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 had to admit it, to herself at least: she was ridiculously smug about the fact that Onika had caved when she'd mentioned giving her some extra money. It showed that the perfect Mrs. Maraj was just like the rest of them—interested in the bottom line.
When she got to her desk though Beyoncé stopped, trying to make sense of it. Because she shouldn't be so easily motivated by a couple thousand dollars. It didn't compute with the rest of the information she had about her.
Onika Maraj, in her mind, had a large allowance from her father, a cushy apartment in town like all the socialites she knew, and she worked only to occupy herself until she'd snagged a husband; she'd probably opted to work in an affluent investment firm to try to meet suitably rich guys amongst her clients. Women like her weren't after overtime, normally. It was too much like hard work.
She dismissed this thought; maybe she'd spent more than she ought to on clothes or makeup. She might also be paying off the impressive rack she tucked under her striped suit jackets; there was no way a girl as slim as she could naturally have been blessed with assets like that. That were store-bought, she would have bet a million on it without hesitation.
Beyoncé found herself quite uncomfortable, like every time she was forced to acknowledge Onika Maraj's appearance. Damn her, but her assistant was hot. She didn't often allow herself to look past her brown eyes, but when she did, she always frowned, displeased. Assistants shouldn't look like that; those who did were the reason why so many many men ended up requesting blow jobs in the copy room.
Onika was nothing like Michelle, or Kehlani, for that matter. Her figure wasn't the eerie, slender, model-worthy frame that always looked so good on her arm; she was a little under average height, and... womanly. Her curves formed a perfect hourglass: curved hips, generous bust, and a slim waist in between. That was the kind of body she couldn't help picturing covered in red silk...
That just wouldn't do. Back in the day, Beyoncé had played around, but she was in a relationship, and that was that. Contrary to most of her friends and acquaintances, she was entirely monogamous —her father, in all his bossiness, had taught her to give nothing less to the woman she chose to spend her time with. If she strayed, how could she expect her partner to respect and stay faithful to her?
Yet every day since she'd waltzed into her office, she'd had to look at Onika Maraj, and admit—at least to herself—that she was salivating over those fantastic curves. She wouldn't, but she'd love to get her hands on those.
What did that say about her? She was pretty sure her father never thought anything of the sort involving anyone except her mother, hence why the Knowles seniors were still together, still ridiculously content, after four decades of marriage.
She wanted that. She wanted to go home after her long hours of work and have a woman who'd listen to her, and who cared for her. She had picked one, and that meant she had no business staring longingly at Onika's ass when she bent over to pick her up her pen.
Beyoncé bit her knuckles and forcefully turned around, willing herself to look away, walk away. But just then, when she was almost ready to do so, the damn woman tripped on her heels and fell ungracefully, forcing her to grin and think of her in terms that shouldn't enter her mind. Such as adorable.
It wasn't of her own volition that she moved, walking towards her and offering her hand.
She stared at it, confused, distrustful, but after a beat, she took it and used her to get back up on her feet.
Awkward. The only way to describe the whole thing was awkward—infinitely so... because she didn't let her hand go, not immediately. It wasn't her fault. She felt...soft. Very much so. And they'd never been in such close proximity before, so it was the first time she got a proper whiff of her enticing scent, probably called seducing a billionaire 101.
Dammit.
It took awhile, but she forced her eyes away from hers eventually.
"Don't forget coffee at four," she barked, storming out.
She knew she treated her poorly—perhaps even worse than any of her previous employees—but the woman didn't seem to take it to heart, and it helped keep the distance she needed, so she didn't intend to stop a recipe that worked.
~
"And how is dear Onika sweetheart?"
"Fuck!" she cursed out loud, throwing her fork on the table, aware that she was acting like a child having a tantrum. "Enough about Onika, already. She's an employee—nothing more."
Her parents always enquired about her, even though both of them seemed to forget Michelle's name from one meeting to the next.
"She's a family friend," her mother replied sharply, her tone making it clear that she was done taking rudeness from her.
She knew just how to look and speak to keep her in check; seeing her amber eyes, so similar to hers, flash with something intimidating, she knew she'd hit the limit of her indulgence. In a minute, if she didn't behave, she'd kick her out before dessert, or invent an equally brutal punishment.
She'd most definitely taken after her mother.
"And a very lovely one at that," she added.
Beyoncé sighed. Her parents hadn't said as much—not yet, in any case—but she suspected that neither of them would be against a Maraj-Knowles alliance. Never mind that they were perfectly aware that she had a Michelle Williams waiting for her at home.
Well, not literally. She hadn't moved her in; they'd only dated exclusively for three months. Even meeting the parents and speaking in serious terms was premature, but she was ready for something solid, durable, so it hadn't stopped her.
Beyoncé had been ready for a long time, in all honesty.
"She's fine. Not very fond of overtime."
"Well, I'd understand, given her circumstances," Tina Knowles replied mysteriously—and seeing her smile, she knew she was doing it on purpose, to intrigue her. To interest her.
Damn her mother—the matchmaking fiend. Because, despite herself, Beyoncé wanted to know what she was on about.
She resisted—with difficulty.
Never mind that all night Saturday, instead of reveling in the company of her lively girlfriend, dressed in a golden sheath, she asked herself about Onika's "circumstances."
Mother - one, daughter - zero.
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Keep or delete?
This Chapter?
Nicki?
Beyoncé?
Beyoncé choosing to ignore her feelings and stay monagamous?
Their little lingering touch moment? Think it will lead to more?
