°•

"Yes, mom, I promise," she replied as she walked with Zayn into the airport. A Bluetooth device was in her ear as she pulled two suitcases alongside her and struggled to keep up with Zayn.

Plus, he was a multimillionaire, so paparazzi followed him every time he went to the airport or any big event. The lights were almost blinding Crissle and she was so over the whole experience.

Meanwhile, Zayn was in business mode, meaning, the cold eyed man was present instead of the adorable boy she saw on the fifth floor. He wasn't harsh to her, though, just anyone else who was in the way.

"Mr. Malik--" one of his guards began.

"Hold on just a second," he replied, looking at Crissle for longer than needed before taking one of her bags and following the security guard to the plane.

Crissle's jaw dropped but she quickly composed herself, continuing the conversations with her mom and catching up the the two fast walking men.

"Enjoy your flight, sir," the guard said, taking his suitcases and Crissle's with him. Zayn looked back and gestured for her to go first, so she did. The paparazzi followed the all the way to the gate, still taking pictures even when they were safely inside the private jet.

"Have fun, pumpkin," her mom said happily. Crissle and Zayn sat down in seats across from each other.

"Mom, it's business, you're not supposed to have fun."

Zayn quirked an eyebrow but she ignored him.

"Yeah, okay. I love you too, bye," she pulled the stupid device off her ear and threw it in the carry on. A stewardess offered them both a drink and Crissle declined. But of course, Zayn took the offer.

"Business isn't fun," Zayn repeated her words, taking a gulp of his champagne and swallowing, "says who?"

"Says me," she crossed her legs and pulled her skirt a little lower, "these trips are boring, Zayn."

"That's because you're with the wrong person," he explained, resting his feet on the seat across from him, "I always have fun."

"You're probably around the right people," Crissle scoffed, "and you get to fuck."

"Who says I won't this time?" he smirked.

"Don't get cocky, Malik," she challenged, "I'm not falling for it."

He bit his lip. "Who says I was talking about fucking you?"

She paused. No one asked, she just assumed.

"Exact--"

"You're not bringing a girl in our room," she ordered, we sleep in the same bed, "which I still don't know why--"

"S'cheaper," he shrugged.

Crissle scoffed. "As if you need to worry about what's cheaper."

He stared at her, a gleam in his eye. "You like me, Ms. Sinclair."

"You like me, Mr. Malik," she retorted.

Zayn nodded dismissively, his lip still between his teeth. "I guess whatever happens, happens."

"We'll see."

"We definitely will."

°•

"So, what exactly am I looking at?" Zayn demanded in a clipped tone.

The head of the building, Mr. Jericho, started to sweat. "Zayn, this is what you proposed in the last meeting, so--"

"So you thought I'd still have the same mindset," he finished, standing up. Zayn was possibly the youngest person in the room but he held his ground, these grown ass men were intimidated by him.

Zayn was a damn toothpick and he scared beer gut ass niggas to death.

"Well, Mr. Jericho," Zayn held his hands behind his back and walked up the the board. The projector's light illuminated against his striking features, making him more admirable. "I changed my mind."

"But--"

"I need more workers, and frankly, more diversity."

"But--"

"Yes?"

"We have another plan," another balding man spoke up.

"What is it?" Zayn seethed.

"If we expand the business we'd have to go to...others and give them jobs."

"I know exactly what you mean by 'others' and that's what I'm telling you to do now. Sit down."

"But--"

"Sit. Down," he commanded again.

The man sat down without another word.

"You can sit down, also," Zayn told the head of the board, "take my seat if you must."

Mr. Jericho sat down, beside Crissle.

She pulled out her iPad, ready to jot down any notes.

Zayn gave her a brief nod and she nodded back, waiting for him to continue. "Now, I know there is a disproportionate amount of people of color in this room..."

Crissle smiled, already liking this.

"And I know your company is all about privilege, something people of color do not have. But," he stopped in front of the projector, a sinister smile taking over his features, "get the fuck over it."

"We're not--"

"Mr. Jericho, please," Zayn held a hand up, stopping him, "all of you men are pricks. I'm surprised you even let me into this building with your close minded views," he furrowed his eyebrows, "or...is it because I'm wealthy? I'm wealthy, and I have more pigment in my skin than you are, and I'm more successful than you lot will ever be."

Oh, she loved this.

"That's what's wrong with the country now," he continued, playing with his beard, "I bet none of you are actually qualified for this job because you're all stupid. This idea? This shit you proposed to me, is just that, shit. I've seen the documents of past people that sent in resumes. Cris?"

Crissle got up and handed him the ready papers of resumes. She stood back, watching Zayn slaughter the masses.

"A Hakeem, Watkins," he read off, "Rashida Brown, Marcus Washington, Cree Welch," he read off a few more names before stopping, "the list goes on and on. And what do these people have in common, gentlemen? Their names. I'm not building my company up to one that discriminates, do you hear me?"

"Zay--"

"It's Mr. Malik to you, John," he snapped at another man, "a basic ass name for a basic ass pretentious cunt. Corporations like you make me sick," he told all of them, "the color of someone's skin is not relevant to their work ethic, you know? Which, is why..."

Crissle braced herself, she knew what was coming.

"In thirty day's time, I expect all of you -- most of you -- at this desk to have cleared out your cubicles and left the building. I'm sure it won't take you all long to find a new job with your complexion, if that's what you call it."

"Mr. Malik," Mr. Jericho, chuckled nervously, standing up from his seat, "I assure you, your company -- this company -- is not racist or discriminatory towards any of the lower class--"

"And that's where you fuck up, Carter," Zayn interrupted, "they are not -- we are not -- lower class citizens. So, I suggest you check yourself before you try to check me."

Crissle could not keep the smile off of her face as he talked, she didn't know Zayn was...this passionate about something. He showed true colors at this meeting and he was most definitely right. Really, there were so many white people in this office she felt out of place.

And they didn't look like they knew much about fashion nor the arts, for that matter.

"Dismissed, gentlemen," Zayn stacked his papers and one by one, the men left the conference room and didn't dare look back.

"You..." Crissle started, walking up to him, "you're amazing."

"Huh?" Zayn turned around and looked at her questioningly.

"This meeting."

"It was weird looking at those people," he shook his head, "none of them I had hired when I started this building six months ago. Six months and they managed to fire my top employees. I'm giving this city a chance and they're making lives harder."

"I didn't know you were so insightful," she smiled wider at his words, "you're standing up for what a lot of people don't address and...wow," she puffed out a breath while he just chuckled.

Zayn leaned against the table and pulled Crissle closed by her waist. They'd never been this close before and it was weird. Comforting and intimate, but weird.

"Ah, Crissle. Some things are just worth fighting for."

°•

WAS THIS OKAY???

hey wassup, it's been a while *dabs*

ok ok zayn

p.s. sorry to any offended but y'all know it's wrong to get mad over straight #facts