Sugar Daddy (Harry Styles)

Seven

I gaze into my streaky bathroom mirror in awe. The silky red dress perfectly hugs my curves, accentuates my chest in an appropriate yet sexy manner and manages to compliment my skin tone beautifully. I can only imagine how much Harry spent on this.

Unfortunately I have one pair of high heels, from my prom in grade twelve. Although they're black and match the dress good enough, they are a little bit worn.  I slickly pull my hair back to the nape of my neck and slip a pair of crystal earrings on.

From the bathroom I can hear a faint knock on the door, it must be Harry. As I unlock and open the door I see Harry standing there tall, wearing a simple black tux with a white button down shirt underneath. I'm not going to lie, he looks good.

"Serena," Harry looks down at me with a smirk. "Did you get my message? Did you grab those items?"

I fold my arms over my chest and without saying anything I walk over to the counter and grab the plastic bag. I see my stack bills piled high on the counter but for once I don't feel stressed about it, I'm calm. I know it's being taken care, even if that's in the most ridiculous way.

"Excellent," Harry says, taking the bag off my hands. "Do you like the dress?"

I nod, " I love it."

"That's good," Harry turns on his heels and begins to stride down the hallway. I quickly grab my phone and lock up my apartment.

"Where are we going?" I ask, catching my breath.

"Just to dinner. My parents have literally not seen or heard of you before. Which is odd because my business is always in the tabloids. So I thought, lets make it public. And by it, I mean our phoney relationship."

"This sounds like a lot of pressure," I wince.

"Pressure? Nah. Just don't talk to the paps, always wear a smile, and don't make me look bad."

"I guess-"

"Also, you always need to look presentable. Always. Your image is important."

"Hence, the dress?" I look down at my outfit, he nods his head. As we reach lobby I notice the amount of cameras waiting outside the building. Is this real? How is Harry so famous? He's just a business man and girls are freaking obsessed with him. I don't get it.

Harry leans into me as we walk, "Show time," he whispers before we walk outside and into the flashing lights.

-

Harry tosses his keys at the valet driver and hesitates before grabbing my hand. For the cameras I suppose. Together we sit down at a small table in the corner of this luxurious Italian restaurant. The waiter brings a bottle of red wine to the table, pours only my glass and leaves quietly. Neither me or Harry decide to spark up a conversation so I just carefully sip my wine, praying I don't spill any on my dress.

"I should let you know about a couple things," Harry looks away out the window then slowly focuses back to me. "I changed the wording in our contract agreement. Just so it's clear this isn't just for sexual favours. My publicist said that would be a bad idea, considering you're doubling as my fake girlfriend."

"I'm sorry?" I choke back on the wine. "Your publicist?"

"Yeah, she just manages my image and makes sure I look the best towards the public eye. You see, this has helped my image entirely. Angela has really kept myself out of trouble with other businesses. And well, since you're a part of my image for 6 months, she has a part of this. People want to make deals with me because of my popularity and social status, it's perfect."

"Great, so I'm being monitored by another woman?"

"Not so much monitored, just regulated in a professional manner. This is your job, you signed this, you are a $136,000 in debt. I wouldn't complain too much."

"I'm not complaining," I shake my head, slightly wishing I never got myself into this.

"Awesome," Harry rolls his eyes and takes a long sip of iced water. "We'll be meeting with her tomorrow."

"I actually have a couple things to do tomorrow."

Harry scoffs abruptly, "like what?"

"Well I work at the diner tomorrow and then I have this shoot thing," I trail off, looking down at my lap. I'm not sure why I'm embarrassed about meeting with Courtney. It's just, if I'm not good enough to model then Harry will laugh at me for even trying. I know it. So it's best if I don't tell him, although I'm supposed to be there when he needs, so he has a right to know.

"This what?" Harry leans closer to hear what I say.

"A shoot," I look off, avoiding Harry's intimidating stare.

"Like a photo shoot?"

"Perhaps," I murmur.

"That's funny, I thought models have to be stick thin with long blonde hair and clear skin. You don't have any of those things."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm just saying, you're wasting your time," Harry shrugs non chalantely.

"Thank you for being supportive."

"I never agreed to be supportive baby doll."

"Don't call me that," I seethe, beyond mad about this whole night.

"Oh and kiss your waitressing job goodbye, I mean with this modelling career," Harry slams his fist down on the table with deep laughter erupting from his chest.

"I want to go home," I fold my arms over my chest stubbornly.

"Now sweet heart, our food hasn't even arrived yet."

I let out an exasperated breath. This is going to be a long night.