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.
Afterward, as they left the building, Dana found herself walking slower than usual. She wasn't ready to end the moment.
"You did good today," she said.
"Thanks." Beyoncé's voice was light. "You make it look easy."
"It's not. I just don't let people see me sweat."
Beyoncé looked over at her, smiling faintly. "You don't look like you ever sweat."
Dana chuckled, shaking her head. "You keep talkin' slick like that, you gon' find out."
Beyoncé laughed, nervous but real, and Dana realized she liked that sound way too much.
By the time they reached the car, Dana wasn't thinking about the brunch, the clients, or the press.
Just about how dangerously easy it was becoming to look forward to her assistant's company.
By the time Beyoncé got home, she felt like her nerves had been fried in bacon grease. Between Dana's low voice, that suit that fit a little too good, and her saying "I like it" like it meant something, Bey's mind had been doing cartwheels ever since.
She barely had time to drop her purse before the doorbell rang.
Kelly's voice came through the door, all attitude and laughter. "Girl, open up before I catch frostbite out here!"
Bey unlocked it to find Kelly and Michelle standing there, bags of food, a bottle of wine, and matching smirks.
"Surprise girls' night!" Kelly announced, already walking in like she paid rent. "You said you been stressed from that new job, so we came to fix it."
Michelle held up a tray of brownies. "And by fix it, she means eat and talk too much."
Bey groaned but smiled. "Y'all nosy. Come on in."
Minutes later, the living room smelled like Chinese takeout and cheap rosé. Beyoncé sat cross-legged on the couch in her hoodie while Kelly stretched across the floor and Michelle sat perched like the calm one she always pretended to be.
"So," Kelly started, chopsticks waving, "how's working for Miss Dana Owens, Chicago's own Big Boss Lady?"
Bey tried to play it cool, sipping her wine. "It's... good. She's real professional."
Michelle raised an eyebrow. "Professional, huh? You said that with a stutter."
Kelly cackled. "Oh nah, she blushing! Don't tell me you got a lil' crush on your boss."
"I don't," Bey said, which was definitely a lie. "She just.... she got presence, that's all. Like, when she walks in a room, people move. It's intimidating."
Kelly rolled her eyes. "Mm-hmm. You mean fine. Just say she fine."
Bey laughed, throwing a pillow at her. "You childish."
Michelle smiled knowingly. "So what happened today?"
Bey sighed, leaning back. "She took me to this networking brunch. Whole room full of people that talk fast and smile fake. She handled 'em like she owned the place. Then—" She hesitated, suddenly shy. "She told me she liked that I'm country."
Kelly dropped her chopsticks. "Oh, she flirting flirting!"
Michelle gasped dramatically. "That's intimate language, Beyoncé."
"Y'all exaggerating," Bey said, laughing but hiding her face in her hands. "She probably just meant like, my personality."
Kelly smirked. "Or she meant she tryna see if that country come out after work hours."
"Kelly!" Michelle yelled, but she was laughing too hard to sound serious.
Bey laughed so hard her stomach hurt. "Y'all gon' get me fired!"
Kelly snorted. "Only if you get caught."
Bey rolled her eyes but smiled, warmth blooming in her chest. Truth was, Dana's voice had stuck with her all night, low, confident, teasing. Every "good girl," every side glance. It did something to her she wasn't ready to name yet.
As the night wore on, they turned on old sitcom reruns, hair bonnets came out, and laughter filled every corner. Between bites of brownies and gossip, Beyoncé felt lighter, but every time her phone buzzed, a small, hopeful part of her wished it was Dana.
When Kelly and Michelle finally crashed on the couch, Beyoncé lay awake for a while, staring at the ceiling.
Her thoughts whispered back to that smile across the table, that quiet "I like it."
And somewhere between midnight and sleep, she admitted it at least to herself:
Yeah. She definitely had a crush on her boss.
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