Tangerine

Chapter 69

At this point, a part of me wishes there was a member of security in the room, just so Mitch's remarks would be slightly more filtered. I don't like when he talks to me like this. I can't stand feeling like so much less than I could possibly be.

"Next time I send you something, you need to read it with extra care," Mitch enunciates, his eyes never straying from mine. "Read it twice, if you have to, because you can't keep screwing up like this."

"Screwing up?! Come on, I'm sorry! I didn't know! From the way it was worded, I thought we were just texting about the pictures the entire time!"

"Maybe you need to do a little less thinking and a little more doing," Mitch raises his eyebrows at me and I know I can't respond to that. "You're just lucky there weren't any pictures... but that brings us to our next point."

"Mhmm," I hum with my hand to my temple. Anything else I want to say will ultimately be proved wrong, so I might as well keep my mouth shut for my own sanity.

"The second thing," Mitch eyes me in my reserved position, "has to do with your two favourite people in the world."

"Jimi Hendrix and John Lennon?" even I can't help but smirk at that one.

"Yes, Scarlet," Mitch drawls, "I called you up here to talk about two dead stoners. Are you having a laugh?"

"Oh, come on, if I can't have a laugh, what's anything worth?" my expression softens, but only slightly.

And is that-? It is.

Mitch is actually smiling for the first time I've noticed all day. It's not excessive, but it's visibly there. It makes me satisfied to know that I can still spark that in the man, especially at a time like this.

It seems like the closer I'm becoming with Harry and the boys, the further I'm fading from my relationship with Mitch. We used to be on the same wavelength, always laughing at each other's jokes and making light of even the darkest of situations. Now, it seems like that has all disappeared.

It's rare that I do see my manager smile, unless he's having an occasional good day. His eyes have dulled and his wrinkles have darkened, two years worth in just under nine months. I used to think it was just stress, now I don't know what to think.

"If it sounds like I'm being a little harsh, that's because I am," Mitch explains, expression remaining somewhat mild, despite our heavy subject matter. "The second thing we're here to discuss has to do with certain pictures that were taken of you and more than one lad."

My face blanches, my eyes suddenly searching the room for any memory of being out in the public eye with Louis and Harry. Of course, it's Louis and Harry; which two other lads would it be? To my misfortune, I can't recall a single thing.

"What pictures?" I question.

Mitch watches me intently, "Do you recall a party, not so long ago, where you were carried on the back of Harry Styles?"

I bite my lip, "You're gonna have to be more specific."

There is a flicker in Mitch's eyes, but I can't quite tell what it is. Annoyance, maybe. Displeasure.

Yet, that's not it at all.

"I don't want to make this long, Scarlet," the man persists.

"Okay," I shrug simply. "Don't."

My manager lets out a slow, deep sigh, massaging two fingers into the crease down the centre of his forehead, "There was a party. All of us were there. Harry was carrying you. And somehow ‒ it's beyond me ‒ you both ended up on the ground with Louis Tomlinson."