HARRY
The thing about Mr. Horan was that he was Irish. And loud. And very boisterous, exuberant, possibly richer than me, and very, very Irish. I'd expected it, yes, but I hadn't expected that accent combined with the brazen personality.
"I'm Niall, Niall Horan," He boomed as he stepped into my office, clasping a strong hand into my own. "Nice to meet you, mate. Suppose we'll be seeing quite a lot of each other!" He continued easily, not faltering a bit at my blank stare.
It seemed as if his face was stuck in a grin like that could only be described as jolly. He seemed teetering on the edge of laughter and had golden, messy hair quiffed up off of his forehead. His face was soft and childlike, topped off with baby blue eyes that matched his enthusiasm.
I shook his hand slowly before pulling away. "Harry Styles. Nice to meet you."
Niall rested his hands on his hips in dominant casualty, face clear of anything besides happiness. "Heard a lot about you mate, what you've done is sick. Brother thought it was a joke when I told him you wanted to consult."
"Right," I tried to hide the distaste from my voice for the shake of business as I stepped back, letting the man into my office. "Have you settled into your hotel alright?"
"Yeah, left my assistant to unpack me. Needed some fresh air after being stuck on a fuckin' flight all day. I couldn't stand it, so god damn boring and nothing to do but work. "He wrinkled his nose slightly at the thought, while I was still stuck on 'assistant'. "I'm fuckin' starving."
I leaned back against my desk as he rambled. "Would you like to consult over lunch then, Mr. Horan? There's a few places that I am sure you'd enjoy."
"Call me Niall, please. And that sounds great. I think my driver is still downstairs waiting, yeah? We can take my car."
* * * *
Lunch itself was nothing that I expected.
We went to a classy restaurant on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, which took forever in the traffic and during which Niall never stopped talking. In the first 25 minutes of being in the car with him, I'd practically learned his entire life story.
He came from a family of money -- his father a big time movie producer, his brother the second-highest earning real estate agent in Ireland, and his mother some high profile doctor for famous people -- and so it was only natural that he had come into money himself.
And as soon as we sat down in our corner table (so maybe I owned a portion of the restaurant), Niall ordered his first round of Whiskey (Macallan) and lit up a cigar, then settled back into his chair with his legs crossed at the ankles.
"So Harry," He drawled, plucking the cigar out of his mouth, "Why the hell are you so insistent on my investment. No bullshit."
I cocked an eyebrow at the man. "I want a merger with Zayn Malik."
"That simple?"
"Why wouldn't it be?"
"This whole business world is crazy, that's why. Bunch of pricks waiting to suck up your money and fuck you over. I'll tell you what," he murmured, leaning forward and brushing a wisp of dirty blonde hair off of his forehead, smoke flooding out of his nostrils, "I'm not playing with that shit."
My lips pulled into a thin line. "Neither am I. This is fucking honest, mate, I'm going to make you money while I make money. I'll be big in Britain after this deal. Which means you'll be in Britain. It's a win-win."
"When I get into the business, I'm not going to play games. I'll tell you like it is."
"Good," I murmured, swirling my glass with my free hand. "I respect that."
"Then we're good, mate. Then we're gonna be good." His eyes were twinkling as he settled back in a relaxed manner with his glass already empty in his hands. "Let's talk details."
The afternoon went on, and I became more and more impressed with the damn kid, with his constant stream of cigars and easy manner, at the same time his Rolex twinkled on his wrist. Topics quickly strayed from business and he had plenty of stories to tell.
Our ties were loosened on our necks as the lights dimmed outside and started twinkling overhead. Niall ordered enough food to probably feed the entire restaurant and than proceeded to eat every single bit of it, and then three more glasses of Macallan.
And hours later when we left the restaurant, his assistant was right there waiting with a message list of missed calls and only the important emails he had gotten already pulled up on a smart phone. He gave her a grateful nod and began flipping through the phone.
