City of Angels (H.S.)

Chapter 2

I tried to pay attention to Dave's incessant list of rules as the cab made its away across town. "Obviously don't ask for any autographs or photos with them. Or what's that one you kids do you? The selfie?" 

I snorted, trying to hide my amusement. I wouldn't have wanted a photo anyway. My classmates at USC were constantly going on and on about their exciting internships at publishing houses, newspapers and prominent magazines. They were asked to attend court sessions, interview community leaders and write thought-provoking pieces on the environment. I was about to be fetching sodas for a group of boys my own age while taking care to not look them in the eye. I sighed and leaned my head against the window. 

Our Uber car pulled up in front of the valet desk at the Four Seasons hotel in Beverley Hills. Of course this is where they're staying, I thought to myself as I struggled to get out of the car and hoist Dave's heavy bag over my shoulder. I had been here once before with Kay for dinner. She paid. My measly intern salary could barely cover my rent, much less dinner at five-star restaurants. 

We shuffled past the front desk and to the elevator bank where the same man from Dave's office, Paul, was waiting.

How did he beat us here? I wondered, adjusting the heavy bag on my shoulder. 

Dave greeted Paul with a professional handshake and then turned to me. "This is the band's tour manager, Paul Higgins," he said. I extended my hand for a shake. "This is my intern, Patty."

"It's Penny--" I tried, but Dave cut me off. "Grab the bag, Patty," he said, getting in the elevator with Paul. I shuffled after them, abashed and embarrassed by his blatant rudeness.

In the lift, Paul turned to me. "I trust Dave's filled you in on everything?" I look down at my scuffed shoes and nodded quickly. 

The elevator stopped at the 12th floor. The interior of the building looked much like every other luxury hotel in LA, but the floor's hallway was dotted with personnel. Men in suits with clear earpieces were spaced just feet away from one another down the length of the corridor. I could only assume they were bodyguards. 

I followed Dave and Paul down the hallway to a set of large white double doors emblazoned with a gold PH. The penthouse, I thought to myself. Makes sense. Dave turned around to give me one last don't-embarrass-me glare before Paul knocked twice and let himself into the room. 

Light from the wall-length windows poured into the massive suite, illuminating gold hardware and accents in the otherwise cream-colored room. It was gorgeous. I let the heavy leather bag on my shoulder drop to the floor quietly and allowed myself a moment to breathe in my undeniably luxe surroundings. Even the air smelled sweet. In fact, I thought, inhaling lightly. Is that a cinnamon candle?

"Oh no!" a voice cried out from across the room. I whipped my head around to see where it came from when a soccer ball came sailing by my face, missing my nose by an inch. It made contact with the pretty gold lamp on the side table, knocking it to the ground with a sickening crash. 

A tall, thin boy wearing a floppy beanie and track pants came jogging into the main living area. "Sorry!" he offered rather nonchalantly, retrieving his soccer ball from its nest of gold porcelain shards. Another boy, this one blonde, poked his head from around the corner and laughed loudly. "Fuck, Louis!" he guffawed, covering his mouth with his had. "We've company!"

Louis didn't seem to notice neither me nor Dave, but he went up to Paul and gave him a playful shove. "See what happens to my technique when you leave us for the day, Pauly?" he laughed, poking a finger at the older man's bicep. Paul grabbed him in a light headlock and plucked the beanie off his head, throwing it across the room. "Show a little respect for our guests!" Paul laughed as Louis went scrambling after the hat he needed to cover his serious case of bed-head. While I felt awkward watching the exchange standing at the edge of the room with Dave, I almost enjoyed Louis and Paul's exchange. It seemed familial, a bit like a father and son.

"Boys!" Paul boomed, summoning his charges. Louis vaulted over the back of the couch, planting himself firmly in the middle of the seat. The blonde boy, of whom I had just seen a snippet, came bounding in the room and took a seat next to Louis.

Dave gave me a nudge and gestured that I should  begin setting up my equipment. I began to internally panic. I didn't quite know what to do or how to act. I slowly unzipped Dave's bag and began pulling out the supplies. I lined up two notebooks full of Dave's research on the band on the cream-colored ottoman that sat in front of the couch. I assumed that's where my editor would sit. I pulled the slim silver recorder out of the front pocket and placed it next to the notebooks, taking care that the red record light was on and blinking. When I took the laptop out of the bag and opened it, I was met with the all too familiar blank black screen. I needed power. Grabbing the white power cord, I scanned the room for an outlet. The only one I could see was to the right of the couch. 

"Oh, excuse me," I said as politely as I could to the blonde boy. He obliged, moving his brown boots out of the way so I could crouch down and plug in the cord. I heard Dave clear his throat. "What did I tell you about speaking to them?!" he hissed at me angrily, loud enough for the other three people in the room to hear. My face turned beet red. He pointed at a chair in the corner, indicating that it would be my home for the next several hours of the interview.

Across the room, Paul looked at his watch. "Oh my god, you three! Can you hurry up?" he yelled in the general direction of the suite's bedrooms. A tall boy with brown eyes turned the corner and offered Dave and me an easy smile. "Hi, I'm Liam," he said amiably, extending a toned arm to my editor for a handshake. Dave shot me a look that silently ordered me to stay seated as he shook Liam's hand. 

That's actually a nice move, I thought to myself. He obviously knows we know who he is, yet he still introduced himself. 

Liam joined his coworkers on the couch as a tanned boy with black hair and heavy stubble slid in beside them from the other direction. "Zayn!" he offered the room by way of greeting, lazily waving a tattooed arm halfway in the air. 

"Why are we always waiting on him?" Paul grumbled, though not unkindly, under his breath, taking off in search of who I could only assume was the fifth member of One Direction.

He emerged a few seconds later on the heels of the best-looking guy I had ever seen in person. His mop of brown hair was held back with the tattered remains of a red bandana, and though the makeshift headband was enough to keep most of the hair from his face, he still found himself batting a lock away from his moss green eyes. He wore a simple white v-neck t-shirt and well-fitted jeans. 

I suddenly became hyper aware of my own body and tugged at the hem of my leather skirt nervously. I crossed and recrossed my ankles as Harry Styles took a seat on the couch with his bandmates and offered Dave and me a wary smile. When his eyes drifted over to me and gave me a sympathetic eyebrow lift, I instantly regretted taking the internship.