In Her Shadow (Paused)

Boss Talk, Pillow talk

By the time Dana stepped out of her car, the late-morning Chicago air already smelled like strong coffee and too much perfume. She tugged her coat closed and looked up at the gold sign above the door The Urban Exchange: Women in Media Brunch.

She hated these things. Too many smiles, too many cameras, and too many people pretending they liked each other. But her company needed visibility, and she needed her assistant by her side to keep her from cussing anyone out.

"C'mon, Knowles," she said over her shoulder. "You walkin' too slow."

Behind her, Beyoncé hurried to catch up, heels clicking awkwardly against the sidewalk. "Sorry, ma'am, I mean, Dana. I didn't expect Chicago traffic to fight back like that."

Dana glanced at her pink blouse, black pencil skirt, curls bouncing as she tried to adjust her purse strap. The girl looked like springtime in a city full of gray. "You always this nervous before brunch?"

Beyoncé laughed softly. "Only when I'm surrounded by people who use words like brunch as a verb."

Dana snorted. "You gon' fit right in then."

Inside, the event was loud, jazz band in the corner, waiters moving through the crowd with trays of champagne, and a few local celebrities pretending to be humble. Dana moved through it all with that easy authority she'd earned years ago. Beyoncé, though, looked like she'd stepped into another planet.

Every few minutes, someone stopped Dana to shake her hand. Each time, Beyoncé stood quietly beside her, smiling, eyes darting around the room like she was cataloging every detail.

At one point, a slick-suited promoter tried to flirt his way into Dana's good graces. "Ms. Owens," he said, his grin too confident, "you're looking radiant as ever. You remember me?"

Dana gave him a polite smile. "I try to forget men who waste my time."

Beyoncé's lips twitched, trying not to laugh. Dana caught it.

When the man finally slinked away, Dana leaned down just enough to whisper, "You got somethin' you wanna say?"

Beyoncé bit her lip, smirking. "No, ma'am. I was just... impressed with your people skills."

"Mm-hmm." Dana arched a brow. "Country girl got jokes now."

Beyoncé grinned. "Guess Chicago rubbin' off on me."

It surprised Dana how easy that smile hit her, like a shot of warmth under her ribs. She looked away before it showed.

They made it through half the event before Dana noticed Beyoncé had drifted toward a dessert table, staring at something like she'd discovered gold.

"Knowles," Dana called, walking over. "What you starin' at?"

"Peach cobbler." Beyoncé's tone was reverent, like she was seeing God Himself. "They got real crust too. Not that soggy buffet kind."

Dana laughed like really laughed, shoulders shaking. "Girl, you country as hell."

Beyoncé's eyes lit up. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Nah," Dana said, softer now. "I like it."

The words hung between them longer than intended. Long enough that Beyoncé looked down, hiding a shy smile, and long enough for Dana to realize she'd said it out loud.

Before either could address it, a photographer came by, asking for a picture of "Chicago's powerhouse women." Dana didn't usually do photos, but with Beyoncé beside her — laughing nervously, brushing a curl behind her ear, she didn't protest.