All String Attached // Larry Stylinson (Mild BDSM)

Chapter 1

"Harry, please?" Zayn begged his flatmate for about the hundredth time. Harry sighed as he looked at his four-year-long best friend looking at him with an expression that bordered on pleading, not that Zayn would ever actually stoop to doing the act. His nose was a concerning shade of red and he sniffled every five seconds. Zayn just had to get sick on the day of the most important interview of his life. After months of stalking and harassing, Zayn had gotten an interview with the Louis Tomlinson and had to make everything go cock-up by getting sick.

Now Zayn's only resort was asking his best friend to do the interview for him, who was currently being difficult to convince. It's amazing actually, Harry thought to himself, how Zayn could manage to still look like he walked out of a Vogue catalog. They both attended the same university and had been best mates ever since Harry shared his secret stash of Haribos during lectures. Harry wondered for a moment, if he should have kept the Haribos to himself, because surely Zayn was just having him on? Him, interviewing one of the biggest business moguls of the decade? 

"Fine, I'll go do your stupid interview." Trying to ignore a Zayn was proving to be futile, and Harry knew he was going to be worn down to agreeing to this either way. Huffing out, Harry tried to keep the stomping to a minimum when he went back to his room to change. Dressed in sweatpants and baggy t-shirts was not how one met a CEO. Harry didn't even know what this guy looked like, but now he had to interview him? For all he knew, Mr. Tomlinson could be a 50-year-old who's just a complete dick. Harry shivered at the thought and changed into something a bit more professional, which consisted of a black shirt underneath a Burberry coat (courtesy of his sister, who could actually afford that in comparison to his broke college student lifestyle) and a pair of jeans that were hopefully not 'artfully' ripped along with a pair of black shoes. 

Fixing his hair sometimes was a lost cause, and today was not one of those days where Harry was marginally blessed with his locks wanting to be tamed, so he just let the whole notion go before walking back to the living room. Zayn, although incapacitated at the moment, still found the time to give him a critical once-over and a nod of approval. Harry rolled his eyes and shoved his wallet and phone in his back pocket before looking back over at Zayn.

"If I'm going to do this interview, I'm taking Ruth." Harry said, and Zayn groaned heavily, but acquiesced nonetheless. The Jaguar XF had been a birthday present from his parents, and Zayn had promptly decided to name the machine something he thought was hot. Harry grinned at that, considering Zayn never trusted anyone with the car before grabbing the keys that were hooked on the back of the door.

"One scratch, dent, anything on her and I'm shaving all your hair off." The threat was palpable in his tone and although Zayn was seemingly pathetic at this point, lying there on the couch wearing nothing but his boxers, Harry didn't doubt that he'd follow through on it nonetheless.

"The interview questions and the recorder." Zayn reminded while pointing to a few papers and a small, black recorder that sat on top of it in front of him on the coffee table. Cursing at his forgetfulness, Harry snatched them up, humming the things he needed to do under his breath.

"Alright, ask him questions, record the stuff he says, and get out of there as soon as possible." Zayn gave a lazy wave. Harry took a deep breath and walked out the door, getting into the elevator and leaning back against the wall as he reminded himself that this was just an interview for the student magazine, not something that was going to end up on the news, as his brain liked to sabotage him by heightening his anxiety.

Harry bit his lip, a habit he's never grown out of, as he let his mind wander. No doubt that this guy was filthy rich, and could be very intimidating. Only then he remembered that he had to drive four hellish hours to get to London and had to be on time so he doesn't make a fool out of himself. Harry groaned, the elevator doors opened and he went on walking to the parking lot where Zayn's car was.

Preparing for the long and treacherous four-hour-long drive that awaited him, Harry put the keys into ignition and the engine of the car purred to life. Though Harry did drive well, he wasn't part of the sub-group of drivers that actually liked to drive. Maybe at night, when the streets were empty, but in the morning when he just remembered that he didn't even grab a banana for breakfast and had an assignment to hand in by twelve, things were a significant shit-show.

After the four hours flew by with him grumbling that 70's rock music wasn't on Zayn's stupid car radio, he was soon standing in front of a gigantic- emphasis on gigantic- glass building. It was huge- twenty stories at least, all curved from glass and steel with Tomlinson's Enterprises Holdings written discreetly over the looming front doors, guarded by two men who didn't look too friendly. Harry sighed as he walked towards the building and shuffled in, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. 

The attendants here and there were all wearing sharp-looking white suits and nearly everyone was blonde, for some odd reason. Harry gulped, feeling like he was horribly out of place. Maybe he should've worn a colored shirt, his all-black outfit making it seem like he was about to attend a funeral. An attendant caught his nervous eyes and walked over to him. Like the guards stationed outside the doors who checked him when he came in, she didn't look particularly friendly either. 

"Yes?" She asked Harry in a very clipped tone.

"I have an interview with Mr. Tomlinson, I'm filling in for Zayn Malik. University of Manchester." Harry said and prayed that she didn't hear the nervousness in his voice. She gave him an amused once-over and yes, it was official, Harry should've stayed at the flat and let Zayn wallow in misery. Everything in here was sophisticated and prim. And then there was Harry with his wayward hair that he regretted not fixing.

The attendant nodded shortly and walked over to the front desk, Harry following behind her because that was what he was supposed to do, right? She talked to the receptionist- a brunette, thankfully- and before handing Harry a pass with 'VISITOR' firmly stamped on it.

Blondie Number One- as Harry dubbed her in his head- lead him to the elevator and pressed the button to the topmost floor, the twenty-eighth.

"Knock first, he might be busy. You're expected so don't bother dragging the time with the introductions." Harry wondered for a moment if all the interviewers this Mr. Tomlinson had blabbered on and on in the beginning for Blondie Number One to warn him against it. The elevator door let out what felt like an ominuous 'ding' and just a few steps away were two gigantic oak doors. The attendant left him on his own and he knocked twice before hearing a muffled 'come in'. Harry took a deep breath before opening the door and of course, falling face-first to the floor.