.

10:23 a.m., New York City, Vogue National Offices, Top Floor.

I threw my head back and downed another pill with a swig of Fiji water. Stress and guilt had managed to eat their way through me, from inside out. It had begun with even more restlessness than usual and evolved to paranoia and much more substantial anxiety. To make matters worse, I hadn't heard from Leo in three days, which furthered me on edge. I knew he had called Liv, but I wasn't sure if Liv answered or if she was even on her way. 

She had been all over the news for the past two months, her and President Grant. I'd met Fitz once when I visited Liv for her birthday, against her wishes, though I could still tell she was elated that I had traveled to see her. She and I hadn't spoken in months; Not since she told me the bastard that was her father had been locked away in jail, anyway. I didn't know much, but I knew Rowan. All I did know was that he wasn't going to stay in there long. He had too many ways to get out.  

I heard the gentle taps of Rita's knuckles on my door, signaling me that she was going to come in. It was hard not to hold my breath in hopes that the news had something to do with Liv. 

"Ms. Knowles? Mr. Carter is here." I sighed, not necessarily because it was him, but because it wasn't Liv. I shoved the orange vial of pills into the top drawer of my desk and took a glance in the mirror atop my desk, adjusting my tresses of hair. 

"Send him in," I told her once I had finished. She nodded in obedience and disappeared around the door frame, leaving me very few moments of solitariness before he walked in, more tall and prideful than I'd ever seen him. It was plain to see; That pussy was going to his head.

I giggled to myself at the sight and watched as he shut the door. 

"Sunshine," he greeted. I found it too arduous to try and conceal my laughter at the nickname, so I let myself laugh as boisterously as I pleased. 

"Shawn," I replied. "Sit." He ran his fingers over the collar of his oxford more for show, really, and sat in the antique-looking couch. My nerves had been so bad in the past few days that I didn't even possess the energy to be hostile. Consequently, I wasn't particularly as evil as normal, but I wasn't nice either. "What is it?" He flashed his tape recorder along with his pen and pad. My eyes rolled instinctually, but I knew I would have to comply. We made a deal that was halfway still sustained, so I had to uphold my part of the bargain. 

"Interview. I just need the answers to a few questions and we can arrange another time for the rest of them," he explained, noticing my expression of burden when he brought up the interview. I shifted in my seat and settled back, away from the desk. 

"You've got ten minutes. Don't waste my time." Shawn flipped to a fresh page in his notebook and readied his pen whilst I pumped out some of my Pink Chiffon lotion and rubbed it into my hands, attempting to ease my hysteria that had begun to rage. I had secrets. I didn't know if I could keep them in the dark. That was why I had never done an interview. 

"You're lucky it's ten minutes, otherwise I would correct you on that tone of yours."

"Correct me, huh? Just ask the damn questions." He closed his eyes in vexation for a few moments to compose himself before opening them and offering a sarcastic smile. 

"Alright, you're Beyoncé Knowles, correct?"

"I don't know, Sherlock, you tell me." Asking me my name? Really? This is a waste of ten minutes. I can already tell. 

"It's protocol, okay? Just answer the damn questions," he mocked. 

"Fine. Yes, that's my name."