"are you sure?"
beyoncé remembers the whispered tone she spoke in, despite asking the question the honey blonde was the one with doubt in that moment.
her hands were fidgety, fighting to grip onto the waist that was practically begging to be touched—toyed with. her forehead was collecting small droplets of sweat, purely out of the anxiety swirling in her stomach. her throat was slightly dry, she had to clear it to even ask the question.
the room smelled like lavender, it was her favorite scent. it always made beyoncés nose itch a little bit she dealt with it.
it was dim, the only lightning being a thick three wicked candle that made home on beyoncés desk. while hazel eyes trailed up and down—adorning dark—lace covered skin.
"are you really asking me that?" she whispered, her voice invaded every nook and cranny of beyonces brain. the women licked her lips in anticipation as she leaned further and further into her office chair.
"I just—want to make sure is all." she clarified, her dress shirt sleeves were rolled up to her forearms, and a foreign hand reached to caress beyoncés mane. the blonde kept her eyes on her, as her nose twitched at the invading smell of lavender.
her fidgety hands found themselves on her hips. her waist was wide, beyoncé thought the lingere suited her perfectly. she kept her eyes on her own crafted design as her hand gently massaged her scalp.
"you know I don't like you touching my hair."
"you sure ms. Knowles?"
beyoncés hands tightened.
and suddenly that's all beyoncé would hear.
faint, confident but whiny—
ms. Knowles.
ms. Knowles..
ms. Knowles!
beyoncé gasped as she sat up in her bed, her heart was beating out of her chest—as if it was attempting to escape. her ears faintly taunted her with her last name as she attempted to gather her scrambled thoughts.
her hair was wild, her silk bonnet had slipped off with such a abrupt—erratic movement. she carefully glanced around and was met with her bedroom.
it was dark—to say the least.
the sun hadn't risen yet, but beyoncé had.
once she verified that she wasn't in her office about to commit adultery she let her head dropped into her hands and a groan of pure frustration leave her body.
"i haven't had that dream in ages..what the fuck Giselle?" she asked herself. she attempted to look down at her hands, but all she saw was pure darkness. she leaned over to her night sad and gently pulled down the pull-switch to add some dim brightness into her room.
she blinked a few times, somehow her eyes still straining even though she had just woke up. she glanced at her digital clock and read;
4:20 am
she frowned deeply, this was going to ruin her sleep schedule.
a stupid dream—a dream she wished never became reality.
she felt her stomach twist and turn at the memory. "fuck." she mumbled out, she should have never made that design. she hasn't made a new line of lingerie since.
with that thought she quickly stood up, placing her slippers on her feet and making her way down to the only room she spent more time in than her office. she ignored the chill that traveled through the large home as she turned corners and passed empty walls.
she finally paused infront of a particular room; and gripped the golden handle as she turned it.
she stood—in her cami tank top and short cotton shorts staring at her room of creation.
it was large, full of shelves that held different types of fabrics—all different textures and colors. yarn that often stayed on the floor, measuring table that was constantly never where beyoncé needed it to be—and a dress mannequin that stood in the middle.
the room was a mess and to say that would be an understatement.
her shoulders dropped as she inhaled and exhaled, taking one step in—before retreating almost immediately. she shut the door, with so much swiftness as if she saw a rodent—or if she had accidentally walked in on someone—or as if she had walked into a room that harnessed so many memories she wished to keep hidden forever.
the last one may be the most accurate.
she slowly walked back to her bedroom, keeping her tired gaze to the floor. as she reached her room she heard buzzing, over and over. her eyes darted to her nightstand where her phone lightly jumped over and over.
she walked over, with no particular quickness or urgency. and she scoffed once she saw the contact.
shawn
she doesn't even know why she clicked that green button.
"why are you calling me?"
it was harsh. fast, didn't give him room to even say hello. that was the point.
she heard some movement, "is that how you answer your lawful husband?" he asked. almost sounding offended. beyoncé hoped he was, considering he was always spewing lies within the first 5 seconds of their conversation.
she scoffed louder, and even offered a bitter laugh as her bottom let her plush bed.
