Euphoria | Larry A.U

(vii) - Privacy

Privacy : The state or condition of being free or being unobserved or disturbed by other people.

One of the things Louis loved most about being a designer was although his brand was always the talk of fashion magazines and gossip rags of who's wearing what, his private life remained just that; private.

Nobody, even gossip-y interns or employees had the right to dig through the things he didn't want anyone to find out. If he kept it secret, it was to stay a secret. If he did not disclose any information about something to someone, they were not to pursue any further news.

Which also has him thinking about the topic of having a job that had to do with clothing, because fashion was not just fashion, it was so much more. As a designer if your company is well known and you can showcase it to the rest of the world you were probably somewhere high up - in general - on the social pyramid, and at this point Louis was near the top. The lion of the food chain if you will.

That statement proved right as his staff members ran around the designing studio, bringing Louis' sketches to life as they stitched and sowed materials imported from India, this was for the runway and wouldn't be sent to the factories just yet.

Louis was standing there with a cup of coffee (that he didn't even like; he was more of a tea kinda guy, but tea wasn't going to prevent him from falling asleep on the spot he was standing on) with three espresso shots because he hadn't gotten any sleep the night before, considering he had sowed the clothes first, stuffed them on mannequins in front of the room and enlarged the sketches on a smart board for the whole entire room to see.

They were buzzing and fleeing about, because a sleepy Louis is a grumpy Louis. That Friday morning when he'd walked into the building he'd yelled as loud as his tired throat could let him, and told everyone to 'get in the studio now!' When some of them hadn't come in on time, he had threatened to fire them (which he wouldn't actually do, but they didn't need to know that) causing silence to befall on everyone, the only sound in the building, the clicking shoes and heels of the employees running to the place they were requested to be at.

Sometimes they forgot Louis was their boss, and more frequently Louis himself would forget he was their boss. Powder dripping from his nose is usually enough distraction to do so.

"There's no time for slacking off! Chop! Chop! Semaine de la mode est à venir," Louis practically shouted, because he didn't have a microphone and he needed everyone to hear him. Louis didn't need to translate what he said for them, everyone who works for Prism spoke or were learning French and Italian was a bonus, the French ran the fashion world and if you didn't speak their language, chances are to them you're no different than scum on the bottom of their shoe.

Louis' mother had taught him that the best respect you can show someone is to understand their tongue. He himself was only taught French because his biological father was a Parisian, who stumbled his sorry arse into England and got the first woman who looked in his direction pregnant, then legged it when he found out, but his mum didn't get discouraged she taught him anyway; because maybe maybe one day he'd see him again - but that day never came.

"Sir," Christy says, looking distressed and tired. Ginger hair amiss, bags under her eyes that even concealer couldn't cover and her clothes - the same outfit from yesterday, Louis was sure of it - which was so different from her usual polished and clean-cut look.

"Yes, Christy."

"Vanessa is here, she said it was an emergency and you have got a meeting in literally less than twenty minutes," Christy exclaims breathlessly and Louis swears he's never heard her talk so fast. If Louis didn't calm her down she'd have an anxiety attack from hysteria like she did at Milan fashion week last year.

"Okay, okay love. Now go get yourself a cup of coffee from Starbucks, sit down and breath," Louis advises her, trying to make his tone as gentle as possible. Her restlessness was really making him feel anxious.

As Louis walks Christy out to the lobby, he can hear her mumbling "coffee, Starbucks, sit, breath? Yes, breath. Need breath, die or else." under her breath, and he didn't really now what to think of that. The only conclusion Louis can draw up is; its official, Christy has gone insane.

He gently places a hand on her shoulder to direct her to the door and ensure that she actually leaves because this girl was anything if not a workaholic. When she's gone - he's sure of it - Louis turns his gaze to the new burgundy couches from Morocco, only to find Vanessa. Right, because that's why he was downstairs anyways.

"Baby," he starts, trying his best to feign excitement. Which wasn't working as much as he'd like.

Vanessa must of realized his misstep, because she puts on a fake - if not faker than Louis' - smile and immediately engulfs him in a bone crushing hug, to conceal her own mistake.

"Sweetie! We haven't seen each other in so long. We're a couple, and like we don't act like a couple anymore and that," Vanessa says, her voice muffled by the junction where his neck and shoulder met "scares me. I don't know babe, I know fashion week is coming up and all that but aren't we supposed to compromise? I've got this stressful case on my back and like, you've got a shit ton of work and I miss you," by the time she's finished Louis gathers that she's crying, legitimately in tears. He's never felt so similar to shit in his life. Mainly because he's at work. Why here of all places?

She's making him look bad.

"No, no no no. Stop crying babe. We got this. I'm so sorry I let work and friends get the best of me and after our first argument in years a couple of months ago I just needed space to breath, and like please don't think it's me acting differently it really isn't," Louis starts but is interrupted by Vanessa "I didn't say you were acting different? I just said I don't see why we don't act the same," stressing 'we'.

"Sam-" Louis' yet again interrupted, by Rebecca, the understudy intern.

"The meeting is starting earlier than anticipated, sir. I'm so sorry but you're going to have to run Mr. Tomlinson." He's never been more grateful for an interns flawless timing.

Vanessa shoots her a wet glare, her red face causing her to look a lot more intimidating than usual. Louis was going to have to hatch a plan. "Babe. I'm so sorry this meeting is super super important. How about you go home and I come as soon as I leave and we resume whatever," he waves his hands animatedly "this is. Okay? Okay. Bye," he smacks a loud kiss on her lips and forehead, then legs it before she can protest.

•

A heated debate about color coordination with the makeup artists, and three cups of coffee later, it's time to go home for Louis.

Harry had promised him a full body massage - happy times that usually led to sexy times was something Louis was not going to deny himself the pleasure of - but then again Louis had promised Vanessa to come as soon as he was let out.

It was only four pm and he contemplated going to Harry first then seeing Vanessa - and possibly sleeping at the penthouse with her - it didn't seem ideal but he was stranded. Louis could go to Vanessa now, angry and tired, disappoint Harry for not showing. Or go to Harry now, rest and have a couple of mind-blowing mellowing orgasms, then go to Vanessa and not disappoint anyone. It seemed like a plan. A good one too.

If only he knew the 'plans' he shot out of his arse, at four pm after not having slept for 36 hours were never 'good'.