Book Four: Taken (One Direction)

I sat down at one of the table and counted my cash. I knew I was running up the water bill with the long showers I take when I get home, but I just feel like there's a layer of dirt on my skin after I perform, like every guy who stuck cash down my bra had mud all over his hands... It's a terrible feeling, really.

Just as another girl took the stage, three guys, all the perfect height, strutted inside. They looked familiar, but were wearing shades and hats. They looked very relaxed, but tense when they took in their surroundings, as if they hadn't planned on coming in here.

One of them, had a perfect jaw line and alabaster skin that seemed to be blemish free, minus a small scar on his forehead... Wait. I knew that jaw line, that lovely skin, that little fading scar... 

Harry Styles.

My throat seemed to close up and I ducked my head, standing up abruptly. What were they doing here? They cannot see me; they might tell my father. To my surprise, it's Harry, Niall, and Zayn. No Louis in sight. I sigh and duck behind the counter, watching them silently as they shuffled uncomfortably through the club.

I had no time to celebrate how well I'd done tonight because I was busy sneaking into the back and grabbing my bag, running out the back and into the alley. I slipped on my pea coat and ran down the alley to my car, jumping inside and tossing my bag into the back seat.

What the fuck were the lads doing in the club, my club?

I took a few deep breaths and then started to drive home, quickly as I could.

With Sunday morning comes a lazy air about the house. Buxley doesn't wake me up from brunch until 10:30, so if I wake up before then, the house is silent, minus the hum of the laundry machine and the occasional clink of dishes being washed. 

Yes, I've woken up five minutes early, despite my late night last night, sitting up and wondering why Harry, Niall, and Zayn were at the club last night-- not that I could ever ask them; then they'd know that I was there.

I decided to check on Maks, who said he had a date last night. He went out at the same time as me, but I got in after him, so I never got the chance to ask him how it went.

I grabbed my bathrobe and slipped it on, tying it as I walked across my fuzzy carpet and opened my French doors. I slowly made my way to Maks' door and knocked twice before opening it.

To my surprise, Maks was not sleeping alone, but rather, had a very pretty girl with deep red hair and apparently, a size zero body (judging by the dress draped over the back of the chair by the door) snuggled up to him. They were both clothed, both wearing Maks' clothes, which was hilarious, and she seemed completely comfortable.

I was annoyed with Maks, because he really liked Xenia just a bit ago, but here he is snuggling with a red head. I turned on my heel, feeling as though I may puke, and almost ran straight into Buxley, who must've been coming to wake Maks.

"Morning Buxley," I whispered.

"Miss Jones, I suggest you go down for brunch. Your father invited some guests," Buxley informed me. I raised an eyebrow, but he simply shrugged. I sighed and nodded, brushing past him.

I didn't really care if everyone saw me in my robe, especially because Daddy's business partners seem to find me adorable when I'm in my pajamas, especially if my hair's in pigtails, which I was pulling my hair into as I walked.

I ran down the stairs, full speed, until I got to the last few steps. I started walking in slow motion, remembering everything that happened last night, the way everyone smiled and cheered when I arrived, how Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles strutted through that door, how our eyes connected, how...

Then, on the table next to the door, where the phone sits, I noticed that the latest issue of my favourite gossip magazine was placed neatly under a pile of other mail. All of it was addressed to either me or Maks, which meant Dad and Mom were already up and sitting at the table; we always read our mail around the breakfast table.

I grabbed all my mail and left Maks' behind, walking briskly across the cold marble floor and into the dinning room. I set my mail down on the vast table and took a seat next to Mom, who was spreading butter over a slice of toast.

"Morning," she chirped. I glanced at Ross, who was sitting right across from me and shot him a grin. He rolled his eyes.