My Shoes (Harry Styles Fan- Fic) [Completed]

Chapter Seven- Bacon and Butterscotch

Chapter Seven- Bacon and Butterscotch

"There is no way in the world of bacon and butterscotch am wearing that." Wenny argued, crossing her arms across her chest, showing the full force of her stubbornness. She had not been impressed at all today. She felt crabby because her mother had to return back to work, saying that there had been some major disaster in the software department. As much as she had to, Wenny didn't want to let her go.

"Aw, come on Wen. You'd look cute in it." Payton teased, smiling brightly at her.

"Shut up dip-thong. You're not helping." She muttered through her teeth, elbowing the blonde in the gut, using his newly found nickname. Payton gave her a pestered look, rubbing his ribs subtly, hoping that she wouldn't see.

Chantelle, Wenny's stylist, was sitting across from dip-thong and her, in the black, leather swivel chairs, holding the horrid pink tutu type dress in her dainty hands. She was looking at Wenny amusedly.

The three of them and Timothy were at the record company's board room, waiting for Mark Pryce, Wenny's overall boss, the one who gave her the record deal, to come into the room. They were there to have the usual monthly meeting, and Wenny uncrossed her arms to drum her fingers against the wooden table sitting between the four of them; Payton and her on one side, Timothy and Chantelle on the other.

"It's the boss' orders Wen." Timothy urged, joining in on Chantelle's and Payton's fun.

"I don't care if I was ordered by the great heavenly Lord himself, I will never be caught dead wearing that. I don't wear pink." Wenny spat.

The door to the room opened and Mark sauntered confidently into view, his groups of marketing directors and lawyers following him. Mark's whole being screamed 'I HAVE MONEY', and the fact that he was wearing an Armani suit only highlighted this.

The producer strode to the end seat of the long table, furthest away from the door, and his little crowd, or bevys as Wenny liked to call them, filled the remaining seats around the table.

Mark placed his expensive leather shoes on the table, getting comfortable in the chair, and noticed the pink atrocity sitting on Chantelle's lap. "Why are you in possession of a tutu, Miss Chantelle?" he asked, looking at her, questioning her stylist abilities.

"It's not a tutu." she told him. "It's a homecoming dress."

Mark gave her a bored look. "You still didn't answer my question."

"I was told by your marketing employees that Miss Styles had to draw attention and start controversy towards herself, while still looking 'elegant', to promote the new album." She explained. Mark looked at the woman, shocked, and Wenny was happy that the problem was getting fixed before it could start.

Finally! Someone in their right mind agrees with me!

"Whose idea was this?" The boss boomed; eyes positioned down at his bevy crew, scrutinising them. One of the younger males raised their hand nervously, afraid of the powerfulness of Mark's gaze. The wealthy man stood, removing his feet from the tabletop, and walked down the length of the room, heading straight for the guy whose name Wenny thought was Michael.

She could see the fear deepening in Michael's eyes as his superior made his way towards him. The surrounding bevys we're shifting in their seats, waiting for the moment when Mark would blow his top, firing the young boy, who Wenny personally thought was quite cute...

Darn...why does the cute ones have to be stupid?

Mark placed a large hand on the boy's shoulder, towering over his seated position. Michael swallowed, and he let out a shuttered breath. Wenny bit her lip feeling worried for him. Mark lent down so he was eye level with Michael.