"the last thing you will ever be is lawful Shawn. what do you want?"
he sighed, knowing he was never going to get on her good sighed. would he ever? probably not, beyoncé made it clear what their relationship was to her. "well your birthday is coming up—"
"yvette's planning a party." she interrupted, checking out her nails.
"oh, good. it'll be a good public appearance for us."
she let out a low noise of agreement.
because truly—that's all their relationship was. public appearances, acts of affection just so the public doesn't shove them into harmful tabloids. they hadn't been seen out together publicly for a few months—the way beyoncé liked it.
"when are you coming home?"
that question made beyoncés roll her eyes, and glance at her phone with the same expression as if shawn was really there with her.
"I return home everday." playing stupid never worked, but she liked to try.
it was his turn to be annoyed. "you know that's not what I meant. you live in that—less grand—less expensive house. that was only meant to be your work house. you've been there like everday for awhile Bey."
bey .
the nickname made beyoncés eye twitch, as well as her hand,
"it's beyoncé." she corrected. ignoring his clear concern of her never being home. his tone was strident, as well as his voice. the honey blonde never enjoyed hearing it—or being reminded that he existed.
"seriously?" he asked, beyoncé stayed quiet. her answer to that lingered.
"you're my wife." he countered to her silence.
"i'm your business partner." she corrected.
"you wear my ring." he claimed,
"I brought it. who's ring is it?" she ended—the call went silent.
beyoncé waited a few moments before defining to question the purpose of his call. "why are you calling me so early?"
"your mothers been calling me, i've been covering for you."
of course.
somehow Beyoncé's frustration always stemmed from her mother. one way or the other. she's in the background of every decision she makes—including the jabs she throws at her punching bag when she works out.
she took a mere second to realize what shawn said afterwards, however.
her frowned deepened so nastily, this always happened when he called her—it was inevitable.
"didn't ask you to do that."
she could hear his sigh. "you didn't have to ask."
"glad I didn't." she stated, readjusting herself on her bed. one bare leg over the other, as she reached for her ipad. she may as well check some emails, she doesn't have any priories but work right now.
"why are you so avoidant?" he suddenly begged, his voice leaked desperation. something beyoncé never gave into.
the issue with shawn is that he always tried to know her. and she hated that. the more people who knew you, the more of the advantage they have to fuck you over.
"why are you so persistently annoying? like a cold sore that never goes away."
"I helped you out. the least you could say is—"
shawn never won this game.
beyoncés eyes widened, she threw her head back and chuckled—her interruption was so raw, it was so disrespectful.
""thank you?"" you want me to thank you shawn? you want me to get on my knees and thank god that the shawn corey carter covered my ass?!"
she could practically see his expression of regret.
she smiled sickeningly at her phone, "tell me, did you answer my sweet mothers call with a bitch who's as white as the cocaine she snorts in between your legs?"
"bey—"
she continued.
"did you say, "oh yes she's been home" as you kept her head down so she wouldn't make a sound?" she inquired—taunting him.
"I can't imagine that she gagged, there isn't much to keep down. tell me shawn. give me details on how you saved my ass and not your own in the process."
"beyoncé we talked about this—why do you always bring it up—I didn't mean to hurt—"
beyoncés eye twitched once again.
"hurt?"
she let out a sharp laugh, she slowly stood up from her bed and brung her phone as close to her mouth as possible. inches away from the screen.
"I want to make something clear, I don't give a shit about what you do when we're off camera. you have the same value to me as an ant."
"but don't you dare call me, early in the godamn morning on a day you know i work to try and make it seem you're doing me a fucking favor." her voice deepened and grumbled, acid spat thee her words and burned through shawn's confidence till it was no more.
"I made lemonade, not because you hurt me—but because you pissed me off enough that I wanted to embarrass you.
her verbal assault didn't stop yet.
