Onika Cookie Maraj.
"IT'S hard for me to believe you're serious." She's driving me crazy with how she's touching me. I can't think. And the way she's looking at me isn't much better.
At this very moment her sole focus is on me. That penetrating dark gaze of her locked on my face. As if nothing and no one else matters. All that intensity is tough to deal with.
Of course, she wants something from me. Not like she can be a complete ass and expect me to be agreeable.
Despite my instinct to scream No! and flee the restaurant, I take this moment to study her, my gaze roving over her greedily. She's wearing a black sweater that stretches across her chest, emphasizing her broad yet feminine shoulders. Her dark honey hair gleams beneath the soft glow of the lights shining from above.
More than one woman has glanced in her direction since I sat down. Power, wealth, authority, it radiates from Beyoncé in palpable waves. Funny how I can forget that when I'm not around her. How potent she is to my well-being.
Couple all that potency with a devastatingly gorgeous face and outrageously sexy body, no woman is immune.
Including myself, as much as I loath to admit it.
"What's so difficult for you to believe? I've already gotten your boss's approval. We're ready to move forward." She smiles, drags her thumb across my knuckles yet again. A bolt of heat rushes through me at the seemingly innocent touch. She knows what she's doing to me, how she affects me. This is an act to make me agreeable.
Stupid idiot that I am, I'm falling for it despite the warning bells screaming inside my head. "For how long again?"
"Two weeks tops."
How simple she makes it sound. She snaps her fingers and makes it all happen, just like that. Could I really stand to be around her for any extended length of time? I have no willpower when it comes to Beyoncé. She's a weakness of mine. Like indulging in too much chocolate and bad movies on a Sunday afternoon.
Only a million times worse.
"And Sharon readily agreed to this without protest?" I found it hard to believe. She needs me around, she's so busy. I don't know how she can afford to let me go, even if it's only for two weeks.
"The prestige of her design company working with Hush and Knowles is more than enough incentive for her to have you come work for me." She pauses, the confident expression on her face downright breathtaking. "You really think she'd refuse me?"
Could anyone refuse her? She's a Knowles, after all. And so arrogant with it, I wish I could tell her no. Just once. Right now would be the perfect time-but the opportunity she's offering me is just too tempting and Sharon would kill me if she's already agreed. She knows it too. "What you're suggesting... it's crazy. You really think we can get this project off the ground and ready in two weeks?"
"We can do whatever we set our minds to. Just say yes, Onika." Her gaze drops, landing on my mouth, where it lingers a fraction too long. My lips literally tingle, as if she physically touched them.
Extracting my hand from her grasp, relief floods me as I finally break the physical connection between us. When she touches me, I can't think. I have a problem thinking when she's looking at me too, so I drop my gaze. Study the tablecloth in front of me, which is a stark, pure white, made of fine, thick linen.
That I'd rather contemplate a tablecloth shows how powerful Beyoncé's influence is on me. God, I'm weak when it comes to this woman.
Hwe sinfully deep voice breaks through my thoughts. "Stop playing this game, Onika. It's going to happen."
Sighing, I reluctantly lift my gaze. "Fine. When do we leave?"
"Tonight?" She flashes that dazzling smile, the one that dissolves my panties. Sexy, no-good jerk.
Grabbing my wineglass, I drain it, my skin instantly warming from the alcohol. I'll definitely need more wine to get through the rest of this evening. "No way. Tomorrow."
"All right. Tomorrow works," she drawls. "But it'll have to be first thing. I have a few stipulations too."
"I'm sure you do."
"I'll need you to consult with me on everything. Every choice, every decision you need to make. It's not that I don't trust you, but there's a certain aesthetic I want at both locations and I need to ensure your choices meet that aesthetic."
I nod once. Nothing unusual there. "I don't have a problem with that."
"And if I don't like what you suggest, you won't try to convince me otherwise. I have final word." She wraps her fingers around her beer bottle and brings it to her mouth, taking a drink, gorgeously sexy when she swallows, which is insane.
She makes me insane. Her scent, the way she watches me with that calculated, hot gaze. Her mere presence warms my skin, sets fire to my blood. Floods me with memories of our one amazing night together. I both cherish and hate those memories.
And she's drawing out the suspense on purpose. I'm literally sitting on the edge of my seat, waiting to hear what she might say next. "I also want you to move in with me," she finishes once she sets the bottle down.
My mouth drops open, shock rushing through my veins. "Move in with you?" I squeak, clearing my throat.
"I'll need you on site every single day. I'm rushing this project. All decisions we need to make must be quick. I can't have you coming back and forth from San Francisco. I need you with me. Every day. Every night, until the project is finished. At the very least you can stay at Hush."
"Oh, I get exactly what you want from me." A slow-burning rage sweeps over me, making me shake. I push back my chair and stand, glaring down at him. "I'm not going to be another one of your sexual conquests."
Tilting her head back, she watches me, calm as ever. "Don't be angry, Onika. I'm not asking you to have sex with me in order for you to have this project. I'm not that much of an asshole."