"This is what I mean by bullshit," he mumbled under his breath, wiping a sheen of sweat off of his forehead as we walked towards the waiting car. "300 emails and only two enough are important enough for me to waste my time on. You're lucky you can ignore this shit."
My fingertips twitched at my side. Ignoring that shit was actually me trying to impress the guy into investing his hoards of money into my still-growing empire. An afternoon of drinking with a prominent businessman wasn't exactly what I was planning on doing, but I'd take it if that's what he wanted.
The driver swung the door to the waiting car open as we approached. "Where to, Mr. Styles?"
"My office," I replied, teeth gritted in anxiousness at the mounds of awaiting organising and perfecting I had to do.
Niall slid into the backseat behind me, still tapping away on his iPhone. "We should go to lunch tomorrow, mate." He said happily, fingertips moving across the screen. "I can call your assistant to set it up."
"I do not have an assistant. Just call me."
He gave me a look of disbelief. "Secretary?"
"Two, to deal with easy shit. What time for lunch?"
"You're fuckin' insane. No wonder you look like you're about to have a heart attack right now. That's fuckin' insane. Hire one." He paused and gave me a twinkling smile before pulling a cigarette case out of his pocket. "We'll brunch at eleven."
* * * *
At approximately eleven am sharp, James pulled up outside the restaurant that Niall had picked for his morning shenanigans, which were bound to be filled with more drinks and expensive cigars. Which as appalling considering the amount of shit I had to do at the office.
He stood as he greeted me, clasping a pale hand around my own before sinking back into his chair. There was already a cigar dangling in between his fingers, which I was fairly sure wasn't even allowed in this restaurant, but I guessed that was one of the perks of having money that I had yet to take advantage of.
"Harry Styles," he said warmly. "How are you?"
I ignored the migraine at the back of my head and nodded with what I hoped was at least a halfway-convincing smile. "Very well, thank you. And yourself?"
Niall swirled his glass of orange juice. "I thought we agree to no bullshit."
"I'm not bullshitting," I scoffed.
"You look like you might have something stuck up your ass, mate, if I'm honest."
My eyes narrowed onto him, "I thought we were talking business."
Niall merely grinned, unfazed. "We are. Mimosa?"
The server appeared at our side before I could answer, already pouring a champagne and orange juice mix into my drink. There was no way he didn't plan that, I thought idly, watching as he handed her an array of bills before she fucking curtsied and walked away.
I tried to hide the smile as I picked up the glass. "Did she just curtsy?"
"It's the accent," he replied easily. "And the money, probably. Both seem to work well. And judging by the shit that came up when I googled you, you know exactly what I mean, Harry Styles."
"I'm afraid I don't."
Niall just shrugged and stubbed out his cigar, setting clear eyes on me. "Yes, you do. That model that you walked around with, yeah? She was hot. And that brunette that went to your charity thing, she was —"
I went rigid in my seat. "Don't."
"— hot," Niall continued, because he apparently had no idea how to interpret social cues. "And literally every employee that you are currently paying. Hot."
"Niall."
He cocked an easy eyebrow, sipping on his morning mimosa. It was only five minutes in and already another test of my patience versus his brazenness. "Fine, I get it. Won't talk about all the hot girls you apparently know. Now business. How much do I have to put in to be your tip investor?"
"You're doing to invest?"
"Yeah?"
I drained the rest of my drink, watching as Niall began scribbling on the white tablecloth with some pen that he pulled out of his suit pocket. "Why?"
He shrugged, crossing out an array of number on the paper. "Why not? Got a fuck ton of money and not enough to do with it. Plus you're a mate. And I think my return should be, what, a couple percent? Maths, man."
"You have known me for a day and you're going to invest."
"Right." The calculations on the table became more and more complicated as he scribbled. "Wanna talk about how you look like shit, now?"
"No," I scowled.
