Beyoncé Knowles can't believe her annoyingly perfect personal assistant has actually resigned from her cushy, highly paid position, and she intends to tell her exactly what she thinks about it.
But when she gets to her place, she comes to realize s...
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She was going to resign. Okay, she thought that to herself at least once a week, but today, she'd sincerely had enough. She had cramps, bad ones, and any woman not affected by that kind of monthly torture should have offered chocolate on tap and massages—instead, McFuck was acting like the gigantic ass she was. For no reason. She hadn't done anything wrong, but she knew her by now; she had been pissed off before she'd even stepped into the building.
She was a nice specimen to look at, with her annoyingly gorgeous face, her deep, intense amber eyes, and her kissable lips, but right then, all of those attributes only served to infuriate her more. How unfair that so many blessings had been showered over a complete and utter jerk.
The archives. She couldn't believe she'd really asked her to take care of that dump. It smelled. It smelled bad. Like a rat had died in there.
One hour and twenty minutes later, she realized that one had. But before consenting to expire, the creature thought it necessary to poo and pee about everywhere. Onika had to go throw up twice.
"Mrs. Maraj," she heard, just when she felt she'd be ready to collapse on a pile of disgusting boxes. "I will be gone for the next two hours. Take your break now. Bring me a coffee at four."
Onika almost felt grateful, before remembering who her boss was. Mcfuck wasn't doing her any favors, she was the reason she was stuck doing this dreadful job in the first place. She also knew she'd change her mind and let her have a break only because she hated leaving her on her floor unsupervised; she didn't trust her. Why should she anyway? She had never done anything to deserve her trust—the only reason why she would never do anything against the company was her father, not her. She had no idea how much respect and affection she had for her dad, and she liked it that way. Knowing her, she'd just imagine something insalubrious if she ever heard of her father helping Onika out.
"You're good down there?"
She turned to find her leaning on the door frame, visibly amused, as she knelt there, ass in the air, grabbing disgusting pieces of paper that hadn't been relevant for at least a decade.
God, how she hated her. She'd never felt anything stronger— the red-hot passion was taking the best of her; staying in place was so hard her hands were shaking. She wanted to pick up one of the bags of excrement-flavored junk and throw it at her. Get right in front of her and slap her infuriating grin. And, damn her, but she could also imagine grabbing her by the collar and pulling her in for a kiss.
Fuck.
"Very well, ma'am," was her reply, and she even managed a smile, just because she knew it annoyed her.