"I had to remind you of who wears the pants in this relationship, and since yours are always down for practically anyone who blinks at you—I thought an album was deserved.
"congrats shawn, that's the only thing I will ever dedicate to you besides my migraines and what I flush down the toilet."
each every single one of her words leaked venom. beyoncé has mastered the dark art of being insufferable, vile, belittling someone until they are nothing of what a shel they once were.
"are we done?" she asked, when all she heard on the other side was silent embarrassment.
"good."
their call ended.
after an hour workout session that consisted of running a 5k, punching her punching bag and lifting weights she made her commute to work.
her routine was simple, found comfort in it though it stressed her out till no end. she gave the valet her keys, slid him a tip each morning and marched way up to her office. she ignored the eyes that trailed down her powdered blue slightly baggy pantsuit, her cleavage was on display.
her heels clicked against the marble floors of her floor. it was the quietist, least annoying. she hummed as she entered her office, the smell of that familiar honey invaded her nose as she closed her eyes and basked in it.
she took a deep breathe in—and out. her stone cold face often hurt to keep on for so long. she unbutton her blazer by one more button, considering the fact she planned to be at her desk for the first few hours of the day.
as she took just another step in—a hint of something—made her nose twitch. it always did that when it a new smell she didn't like appeared.
well—usually.
this time she took a moment, and the smell was so sweet. beyoncé always enjoyed her honeyed scent, but this was almost a complete contrast.
it was decay worthy sweet, it was like a nectar almost. beyoncé could make out the scent of star fruit, mandarían orange—it brought beyoncé back to comforting memory. which are limited in numbers.
her shoulders dropped and her face softened—what was that smell?
she opened her eyes slowly and decided to glance around her grand office for just a mere second and her eyes landed on a figure.
short, fidgety, awkwardly standing by one of the couches in the room.
beyoncé took a moment to examine her, her hair was straight and dark. almost a midnight like black. her eyes were low and her shoulders were slumped.
she wasn't the most confident person—or atleast she felt inferior just from her body language.
she blinked only once before asking,
"who are you?"
it wasn't vile, or quick, or even rude. it was a genuine question, and beyoncé isn't sure why her usual attitude wasn't kicking in already. maybe because she was tired? or because that smell was just so comforting her body relaxed?
she heard her low, slightly raspy voice. she had to clear her throat at the start, "The—I'm the person you hired?" she phrased it like a question, beyoncé watched her cringe at herself. the blonde just stared in slight confusion.
the young woman glanced up, to make brief eye contact. "I'm your personal assistant? Onika?" she tried to jog her memory, while beyoncé stared onika was sweating bricks.
her eyes were so sharp, they stared right through onika. they were so intimidating yet the color was so gentle. she had an oxymoron resting right below her eyebrows and right above her nose. onika had never seen anything like it.
but with the way beyoncé wasn't remembering, and the energy she was radiating— onika considered maybe going home, crying in her pillow and then finding another job. because on her first day—her boss doesn't even remember hiring her.
she watched beyomce slightly nod as her mouth fell ajar.
"right. yeah. that." not an ounce of enthusiasm in her words. was she always like this? her face hardened.
atleast she remembered now.
onika wondered what her first task would be—maybe she's be showed around the building? it was huge and she was lost just walking into the first floor. would she be introduced to people? does this mean she has coworkers? does she have other bosses or does she only obey Beyoncé?
questions flooded her mind one after another she had never been a personal assistant—more like a long term nanny or a teen mom without getting pregnant.
"Uh—pick up my dry cleaning."
oh.
so no introduction? onika thought for a brief moment, she was a little disappointed but she didn't dare let it show. she's sure Beyonc—Ms. Knowles was ethical. maybe an introduction wasn't necessary.
maybe that meant this job would be easy.
