Ms. Hamilton...
there is someone here to see you," the receptionist; Nadiah, routined voice static through the intercom, causing an delay to deliver her next words on her personal phone. "It's very important, ma'am," she clarified after a short pause and the machine click with a monotone beep. Her face remains neutral and her fudge, brown eyes flashes with a glare.
"My meeting starts in two minutes," she simply reported back, index finger holding the intercom button against its will. The receptionist collected herself after a few mumbles.
The intercom clicked, "It's the girl with green eyes. Would you like for me to send her up or have her continue to wait until the meeting is over?"
"No, no," she re-adjust her body, then twisted in her chair, pulling herself up to the clear desk, "Send her up, please, and tell her to wait by the elevator," she ordered before slacking back into her chair, fingers fidgeting with her bottom lip as her arm rest along the arm's chair. After relaxing that period of time, she fled to her old assistant office-across from her, but a few doors down.
"Knock, knock," she enters just as the assistant; Mya, grabbed the things she needed for the meeting. Her head popped up for a millisecond before grabbing one of the pens from rolling to the ground, "Ready, gorgeous?"
"Yes, Ms. Hamilton," she grunts lowly, unmoved by her boss presence, straightening out her vanilla folder in the process. The southern native's teeth could've fallen to dust at the amount of grinding that was done.
"Say my name like you have some pride," she snarled as her eyebrows brood, casting down her chin in a daring way, "If you can't do that, I'll fuck you so hard you just might forget the abilities to remember your own name, but you'll remember mines-always," Mya doesn't like the way her lips churn into an arrogant smirk-never did, never will. But she loathes how it make her knees buckle and her stomach turn inside out, "Lets go," she demands forcing the other girl to let out a breath of relief once she disappeared in a split second.
Good for her. She doesn't have to face those soul snatching eyes any longer.
The blanch cuban stood waiting by the elevator as told, eyes scanning every employee movements; from clicking away on the computer to sipping on their coffee from Starbucks. "Such an appropriate attire to wear, little one," the sultry voice spoke with the click of her heels, making the hair on the back of her neck spring up. Noted, she spoke in her head. The cuban definitely won't listen to Harry on fashion advice again.
Later, a caramel women rush out of, what Lauren assumes, her office with a few things in her hand. Those are required for a meeting? It's not a lot, but not less than, either. "Follow me," the sable woman instructed, inching closer and closer to the cuban; whom begin to fidget as the owner click the up button. Her assistant stood most likely six inches from behind her. If the latina didn't know any better, she would believe that Normani made a rule of some sort to not be close to her. She seems like that type, she balance the thought in her head.
"Yes, it is a rule," the owner of the building jumbles her thoughts by answering her question, "Six inches apart."
The freaked-out latina didn't have the time to actually freak-out but she swallows largely, then followed the both of the females into the elevator. Hazel eyes examined the light-skinned woman legs-smooth and long. Same thing with the receptionist. Bright, dark skin covered her like a wrapper of some expensive candy. Her calves were structured and her thighs were thick, very thick. Beautiful 4-c hair, which some african-americans would cry about but she rocked her afro-puff like any other regular style.
It made the cuban jealous, she was attractive. The type of women that could-or maybe will, make you fall in love with her then leave you. It was clear she was a man-eater. Well, in Lauren's opinion. She is too gorgeous to not be one. Hell, probably Lauren would've fallen into her trap.
"Mya. This is Lauren, the new assistant until you leave," the ebony woman announces, buttoning up one of the buttons on her blazer; showcasing her toned arms. "She doesn't have the title yet, but I need you to teach her what I taught you once we're done with the meeting-understood?"
"Yes, Ms. Hamilton," she stated with more confidence than the previous time.
"And Lauren. If you want this job, please watch and learn. I would hate to have to decline you after seeing you can't follow simple rules," the elevator door glides open, presenting a new and much calmer floor. Mya looks over at her expectingly, a glimpse of fear written across her chestnut eyes.
