One Shots » muke

Lost Never Found ~K

Music producer!Michael
Intern!Luke

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Luke's POV

I remember when I first got this job; how insanely excited I was. How I thought I would actually get a shot to make it big. But the only time I ever got attention in this damn place was when I spilled or broke something.

The music industry turned out to be more complicated than I thought. Everyone was in a rush to find the next big thing to make money off of. And apparently I wasn't good enough.

I worked at this studio for over a year and most people still don't know my name. I am an unimportant speck in their huge world of things to do. Especially to the head producer; Michael Clifford. We are about the same age. The only difference really is that he makes millions a year and I don't.

He's the youngest music producer in the business (and possibly the hottest). He is also a workaholic. He seemed to live in this damn place, fingers constantly tugging at his bright red hair. Much too busy to say thanks to the guy who brought him his specially balanced coffee every single day.

AKA; me.

I shouldn't be too butt hurt, though. It's not everyone else's fault I'm not good enough. So why am I still here?

Excellent question.

My hands moved around in the same position they had been since I started working here; grab a cup, poor the coffee, add the ingredients perfectly or else get yelled at.

I managed to wedge 2 between my arm and chest on both sides, while my hands occupied one cup each. I made my daily routine around the studio, dropping off the burning cups of caffeine.

"Thanks, Logan!" Ashton, the marketing guy, said cheerfully as I handed him his. He could never get my name right, but I didn't correct him since he was the only not asshole here.

Also, he was attractive.

I smiled back at the hazel eyed man, his grin was always contagious. I delivered the rest of the beverages, sighing because I didn't even get so much as a glance from the rest of them. My last stop was Clifford's office.

I always saved that one for last so I could linger a little longer if need be.

I was practically a little school girl as I tried to suppress my excitement as I walked towards his door. His name engraved in gold hung on his door, my heart racing at the all too familiar sight.

I knocked on the dark wood, patiently waiting for him to ask me to enter. But there was no response.

I sighed and pushed the door open, only to find the red haired producer not there. "Fantastic." I mumbled, before shutting the office.

I made my way to the only other place that man could be; the recording studio. Which, of course, had to be on the opposite side of the building. This meant I got to pass all of the awards displayed on the wall from artist's success. Everything that I wanted. Everything I'll never get.

I finally made my way to the studio, stepping inside to be disappointed once again. It was empty, but the lights were all still on.

I slowly walked over to a desk where papers lay scattered across its surface. One particular one caught my eye. Judging by the fact it had scribbled hand writing all over the place, I knew it was a song.

My fingers traced the words on the paper after setting the coffee beside it. You could see where the person was still trying to come up with lyrics, but the rest of it was very intriguing, beautiful even.