Songbird- Harry Styles

three

Chapter 3

The elevator door dings and I step out. I am met by the suits sitting at the round table, and my dad welcoming me out of the door.

"Good afternoon sweetheart" he smiles at me and pulls me into a hug.

I hug him back, trying to hide the obvious shock on my face at the gesture. I give him a small smile as he pulls away.

"Hi dad," I say back since he clearly expects a greeting and I wasn't going to make the meeting more awkward than it already felt.

He walks back down to his spot at the table as I scan around the table. There are probably about 20 people sitting, including the suits, a few lawyers, my agent, Charlotte (AKA Charlie), a man who I knew to be Jeff Azoff, and none other than Harry fucking Styles sitting right next to him at the end of the table.

Now like I said earlier, I am fairly unphased by things like this. However, this is not just simply anyone and unbothered definitely does not mean blind. My palms went completely sweaty, my blood pressure skyrocketed, my mouth went dry, and I'm sure any color I had left in my face was long gone.

I lock eyes with his green ones and he smirks, sensing the change in my demeanor. I decided to pull myself together, not wanting to be eaten alive at this table.

I extend my hand out, begging for it to stop shaking as he stands up from his seated position and reaches out in return.

"Emory James," I say, introducing myself

He smiles back at me. God, he's gorgeous

"Harry," he says back.

He came in more casual than I did, rocking a pair of athletic shorts and a black 'Pleasing' crewneck.

I tear my eyes away and continue to greet everyone at the table, knowing how these business meetings usually go, knowing we will be in this room going over daunting legal jargon, creative rights, timelines, and much, much more, for hours.

"Okay," my father says, commanding the attention of the room. "Let's get started, shall we?" he suggests.

Everyone nods and mumbles their "yesses" in agreement as the meeting officially begins.

I'm not quite sure why my dad is running the meeting anyway, as this is not his normal role here. A&R execs are not really in charge of the productivity checkups of the most successful artist in the business. Nevertheless, I am still in shock.

"Alright," he continues, standing up and smoothing his dress shirt. "Harry," he begins, looking toward him. "You are signed on to this label under the agreement that you would release three albums, correct?"

Harry over at Jeff, slight annoyance written on his face, but not enough to be noticeable by anyone else at the table.

"That's correct" he responds kindly.

"So, we understand you have had a bit of a break in between your sophomore album and this third one". He says

"Correct again," Harry says. I have never seen a person NOT want to be somewhere more. 

"Well, you know we don't like to rush the creative process, and with your tour coming up within the next few months here, we know you are extremely busy in preparation. However, we would like to get an album out within the next year or so" he continues to speak but I decide to focus my attention elsewhere since my part in this meeting has yet to be discussed.

He was perfect. I had to actively check to make sure my jaw wasn't dragging on the table below me. His hands looked perfectly soft, and his hair was perfectly kept, bouncy even, with a singular curl hung between his eyes that he would push back every once in a while. I focus in on his rings, the HS on his ring and pinky, a pearl on his pointer, and a lion on his other hand. His nails were painted but a little chipped. His tattoo poked out of his left-hand sleeve when he shifted slightly and the way the crewneck fit him just enough to see the white t-shirt underneath the collar. I trail my eyes up his neck and zero in on the perfect curve of his pink lips, the slight stubble on his top lip and chin. What I wasn't expecting was for his eyes to be burning right back into mine when I arrived at them.

My father clears his throat. Jeff looks over at me, slightly amused, Charlie is holding back laughter, and Harry is giving me a smug ass smile letting me know he knew exactly what was happening just then.

He chuckles and motions with his head for me to look back to answer my dad.

"I'm sorry" I respond shakily. "What was the question?"

Please, GOD, I have to leave.

"I asked if you were going to be willing to enter into this contract to work on the new album" he states, my dad, being the only one less than amused at the situation at hand.

"I know it's been a while since you have been in the studio in this capacity, but Harry has mentioned how much he enjoys your art and I think that you would be a great fit for his team and a fresh set of eyes and ears".

Jeff pipes in "We think you are extremely talented and we have been trying to put pen to paper recently and we just think we could use an extra brain" he says, knowing when he says "we", he is really only referring to Harry.

Now I don't keep up too much in the big business side of things, since I primarily wrote for smaller, independent artists before the incident, but I don't live under a rock.

Harry has been plastered all over the media for the last few months. Not in a mid-life crisis spiral type of way, but in a "most successful male artist in the industry" type of way. He has been in and out of clubs, seen leaving hotels with different women, and of course the drug rumors.

Well, I don't know if they are rumors, but hey, if artists didn't experiment with drugs we wouldn't have half of The Beatles' discography. It's a give-and-take.

Either way, I feel as if this is an offer I couldn't refuse. It's been so long since I felt like myself, and this could be the kickstart I need.

"Well," I start, collecting myself. "Considering the success of Fine Line and your self-titled, I would be inclined to say that you don't NEED my help," I say jokingly as I look at him

"But, if you are genuinely interested in my help, I would be honored to partner with you," I say, sincerely

My dad looks like he is about to say something else when I interrupt

"My only stipulation is that I would still like to remain under my pen name, E.J.," I say.

"That's not a problem," Harry says, finally speaking up "I love my art more than anything and I wouldn't be taking a risk like this if I didn't think it would be worth it" he states, a matter of factly.

A risk?

I don't think he intended to be rude, but do they really think that taking me on is a risky move?

I sink back in my chair a little bit and wait for the meeting to be over, avoiding eye contact with the man sitting across from me for the rest of the 2 hours we are in the room, although I can feel his emerald eyes burning into the side of my head from the glances I can see him stealing.

The meeting finally ends and I pack up my things, hoping to catch Charlie on the way out. I say my polite goodbyes and try to swiftly exit, feeling suffocated by the testosterone in the room. I go to the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. I don't look bad, but I am flustered. I am going to be writing Harry Styles' third album. I don't know if I am qualified or even good enough to take on this job and what this demands. This could be really good, or really bad.

I wash my hands and collect myself before walking back out and feeling a body smack into the other side of the bathroom door.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry," I say as I swing the door shut, peeking around to see who I hit

"Jesus E.J can you watch what you're doing?" he chuckles, but I can tell by his tone he is trying to make a great escape and is annoyed that I held him up

I'm surprised he remembered my name honestly. I mean it's not my real name but it works.

"You can call me Emory," I laugh, "And again, I'm really sorry," I say sincerely 

"It's fine Emily, I have to get going. I'll see you next week" he says and walks away with a quickness I have never seen.

Emily?

Nice.