couture. // haylor

ii

"Sometimes there's not a difference between falling in danger and falling in love."

--

After passing that job interview with Harry, I wasn't sure if I was meant to be a stylist or if I just got lucky. I had no idea if I was meant for the job and why he chose me even with the attitude I had. He was the absolute epitome of intimidating and I couldn't stand it. Just by the way he treated me in the interview, I knew it was going to be a rough ride and my work wouldn't be easy, but the amount of desperation I have for this job made me accept it and there's no way of going back now.

Here I am, mentally dragging myself into this fancy restaurant we planned earlier on. He had contacted Helena and made sure that I was booked, for almost the entirety of this year, I'm going to spend fitting, measuring and putting 'the finest piece of couture I could find' on this intimidating man. And I don't know whether I'm looking forward to it or I'm overwhelmed by it. 

I went into the chic looking building that Harry described and the smell of expensive wine and freshly made pasta filled my senses. It was a fancy Italian restaurant. The atmosphere was just how I expected it to be - crowded, filled with people in the higher social classes, probably talking about how expensive their handbags are. As a stylist I should be used to this lifestyle and I know I can fit in, but with Harry always watching me, I'm not so sure anymore.

I tell the first employee I see who gave me a snobby look that I came here to see Harry and she lazily walks me to the furthest table in a corner and there he was. 

Of course, his presence still disturbs but his sense of style was always somewhat impressive. His hair is slicked back neatly and his neat black buttoned up t-shirt is roughly buttoned down. As I appeared closer to him, he gives me a small smirk, eyeing down at the chair opposite of him, signalling me to sit down.

I place my trench coat on the head of the chair before sitting down. His hands fiddle with the big ring on his middle finger.

He told me that the purpose of this dinner was for him to get to know me as a stylist and for me to get to know him as a client and I respected that, but as of now, the thought of that just seemed uncomfortable.

"I've never seen a person be so aggressive and then so shy in front of me before," He speaks up, sipping the crimson red wine in front of him right after.

"I'm not a shy person," I defend, "I'm just.. a little.. uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable?" He questions, tilting his head to the side, "Why?"

"I don't know, don't you think you were a little.. rough on the job interview?" I hesitate with my answers.

"You do realize that you're going to be my stylist - that includes, touching me, measuring me, and dressing me up. So, being sensitive doesn't really make you fit for the job," His voice rings in my ears.

"That is true."

"Fine - I apologize for making you uncomfortable."

That takes me to a surprise. This man actually knows how to apologize? 

"I'm not saying that to actually sooth you, I'm saying that so that to clear up this obstacle we have - you're going to be here for almost a whole year and having that would just make this messed up. Especially the fact that I've already paid to book you, there's not really a way I could go back," He shrugs, his words slowly burning me a little, but I keep my emotions locked tight.

"Okay," I mutter simply, "Any restrictions? Something I should know before starting?" I decide not to drag the previous topic along and to create a new one.

"Well, there are a few," He pauses briefly so the waitress could properly put the appetizer on our table.

"Go on," I say to him after everything is on our table.

"First things first - I don't like when people force pieces that I don't like on my body, if I don't like it, I don't like it and I'm going to say it and you're going to find a new one that I would like."

"Noted."

"Secondly, don't talk to me when you're doing your job, I don't include people like this in my private life and I hired you for one reason, and that's for you to be my stylist not my consultant,"

I nod.

"Thirdly, don't let that aggressive attitude of yours out too much, or that's not going to do well," He takes a bite out of the appetizer, "And lastly, you're going to be breaking my private boundaries, such as my home, so if I state that a certain area isn't available then you must not lay a finger on it."

At that sentence, I could perfectly see the sharp features on his face. His eyes stared at me, with the most greenest shade of green I could ever think of, his cherry lips moved slowly as words roll out of his lips and his brown hair would instantly transition into a shade of blonde once struck with a strong lighting. I couldn't believe I didn't recognize all of these strong countenances before, but once I did, I contemplate if I should be lucky or unlucky to have the opportunity to style such a perfect looking man. 

My thoughts quickly snap out of the daze I was in for what feels like an eternity.

"Why?" I dare ask.

"Because, Swift, I don't like nosy people and I like my privacy," He emphasizes on my last name.

Again, he's intimidating me and that's making my throat dry, my body shake and my palms sweat in the most mysterious way. It didn't feel like the kind of intimidation you would feel when a teacher was yelling at you for doing something wrong, but it was the kind that makes you reach all levels of anxieties - where I absolutely have no idea I'm getting myself into, and I am more than afraid to know.

But after all, he's just a client and client's have nothing to hide unless I intentionally seek for it and that's something at that's at the very bottom of my list. All I'm planning to do for an entire year is to just fit in him some clothes and nothing else.

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quick question: should i make this haylor or a harry fic?