Dire {h.s.}

24

Harry Styles

I was never good with directions, the only time I can truly find my destination is by m y own memory. I don't know why I don't rust technology, but it always screws me over when it comes to this stuff. I've never been to Mr. Salvatore's estate, so I was forced to use the navigation on my phone. But, the directions keep flipping and changing, and it's really fucking with me.

¨Turn left.¨ it says, but a second ago it told me to turn right. I roll my eyes and take the turn, but she's quick to interrupt. ¨Turn left–– make a U-turn––¨

"Shut up!" I yell, taking my phone and pressing on the screen hard against the red 'end route' button. I think I can find this place better than she can. I remember him telling me it's somewhere in the neighborhood of one of our past clients who recently died. They could've continued doing business with us, having left their son in charge, but the son moved to a different country with our clients' benefits and well, we can't force them to sign so it ended there.

I look at the address again, memorizing the numbers, 72806, and continue driving down the neighborhood with my eyes following along with the descending house numbers.

72809,

72808,

72807,

I come to a slow and steady stop right in front of a big suburban house that seems to be more upgraded than every Apple product made. The windows are tinted, the front is gated all around, even the garage is made of what seems to be tinted glass, hiding whatever expensive cars I assume they own. Not even the driveway is available to park on, with it being closed off by the gates and all. I decide to park on the curb in front of the house, hoping I won't get fined. He's expecting my arrival today, so hopefully there shouldn't be any problems.

I walk up the path that leads to the gate door, finding a call box next to it with a camera right above it. In fact, the more my eyes take in the house's exterior, the more security cameras I begin to notice. I tear my eyes away from it to refocus on the call box, seeing only one button to press, I do. It rings out loud for a few moments before cutting to a line of someone answering.

"Who is this?" a woman's voice asks from the other line, I assume she's looking at me through the security camera.

I look up into its lens, "Harry, Harry Styles."

A moment goes by before she responds, "Your reason for being here?"

I clear my throat, feeling slightly intimidated with the high security shit and all. I know he's a very wealthy man, but never did I expect him to be treated like the fucking president or something. "Uh... I have a meeting scheduled with Mr. Salvatore."

"Meetings are to be scheduled at his office." she is quick to say,

Jesus fuck, why didn't he tell me that in the first place? If I drove here for no reason I swear to fuck.

"My boss told me that a meeting with Mr. Salvatore was set up to take place in his office here." I say, knowing damn well I'm not driving back with nothing done.

"Who's your boss?" she asks quickly again, a hint of suspicion laced in her voice. I'm not some fucking idiot coming here to attack him or something, I just need to get this convincing bullshit done before he has my head on a plate.

I sigh, not wanting to say his name since I'm so used to not actually referring to him as that. "Mr. Abavi."

"I'm sorry, I need his full name in order to find him in our records." she says, making me roll my eyes. I have to seriously say it again, it feels like a sin.

"Carnell––" I struggle to say, "Carnell Abavi."

A feel a fucking shiver run down my back by just saying it.