God, her words sting. What sort of woman does she think I am? "Yeah, right. Next thing I know I'm flat on my back in your bed. No thank you. You're not going to bribe me with career recognition either." Bending, I grab my purse from the floor and sling it over my shoulder.
"I know the idea of staying with me doesn't make you comfortable, but it's best for the project considering the timeline. Besides, I'm not asking you to wait for me naked in my bed every night, though the idea is appealing." The arrogance dripping from her voice makes me want to hit something. Preferably her. "Come on, I know you haven't forgotten how easy it was between us that night, Onika," she murmurs, her voice low. Sexy.
Ugh.
Her words enflame me, filling me with both lust and anger. I really hate that I still want her. "You're a bastard," I say through clenched teeth before I turn and head toward the door, desperate to escape the suddenly too warm, too confining restaurant.
I hear her call my name. Hear her chair scrape across the floor as she stands and starts to come after me. But I refuse to look back. Choose to ignore the hostess who's calling after me that she still has my coat.
Pushing open the door, I step out into the dark night, deeply breathing the cool air. A flash goes off in my face, I swear I hear them call Beyoncé's name, and I head in the opposite direction, avoiding the paparazzi at all costs. How could I forget they follow Beyoncé everywhere?
God. My head is spinning, and not just from the wine. The stupid photographer is just the tip of my overwhelming iceberg-that Beyoncé demands I work for her. Going above my head to ensure I have no choice but to work for her is infuriating. Never mind that we had sex and she has to bring it up. Like she's trying to use that night against me. I could blame it on the champagne I drank too much of, I suppose.
So freaking embarrassing.
Worse? I know I would've done it without the champagne. I can't blame too much alcohol on my one night with Beyoncé. I was completely sober.
But she's an asshole. A controlling, arrogant jerk who thinks I'm some sort of spineless, stupid girl. I wish I could refuse her but she's effectively trapped me. And why didn't Sharon talk to me about this? I can't quite wrap my head around how she made all of this happen and so quickly.
She's just that powerful, that influential to gain the things-or people-she wants with a simple phone call or snap of her fingers.
Not knowing which way to go, I turn right, heading blindly into the night. Cars pass by, I hear the loud rumble of a city bus as it speeds down the street, and I blink hard, my strides quick, my heart pumping like crazy. A shiver moves through me and I rub my arms with my hands, wishing I had my coat. It's a total favorite; I love that jacket and I'm pissed I left it in the restaurant like an idiot.
God, she's so distracting, it's unfair. Why did she have to be so gorgeous? So freaking irresistible?
I increase my pace, furious at my thoughts. I can hear her right now, following behind me, her determined steps hitting the sidewalk, her huffs of aggravation.
Good. I'm irritating her. Glad to know the feeling is mutual. I need to get away from her.
Far, far away.
"Onika." The woman is as tall as a god with legs as long as my entire body, meaning she easily catches up with me. Her strong fingers clamp around my upper arm and she turns me so I face her. "Don't run away from me."
Her words are spoken as a demand. "Let me go." I struggle against her hold and she tightens her fingers, making it impossible to escape.
Beyoncé pulls me in close, her body heat wrapping around me, her potent scent filling my head, making me weak. "Stop fighting this."
I need my willpower to kick in. It has to or I'll never survive her. "There's no 'this' to fight. I'm not helping you."
Beyoncé looks downright offended at my words. "You don't have a choice. I need you."
"You don't need me. I'm just an easy target." The urge to punch her comes over me, stronger than ever. She has the advantage, knowing how easily I react to her. She's not above using it against me fully either. "I hate that you've done this," I murmur.
"Why?" Her voice is deceptively soft. As persuasive as her fingers stroking my lower back, she's trying to lull me into a false sense of security. Like I'm some sort of cat she can pet and stroke and ease under her spell. I was strong enough before to send her away, to walk away on my own. But am I strong enough now? Can I resist her again? I don't know.
"You've already fooled me once." Not really, but it sounds good. We fooled each other. "I shouldn't let it happen again."
Reaching out, I rest my hand on her chest, desperate to push her away. It's as if my fingers have a mind of their own, though. I curl them into the soft, smooth fabric of her sweater, feeling the steely strength of her just beneath. A trembling sigh leaves me, and I keep my gaze locked on my hand, afraid to look at her. Afraid she'll see everything I feel for her reflected in my eyes.
"I was fooling myself," she finally says as she touches my cheek, slipping her fingers beneath my chin to tilt my head up. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
I frown. Did I hear her right? Did Beyoncé just admit she'd done something wrong? "Well, you did."
Our gazes hold for long, quiet moments heavy with tension. I want to run. Break free of her once and for all and pretend this night never happened. Yet another part of me wants to stay. Wants to agree to what she's asking me. Maybe then I can get one of two things.
Either I can convince Beyoncé we're truly meant to be. Or finally get her out of my system once and for all.
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