Semblance: The outward appearance or apparent form of something, especially when the reality is different.
Avana Moore, the 24 year old tour manager who got her world famous start with Niall Horan, unknowingly gets dragged into another managing job...
Sitting criss cross in Ashton's bed, the sunlight peaking into the room did not help when it came to me needing to stare at my laptop screen.
I decided it was finally time to catch up on work emails. Scheduling for hotels, interviews, and all the other good things that come with being a tour manager.
Yay me.
I didn't sleep well last night. My constant tossing and turning caused Ashton to wake up around seven, asking if I was okay.
He couldn't go back to sleep after I had woken him, and asked if I wanted to join him downstairs. When I let him know I needed to work on emails, he laughed, crossing himself as he exited the room, leaving me alone to do my job that I get paid for.
He didn't want to distract me, yet life has been nothing but distractions, lately.
Like at this moment, even with my eyes fixated on the screen of my laptop, trying my best to read an email that a radio station sent in, requesting for the boys to come in for an interview, my mind ponders to the conversation Ashton and I had last night.
I just didn't understand.
Why would this stranger want me?
Is there not someone who would be a better fit for all of this? I'm literally just a tour manager.
God, I don't get paid enough for this bullshit.
Why would he want me to join these "missions" they go on? Someone who has literally no experience in this category of life.
Hell, I've never even been in a fight-
Well, except for when I punched that guy at the club, but he didn't hit back because he got knocked out.
How do they expect me to possibly kill people?
"God." I sigh, bringing my hands up to my face. I push my reading glasses up, rubbing my eyes viciously.
I slam the laptop shut, standing from the bed.
The rest of these emails can wait, I need a break.
I was still naked from last night, and I was dumb enough to forget clothes that I would have needed for today.
Oh well.
Ashton's closet will do.
He wouldn't mind anyway.
Whistling to myself, I make my way over, opening the ginormous doors to enter the walk in closet. My eyes peak around for something comfortable, and land on the area where he kept all his hoodies.
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For someone who I've known to never be organized in his life, he sure kept his clothes nice and tidy.
I reach up on my tippy toes, pulling down a black hoodie from the hanger it sat on.
