Intertwined [h.s.]

Ch 2

[H]

Bloody fucking hell it's hot. That's it, that's the only sentence in my head right now. I think I hate Fort Lauderdale. It's utterly ridiculous how involved this is. I know they 'can't' but they really could just toss it in a bin and tell me where to fish it out. Only problem is the paparazzi who might see it or the fans who would notice and wonder what the hell I'm doing digging through the rubbish. I do think they like getting me swarmed by sweaty "fans," though.

Honestly it's kinda cool having people know who I am but sometimes that could be a really bad thing. Like now, I have to wait on the damned sand on a Florida beach of all places. Florida really is just the absolute swamps of the states and I'll be telling my fans that later this week, I don't care what they think.

I don't think anything of the little girl building a sandcastle by the water, I'm used to kids. Being the oldest of 5 is an interesting battle but because I'm never home I only ever really talk to Khan. He updates me, I update him, and then I'll call him the next week at the same time every time. I have a timer set on my phone to remind me in case I'm in a city with a different time zone than back home, like right now and almost every other week out of the year.

The kid starts crying and pulling on one of her braids and I look in her direction and watch to see her mom scoop her up. Average height, with a gorgeous tanned sepia skin tone, a curvy hourglass figure with a sculpted ass and thick thighs that slimmed the further down my eyes traveled. She sees me looking and I glance in another direction as I bring my hand to my face, almost wiping my jawline with my hand. Bringing my head back to its original position I make eye contact with this anonymous beauty and smile as I check my watch, 13:57 and bring my sunglasses down.

She's gorgeous that's for sure, but I can't get involved with anyone right now. Especially not with an upcoming assignment in less than 5 minutes. Picking my feet up out of the sand I see the ice cream cart guy a little ways down the beach. I use the time it's going to take for him to get here to pull my shirt on, which knocks my sunglasses off my face a bit so I have to adjust them, jam my feet back into my dirty ass white vans not even bothering with socks, and to pick up the chair they gave me which, quite conveniently I might add, can be carried as a daypack. Having timed it about good enough I stand around just looking at the water with the stupid chair on my back like a tourist waiting for him to get closer.

He calls out "Ice cream!!! Buy ice cream!!" as he nears, making himself known to people on the beach.

I walk over and take out a folded fiver and a piece of paper that was tucked inside the money. "Can I get a chipwich?" I say nonchalantly, trying to sell the whole discreet act they said was necessary to allow my Dead Eye involvement to remain undiscovered.

"One chipwich please." She says to the vendor at the same time as me, while holding her now sniffling daughter on her hip.

The vendor, who I'm almost positive works for D.E. same as me, just at a much, much lower level, looks startled at her request being the same as mine. If this guy was involved he should know from my tattoo.

Shit. Shit shit shitshitshitshitshit. This probably could have been prevented but hey! We're here now! My thoughts rush through my head but I keep a calm face.

"Yeah I kind of need that chipwich." I say, turning to the quite lovely mother next to me.

She cocks her head to the side, presumably confused.  "And why, Mr. Styles, do you need that particular ice cream more than my niece does?" She asks me, making it obvious she knows who I am and why I was looking at her, even though I kind of don't really care much. For that matter, nor do I care much that she's not the girl's mother, but her aunt instead.  The only thing I even kind of care about is the instructions I have to retrieve that I'd been told were printed on the paper wrapper, disguised as ingredients.