the lost journal [h.s]

chapter one

I raced through the crowd waiting on the platform, nearly knocking down a small child and falling face first, to get onto the train. But knowing my luck, the train doors began to close. I really shouldn't have worn heels today, but it was my first day at my new job and I wanted to make a good first impression.

I probably look like a mess right now, my face sweaty and make up slightly smudged. I shouldn't have spent that long on my makeup when it's already messed up. Unfortunately, my alarm didn't go off, hence missing my train and now I'm going to be late on my first day. Great.

I look at the train timings.

Cockfoster- 18 mins

"Shit." I curse. I immediately cover my mouth, when I see a mother cover her daughter's ear. I mouth a sorry to them.

18 minutes?! Work starts in less than 20 minutes and there's no way I can manage to get to work on time, seeing as I still have to get another train from Hyde Park.

I whip out my phone, deciding to text my boss saying I'm going to be late.

'No service' is written at the top of my phone. Of course there isn't any service, I'm underground. I'm so screwed.

18 minutes pass and my train was on time. I shoot up from my seat, pushing through the crowd one last time, before entering the already full train. It was now 8:32am, London's rush hour. I was two minutes late already, with no way to inform my boss.

A few stops in, majority of the train had emptied and there was only a couple of people on my train carriage. As the last few people on my carriage began to exit the train, I go to sit down at the window seat.

Before I sit down, I notice something. A worn out, brown journal lies on one of the seats. I look around the train, no one staring at me. Picking up the journal, I put it into my bag and sit down. I get my mirror out and fix myself up.

My hair is unsightly, my curls loose and messy. Groaning, I finger comb my hair , pulling out a few strands from the knots made. I wipe the smudged mascara from underneath my eye and let out a sigh.

"The next station is Hyde Park," The woman voiceover says.

I pack away my things and wait for the train to come to a stop. As the train doors slide open, I step out and debate wether I should get a second train or walk. Train would be quicker but I really need to get connection to inform my new boss about my lateness of 45 minutes. I decided to walk because I really must call up. The walk isn't that far from the office I'm working at, 10 minutes at the most.

I quickly dial the reception of the office and ask to speak with Mr. Roberts, my boss.

"Dan Roberts. How may I help?"

"Hi, Mr. Roberts. It's Kaitlin,"

"Ah, Miss. Myers. You seem to be a bit late," He mused.

"Yes, I am so sorry. My alarm didn't go off, and I missed my train. It's been a hell of a morning. I'm so sorry, it won't happen again." I blurted out, too fast. I hope he caught all of that.

He heard him laugh on the other end of the line. "It's alright, Miss. Myers. Don't let it happen again. Also, no need to come into my office this morning. Just go straight to Amber, our receptionist and she shall direct you to your office area."

I sighed in relief. "Thank you so much, Mr. Roberts and alright that's fine. Thank you again"

He hung up after assuring me I was let off the hook this time. Mr. Roberts was quite a pleasant boss.

'Tower Publishing' was written in bold, massive letters at the top of the building. You couldn't miss it. This was the biggest publishing centre in London and I was honoured to get a job here. I entered the building, searching for Amber, the receptionist.

"You must be Kaitlin?" I nod. "Welcome to Tower Publishing. I'm Amber, the receptionist" Amber had long blonde hair, clipped away from her face, reaching her lower back. Her pale blue eyes contrasted against the heavy, dark eye makeup. She looked extremely professional in her grey knee length bodycon skirt and white silk shirt. Her black stilettos clicked along the marble floors as she guided me to my office area.

"Right, here we are." She smiled. "This is your office area, your head colleague, should you need any help, is Gemma."

A tall dirty blonde woman, of about 27 in age at least, approached me offering her hand out. I accepted the gesture and we shook hands.

"Great. I'm off. Duty calls." Amber laughs. She had left, and said to call her up if there was anything I needed.

"So," Gemma began. "This is your desk. Luckily for you, I'm literally opposite from you" She jokes and I laugh. Gemma's really nice and I wouldn't mind being friends. I am given my first manuscript to edit, 206 pages.

Half an hour into editing, I had realised that my desk, well all the desks in the office, had been set so only you could see your work. There are small slabs of wood on the half way point of a full table, that separates mine from Gemma, across me, and the guy next to me.

I'm actually quite thankful, as I remember the leather journal I had previously found on the train earlier this morning.

I pull it out and examine the book. It must be a few years old, it's torn in some places. My fingers trail over the rips. The owner must be kicking themselves since they must've had this journal for a very long time. I see something scribbled in the bottom corner of the tattered journal.

Property of Harry Styles. Do not read.