"alright! where?"
she chirped, rocking back and forth. beyoncé didn't verbally respond she watched her pull out her phone— as she did so onikas dark eyes trailed down at her outfit. she knew she was rich—but she screamed it in the most gentle way possible.
the jewelry she wore wasn't flashy, but onika knew it had to cost more than her rent. her hair was done so perfectly, onika wondered how she got it so long and curly, maybe it's a wig? onika shook that thought off, it looked so pretty and real. onika almost wanted to run her fingers through it. she bet it was soft, like a lions mane.
it was almost impossible for onika to believe thsi was real—that she was real. onika didn't know who Beyoncé was—but she sure was pretty.
her eyes trailed the rest of her outfit, a pantsuit that screamed power, shades that sat ontop of her head that appeared to be bedazzled and a necklace that rested in the valley of her breast.
onikas eyes widened slightly—her cleavage was just—
buzz.
her body jolted at the slight vibration against her butt, she reached into her back pocket and glanced at the message.
"that's the location, ross will drive you. get back before 12. make sure they're pressed too." ms. Knowles sighed out, her low exhale made onikas ear tingle.
onika glanced back at her—just to admire her once again. she watched her grip her desk and lean her head back with a low sigh.
she exhaled, and inhaled and onika watched her chest rise and fall. her eyes were glued to the bare skin—
"ross is outside."
her voice interrupted onikas perverted thoughts, the younger girl jolted again and awkwardly cleared her throat. "i—i'll get right to it!" she said with a thumbs up as she scurried out of the office.
her face was slightly flushed as she left, closing the heavy door from behind.
beyoncé on the other hand opened one eye and let out another sigh. her body wished to rest, as did her mind. but rest was foreign to the blonde—is this what a personal assistant job is? provide beyoncé with a little less stress?
she scoffed—impossible.
she pushed herself off the edge of hee desk as her phone rang, she leaned over—brushing her arm against her lamp as she put the caller on speaker.
"Ms. Knowles speaking."
"I know who the fuck you are damn—why do you always answer like that?" robyn asked, beyonce scrunched her face up and slowly reached for that big red button on her answering machine. it's as if the island girl knew, and quickly begged.
"don't hang up on me! I'm sorry!"
the blonde rolled her eyes, she wasn't sorry. but she didn't hang up, she instead waited for robyn to state her business. which was almost never serious.
"how's it going?" she asked and beyoncé walked to the other side of her desk and plopped into her office chair with a huff; "fine." she muttured. she heard snacking and then robyn's voice again.
"well that means it's going horrible. what's wrong?"
the honey blonde faintly smiled, robyn was a pain in the ass—and she would never admit it but she truly did care for the reckless woman. because robyn obviously cared for her. even if she was the most annoying person she talked to. she decided to share her thoughts for once—in a way that wasn't vile.
she rested her cheek in her left hand, on her arm rest.
she had a lot on her mind, but she decided to start off with the most relevant stressor to her. "This design I'm doing—or attempting to do for the new ivy collection. winters comming in only a few months and I need to sketch them out. but it's infuriating.." she complained, reaching over in her desk drawer for her rubix cube.
when she was forced to talk about how she was feeling she found it easier to mindlessly solve one, but she could never flat out lay it on her desk. she found that slightly embarrassing.
as she switched the colors around she continued her rant.
"I cant choose between color schemes for practically anything. and my minds always everywhere but where I need it to be. and your little friend isn't making it any better. In all honestly I don't need another person to order around." she insisted, and she heard robyn's obnoxious groan.
"oh my god. she's barely started yet—isn't it her first day? come on bey be serious with yourself."
beyoncé rolled her eyes, "whatever,I might just fire her. I can handle things on own I don't need extra help."
the call was silent for a moment, as beyoncé solved one side. all blue.
"you're so fucking stubborn." robyn suddenly spat. it didn't completely surprise beyonce, although it did come out of nowhere and it was so quick it made her pause.
"what?"
"you're so stubborn beyoncé practically every other celebrity who's still mainstream has a personal assistant. you already manage yourself you can't handle every single task of your life by yourself. you've proven that countless times." she snapped, beyoncés eyes narrowed at her answering machine as if it was robyn infront of her.
the island girl continued, however.
