MY NAME, IS SIR [HARRY STYLES]

~~03~~

"Good afternoon, Charlotte"

My back was facing toward to the register when I was startled by my name being greeted on the Monday afternoon.

Turning around and meeting once more with his stern posture, I was surprised to see him back here again.

"It's Charlie" I correct, really not liking the use of my full name in any scenario. "What can I do for you today?" I quickly add.

"I'd like to see my photographs" he says without hesitation, taking me back a little.

"Sorry?" I shake my head a little, making sure I had heard him right.

"The photographs you took of me, I'd like to see them" he restates again.

"Oh" I gasp, swallowing down my once again dry throat. "They aren't, I don't have them on me." I stumble.

The rising of his right brow indicates that's not the response he wanted, a trait I have picked up on him already when something happens that he doesn't like.

"I could... email them to you?" I quickly suggest, suggesting whatever I could to save myself.

He shifts himself to reach into his suit jacket pocket, pulling out a small business card, writing something on the back of it before sliding it over the counter toward me, assuming it's the details of his email.

"6:30, sharp" he states before turning on his heel and walking out of shop before I was able to answer him.

I lift the card up to see that the card belonged to a restaurant downtown called "Barley Swine", a fancy restaurant that I in no could afford even a glass of tap water at with my wage.

But then, what was he expecting, this doesn't look like the type of place I bring my laptop to, you don't just whip it out in the middle of dinner. Also, was this dinner? Or am I meeting him out the front before he goes in with someone else?

I flick my eyes toward the clock, it was already 4:30pm, half hour remaining in my shift and then I have to get home, get changed and make it back over into town. For a date that I wasn't even sure was a date.

For the remainder of my shift, I couldn't even concentrate, I was mixing up orders, dropping things and just ultimately my mind was not here.

By the time I got home, I only had 15 minutes to organise myself before I needed to leave, I really didn't like being rushed. Whilst I tried to find something to wear, I decided to print out all of the pictures I took to give to him. I thought it was the most sensible option.

I opted for a pair of black tight, high waisted jeans with a tucked in white camisole that had a bit of a frill detail, I figured it was nice enough to cover both options of being used for dinner, or if I did get it wrong, I would be able to blow it off as a regular outfit. I brushed out my hair into a light wave and added just a small amount of mascara and lip gloss.

Grabbing the prints from the printer, I fold them into cardboard binder before fetching my bag and heading back out, attempting to dodge all of Tabitha's questions as I leave.

As I head up toward the restaurant, I couldn't see any sign of Harry outside, but lucky for me, somehow, I managed to be early. I'm such an awkward person, I wasn't sure of what to do now, do I go inside and ask for his name? Do I stand out here and wait? Do I run away and hide now?

"Good evening, Miss Bailey" the voice comes from behind me; however, it isn't a British accent like I was expecting, rather a man in his mid 40s, black suit, bald head.

"Yes?" I ask uneasily.

"Right this way Miss Bailey, Mr Styles is expecting you" he informs, gesturing a hand toward the inside of the restaurant.