The Shop

Chapter 13

I used to consider procrastination an art not a flaw, but in situations like these I mentally curse myself out for not letting Tara's influence rub off a little more. Many might call me a multi-tasker given my current situation. I am brushing my teeth while putting on black jeans, a dark grey short sleeved shirt and tying my hair back it a man bun. It's something I've been doing lately. 

My boots cooperate with me an slip on easy as I rush outside the apartment. Like the dumbass I am, my heels instantly turn back and catch the door while it's closing to go back inside. It's the end of March yet if I stepped out side without a coat or even pants my balls would probably be sterol and freeze off. Swiftly grabbing my coat, keys and lunch, I make an exit from the apartment for the second time now. I'm late enough as it is so I can't wait for the prehistoric elevator. The stairs will do for now. I skip maybe three steps each flight and make it down to the ground floor with only minor injury to my knee caps and ankles. 

Roberto is engaged in a conversation but rudely excuses himself to open the door for me. I of course shove past Roberto's company and run out of the building. As I race down the street to the subway, I faintly hear Roberto ask, "Running late, Mr. Styles?" I can taste the humor behind the voice and I debate giving him the finger or not. I'm already late enough as it is so why waste my time on that douche? 

The train doors close slow enough just for me to launch my body from the platform into the car. I didn't buy a ticket so when the ticket puncher comes around I'll just have to fork over cash to pay. Standing up, it looks like a good car, practically no one is in here except a drunk that is sleeping in a seat and an uptight woman who's hair is so tightly pulled back into a perfect bun it looks like it cuts off circulation to the brain. The hair and business dress remind me of Tara then I quickly check my screen. There is one new text and it happens to be from her. It says,

Pick up dessert for the dinner tonight with Niall. 

Ok... I simply respond and dismiss the phone. Pulling into my station, I push through the crowd in order to get up to the street. After being cursed out by a mexican man for shoving, I make my way to the clearance. My job is about three blocks away and I'm twelve minutes late. With nothing to lose, 'Except your job' the little voice in my head reminds me, I sprint through the busy streets.

I arrive to the granite grey building in two minutes even and I ask Megan, the desk clerk, to ring up my boss. The elevator in the posh building was much faster than the one in my shitty apartment. As I ride up the elevator two men in business suits take note to my appearance and don't make an effort to hide their stares.

"Do you have something to fucking say?" I hiss, ice clear in my voice. The men shake no's and I carry on with my ride. They both scurry off the elevator at the next stop and whisper like fucking women in a break room as they leave. 

Finally reaching the 11th floor I make my way to my boss's office, the head office.

The windows bordering the door are tinted so you can't see inside. The dark wood door is shut but I can hear low muffled voices seeping through the cracks. Mr. Tuck's name is plastered on a gold platform, nailed to the wall. 

I recall the first time standing in this very spot. Dressed up not much different, the only thing that changed was I had a dark grey collared shirt and my chest was partially exposed revealing the tattoos lying underneath. I remember when I was getting dressed that day, taking a careful look at my appearance was not first on my list. But later, sitting in that waiting room I felt degenerate and wished so bad that I had put on a suit to impress Mr. Tuck. But I relax now knowing that I didn't need riches to impress and land myself an extraordinary position. 

Instead of knocking, I'll just wait in the small area devoted to Mr. Tuck's office. The small space is empty but you can smell the tension in the room from all the starving interns that so desperately wanted this job and had a nervous breakdown in these very seats. The area is probably deodorized each day because it reeks of nervous sweat and too much cologne. Interrupting my thoughts, an entrepreneur from 'Quick Clips-Streaming' leaves Mr. Tuck's office. I can tell thats her job because I've seen them all around. Our company keeps trying to persuade Quick Clips to merge our companies to create the ultimate producing and streaming capital in America. But the pitch ideas are not very...captivating. I would know, I've watched one. 

"Well thank you for your time Ms. Weaver." The tall man with gelled hair and green eyes emerges from the office to shake the plain woman's hand. That man happens to be my boss, his face is hard and defined, almost powerful. When she smiles and walks away he turns towards me and throws his hands up with glee. 

"Harry! Just the man I wanted to see." Mr. Tuck swings his arm over my shoulder and leads me into his massive office. The office is massive with dark grey carpets, a light grey wall and a huge wood desk  with a laptop on it. To the corner there is a book shelf with maybe a hundred novels on it, but you can't count because you are distracted by the wall of awards. This wall is dedicated to the famous James Tuck, a seven time grammy winner who's office I happen to be in.