The boss (english translation)

7

Song of the chapter: I wanna be yours - Arctic Monkeys

I open my eyes and I'm puzzled for a minute by finding myself in this unfamiliar place. My hands touch the bed I'm laying on, it's empty. I close the eyes again, trying to find explanations. My mind is flooded by unfocused and confused memories of me and Harry playing with each other, and just now I can leave this state between sleep and wakefulness. I realize I'm at his place, naked under his white and soft sheets. I'm surrounded by a dim light from the window. He's not here. I wait for a few seconds, to give my tired and hangover brain the time to restart, and finally I've got the strength to pick up my phone. I push the button to light up the display and it almost blind me. I turn the luminosity down and check the time... Three pm!? My heart beats faster at the thought of being late at work but then I remember it's Saturday, my day off. Thanks God. I sigh relieved and get up, hoping to find Harry wandering around his house. I stretch and feel my bones crack and my head throbs. I need an aspirin. My attention is drained by a paper on the bottom of the bed which is about to fall on the ground because of my movements, so I quickly hold it and see that Harry left me a message. I have to squeeze my eyes before focusing the letters.

"Sel, I'm so sorry, you'll have to enjoy lunch without me. I've got some committees to attend to... Will you forgive me if I tell you that I cooked? xxx"

Some "committees"? My blood chills. I hate to admit it even to myself, but the first thought that touches my mind is that he's with Barbara without smartly telling me. There are many possibilities that he's avoided telling me not to listen my "so what are we?" scolding. And I don't know if I should blame him or not. But I'm sure that I'd hate myself all day if I let my head to overthink like a jealous-and-psychopathic-girlfriend, by the fact I'm not his girlfriend, so I'm gonna think about the all the positive things of this relationship, like Harry cooking for me.

I take deep breaths and decide to wear something to go downstairs in the kitchen, but as I get on my feet I understand that it's not easy not thinking about them together.

I look around searching for proofs of their relationship, to freely hurt myself, but there's no hint about her here. No pictures of them happy on a mountain, no teddybears, no woman's clothes, beside mine. I feel relieved and a little stupid for trying; he must have cleaned up everything knowing that I was here for the integrity of his beloved love triangle. When I reach the kitchen, I feel myself into the weirdest scenario ever: a simple girl from Texas wearing underwear in the most famous fashion designer's son's kitchen to eat a lunch prepared by him. I remember Pretty Woman and thinking about the plot I laugh: Harry the billionaire and I'm the easy girl to adjust? I slowly walk till the white marble counter in the kitchen attracted by the good smell, and I sit on one of the long stools finished with leather bearings. Mh... In front of me I find a dish with an egg and salad and next, another plate with pasta carbonara. I laugh for the match egg and pasta, typical British food of I-eat-the-hell-I-want-when-I-want-to man. All this is combined with bread and a bottle of Pinot grigio. Oh, he has already filled my glass! So nice of him... I smile like a fool, I would have never said he could cook. Then, I smile more when I taste the pasta and see that it's actually good. I drink a sip of wine that leaves a sour taste in my mouth. The peace of mind is hold by this lunch, I guess I don't eat so well since I left Texas and my aunt's cook. I should call her, I've been so busy this week with work and Harry that I totally ignored her. I should also call Taylor to talk about my departure, I only have five days and a half to plan everything. I'm about to admit that eggs and bread are very good when I hear the lock's noise and then the door closes. I ain't even got the time to turn that I find Harry on the doorway.

"Good morning." he says, smiling. His eyes stare at my undressed body, running from the lace bra to my semi-transparent panties. God, Harry Styles is back.