Notoriety |a harry styles fan fiction|

Three

My heart thumped in my chest so hard my vision blurred as I drunkenly raced up two flights of stairs. I reached the steel door that would open up into the West Wing and punched in the code to this particular stairwell on the touch pad.

My father had always been obsessed with security, to keep me safe, he had said. I had never asked what I was being kept safe from.

I pushed the door open quietly seeing Harry walking around the corner of the long hallway. I scooped my shoes up off of the ground and let the door click shut softly behind me before I followed. My feet pattered on the blush pink marble and my eyes squinted in the dim lighting.

I peeked around the corner to now see Harry at the end of the hallway holding a cellphone to his ear and peering around the corner at the end of the hall. My wing made a compete circle that encased my room with two entry points. One more hallway and we would be back to the elevator.

"Just get me out of here Malik," He whispered but not quiet enough for me to not hear, "I'm definitely in the wrong place." He paused and I immediately jerked behind the corner in case he heard me behind him.

Only once I heard his footsteps echoing through the halls did I race around the corner and to the end of the hall. I came around just in time to see the elevators click shut.

What the hell was he doing up here?

-

My alarm screeched in my ear at 5am and I groaned as loud as I could before shutting it off.

Not only did I only get about 3 hours of sleep, I was hungover, and my heart was still racing after last nights events. It wasn't just some strange man in my home so close to my room. It was Harry freaking Styles. I had idolized him for years and my friend and I had cried over the fact that we would never get to meet him.

My stomach was sick with embarrassment at that fact, or it could have been the hangover, yep definitely the hangover. I shot over the side of my bed grabbing the little trash can Moira had left for me and heaved up nothing but stomach acid.

Pushing the can away, I rolled out of bed, put my glasses on, and placed my fuzzy socked feet on the marble floor. It's a wonder this whole building didn't collapse with the amount of damn marble in it.

The entire West wing was pink. Blush pink marble floors, light pink walls, most of the curtains were varying shades of pink and up until I was brave enough to ask nearly all decor was pink as well. With my direction the hot pink drapes and comforter were replaced with neutral champagne colors and the pictures of lipstick kisses and pop stars were replaced with those of old Holly Wood glamour.

I walked into my bathroom and the automatic lights subtly powered on brightening as I walked deeper into the room. Approaching the vanity, I rested my hands on the sink and took one long look at myself. My brown hair was matted to the side of my face, my eyebrow hair jutting all different directions, and I had crusted drool, or puke, on the corner of my mouth. I winced turning my arm to see my elbow more clearly, I scraped and bruised it good, but nothing to worry about.

Moira had come into my room about 10 minutes after I settled in and cleaned me up, I swear the woman had a hidden camera in here, and she stayed up and watched it until I returned each night.

Moira had been my nanny for as long as I could remember and until Sophia, who was still more like an older sister, she was the only mother figure I had ever had. Her daughter, Tia, was one of my only friends and the closest thing I had to a sister. She and her mother had been at the Dyson Hotel since before I was born. Tia was a few years older than me and she had gone from running the halls and fangirling in my room with me until the sun came up to hospitality manager of the entire hotel. She was extremely organized and amazing and my father paid her well for it I'm sure.