Love You Goodbye (h.s. au)

39

The ticking of the grandfather clock in the sitting area we currently resided was loud in the silent room. The air was thick with tension, the energy filled with hostility that ping ponged between both men on opposite couches. Harry was coiled tight beside me, like a snake ready to strike at the first sign of danger. He sat forward, with his elbows on his knees and hands clasped tightly together between them. Jaw set, eyes hard on his father who sat in a large mahogany arm chair.

Alexander Styles reeked of rich arrogance and a man that thought he controlled the room. He wore a pressed charcoal suit that sculpted his tall frame, pulling tight at the thighs from his ankle resting atop it. The strands of silver in his hair glinted in the light coming in from the window at the far right and left a shadow to fall over the left side of his face. His arms rested along the arms of the chair, fingers drumming slowly against the dark fabric, while his narrowed gaze surveyed Harry and I.

Being under his scrutiny was not something I desired, or particularly liked. My back was ramrod straight, -which as someone who slouches constantly- is not ideal. My hands were sweaty, and my throat felt as dry as a desert. I was too afraid to ask for some water, so thirsting in the most literal sense was my only option.

"Was there a reason you wanted to have us sit here or can we go?" Harry asks impatiently and I try my hardest not to wince at the sound of his annoyance. I've only just met his father, but I know it can't be good to speak to a man like Mr. Styles in that way. 

"Of course. I wanted to meet your friend in a more appropriate setting. Surely, you don't think we should become acquainted when you've got your mouth on her tits, do you?"

My mouth drops, and I choke on my own saliva. My face flames and I don't have to look in a mirror to know it resembles the color of a tomato. Jesus. He doesn't beat around the bush, does he? "Mr. Styles, I apologize for...that." I stammer out, nervously wiping my hands on my jeans but Harry shakes his head at me and I clamp my mouth shut.

"Don't speak about her that way. You walked into my room without knocking. What I do with her is not your business." I've never heard Harry sound so angry before and I shift uncomfortably on the couch. I didn't think the tension could rise anymore, but clearly I was wrong.

Mr. Styles' grin barely touches his eyes and he laughs humorlessly. "This is my house. I can walk into any room I'd like. As for who you choose to bed, it's my business when you've chosen...inadequate company."

I blink, processing the fact he'd just insulted me. Inadequate? Anger simmers, the intimidation he'd made me feel lessening as my temper overpowers it, and I'm ready to run my mouth when Mr. Styles holds a hand up to stop me. "Please, don't waste your breath. I don't mean to offend you, but with our class I have to worry about the kind of company my son keeps. With him off at that school running through women like it's a marathon, I'm concerned he's going to end up with a disease. Or worse, impregnating a less than suitable companion."

"That's enough." Harry shoots up from his spot, hands balled into fists at his sides. "Avri, let's go."

"Sit down." Mr. Styles orders, his tone leaving no room for an argument. His gaze is fierce on Harry, dark green eyes following his son who hesitates, then drops back down beside me reluctantly. "I have every right to voice my concerns. You don't think I'm aware of your dirty activities? I am. And it needs to stop before you catch something or jeopardize your future at the company."

I frown at the reminder of Harry's many hookups prior to our friendship and shove the hot jealousy that tries to strangle me. He has a past, one I'm very aware of but I don't hold it to him. We had a deal to be exclusive and he's respected it. I don't see a point in bringing up his former lovers but I can tell his father's words bother him. Harry shifts beside me and I want to tell him it's okay when his cheeks begin to pink, spreading down to his neck. He presses his lips in a thin line and glances at me briefly before turning back to his father.