PARKER | Dark H.S. AU

vii. just go with it

Copyright © zylgnagnaba 2014

Numbers and texts greet Harry almost every day of his work as he fixes his eyes on his MacBook. He meticulously studies each figure, treating them like a lab experiment minus the trial and error.

He couldn't bare the thought of miscalculating them. It would betray his perfectionist trait. Mostly, he hates failure, improficiency.

Harry furrows his brows, his studious gaze intense it could almost distort each character inscripted on the screen like an acid to any infected surface.

See, he doesn't even need to examine these papers. All he needs to do is read and sign them for approval, but he insists on further examining them, his need for certainty and preciseness getting the better of him.

A knock on the door pulls him out of his concentration and if one does not know any better, they could say that those poor inscriptions are finally able to breathe in relief, temporarily.

Harry's face muscles relaxes just the slightest but his brows are still pulled together. You could say it's his signature look, yeah.

He sits straighter on his roll chair, his elbows leaning slightly on top of his desk.

"Come in!" He urges the person behind the door before it is opened by his trusted secretary, Betty. "Yes?"

"Sir, your father is on line 2." She informs.

"Alright. What about that property that I've asked you to follow up?"

"I don't give two shits about your boss. That house isn't for sale." The yet faceless Miss Baker's words echoes inside Betty's head.

"Sir," She hesitates and looks down at the grey matted floor for a moment before she looks up at her boss' emotionless stare. "Miss Baker still insists that her parents' property is not for sale."

Harry leans back on his chair, his hands entwine over his toned abs covered by his business suit as he looks at his assistant challengingly.

"Well, then... double the money. Triple it for all I care. I need that property's title in my desk before I go back to England. I don't want another argument with my pushy excuse of a brother."

He's talking about Derek. The prick asked Harry if he could find a house and lot here in Chicago where it'd be conducive for his future kid to grow up in. Fortunately, while Harry was on his way to their hangar in Spellborough, he spotted this relatively large property; wide lawn with manicured fine green grass, a house with Victorian-styled walls, few trees standing firmly in assymmetry at the left side, allowing the fresh breeze of air to swift through the house or at least, provide protection from strong wind or harsh glare of the sunlight.

It couldn't have been more perfect, Harry thought. If anything, he just doesn't want to be bothered by his brother's complaints so he made sure to choose the most-fitting, child-friendly property.

"Okay, sir. I'll do my best to convince Miss Baker."

Harry simply nods and grab the office phone, dialling '2'.

"Dad," Betty takes that as a cue for her to leave his boss be while he talks to his father.

"Yeah, I'm fine... Sorry, there's just a lot of work here... I promise to call her later... Yeah, thanks Dad..."

The phone conversation lasted for few more minutes before he decides to attack the figures on his MacBook's screen once again.

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