MALIK :: ZAYN

eight | business

°•

"I mean, she swore she had the numbers right but I have a fucking Master's in this shit," Andrea ranted, texting away on her phone.

"What did you do?" Crissle asked, continuing to sew hair on Andrea's head. She needed her hair done, and since they were basically almost close friends -- and Crissle had a license in cosmetology -- who better to do it than her?

"Of course I threatened her, Crissle," Andrea scoffed, "told her if she didn't have it right, Zayn would fire her. You know he would."

"That man does not play when it comes to money or anything with numerical value."

"Right! So she let me check over it and guess who was wrong."

"Who?" she deadpanned, already knowing the answer.

"Her!"

"Stop moving before I accidentally stab your head," she laughed, making her sit still.

"Like, son, I love math, and I know my shit. She just started since that Peter nigga got himself fired."

Crissle laughed at this. "Well, the lady is like fifty something and she can barely see."

"How do you know?"

"Because--" her cell phone started to ring and she quickly picked it up to answer.

"Ms. Sinclair," Zayn breathed through the phone, "do you know where I put the files on the vegan company?"

"You told me to keep them," she replied, finishing Andrea's hair and cutting off any loose threads, "do you need them?"

"Yeah, they're in your cubicle?"

"Top drawer on the left. It's a purple folder."

She heard rummaging and shuffling on the other line and waited for him to answer.

"What are you even doing?" he asked.

"Andrea's hair."

"During lunch break?"

"Yeah? S'like an hourm And I'm almost done."

"Found it," he said, slamming one of her drawers shut, "and it's thirty minutes."

"Don't slam my shit."

He slammed another one.

"Wow, mature, right?"

"As always. Anyway, when you come back, I need your opinion on something. Meet me on the fifth floor."

"Alright," she hung up and set her phone down.

"What did he want?" Andrea asked.

"Some contracts from my desk. Do you want this styled?"

"Nah, I think I'll keep it straight for right now," she looked in the mirror and ran her fingers through her new hair, "it's perfect. Thank you, Cris."

"No problem. All I ask is that you take me out to eat."

"Really? That's all?"

"Yeah," she shrugged, "you're my friend, Drea. And I can't have my friends looking like trash."

"I did not look like--"

"That's where you're wrong," she laughed, "when I first saw you I wanted to cut your hair off because it was terrible."

Andrea gasped, putting a hand on her chest, "well."

°•

"What is this?"