°•

Nude.

Nude, lacy, and tight fitting. The dress was the same color as the other one she picked out with Zayn, but this was more of her style. It had a slit which reached up to the top of her left thigh and the material was thick, but somehow lightweight.

And, most of all, Zayn loved it.

"Why do you choose to torture me?" he asked, watching her intently as she tried buttoning the top part in the back. Just one button. "I knew I made a great decision when I made this dress last year."

Crissle hummed. "Thank you for making it. I love it."

"I love you in it," he grinned, pulling her closer to him, "absolutely gorgeous."

Crissle blushed, biting her lip. "Um, is it almost time to go?"

"No, not yet," he separated her legs on top of him and she comfortably straddled his lap, "damn, I picked a good looking assistant, yeah?"

"Zayn, stop," she groaned.

"No, you stop it. Stop groaning or we will be late."

Crissle grinned, adjust her breasts in the strapless dress. She frowned. "Wait, my boobs are too big, I think."

"For this? Or in general? Your tits aren't that big, girl."

"Babe," she slapped his chest and got up, "you're pointing out the obvious yet again."

"Alright, I'm sorry, honeybun," he sat up straighter, "still beautiful, though."

"Thank you," she twirled away and walked downstairs, "I'm going to eat."

"Eat what?" he followed her into the kitchen, opening the fridge while Crissle searched through the cabinets. "You want a--" Zayn's phone rang and he quickly answered it. "Yeah, okay. Alright. Bye."

"Who's that?" she said once he hung up.

"My driver. Said he'll be here in a few."

"Okay," she shoved a whole slice of bread in her mouth, "you...you're so rich but have no food."

"I do, just no real snacks at the moment."

"Baby," she groaned.

"Do it again, baby girl."

"Stop," she giggled, slapping his arm.

°•

"Did I ever tell you how gorgeous you look tonight?"

Crissle looked down at her feet, the heat rising to her cheeks. They were at the business gala now, Zayn had already greeted a few fellow businessmen and was already mak. Quite a few assistants were around her age, and the men were about forty or fifty something. And the assistants served the boss hand and foot. When he snapped his fingers, she was there and at his service like he was a king.

She was disgusted.

"What's that face for?" Zayn questioned with a frown, "you look constipated."

"Nothing," she shook her head and sipped on her champagne, "just...this is disgusting."

"What? The bosses and shit?"

"Yeah, like. The assistants aren't slaves, they assist, which means help, not serve."

"Baby, the workplace is one of the most sexist things there is. The only thing you can do is nothing."

"But--"

"And I don't want you to," he said sternly, watching her every move, "because if somebody hits you -- and they will -- I'll lose my shit."

Crissle smiled. "You'd defend me?"

"Yeah?" he shrugged, pulling her closer by the waist, "it's obvious."

"It isn't."

"It is, baby," he licked his bottom lip, "you're just clueless as fuck."

"M'not," she pouted, "am I really?"

"Yes, no offense."

"And yet, I am."

"Baby," he whined, kissing her cheek.

"Fuck, do that again," she moaned out the words he used all the time, "beg for me."

"Stop it," he grinned, raising his eyebrows, "you wanna play this game?"

"Mhm," she sighed against his lips.

"Well--"

"Mr. Malik," a deep and familiar voice announced itself from behind her.

"Mr. Moyarti," Zayn clenched this jaw subtly. Crissle stood beside him and glanced at him up and down.

"Happy to see you again," Richard smiled genuinely, "and your assistant. Ms. Sinclair, was it?"

Crissle didn't speak, just glared at him.

"You have a name, don't you?" he spoke slowly.

"I do, sir. Just, you don't need to know it."

"Richard, what do you want?" Zayn cut in before the tiff could escalate any further.

Crissle noticed his assistant on the side, a hand to her cheek and staring at the floor. She felt bad because this red haired girl was probably just hit by him.

She bit her lip.

"Well, we can have a meeting if you don't touch my workers again," Zayn seethed, "because it will come back to me."

"I assure you nothing happened, sir," Richard's whole demeanor changed to one more vulnerable.

"It did though," Zayn snapped, "now I suggest you leave before you cause a scene."

Richard huffed, glaring at Crissle before pushing his small assistant ahead of him.

"Stay with me the whole night," Zayn ordered, "he looks like he'll start some dumb shit."

She nodded and took Zayn's hand, watching his mood mellow at the direct contact. "I hate this."

"Me too," he looked around the room, his eyes squinting as he focused on something ahead.

"What's wrong?"

"Just watching Richard," he licked his lip and looked down at her. A lopsided smile formed on his face. "Wanna dance with me?"

"Can you dance?"

"Ha ha. Come on," he kept his hand in hers and backed up towards the dancefloor. The crowd grew as a ballroom music number commenced, one more known, Crissle guessed.

She put her arms around his neck while he held her waist, skimming down to her hips.

"You still look gorgeous," Zayn whispered, "even when you look like you're thinking about overthrowing the government."

"Everyday," she hummed, smiling at him.

"I'll fund you."

"Thank you, that's so sweet."

Zayn grinned, leaning down to kiss her softly. They were aware of the clicks and flashes of cameras but apparently Zayn didn't care. And that made Crissle happy.

"I have to pee," she stated after ten minutes of twirling and humming between her and Zayn. He nodded wordlessly, grabbing her hand and keeping her close as they moved through other bodies and towards the bathroom. Crissle felt uncomfortable walking past Richard, who still looked bitter, but otherwise, she was fine.

"I'll be out here," Zayn kissed her cheek and let go.

"Okay," she pushed the door open and hiked her dress up so it wouldn't get dirty. It was a process of bunching up the material and trying to pee all in one but she got it. She washed her hands and checked her reflection before leaving.

"Zayn?" Crissle called softly, noticing he wasn't out there anymore.

"Zayn's not here, pumpkin," Richard Moyarti's voice echoed from a corner of the room, "had something to do real quick."

"Thanks," Crissle deadpanned, walking ahead and out to the gala. Before she could go any further, she felt a hand slap her ass. She turned around and slapped Richard, who she assumed it was. His eyes were cold as the red print appeared on his cheek.

"Bitch!" he shoved her against the wall behind them and his throat was to her neck.

"Get off of me!" she kicked his groin and he hunched over. His hand stayed on her neck and she could feel her breath shortening.

"Hey!"

Thank goodness.

Richard was pulled off of Crissle and she slid down the wall, onto the ground. She coughed and tried to regain her breath, watching Zayn repeatedly punch the older man in the face.

"Don't you ever touch her again, do you hear me?" Zayn snapped, his foot to Richard's neck. He couldn't speak though, so Zayn kicked his side before rushing over to Crissle. He helped her get up, and she clutched his arm, her face hidden in his chest as she cried silently.

"Criss, come on, baby," he whispered, "do you need to go to the hospital?"

"No, no," she croaked, holding him tighter than ever, "I just...can we go home?"

"Of course, I just texted my driver. He's coming through the back so paparazzi won't notice."

Crissle just nodded, still holding onto him even when they walked out of the building and into the black truck.

°•

hi babiesssss I haven't updated in like three days wowowow

BUT LET'S ALL LOOK AT ZAYN'S COMPLEX COVER AND THE INTERVIEW

oh and I'm in the process of writing a jb fanfic (bec I've been justin af since 2009 and I had some inspiration)

bye now babies xx