"Then we don't have to. Hey, there's this women I met last night at some club, fuckin' smart as hell and apparently majored in business. And she speaks French. And she's looking for a job," He stopped his doodling and leaned forward, eyes bright and intent. "Wanna know what that sounds like?"
I didn't even try to hide the way I rolled my eyes. "What?"
"Sounds like an assistant."
"I don't need an assistant," I huffed. "I can do it all."
"Why? Bullshitting around wastes your time and you know it."
I wasn't really sure who this kid was, barging into my office and literally investing millions after knowing me for less than 24 hours. He was intense and loud and relaxed, and proper fucking annoying, but I was actually enjoying talking to him (unlike the other 99% of people I met).
Which was annoying, when there was work to be done and I still wanted to talk to him. He was an overindulged child with a fondness for cigars and expensive liquor. I scowled at him. "You're bullshitting around when you have work to be done."
"No," he said simply, exhaling smoke through his nostrils. "I'm making money just sitting here. You, on the other hand...you're scared everything you've built up is going to collapse around you. That's why you look like shit. The Malik deal was falling through."
A beat of silence. "You know nothing."
"Mate, why don't you just fuckin' enjoy it. This is it —" he spread his arms out wide, champagne glass in one hand and cigar in the other "— so stop worrying about the future and hire an assistant and go hang out with your hot models."
"Norah," I corrected. "Do not call her that, asshole."
His lips grew into a wide, jovial smile. "You're fuckin' in love with the bird. That's what it is."
"Fuck off."
Niall plucked the cigar out of his mouth as he leaned forward, wisps of blonde hair falling across his forehead and eyes bright with ideas. "I'm not playing around — life's too short for that. Stop doing shit that doesn't make you happy right now because you're worried about your future."
"I'm not talking about this with a business partner, "I hissed. "So kindly fuck off. Mate."
He apparently could not be offended or deterred, with either language or cold looks or the obvious cues I was giving that I didn't want to talk. That just obviously wasn't his nature. "I don't know how anyone deals with you."
"Niall," I warned, "another word and I won't accept your investment."
It dawned across his face, a flicker of understanding in his bright blue eyes. "Oh. Yeah." A pause as he sat back, all laissez faire once again. And then; "You should really hire a fucking assistant though."
A slow, strangling sigh escaped my lips. "I don't need one."
"She's smart!" He chimed. "And I've already got her number written down for you."
I inspected his face, eyes narrowed. "Do you have it with you?"
* * * *
NORAH
"Don't forget my birthday!" A light voice bellowed behind us. "I won't let it be overshadowed by Christmas! Not this year!"
Jace slammed the front door to our apartment, effectively shutting his boyfriend up mid-rant about his birthday (which we'd heard approximately 100 times in the past three days), before handing me my afternoon cup of coffee and stalking away.
"He is going to be the death of me," he hissed, pulling a beanie down over his scarred forehead. "I swear it, Norah." He let out another aggravated huff and stomped down the stairs. "What should I get him?"
And right, of course, I had forgotten that Jace and Louis couldn't ever actually be mad at each other. Like ever. They were that couple that everyone thought was absolutely too perfect and therefore hated but also secretly really wanted to be. Infuriating, it was.
We scrambled through a now-snowy Brooklyn as quickly as possible, trying to avoid the masses of people on their own way to work. I had made it through my slight mental breakdown and therefore was ready to return and attempt to get my life back to normal, pre-Harry mode.
My roommate slipped his arm through mine as we manoeuvred through the streets. "We have a meeting when we get back to work. There's been an uproar about the Kimye cover and Victoria is totally annoyed with everything, so we've gotta prepare ourselves."
"I thought the one this morning was the only one today though," I whined. "I hate meetings. And I broke the coffee machine again and she totally knows it was me."
"Again?"
"The little blue button wouldn't light up and I mashed it too hard!"
Jace let out a disbelieving sigh. "How is that even possible? You're the only one who ever breaks it."
"It hates me."
"Because you break it."
