MALIK :: ZAYN

seven | cool

°•

"So, you don't have anything to say?"

"Sir, I--"

"Have you thought of any new ideas?"

"Uh--"

Crissle huffed under her breath. "Just make the damn cufflinks gold."

Zayn, along with the rest of the fashion department, looked her way. He stood straighter, staring into her eyes. "What was that, Ms. Sinclair?"

"Um," she hummed, taking a subtle step back. She didn't like all eyes on her. "Nothing."

"I need ideas from everyone, come on," Zayn folded his arms across his chest, "spit it out."

"Just...just make the cufflinks gold--"

"That's just preposterous," an older white man shouted, scoffing at her.

"How, sway?" Crissle pressed.

"It's ridiculous--"

"I didn't see you thinking of anything?" she spat back.

"Ms. Sinclair," a woman spoke up, her pointy nose directed towards the ceiling as she barely looked at the young girl, "why would you propose such an idea?"

"Because it was an idea, you don't have to take my shit and run with it."

"The gold and silver can't just mix on one suit. That's the dumbest--"

"Then make the rest of it gold, ya dingbat," she argued, setting her clipboard down, "God, you fucking fashion designers swear you're top shit but are totally clueless on how to change your own design."

"Well--"

"Well, I never," she mocked, "is that what you were going to say? Shut up, really, Marie."

"Zayn," she protested, looking to him in support, "get your stupid assistant."

"You fu--"

"I think gold looks nice," Zayn said, looking at Crissle in amusement, "fits the collection more, yeah? Marie? Get all your shit out of my office in forty five minutes or I'll have security throw it out the window and ten stories down."

"But--"

"My assistant is neither preposterous," he glared at the old white man, "nor stupid. I suggest you find better word choices than that while waiting in line at the unemployment office. Both of you can get out."

Marie huffed, turning her head and briskly walking out with the shorter man right behind.

"Good day, everyone," the employees scurried out of the room before he could finish and soon, the room was cleared.

Crissle held the door open for Zayn with her foot, typing away on her iPad.

"You're very...spunky," Zayn sat on the long table and twisted a pencil between his fingers.

"How, sway?" she still kept the door open but leaned against it, "I just speak my mind."

"It's entertaining, but you show pretty good leadership skills."

"Cussing and name calling is not--"

"It was an unorthodox way of going about it, I admit. But it got the point across, yeah?" he interrupted with raised eyebrows, "and you changed the boss's mind."

Crissle scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Me and you both know gold cufflinks were the answer, and it's common sense to change everything else. You can't mix gold and silver, that's stupid."

He chuckled, walking past her until he was in the hallway. "You're right. Anyway, when is my next m--"

"Do you read my emails?"

He groaned, slightly glaring at the ground before looking back up. "It says at twelve, but I wanna make sure."

"You can read!" she joked with a smile, closing the glass door of the conference room, "and yes, I'm always right."

"I can read, thank you," they walked into his office and sat down, Zayn at his chair and Crissle on the desk, "get off my desk."

"I'm good right here."

"Ugh," he cut his laptop on and opened up a few emails, "it doesn't say what the meeting is for."

"A vegan yogurt company," she replied, "you really just have to sit and listen to them pitching ideas. They're trying to convince you into investing with them."

"S'a little weird for my brand to be affiliated with vegan shit," he said, leaning back in the chair, "I do clothing and art, not food."

She nodded. "Which is why," she tapped on his laptop screen and opened up another email from her, "you didn't even open this email I sent."

"Subject: vegan company," he read, "of course I wouldn't open that."

"Well, Mr. Malik, it's about other companies that are compatible with this brand, food companies. I listed them and all you have to do is call them and put a word in."

Zayn seemed impressed, clasping his hands together in front of him. "You're good."

"And all I ask is that you open every email from me," she told him, "that's all I ask."

"I guess."

"You're a child."

"Isn't it your lunch break?" he tried changing the subject, looking at the Rolex on his wrist.

"Not until another ten minutes--"

"You can go on it now--"

"You're not getting off that easy," Crissle crossed her legs, "but nice try. Anyway--"

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" she asked in confusion.

"For everything," he explained, dragging a hand down his face, "I...just...you've heard about me, I know. Andrea talks a lot of shit," he sighed, "and, you really opened my eyes. I scare a lot of people away and the only reason I fired a lot of people is because my patience runs so thin.

"But this is a lot of pressure on me, and trying to prove people wrong is hard and I can't deal with all these people acting like I'm speaking another language," Zayn stared ahead at the door, biting his lip, "so, I'm sorry for, pushing you and choking you, and--" he sneezed, "giving you so much stress during your first three weeks. You're a really good assistant."

She was beyond flattered.

"I...thank you," she whispered. Crissle would never expect Zayn Malik to apologize for something like this -- or anything, for that matter. She expected him to be cruel and harsh forever and they'd never be as...joking and buddy buddy as they were now.

"Zayn, you're cool people," she muttered earnestly, "cooler than I thought."

"Yeah?" he glanced at her.

Crissle nodded, hopping off the desk and straightening her dress out. "Way better than I thought. You're so arrogant, yet, down to earth yet, annoying as fuck."

"Well, I try," he grinned.

°•

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