CEO // Harry Styles

8

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It was silent. Silence filled the empty car, leaving an awkward vibe strumming through the air. Why the hell wouldn't he talk? As hard as it wasn't to say it, I wanted to hear the CEO's deep British accent sing like music to my ears.

I haven't got a clue as to the amount of time spent in this damned car. It must've been hours, but I know I'm exaggerating a bit. A little bit ago I reached into my Lana Marks clutch, searching for my phone. I found it. Stupid thing. It's much more spacious then it appears to be. Leaving me searching endlessly for one item.

My phone turned out to be drained out of power. Much to my luck. I was too apprehensive to ask Styles the time.

The growing sensation of pressure coming from my bladder sent shockwaves through my abdomen. Hopefully this car ride won't be too much longer.

I remembered my plans with Louis. "Harry." I deserve brownie points for 1. Talking first, and 2. Calling him Harry.

He didn't even look my way, but the downward curve of his lips told me he knew I was speaking. His eyes stayed on his phone, typing away on what seemed to be an important (or multiple important) business email.

"My phone is dead." He huffed, signaling for me to elaborate. "I need to tell Louis I won't be home tonight. Can I use your..." I was hushed by his pointer finger held high up in the air. His phone was brought up to his ear.

"Styles." He snapped into the receiver. At least he wasn't just rude to me.

"I thought I told you to have the merger with Horan finalized by Wednesday. Today is Wednesday evening. This is not acceptable." He paused, fingers flash on his thigh. I wanted to fit my narrow fingers into his long digits. "I specifically instructed not to be contacted from 5 p.m. til tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. sharp. You are breaking... Do not interrupt me!"

I had lost interest in eavesdropping. Harry Styles continued to scold the most likely terrified employee on the other end of the call.

Not once did he crack a smile, or even force a laugh. He remained annoyed, and pissed off the entire call.

He was silent for a significant amount of time. So I took it as my calling to ask again for his phone. "Harry." I whispered. I tapped his thigh, dangerously close to his own hand.

I tapped more gingerly. "Harry." A little louder.

He raised his hand. His wrist was flicked towards me multiple times. Is he shooing me away?

I looked at the hand that was held in front of my face. His ring clad fingers were something to daydream about. His knuckles had scars on them, and I wondered from what.

A particular long scar took my interest. On his middle finger, without a ring. A long slash, small enough to be a perfect ratio on his abnormally large finger. But still a significant scar.

I wanted to ask him what the scar was from, but the phone was still pressed against his ear. Eyes faced towards the window in concentration.

I took the hand in my own, spanning, and flattening out his palm with my fingers. Quite a job with his tense, reluctant muscles.

My thumb and pointer finger glided across the top and bottom of his middle finger. I can only imagine the wonders he could work with these.

A particular ring caught my eye. On his pinky finger homes a copper like oval ring.