"Liam, why did you put me up to this, hm?" Harry inquired in a rather sharp tone, unwaveringly lined with self generated restlessness.
His faithful assistant Liam, one who never steps out of line or pushes any of Harry's merciless buttons, had turned into a giant heap of anxiety and stress in the last six months.
With Harry's empire skyrocketing out of control, Liam had spread himself too thin at every task Harry puts him up for.
Though frustratingly enough, Liam can't find it in himself to quit. He's grown fond of the little bastard, which was a mutual feeling, and so instead he asked his boss if he could get another assistant to help around.
Much to his stubbornness, Harry gave in and let Liam have his way, for once. But as a result of the job offer for the country's most dashing success, lines and lines of eager women crowd in his building's lobby, awaiting their interviews.
"If I have to hear from one more girl that she's 'excited to work with me', I'm going to lose it, am I clear?"
"Pristine, Sir. How many have you interviewed?"
"One hundred and twenty-two, within the last fourty-eight hours Liam Payne, and I am not happy." The curly haired billionaire placed both hands on his desk and leaned forward, glaring at Liam with deadlocked eyes.
"I take it as you didn't like any of them?"
A look of incredulity shot his way.
Liam gulped, "Well there's still one more that I'd like for you to meet." Harry groaned into his hands as he covered his face and sat back down on his leather revolving chair.
"Whatever," Harry cursed under his breath, "last one."
Harry swiveled away from Liam to look out of the window; a large room-length glass wall overlooking central London, a magnificent view at night. Though at four o'clock in the afternoon after interviewing hundreds of badgering girls, the view could be better.
He heard Liam's footsteps leave the room and just moments later, were replaced with a new pair of stepping shoes, which to Harry's surprise, didn't sound like stilettos.
Harry turned back around just in time to look up at the interviewee.
"Alright Sugar, your interview shouldn't be longer than my-"
He paused.
The image of a tall blonde with a stunning lack of breasts smacked him like a double decker.
"If time allows, Darling." The boy replied smoothly.
Harry raised his eyebrow at the remark. The start of an embarrassing blush began crawling up his cheeks. He blinked it away.
"Sweetheart, you've got two minutes. Impress me."
The blonde took the seat in front of Harry's desk as the boss crossed his arms looking at him challengingly.
"Afternoon, Mr. Styles-"
"-Harry-"
"-Harry. My name's Niall Horan, I'm nineteen and from Mullingar in Ireland. I traveled to America to study abroad in Harvard, graduated, and now I'm in London living in my own flat."
Semi-impressed, or rather willing to gloat in front of the new boy, Harry stood up and smiled down at Niall.
"Ah, I did the same, but went to Yale at sixteen. A couple of innovations here and there, inheriting my father's corporation, and look where I am now." Harry spreads his arms gesturing to the grandness of his building.
