Ones in jail the others a journalist. They were born on opposite sides of the world, liking completely different things, doing completely different things with completely different people. They were complete opposites but you know what they say: opp...
Nicki Beyoncé 💕 "Beyoncé baby, I'm going to work...where are you going?"
"To a coffee shop to meet with parole officer. You look...wow."
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"Is that good?"
"Of course."
"You look good too," I smirked pulling her closer to me by her belt loop.
"Onika if you rip by fucking pants you're going to buy me new ones."
"Damn, always ruining the moment." I pushed her away from me. She picked me up and put me on the dresser.
"Stop putting your hands on me little girl."
"But I like touching you," I pouted.
"You little brat."
"But whose little brat am I?"
"Mine."
"Exactly." I took both of her hands into mine.
"Daddy guess what."
"What?"
"There's this really pretty Chanel bag and-"
"You want it?"
"Yes." I pressed my lips together and batted my eyelashes.
"No." I instantly frowned.
"No?"
"No," she repeated. I rolled my eyes and jumped down.
"Onika." She tried to grab me but I moved.
"Don't touch me."
"Really?"
"Move Beyoncé." I started to ignore what she was saying and went to work.
|•| I sat at my desk frustratingly trying to figure out a way to start this damn article. I honestly forgot about the article I was supposed to do with Beyoncé because of... well a lot of reasons. I balled up my piece of paper and threw my head back. My phone buzzed and I quickly grabbed it hoping that it would be Beyoncé. I groaned once I saw that it wasn't.
