The Collection- Harry Styles

{Milking the Grip} i

Once a week, on Tuesdays, self-control becomes absolutely necessary for Y/N.

The routine is normal and she's been following it for about six months. Wake up at six, shower, get dressed, make coffee, gather her things for the day, drive the twenty-one minutes outside of the city to the house of one Mr. Harry Styles.

Yes. That Harry Styles.

By word of mouth and mutual friends, Y/N wound up employed under the former singer's payroll as a babysitter for his now two-year-old daughter. She only watches little Georgia every Tuesday. 7:30am to 7:30pm. It's not a bad gig. Mr. Styles pays her plenty and never forgets to leave his card in case they want to go out to do something or get food. He always refers to it as the 'Georgie and Y/N card' because it only ever gets used on Tuesdays.

Every Tuesday, he goes golfing. One round, eighteen holes. Every single Tuesday for six months. It's the only weekday he takes off, weekends spent doing absolutely whatever his daughter says. He golfs alone, or she assumes he does because he never mentions playing with anyone else. He's got a premium membership at Valhalla Springs.

Which just so happens to be the golf course Y/N works at Thursday-Sunday. Those are the busy times, especially during the summer months.

They've never had to cross paths at the course, thank God, because she doesn't think she'd be able to handle the mortification of her boss knowing her whole other job was to drive around the golf course selling beer to guys while wearing a skimpy skirt and low cut top so they'd tip her more.

Jesus, she really doesn't think she'd be able to handle him seeing her in anything other than bike shorts and a hoodie from Goodwill.

"We play?"

The red-cheeked toddler offers Y/N one of her baby dolls. She always looks as if she's gotten a bit rosy from the sun or just laughed for ten minutes.

"Of course." Y/N takes the doll from her and slides down into the floor from the rocking chair.

Georgia is on a pretty routine schedule, especially in the evenings. Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday she attends an early-age Montessori preschool. On Tuesdays, she gets a break and gets to be at home all day with Y/N, where she wakes up at 8 to see her dad off for his golf day, gets French toast for breakfast, and then the day goes from there. But always, always, she eats dinner at 6, play time til 7 when she gets a bath, and then bed at 8.

Georgia's got a pretty active imagination and bright personality, which Y/N is sure she got from Mr. Styles. She doesn't know anything at all about her mom and it seems like a 'don't ask-don't tell' sort of situation.

The little girl's favorite doll is a rag doll with bright yellow yarn hair and oozes of Sharpie doodles all over her cloth skin. All the drawings are in black ink and all are placed in suspiciously the same spots as the tattoos her father sports.

Y/N has never seen a father and daughter so connected. Or so wildly in love with each other. Mr. Styles pretty much lives for the toddler and is righteously wrapped around her finger. Eagerly, he sought out advice on things single fathers needed to know about raising a daughter. He's even asked Y/N to show him different ways to do Georgia's hair so he can branch off from the little ponytail she's almost always sporting. On the flip side, Georgia is thoroughly obsessed with her dad. She can consistently be found toddling along after him around the house, heartily singing his songs back to him. She could spend hours with washable markers, coloring in his tattoos. Playing hair salon and brushing his hair.

They were each other's whole world.

Downstairs, the front door opens and then swings closed. Georgia immediately drops her doll and jumps up to her feet. "Daddy!" Her legs are going at one speed, her mind another. Before an accident can happen, Y/N sweeps her up into her arms.