When Samantha James becomes One Direction's personal assistant, she gets more than she bargains for. Falling for Harry Styles is one of them. But things aren't always easy or beautiful, because Sam has secrets--dark ones, and she'll do anything to h...
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I was freaking the fuck out.
I'd called the airport, giving them a lie that would hopefully stall his plane from taking off. The woman on the other end made it sound like I was bat shit crazy, and while I might have been, she didn't understand the urgency of this situation.
Nicki had helped me pack my bag and sent me off with a tight squeeze and a wink, waving to me as the cab drove off. The traffic didn't seem too bad at first, and it actually seemed like I might make it on time for a second there.
Boy, was I wrong. That's when I called the airline and then verbally abused the cab driver and every driver in Los Angeles. Thankfully, the cars started moving again, but there still wasn't enough time.
So I called Niall.
"Sam!" he answered, clearly surprised. "What-,"
I didn't give him a chance to speak. "Niall! Oh, thank God. Do you think that you could stall Harry for me?"
"Stall Harry? What do you mean?"
"I need you to prevent his ass from getting on that plane. At least for another thirty minutes. Call him and keep him on the phone, send someone to break off a wing of the plane, I don't care. He cannot get on that plane," I demanded.
"I'm not sure what all of this is about, but I guess I could try," he replied, sounding rather confused.
I breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Niall. Seriously. I owe you. Call me if anything happens, okay?"
As I went to end the call, I heard his voice say my name on the other end. I put the phone back up to my ear.
"Are you goin' out there to get him back?" he asked.
I smiled, even though he couldn't see me. "Yeah," I answered quietly.
I could hear the grin in his voice. "I'll see what I can do, Sam."
The next thirty minutes in the car were agonizing. Harry's flight, if nothing had 'mysteriously' come up, should have left twenty minutes ago. But that Irish fuck came through and texted me, telling me that he had it handled. God bless Niall Horan.
The cab driver finally pulled up to the departure gates and I threw a wad of money at him, not bothering to count it out. I pulled my suitcase out behind me and dashed through the doors, heading towards the ticket counter. I pulled out my passport and badge that I had been given when I first got my job as the boys' assistant.
I slammed both of them down on the counter, making the woman behind it jump. "Harry Styles' flight. I need to get on," I said immediately.
