Exposure • h.s.

CHAPTER19.

"Oh my fucking God. Styles?" the man beside that Jim asshole blurts out in astonishment.

His polished appearance fits the bill of the perfect victim I usually end up tailing. He looks extremely put-together, maybe even obsessively so. Everything about him is in place – his shirt cuffs are neatly rolled, his jacket is crisply ironed, and his hair is slicked back with just the right amount of gel. He's got the look of someone who's all about radiating power, a person who's invested in keeping up appearances.

But it's all surface-level.

Beneath that, just like most influential people in the fucked-up world I'm part of, there's a hidden mess; I'm well aware of the things he says and does that make me want to fucking beat the shit out of him, as he's someone indulging in all sorts of vices, and shamelessly devoted to one god: money.

As for Jim, his reaction is also off when he spots me, like he's surprised despite being here because of my not-so-gentle nudge, and as if he didn't expect that I'd be paying him a visit tonight.

Or better, that my bad luck would be paying him a visit.

"The fuck are you doing here?" the man asks, his eyes darting between me and Jim.

"Good to see you too, Felix," I quip back, a hint of amusement in my response, as I take in the tension that practically oozes from him.

"Didn't your employee tell you about our little meeting at all?" I ask, putting that fucker on the spot. Even in the subdued lighting of this room, I can make out glistening beads of sweat forming on Jim's forehead, like tiny drops of condensation.

Felix shakes his head, a mix of disbelief and concern in his eyes, as he stares Jim down.

"Mh," I mutter as I usually do, barely holding back a chuckle, which I suppress by keeping my lips closed. I'm honestly enjoying the sight of their faces growing tense as they catch sight of me.
"I see."

I take a step towards them, soaking in the tension that builds from the uncertainty of the situation. The fancy wooden furniture in the room serves as the perfect backdrop for the impending scene of their downfall.

"I'll keep it short and sweet, then," I begin. While I speak, I glance over at the others – Niall is tucked away in a corner, phone and papers in hand, ready to jump in. Liam is strategically positioned behind our two unfortunate guests, towering over them in case they try to make a run for it. Louis has the contract folder in one hand and the bag Mabel was supposed to bring backstage at Jim's Night Show, but which she stupidly decided to leave behind with the purpose of giving me a slap in the face or something.

Everyone seems more on edge than I am. It's like they're all poised to take action at any moment, their nerves a hand frozen on the trigger but ready to pull it.

"You're here for business," I say.

Both of them raise their eyebrows, looking confused, almost at the same time. It's kind of comical. If I didn't know what awful people they are, I might almost feel sorry for keeping them hanging like this.

"And why should we do business with you?" the man says, trying to sound tough.
Poor guy.

"Why not? That's the real question."

"Go to hell, Styles. We don't have time for your bullshit," Jim snaps, trying to stand up, but Liam quickly stops him.

"I'm not done talking, Jim. It's rude to interrupt a conversation, you know?" I remark, giving him a frosty look. "Since you're in a hurry, I'll start with you. Sounds good?"

I grin wickedly, reveling in a sense of superiority. Jim swallows hard, probably realizing he should have kept his mouth shut.

I give a nod to Louis, who drops the hefty bag onto the table, and proceeds to unpack its contents onto the surface. Falling from the bag, a stack of packages, tightly sealed with layers of tape. Jim's eyes widen, panic overtaking his movements, and I see him muttering something, stumbling over incoherent sounds, probably as he tries to figure his way out of this situation.