"Uh-"
"Well, lets get this show on the road, we're already late," Normani says clear enough for the both of them to comprehend, stepping out. Mya gasp; almost igniting fire in her lungs from how much breath it took away, and Lauren look back. The tan woman slowly strolls out, looking at the latina as if she had the audacity to do as she pleases.
"Is, umm...is there a problem?" the latina whispered to the taller girl who decided break out of her trance and catch up.
"Yes. You're not suppose to follow her out immediately. You almost tripped on the back of her heel. She hates people who are near her, especially behind her when she can't see the person," she explained, "Even though she has eyes in the back of her head," she grumbles in an half-joking way to lighten the mood and Lauren laughs, making Mya smiles just a little. It is cute. Way too adorable for this world. And for Ms. Hamilton. All she is going to do is break her and mold her into her own's. You're going to enjoy it for the time being but it gets old and tiring. Then sometimes, it get dangerous.
"Mya!" the owner called the caramel woman out and her heart pierce through her skin; in her mind, she can visibly hear the skin rip. The flames melts the shine in her brown eyes, and Mya knew she was getting punish later on.
"Come on, lets go," she quickly grabs the latina hand, pulling her along like a string. "We can talk after the meeting."
"...okay," Lauren lowly mumbles, avoiding the chocolate eyes on her.
•¥•
"Okay, first thing first-never call her by her first name, unless she gives you permission," Mya clapped her hands nearly after each word as she annotated, gradually pacing in the office. "I don't care if you're outside of the work area. Catching each other outside-which is rare, or even if you'd known her almost your whole life," she pauses and stuck her hands behind her back, then resume her speech, "Do not call her by her first name."
"Un-understood," the cuban nods, straighten up her posture.
"Now, all the other rules are simple but not really. You'll get the hang of it," Mya saw the terrifying look ruling over her face and snorted out, sitting down on the edge of her desk, "Don't worry, baby girl. I'll be here till you get everything right. I won't throw you out into the wolves like that," she folded her arms as she clarified.
"...when will I get permission?" her quiet voice sounded like a hush and the tan women would've blush at the adorableness, but her mind had a vision. Facing the brown-haired latina, her teeth graze over her bottom lip on its own accord, blankly staring at the wall above her.
"In due time," she cleared her throat then softly shook her, she felt foolish. This pretty little girl, who she still considers a teenager by the way, will learn as time grow. Ms. Hamilton is not really fond on spoilers; because there aren't any spoilers in life, is what she'd said one day when she was in training. She'd ask a question since she knew she was going to be here for quite some time. 'Will I be able to warn the other girls?' that was the question.
"Knock, knock," Normani's knuckles rapped on the door, and Mya instantly remove herself from her position as she enters halfway, "I'm here to borrow Lauren, and you can clear any unimportant meetings and schedule them for tomorrow," Mya cranes her neck behind her, facing the latina who hesitantly stood up from Mya's rolling chair. It like those eyes never seems to leave her body; tracing every move she makes, every breath she takes. Lauren can't help but feel watched 24/7, though she isn't. She just feels like she has a stalker every time she appears to be around Normani.
"We'll be going on our lunch break," Normani informs her as the assistant squirm, gesturing out her hand for the cuban to follow. Once outside the door, Lauren notice out the side of her eyes; Normani taking a few strides inside due to her presence isn't floating near the door. A few foreign words were pass around as whispers. It appears to be french. And the only Lauren know is, bonjour. "I know a place where they make the best spaghetti," the jolt from the cuban lets the ebony women know she frightened her. Her skin practically ran from her flesh. "Call Jeremiah," she speaks into the iPhone six-plus, slaying Lauren's android to death.
The feminine robotic voice repeated. Glittering brown eyes traces over the cuban's face for the umpteeth time, compressing the back of her teeth. Lauren dodges the brief stare, which feels like a lifetime, softly shoving her hair behind her ear.
