Protector ~ H.S

~Chapter Thirty-One~

~HARRY~

I woke up to the sudden sound of my phone beeping quietly on Angélique's desk – making me roll my eyes and stifle a groan as I reluctantly reached out and grabbed it to see who the hell it was that sent me a text.

1 New Message
Jackson

I immediately rolled my eyes again and grudgingly opened the message.

One of my pussy fighters dropped out. I need you here in 30.

I stiffened, but before I could even reply I heard Angélique begin to stir beside me, and as I turned towards her I saw that she was turning on her side towards me while squinting at me with her half-asleep, fluttering eyes.

"Who's that..?" she asked me groggily.

"Don't worry about it," I replied with a sigh, "it's just some rubbish."

"Oh..." she was starting to sound a little concerned for me, "is...everything OK..?"

"Yeah, babe, I'll sort it out," I smiled at her, "you go back to sleep. You need to look energized before your parents come home."

She rolled her eyes and only chuckled quietly before she shuffled closer to me and rested her head against my chest. I smiled and draped one arm around her small body before using my free hand to switch my phone to silent mode before Jackson could send me another message. And just as well I did – because literally seconds after I did that, a second text came in.

Styles!! Pick up your fucking phone!!!

I stifled a groan and one-handedly tapped out a reply while I began to gently stroke Angélique's hair at the same time,

Can you calm the fuck down, Morris?! Besides – this wasn't what we agreed on. You promised you wouldn't make me work after 3:15.

He replied almost immediately.

I may have said that, but let me remind you that I give the orders, not you. If I need you to come in, you come in. Whether or not it was in the time frame that we agreed on.

I gritted my teeth and angrily tapped out another reply.

Fuck you. I don't need to come in at your say-so. It's not like we signed a contract or anything.

However, unsurprisingly, my response pretty much resulted in a heated argument between the two of us (again).

Jackson: I don't give a shit if you didn't sign a contract. You work for me, Styles. And you'll do as I fucking say.

Me: The last thing I want to do right now is leave to see your ugly face this late in the afternoon.

Jackson: What? Have you just finished banging your girlfriend, Styles? Well, I don't give a flying fuck. You've already had your fun, so pack your shit and get over here NOW.

Me: Are you fucking kidding me?! That's practically treating her like a prostitute!

Jackson: Aww, boo-hoo. So she'll be a little sad when she wakes up and finds you gone. Who the fuck cares?

Me: I CARE, JACKSON! I've never done that to her before!

Jackson: Well, that's the price you have to pay by doing this job.

Jackson: I'm not saying it again. Get dressed, get on that stupid flashy motorbike and get your worthless fucking ass to the ring now.