Her Assistant ✓

Chapter Fourteen

Beyoncé
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Beyoncé stood at the door for the longest time, watching the curvy frame bundled under her covers, star-fishing her bed. She couldn't quite decide what she felt about that, but it was strong. Potent. Possessive.

She'd slept for so long, she'd called Lauren again after her initial visit. She'd diagnosed her with the flu, and cautioned Beyoncé that she might possibly catch it afterwards. Beyoncé didn't fucking care. Not one bit.

After the third visit in as many days, Lauren finally managed to appease her worry.

"She's fine," she swore. "Just run down. I think she needs the rest."

She'd nodded, trying to let go of her guilt. She did need to rest, between working for an ass like her and singlehandedly raising a child on top of everything. Recalling how she'd bullied her into staying late made her sick to her stomach.

Forcing herself to move away, she pulled the door halfway shut and headed to the kitchen, where Blue was dutifully coloring the book she'd grabbed for her after work.

As she glanced over her shoulder, Beyoncé's frown morphed into a ready smile. The girl was coloring the space around the characters and leaving them blank. Clever little thing.

"Looks good, Honey Bee," she said, ruffling her hair as she beamed at her like she'd just grabbed the moon from the skies and offered it to her on a silver platter. "Want some cookies?"

"Are we making them?"

Beyoncé turned around, intending to say something along the line of don't be ridiculous, but looking down towards her, she was assaulted by the most potent puppy dog eyes ever used on an unsuspecting woman.

The girl was holding her hands folded in a prayer over her heart, and her mouth was forming a little O. The big brown eyes she'd stolen from her mother were bulging, and her long lashes stayed fixed as she held her breath.

This was cheating. Unfair. Unwarranted. Probably outlawed, too.

Her throat dried, and she croaked a weak, "Course. Of course we're making cookies." In her pristine kitchen that she'd never used a day in her life. With a five-year-old. "We just need to go shopping for ingredients first." Then, as the adorable little demon in a tutu skirt started dancing around, she made her escape. "Wait one minute, okay? I just need to grab my coat."

She tried to be silent, to let Onika take the rest she needed, as she got into her walk-in closet. Shutting the door, she took her phone out and called the only person who could help her.

"Mom? Please send me a dummy's guide to making cookies. Like, a really easy one."

On the other end of the line, Tina was silent for so long, she wondered if she'd heard.

"Mom?"

"Who are you and what have you done to my daughter?"

She sounded half serious.

She sighed, knowing she couldn't get away with not giving an explanation.

"I have a... sick friend at home. I'm entertaining her daughter while she recovers."

There. That was vague enough.

"Hmm. Would that have anything to do with the fact that dear Onika hasn't answered your father's phone calls for a couple of days?"