"Because it hates me," I huffed, stepping around yet another slow-moving pedestrian. "It hates me so it breaks and then hates me more. It's a never ending cycle."
We came back together with a bumping of shoulders. "We aren't arguing about the feeling of inanimate objects anymore," Jace announced. "There's important things. Like, that page we got sent that morning. We've gotta finish that by Friday."
"The portfolio I got from the photographer was shit, though. We need another."
He nodded in agreement as we pushed through the revolving doors and into the Vogue office, which was lit up already with Christmas decorations and smelled of Chanel no. 5 and coffee. In the corner was the seasonal white tree with silver and gold decorations.
The entire thing was absolutely amazing, and as much as I would never admit it to Jace ("red and green is just so tacky"), I adored every single part of the Christmas season. It as cheerful and bright, and probably the best time to deal with a breakup considering it was impossible to be sad when there were little elves and santas and snowflakes everywhere.
As expected, Jace wrinkled his nose at the decorations and we headed up towards our joint office. It was, unfortunately, void of all Christmas cheer. I was going to have to figure out a way to incorporate the holiday without offending my picky workmate.
I had just settled down in my chair when the door swung open, and fuck it all I half-hoped for Harry to storm in like he'd done before when there was a fight. Instead, I got pink-cheeked Sophia holding a huge box. "Hi!" She cheered, bumping the door shut with her hip.
"That box is literally bigger than you are."
"Heavier, too," she grunted. "I found some Christmas decorations in the storage closet and your office is boring. Let's decorate." There was a loud yes! From me and a flat hell fucking no from Jace. She stuck her tongue out at him. "Two versus one. We win. We're decorating."
"Not even your office," he reminded her.
The intern shot him a cheeky grin as she pulled a snowflake out of the box. "Right. Just like your apartment isn't Louis'. Got it."
* * * *
By the time our office was (somewhat tastefully) decorated in silvery snowflakes and bright whites, I had almost forgotten the whole mental breakdown episode. Plus, it was Christmas, and I didn't need Harry when I had five people I'd consider my best friends at work alone.
I sat to Victoria's right at the meeting, right beside Alice and across from Aaron. Beside my brunette coworker was Jace, and flittering around bringing cups of coffee to everyone at the meeting was Sophia. The promotion over a month ago had apparently finally relieved me of that duty.
My boss brushed her bangs out of her eyes, diamond rings glinting under the lights. "Everyone ready?" There was a mumble of unenthusiastic yes's. A pause. "Sounds great. January's cover is going to be different. The UK office wants something big after the whole Kimye cover fiasco."
"Wasn't it our best selling cover yet?"
"Yes," Victoria quipped. "But some people are psycho and apparently that isn't good enough. Let's think."
And that was all it took for me to zone out of the meeting, because thinking meant thinking about what Jace said a few days ago, about balancing what I needed with what Harry was able to give, and if that was enough for me.
I wanted it be enough. It was, for a while, when he was trying and taking me ice skating and buying me ridiculously beautiful purses that I carried practically everyday. But it wasn't enough when he skipped out on the hospital for a meeting.
"Norah?" Victoria snapped. "Did you hear me?"
"So what if people are psycho?" I huffed, clicking the top onto my pen. "So what if they want perfection out of every single magazine? For fucks same, the magazine cover is literally matching our all-time best sellers. So what if it isn't perfect enough for people who expect everything? You can't have everything you want. The cover was great. The best we've ever had. So fuck psycho people who expect the world. We tried and that should have been enough."
Her right eye twitched. "Interesting thought. Unrelated, but, interesting."
"It should have been enough for the needy people who expect the best," I continued, leaning forward against the glass table. "They need to get over themselves and realise that everything can't be perfect but they can really, really try."
Five blank stares looked back at me, each in various stages of confusion, or shock, or (in Jace's case) understanding. Because Harry was the damn Kimye cover and I was the psycho that expected too much from the best Vogue cover they'd ever seen.
