Estranged • h.s.

14

Cecily 

My leg bounces up and down while I wait for Zayn to get into his office. The fucker is always late when being on time matters most. 

Two days. Two days until I'm in LA and getting my overdue revenge on Adam fucking York. And not that it matters, but five days since I spoke to Harry. I can't imagine why I'm wishing, somewhere deep in my traumatized bones, that he was around. I want the thrill of pissing him off more than I want this trip to happen. 

It's the nerves, the utter fear of all of this going to shit the second we finally get someone high on my list. 

I chew mindlessly at my nails, a habit I really need to kick for good. The once pristine black polish is now chipped and cracked to hell. The fact that I don't know the plan quite yet surely is not helping my nerves. Zayn was in charge of making sure I had access to the York event with zero hassle, and that him and whoever else we take also got in with no hiccups. 

I'm unsure how he's incorporated me into the event safely, but I do know he's 95% sure Jackson will not attend. Too many things to go wrong if he does. 

The annoying hum of his miniature refrigerator makes my skin crawl. Just as I'm on my feet to go kick it as hard as I can, the door rips open. I turn quickly, scowling at Zayn. He gives me a dismissive look, a small smile gracing his lips. "Trying to break an inanimate object, Cecily?" 

I lower my foot from its pre-kick position and slump back into the chair. "Just get to the point, Zayn." 

"As you wish," he says, rounding his large desk and tossing a slew of papers onto it like they're useless. He braces himself on the desk, fingers splayed and fingertips holding him up. "We've run into a small problem." 

I cross my arms, my heartbeat picking up like it's on autopilot to freak out all the time. 

"What kind of problem?" 

He sits now, running his hand through his hair while exhaling a breath. He's been stressed about this event since we learned about it, and made our plan. But right now, I can tell he's scared we'll have to forget it and try again another time. 

"The band they had booked fell through, the event coordinator emailed me and explained they no longer need dancers for the stage because they're going to try and book one huge group instead with the now limited time they have." 

"Then book me and someone who can fucking sing. Your stepdad's entire life was built off of singers, I'm sure you know someone." 

"Cecily, I can't get someone this quickly. Everyone still on contract works for James. They don't even know who I am, I just own the company." 

James, the close friend he appointed to run the record company when he decided to make it a more meaningful and fair operation. 

"Fine, let me sing." 

"Absolutely not, Adam was your fucking manager. You think he wouldn't recognize your voice?" 

I huff out an annoyed breath, scrubbing my face with my hands. He has a point, but I'm desperate. 

"I need this, Zayn." 

"I know, and I have a tentative plan but I'm not sure you're going to like it." 

I look at him expectantly, suddenly feeling a wave of anxiety that he's about to mention a new definition of partnering with someone that I won't be able to handle. 

"Harry-" 

"No." 

"Cecily," 

"No, Zayn. He's fucking clean up! He cleans up my fucking messes because that's his fucking job, his responsibility. He caused the mess, he fucking cleans it. He doesn't get to do anything but that."