Money is an ordinary thing for Harry Styles. He was born into it, was taught how to easily make it, and how to spend it wisely. His life has been given to him on a silver platter and he loves it. He started Songbird Studios because of it. It did so...
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Today was going to be a new start. This wasn't like the other times. I was working with Zayn and I was going to have the most creative freedom I've ever had. I wasn't going to be another pretty face to the people working above me. Songbird Studios wanted my music.
I had barely gotten a second of sleep last night, something that was pretty normal to me, although my body never seemed to adjust. It took every ounce of energy to push back my covers, place my feet on the floor, and head to the small bathroom down the hall.
It's no secret that living in Los Angeles isn't cheap, so the tiny apartment that could barely fit all my clothes, had leaky sinks and sketchy-looking cracks in the ceiling was what I had to settle for. I had attempted to decorate to the best of my abilities, but I have no eye for decorating. The best I could do was put a pineapple plant, which is definitely dead, in the corner of my living room and one frame on the coffee table that still had the stock family photo in it. Oh, and the piles of clothes on the floor, the dishes in the sink, and the unpacked boxes were all an added homey touch.
My phone rings just as I finish washing my face. Quickly wiping my face, I pick it up.
"Violet, where are you? You were supposed to be here at 10, it's 10:15." Zayn's voice sounds out through the phone.
Oh shit. I never sleep, yet I still manage to be late to my first day at a job I think I may actually want to keep. Real good start, Violet.
"I didn't even realize! I'll be there in 10 minutes." I yell through the phone, running to the kitchen and grabbing a banana from the bunch that's already starting to go bad. I use my fingers to comb through my brown hair, before just deciding to throw it up in a ponytail while my phone is smushed between my face and shoulder.
"Yeah, with LA traffic right now, make that half an hour."
"Fuck, I'm sorry, Z." Grabbing my keys off the counter and rushed out of my apartment and down the stairs. The elevators rarely work and it takes too much time anyways.
"It's okay, just drive safe." He still manages to sound calm even though I'm running late for the first day of my brand-new job.
I jog out the front doors of the building, making my way to my 2001 Toyota Corolla, Benny. Zayn keeps telling me to get a new car, I keep telling him to fuck off. Yeah, sure, the fancy sports cars are good, but nothing beats having a car that doesn't even have a working radio. Really makes the rides with only my impending thoughts to listen to so fun.
Turning the key, the engine sputters a little before humming to life. I shift out of the park and place my foot on the gas taking off through the streets of LA, trying to drive as quickly as possible to Songbird Studios in West Hollywood. The traffic is heavy in some spots, but I take as many side roads as possible to make the ride go a bit quicker.
I burst through the doors of the large office building and into the lobby, with my hands full of notebooks and loose papers. Zayn stands in a blue suit, leaning up against the receptionist's desk, staring me down with a smirk.