Apparently I was now at the point of comparing my love life to a cover of a fucking magazine. But, then again, considering I'd also once drunkenly told Harry Styles to buy me febreze after screaming that I loved him, it definitely wasn't an all time low.
Which was sort of encouraging.
* * * *
Jace practically tackled me as we exited the meeting, jumping on my back and nuzzling into me. "You're the psycho needy one and Harry is the Kimye cover! I get it! That's a super good comparison, by the way. Props."
"We both obviously need to work on stuff," I responded as I shrugged him off. "Like, Kim Kardashian and Kanye West still aren't at that high fashion level that's totally respectable, but they're working on it. And Harry was working on being a better boyfriend. And I'm psycho."
"You both are, to be fair."
"Noted."
He chuckled deeply and pushed open our office door. "So what are you going to do now? Make a kick ass cover for this month?"
"I don't know," I mumbled. "I don't know how to call him and say that I totally fucked up and I kind of want to kiss him a whole lot and I'm really sorry?"
"That sounds like a good apology."
The phone rang right as I opened my mouth to respond, cutting me off mid-sentence. I looked at it wistfully. "Don't we have an assistant intern for shit like that?"
"I'm angry at assistant intern," The phone rang again and he gave it a wary glance. "She voted against me and now our office looks like a Christmas tree exploded in here."
I nodded in agreement as I looked around, taking in the plethora of lights and shiny objects dangling from the ceiling. Then the phone rang again, breaking me out of my Christmas calm, so with one final groan of frustration I jammed my finger against the speaker button. "Jace and Norah's office."
"Norah."
And holy shit, the voice was deep and raspy and so distinctly Harry that goose bumps raised on my arm and my heart stopped beating and I was pretty sure that this is what it would be like to drown. And then I hung up the phone.
It rang again seconds later, and I jabbed my finger against the reject button over and over, while Jace looked on with wild-eyes. The process went on for a solid minute before the calls came to a sudden stop, leaving the room lapsed in silence.
My mouth dropped open and I turned to Jace. "I just. What."
And then my cell phone buzzed across the table. I jumped across it as fast as possible, snatching the silver iPhone into my hands and swiping across the screen with my bitten-down manicured fingernails. One new text from Harry Styles.
From: Harry Styles, 4:43- Answer the phone.
From: Harry Styles, 4:44- Please.
To: Harry Styles, 4:44- why
From: Harry Styles, 4:45- We need to talk.
To: Harry Styles, 4:45- i need more than a phone call right now. i want to talk in person
To: Harry Styles, 4:45- if you aren't busy or anything
To: Harry Styles 4:45- its okay if you are?? x
From: Harry Styles, 4:46- You're right. And I'm not busy.
From: Harry Styles, 4:46- xx. H
* * * *
Jace and I sat in silence. It didn't take long for the office door to swing open, making me flinch even though it was expected. And there, in a plain black suit jacket and white button down, jeans clinging to his legs, and cheeks flushed from the wind, was Harry.
"We need to talk," he said quietly, eyes shifting to Jace. "Alone."
My roommate left without another word or a second glance back, and Harry was literally standing right in front of me. His eyes had dark bags underneath them and he looked so, so stressed. And he was also so lovely that it almost hurt.
I blinked up at him. "Hi."
"Talk to me." A pause, and Harry ran his hands through his curls desperately, stone cold demeanour starting to crack. "Will you please come back and talk to me? At my house?"
"Yeah. I mean — yeah. I want to talk to you."
Harry just nodded slowly, blazing greens eyes following me as I finally managed to push myself off the desk and somehow not have my shaking legs give out from under me. We walked side by side out of the office building, not a word passing between us.
Outside, James was standing patiently by the familiar Range Rover (I really should have expected that one). Harry's hand barely brushed against my hip as he held open the door and helped me climb up into the waiting car. "Don't trip," he said quietly.
And then we were driving.