The Bodyguard » Niall Horan

25 » ta-ra, have a good evening

The head of Metropolitan Police had managed to fabricate a decent story with Waterlane, which was to be released today.

My attendance was required, and therefore I had changed into their clothes: a white blouse with a checkered tie, a dark blue pair of pants, boots with a steel toe cap and a black, bulletproof vest. I'd also received a dumb hat all ladies in The Met wore. I decided to keep it in my hand rather than put it on my head. I wore my hair in a ponytail, waiting in a small back room at the Scotland Yard Headquarters. Waterlane had been smuggled in, now sat in front of me. His face beheld an amused gaze.

" What?" I asked, crossing my legs under the chair I was sat on.

" I wish I could tell you those Met clothes looked good on you, but I'd rather see you wear the sophisticated suits of the Six." 

I smirked. " I can assure you I will not switch government service for ordinary police work, thank you very much. Besides, these clothes are made horribly. I can't wait to take these off." 

I had left Niall at home under the protection of Mark and Ian. The three of them were probably gathered around Niall's gigantic TV, waiting for the live press conference. I checked my watch, which told me it was nearing eight. It was time.

The door opened, and a man came walking in. " Are you ready?" He asked. He was an actual Met agent. The look on his face was something of disdain visible, which annoyed me. What the hell was up with the 'my department is better than yours' attitude?

I got up and looked at waterlane. " Good luck," He said. " Thanks," I replied. Not that I had to do much. I had been instructed to stare at the camera and say nothing at all. At least, if the press would not ask me questions directly.

I followed the man to the conference room, where the boss of all bosses and his entourage were waiting.

Andrew Carlisle wore a tailored suit, which seemed extremely expensive. Several medals graced his chest. His eyes landed upon me and shook my hand.

" Your boss owes me," he grumbled. 

Andrew Carlisle had to be around my father's age. He was balding and had bright green eyes that seemed to pierce right through me.

" Those aren't any of my business," I replied. The man who had fetched me stared at me as if I was insane. I couldn't care less. Andrew Carlisle cursed under his breath and muttered something of arrogant MI6 agents. I paid no attention to it and straightened my bulletproof vest.

The spokesman of The Met was stood behind Carlisle: Noah Reid. I had met him a few times before. He was roughly 30 years of age and an arrogant fool, thinking highly of himself simply because of his job as spokesman, and because his pretty face appeared on the telly rather often. He walked over to me.

" Nice outfit," he spoke. I chuckled and nodded. " Especially the hat. I love your hats."

A grin spread across his face. Noah leaned towards me. " I hope that Horan lad is worth the spectacle. This wasn't a particularly cheap stunt." 

I had to hold myself back from slapping him. Surely, that'd make me an unemployed woman locked up in jail. 

" I heard the people of London don't have a lot of faith in The Met anymore. Perhaps this will jack up your reputation," I fired back at him. Noah stepped back. I cheered on the inside; what a douche.

" What's up, big guy? Aren't you accustomed to the truth? Perhaps that's why people lost their fate." 

If looks could kill, I would have been dead. I chuckled softly, and tucked my hands in my pockets.