"Hello?" I yell again. The place doesn't seem to be closed. All the lights are on.
I look around the place. It looks old, very old. I've read about it being the one of the oldest gyms here in New York City. Two separate boxing rings are set up in the middle of the gym with heavy weight machines along the walls. I look up, the ceiling is very high with long hanging lights.
"Seems like nobody's home." I mumble to myself.
"Can I help you?"
I quickly turn to the voice and I suddenly forget why I came here as I gulp, admiring the way his tattoos lay perfectly on his tanned skin. His muscles are prominent and the mop of curls on his head drip. His facial features, sharp. Probably sharp enough to cut a diamond.
"Um..." I try to get something out but I can't. Come on, Faye, you're drooling. He smirks as he looks me up and down, his hands on his hips. I clear my throat.
"I'm looking for Harold." I say and he raises a brow. "Harold Styles." I clarify, hoping this beautiful creature knows who I'm talking about. Oh God. I hope I didn't walk into the wrong gym. I'd be the one to do that.
"Can I ask why you're looking for him?" His deep accent sends chills down my back. He walks closer to me and I take a step back but act as if I did it by mistake, turning to look around the gym. My heels click against the wooded floor as I look back to him. I can feel my face heat up as his jade eyes become clearer in view.
"I'm Faye Brooke. I work for Athletes Agency in Central New York City." I say before I hold my hand out.
"What do you want with me?" He asks, not taking my hand as he turns around and heads back towards the locker rooms. I frown but immediately follow.
"You're Harold Styles?" I ask too excitedly as I follow him into a locker room. A horrible stench of sweat and musty socks sweeps up to my nostrils. "Oh God." I say to myself as my hands fly to cover my nose.
"It's Harry," he stops, frowning as he looks at me. "How do you know me?"
"Someone called us, telling us you needed a representative agent."
He sighs, his hands running down his face before he sits down on a bench against a wall.
"I'm sorry. Is there a problem?"
"Fucking Rick." He laughs to himself.
"Yes. Rick was the one who called us." I remember. Jerry was very excited about this one and I can't say I wasn't either. He'd be my first real client. I mean I've worked with others but not anyone like him. "Is Rick your old agent?"
He stands to his feet again. "Rick...is my coach." He walks towards the lockers and opens one. He then pulls out a pair of dark jeans and a black t-shirt. I turn so he can change.
"Well Rick called us yesterday, told my boss to send one of us in to speak with you." I explain, staring at a poster of a modern day Uncle Sam pointing a finger at me quoting, "You Suck!"
"And here I am." I say, staring at Uncle Sam.
"Did he tell you why I needed one? Or do you guys just come in and try to talk us into paying you millions of dollars to baby us?" He says and I shut my eyes. I turn around to face him again as he's pulling on his shirt. Thank God.
"We don't baby you." I say, trying to hold back the frustration that built up. "We simply try to make it easier for you to get millions of dollars and plus our agency is free. Well for you." I say.
"Why me?" He asks, walking up to me.
"Because," I stop for a second, hoping this isn't the first time he's heard of what I'm about to say.
"Because..." He says, walking closer.
"Because...your father was one of our most cherished clients." I say slowly and quietly. I watch as he frowns and looks at his hands. "You didn't know." I say. I've worked for this agency for too many years now and I've never had to tell someone about their father like this. We've read up on Harry and his history. He'd a lot of criminal behavior in his teen years and we figured out that it was most likely because he never had a father figure around. An only child living with his mother, a rebel who was diagnosed with bipolar issues.
"Walk with me?" He asks.
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