Styles & Co.

Chapter One.

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London's city life is a blessing and a curse- the London traffic is at peak hour and making me late for an extraordinary event, an event that Harry will not forgive me for if I miss. 

I erratically throw my work shirt to the floor of the cab, tugging at my jeans as I wiggle my way out of them, "Ma'am, are you 'kay back there?" The driver examines, his eyes peering into his rearview mirror.

"Fine, don't look back," my best friend, Addilyn, instructs as she hands me a jet-black dress that's meant to rise just above the knee. I draw the dress over my head, wiggling around to adjust the dress to my body.

Getting changed and re-dressed in the back of a cab isn't periodically my thing, but when I have a boss that loses track of time and a boyfriend who is meticulously precise with times and despises being tardy, I am left with no choice.

"Pantyhose," I instruct, and Addilyn rummages through bags in an attempt to locate the pantyhose. She throws them at me, and I hurry to slide them up my legs, not being prudent in any way. "Damnit," I say in a bad-tempered manner, ripping the pantyhose. I throw them off, clutching my bag and fumbling to find my makeup. "He's going to kill me," I grumble, hurriedly reapplying my makeup in the hope to look satisfactory.

Harry's substantially the authoritarian. Everyone must be unswervingly committed. Everyone must be above reproach; dilatoriness is not an option; punctuality is a must, and he's absolutely never content when his own girlfriend doesn't abide by the edicts.

"Lipstick, don't forget the lipstick." Addie urges, launching a clutch bag into my lap as she continues to rummage around the back seat.

"Dark red or bright red?" I question, holding up two lipsticks.

"Dark," she responds, "Heels, put the Bloody heels on." She murmurs, forcing my black pumps at my feet. I adjust the heels and slide them to my feet with my spare hand, taking part in multitasking as I apply lipstick.

"Hair," I murmur, Addilyn instantaneously removing it from its high ponytail and ruffling her hands through it.

"We're here." The driver clears his throat, his eyes not leaving the road– as instructed previously.

"Go-go-go, you look hot." Addie empirically shoves me out of the car, my feet stumbling as I attempt to hustle.

I take a breath and close the door before turning on my heel, my hands grasping my clutch bag nervously. My eyes view Harry dressed in an all-black suit with no tie, standing handsomely outside his headquarters.

"You're late." He gripes, his eyes sullen and displeased, "Thirty minutes late." He adds, scanning me up and down before cracking a small smile.

"I'm sorry, I-" I begin. He shakes his head, cutting me off with his own words.

"Hush, come on." He instructs, offering his hand out to me.

I place my hand on top of his, following his lead into the lavish building. My heels hit black marble tiles, and my eyes meet the inside design of the beauteous lobby, 'Styles Head Quarters' mantled in black on the white marble wall.

"I'm sorry." I breathe. We both composedly walking towards the elevators.

"I hope you have a good excuse. There is no room for fault." He comments, pressing the up button.

"Work," I respond calmly, glancing up at him, waiting for a response, but all he does is nod, his eyes concentrated upon the elevator, his facial expression staying neutral.