Her Assistant ✓

Chapter Six

Beyoncé
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Monday was nothing short of painful, filled with the longing that hadn't left her since she'd touched her hand, spiced up by the hint of intrigue her mother had knowingly sprinkled on top. Beyoncé lasted all of three hours before she had to get out of the office.

She wanted to fire Onika so damn bad, and if she'd been anyone else, she would have, too. But after she went to cry to her daddy about it, Beyoncé's father was bound to ask what had happened, and what was she suppose to say? She could lie, she could pretend her performance wasn't up to par, but that kind of statement would forever affect her in her professional life. Even she wasn't that much of a asshole. Besides, she'd probably slap her with a lawsuit so quick she'd get dizzy.

She wasn't a cheat, dammit. But every minute she spent near her made her feel like one. Her thoughts betrayed Michelle, if nothing else did. It might just have been her hand she'd touched last Friday, but she'd caressed it with her thumb to feel her soft skin, and she'd wanted more. That was the kind of contact a person of honor only had with one woman, and she'd determined that woman should be Michelle Williams, not Onika Maraj.

She blew Michelle off when she'd called the previous night, not feeling up to seeing her, not when all she saw was silky, black, bone straight hair and a fake, professional smile. Not when she wondered what Onika wore outside of the office, what she had underneath her prim and proper dress, what she looked like when came undone under a woman's touch.

By morning she had her head on straight; she intended to get in, do her job, and interact with her normally, like CEO to employee

The damn woman came in wearing what was undoubtedly her sexiest attire: a grey, woolen high-waisted pencil skirt and a loose blouse that did nothing to hide her impressive rack. The jacket didn't help either, given the fact that it was hanging on the back of her chair.

She inwardly groaned as her eyes took in the ample breasts, the slim waist, the wide hips, and the toned bronzed legs.

Dammit. Damn her.

She got up as she did most mornings, turning around towards the break room where she made coffee when she arrived.

Holy fuck. She but the insides of her cheeks, salivating over the pear-shaped ass she wanted to squeeze and bite.

So, yeah. By eleven she was barking excuses and calling the couple of friends she had on her speed-dial for an impromptu brunch.

Wayne, Lauren, and Robyn were busy people, to say the least. The first owned and operated his own company, the second was a sought-after surgeon, and the last was the CFO of an up-and-coming toy company she'd founded with her best friend. There must have been something quite desperate in her tone, because by the time she'd made it to their rendezvous point, they were all waiting on her, beers at the ready.