"Yello'," the chipper man greeted, breaking the tension between them. "Whatever is it that you need, Ms. Hamilton?" he taunted with a fake British accent, and the owner absolutely hated the smile bursting through the phone. The ebony woman growled under her breath with clinch eyes, seeming to take a moment before she actually blows.
"Follow," she softly grunt to Lauren, then started heading towards the elevator, leaving Lauren to rush behind her; almost breaking her face in the process, "I need you to pull up-asap. If you're not at the entrance in the next minute or so, you're fired, playboy," she spat back with naughty grin, and Lauren can't detect if she is being playful or authentic. "How do you like it so far, pretty woman?" she ask, easily slipping in the non-stopping compliments, tapping the down button. Lauren head perk up, silently quivering from nearly bombarding her body into hers.
"Uh-uh, it was goo-great so far," she sputters, her eyelids blinking multiple times, and her arms mildly swinging back and forth. "I-I will be sure to enjoy working here," she breathes out, a small smile scrambles to her lips.
"Great," the elevator ding and the metal door glides open, and then she says, "I'll make sure you will."
The walk to the lobby wasn't long, under thirty-five seconds, to be exact. Instantly Lauren's eyes flew directly to Nadiah and received a warm grin that made her blush like a high school girl. "Going to lunch, Ms. Hamilton?" the goddess questioned, stacking up a thick pile of paper. Lauren eyebrows furrowed. She could end up with a paper-cut for christ stakes.
"As of matter of fact, we are," she answered, making her way to the receptionist while palming her back pocket. "Here. A hundred dollar bill-buy whatever you like." Later, the two were out the door and the driver was already outside; leaning against the car, arms folded and legs cross at the ankle along with a smug grin eating up his face.
"To where Ms. Hamilton?" he opened the back car open, playfully gesturing his hand towards the seat; the grin seems permanent according to Lauren. Probably a goofball, she thinks. Ms. Hamilton mention the restaurant and he nods in understanding with much more sincerity. The drive to the restaurant was still and peaceful, she nearly fell into a slumber. Also, it felt rich. Like she didn't belong there, yet, she did. "We're here. I'll be waiting for you."
•¥•
"So," the owner started, unfolding the napkin then smoothes the creases out on top of her legs, "Tell me about yourself," her elbows came in contact with the table, and leaned her chin on her fisted fingers. Those cinnamon eyes are taking a troll on the cuban. She forces herself to not be delusional, but how when every time she takes a glimpse they are always glimmering at her. Those eyes curses her to think that she actually care about her. Like she is the only girl in the universe. It's very passionate and addictive, and the cuban definitely doesn't want to form a habit.
The obvious trembling nineteen year old reaches for the glass of water and grabs the object. It's wobbles in her hand for a bit and her stomach grew desirous but it wasn't for the spaghetti she order. It's something else but she can't put her finger on. The sip of water saved her bare throat. Placing the glass down, she ask, "Well, what do you want to know?" Looking up became a well-known mistake.
"Where are you from?" the owner ask; currently her hand glued to the side of her face.
"I'm from Cuba," the pasty cuban told her with a slight smile; evidently missing her country and most of all, her parents.
"Hmm," she hummed and it sound like a song to Lauren, "Nadiah and Mya are both from out of states, too. One from Ghana and one from Trinidad," she informs the latina and her eyes went wide for a millisecond, "I sure do know how to pick 'em?" she mumbles jokingly, clear enough for the both of them. This time it only seems natural to Lauren, it didn't seems weird.
"You take everything to heart," the ebony lift off of her elbow then glance at the kitchen, watching the employees do their job. Her eyes cut back over to Lauren's and her response in her eyes seems to shatter causing her to scoff. "You think too much. I can't possibly have a conversation with you."
"No, I-I, not necessarily," she shuddered, her face struggles to pick one emotion. She tries to be collected and normal but she is obviously panicking.
