looking for america ★ L.S.

Prologue

"Mmmph." Niall grunted, sipping his champagne again. "So when is this interview thing happening?"

"In like a week. Mum said she wanted me to 'embrace my new life' before I restarted myself. It's all apart of her fucked plan to keep me in check I suppose."

"You'll ring me when it's over won't you?"

"Yeah, sure."

The airplane lights flickered, and the boys looked up at them.

"Seatbelts everyone!" Harry said, yawning as he set the fancy champagne glasses into even fancier cup holders. He clicked his seatbelt on, and placed his elbows on the table, staring at Niall, who was subtly (or not so subtly) struggling to plug his seatbelt in.

"You need me to strap you in, Princess?" Harry giggled, batting his eyelashes when Niall playfully flipped him off without looking up from his impending task.

"Bee. Eye. Tee. See. H." Niall looked at him under his brows after he'd managed to handle the seatbelt situation.

"You love me though." Harry said, putting his chin the the palm of his hands.

"What can I say. You're just my type— bratty, sexy, curly—"

"Okay! Okay! Never again." Harry laughed, sitting back in his seat.

"Prepare for landing." Robert's voice sounded over the crisp intercom, hastily ending the boys' conversation and sitting them back into their seats.

Harry watched the city as it got closer and closer, going from just seeing the tips of sky-scrapers to seeing little dotted cars idling along the labyrinth of roads.

"It's a fucking maze down there." Niall said, "And, aren't you claustrophobic?"

Harry grunted, already feeling sick to his stomach.

"Yep." He said, aggressively popping the P.

The plane circled the airport in a spiral, getting closer to the runway with every second spared.

"Welcome to New York City." Robert said, and Harry could've sworn he heard: 'Welcome to Hell on Earth, Mr. Styles.'

Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe Harry was to become the Devil. Maybe this was his new domain: his city.

*

If one thing was for sure, New York City was not Harry's 'domain' in any way, shape, or form. He could've sworn he saw a pig fly by his window that very morning.

And even through this, work continued as 'normal'. Harry strolled into one of the tallest buildings he'd been in in quite awhile, maybe since the last time he'd been here. (On a business trip with his mother.) Since then, though, everything seemed so much louder.

Thank god the rumble of the underground was nearly unnoticeable now, and the smell of greasy fast food restaurants were replaced by overused cinnamon and lemon cleaning supplies, perhaps laced with a hint of coffee. Something familiar.

He'd been emailed prior to this useless escapade by a secretary by the email of paynel@LXZ.com, regarding his directions from his flat (err, row house) as well as dress code, basic information, and how honored they were to be working with The Styles Family (trademarked?).

With a slightly hesitant finger, Harry clicked the cold button that shined with a golden "28". A label next to it said "MAIN OFFICE". Bingo.

For a moment, the gears of the elevator shifted, then got themselves in order.

Heavy metal nearly encased him, surrounding on all sides except that of the hastily closing doors. The normal bustle of a first floor business building in New York City pierced his ears sharply. Everything seemed hyper enhanced in sound when heard by those trying desperately to disregard anxiety. Thank god the rumble of the underground was nearly unnoticeable now, and the smell of greasy fast food restaurants were replaced by overused cinnamon and lemon cleaning supplies, perhaps laced with a hint of coffee. Something familiar.