"I don't know why I thought you'd change your ways—it's disappointing—really."
the way she spoke was so demeaning, and the last thing beyoncé ever wanted to be told was what was wrong with her.
"shut up robyn."
she did not. beyoncé thought.
"you can't keep a single assistant employee for more than 6 months—"
yellow was completed solved now, she moved onto another side of the rubix cube as she s argued; "that's not true—how dare you—" but robyn wouldn't let her get more than a few words in.
"that's sure as hell is. you're a tyrant! you fire people left and right asoon as they piss you off and half the time—like now it isn't even their fault. you just hate any type of commitment that doesn't bring you monetary vaule."
beyoncés fingers paused their movement as she scoffed loudly at her phone, her muscles tensed up and her jaw clenched.
"you think i'm just some greedy rich asshole who only looks at things for monetary vaule?" she asked as she abruptly stood up from her office chair—the wheels squeaking just a bit under her loud roar of answer. it was a rhetorical question but robyn still answered.
"I think you're a helpless idiot. you won't even accept the personal assistant who can literally do whatever you say. oh but—that doesn't matter. you'll fire her within the next hour anyways because your ego is just so large you can't accept help? get a grip yonce."
beyoncé did get a grip, she gribbed the plastic cube in her hand as she teeth grit. she couldn't believe robyn was talking to her like this—she was challenging her and one thing beyoncé couldn't do is reject one.
"I can keep an assistant for more than 6 months." she claimed confidently. her fury blinded her rational—and unknown to beyonce robyn grinned on the otherside of the phone call.
she got her.
"let's make a bet then. keep onika employed for 6 straight months."
beyoncé laughed, "do you think I'm stupid?"
"do you really want the answer to that question?"
she didn't. not robyn's answer anyways. "you're just doing this so I can keep her employed." she said tentatively.
robyn refuted. "No. I'm doing this so you don't ruin something good for yourself—you need an assistant." beyoncé didn't need anybody. but she didn't like backing down from a challenge. mainly because she hated when robyn of all people was right.
"what's in it for me?" she suddenly asked, sitting down back in her chair with caution to the conversation.
"I'll give you 10 million." robyn offered, beyonce immediately dismissed her with a genuine laugh, "why would i care about something i have too much of anyways ? money means nothing to me robyn." beyoncé noted , she is a billionaire—her net worth grows each year.
"not unless it's an open lot right?"
Now beyoncé was listening.
she sat up in her chair lightly, with a quirked eyebrow and a questioning expression. "what are you talking about?"
"well you've always wanted to expand ivy. you have your sways wanted own alcohol am I correct?" she asked—and she was correct. beyoncé listened with intent. was she offering what she thought?
"I have an open lot for a winery. and a producer. it's in my possession because an old friend just didn't know what to do with it, and i have connection. I'll give the lot, the third party contact plus the 10 million if you keep onika employed for atleast 6 months."
beyoncé prevented herself from verbally expressing any surprise, but she did stare at hee answering machine a little taken back.
beyoncé wanted her own winery, making alcohol is easy—you just need a third party to do it for you. But beyoncé wanted something bigger, something she could call her own. but finding a lot for a winery was more difficult than she anticipated.
red and orange was solved, the rubix cube was almost done as she attempted to entertain this deal. "and.. if I fire her before hand?"
"you'll be putting yourself at a disadvantage. but you won't get the lot, i'll sell it to someone else." robyn said casually, beyoncé bit the inside of her lip and forgot about the cube in her hand as she inched closer to the answering machine.
"and if she...simply just—quits?"
robyn went quiet.
"if she quits—i'll still give you it all."
beyoncé grinned, well that was easy. in her mind—she'd have a winery and no assistant within a few weeks.
HI
i hope you enjoyed the chapter—i know i've been gone—i'm getting back istg.
beyoncé and robyn's deal?
beyoncés attitude?
her convo with shawn?
their relationship?
beyoncés dream?
onika?
any theories or comments leave here! love y'all!!