"How?...if I even look at you, I can watch your brain burn out of thoughts. You're easy to read."
"...easy to read?"
The owner flexes her jaw before bringing her head down, the left corner of her lips pulls up. Facing the patient latina, she nods. In the mean time, Normani's eyes takes her back to fall. Steaming coffee, leaves that effortlessly crumbles to dust, crushed acorns on the ground. They're like a new coat of fresh polish, glistening the dark brown wood, and though the polish is new, it couldn't take away the history that stills lingers around. Now when the sunlights hits them, it is a different story.
"Yes," she verbally answers and pauses, "You're becoming my favorite book."
Over the course of the meal, Lauren fell in love with the restaurant, and not only that, she felt a bit at ease; telling small stories here and there about her and her abuela. Normani smile resembles to be warm-hearted and kind, and so fucking beautiful. If Lauren didn't learn anything else about Normani, she learned that she hates the saying: You should smile more. It'll makes her bitter because the person doesn't know why she isn't smiling; something real and raw could've happened to her, and they wouldn't know or wouldn't care. Even if nothing was wrong, she still just doesn't smile. Another thing she utterly despised is morning breath.
She went on and on about it, and how people can't afford or own a simple thing call gum or tic-tacs. It was overall hilarious. Which brings them to their next topic; love. It all started with one question then it turns into a little debate.
"What about true love?" the latina giggles at the stale facial expression on the other's girl face.
"True love can kiss my black ass," she curses, her smile growing after every word, "I'm not kissing nobody with no stank ass breath-period," she shrugs as Lauren fights to stifle her chuckles. "But it would never get to that point, anyway. Me, kissing someone because I love them-nah, I'm not a lover. And someone getting so close to me...inevitably."
The cuban's eyes darts around her face as her grin faltered, "Why?-"
"-I'm difficult."
"How so?...I don't understand."
"Some people say, each and every person have someone to love them," she states with the tilt of her head, "What if I tell you the truth? What if I say, there isn't love for each and every individual out there?-Maybe I know the truth. Because I'm one of those individuals who has no one to love. And maybe. Just maybe...I don't want to be loved," she clenches her jaw after explaining her theory, and when she felt something she didn't want to feel, she chokes it by occupying herself, filling water in throat.
Lauren look on, then bravely ask, "And what if I tell you, you need it?" the silence made the cuban feel woozy; wrapping tightly around her brain, and the suspense is definitely poisoning her.
"Then you're a pathological liar..."
•¥•
"How was lunch with the famous Ms. Hamilton?" the driver pestered as the cuban obliged to Normani's orders to climb in and wait for her. As the driver shut the door, the cuban couldn't decide if she wanted to respond or tell him off. But then she answered without thinking.
"It was weird," she gently replied once he duck his head in the window. He then got a glimpse of how paltry she really is. It took him a while to respond.
"Really?" the caramel guy questioned, after ripping his eyes off her fidgeting hands.
"Is she always like that? Making people feel uneasy?" she ignored his question and beamed her eyes at his.
He raise his shoulders, "I mean, I don't know. I've known Normani almost my whole life. I haven't experience her making me-or anyone else uncomfortable-"
"Who is that lady she is talking to?" Jeremiah turns around to a degree and his eyebrows creases at the cocoa hand rubbing up and down his boss's arm. He haven't seen that woman since he first started working for Normani. Gabrielle Union, he thought, still as beautiful as ever.
"That is one of her old partners," he nonchalantly said, then turns around to observe the confuse look on her face. "You seem baffled."
"I just thought she didn't do love. That is what I found out recently," she justified, running her fingers through her hair; somehow always touching the roots of her hair made her feel sane.
The driver faintly scoff and Lauren took notice as he turned around for the second time. The older woman places two pecks on each of her cheeks, backing away with a sweet smile. "Who said she ever loved her?"
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