Matilda | Harry Styles

FIVE

"What are you doing here?" he asked me, now, folding his arms as we stood in the office. I narrowed my eyes at him in confusion, knowing full well that Ally had just made him aware, in front of me, of my new job title.

"I'm your new photographer," I said, as if it were obvious. Had he even been listening inside of Ally's office?

"No, but really. What are you trying to pull here?" His features had almost begun to resemble a scowl - the way he was looking at me, studying me carefully, looking to analyse my own movements was beginning to unsettle me. "Is this some kind of game you're playing?"

"What?" I almost laughed.

"Are you trying to blackmail me, here?" he pressed, and I paused for a moment, my lips parted in surprise as I watched his face carefully for any sign of a joke. I leaned back against the desk, burying my face into my hands.

"Oh my god, you're serious," I breathed a humourless chuckle, shaking my head before pulling my face from my hands. "You think I'm trying to blackmail you? With what, exactly?"

"With the other night." The volume of his voice had lowered significantly, but it wasn't any less firm. I gazed up at him, entirely puzzled by his accusation.

"Why the hell would I do that? You genuinely think that I would take a job on your tour just to hang that we slept together over your head?" I shot back, growing impatient. I hadn't done anything to give him the impression that I would do something like that. It shouldn't have offended me - Harry didn't know me very well at all, and so his accusation couldn't have been laced with anything personal, but I couldn't help but be taken aback by the way he was speaking to me. I also couldn't help but feel a strange pang in my chest at his behaviour - it was like he was embarrassed to have spent that night with me, and seemed to fear anybody catching onto the fact it happened. I didn't dare let myself start to dwell on his clear embarrassment; I didn't dare let it hurt me that he was clearly regretful of having slept with me, and that he appeared deeply humiliated by it - I couldn't let that occupy my head, at least not there and then.

"You didn't mention anything about being a photographer the other night," he pointed out, his eyebrows raising, and I scoffed at the irony.

"Oh? And you also forgot to mention that you're Harry fucking Styles," I returned, with equal frustration, and his face fell to a blank expression. He knew I was right. He'd tried, for whatever reason, to downplay his identity into just being 'Harry', who 'sang a bit', I remembered that much. It was beyond ironic that he was accusing me of failing to mention what he presumed was my profession.

I leant back against the desk, exasperated. This was not how I'd expected this evening to go, but then again, this was becoming the pattern of my chaotic week. Maybe this was my life now; twists and turns and relentless surprises that I was not at all prepared for.

"I'm sorry," he said, quietly, taking a tentative step towards me, before he appeared to stop himself, hovering awkwardly a few feet away from me. I wasn't quite sure if he was apologising for his omission of his identity the other night, or for his behaviour and subsequent outburst tonight, and his hurling of accusations at me, but I didn't respond. We fell back into silence for a moment, both of our eyes fixed on the floor, before he broke it again. "You can't sign that contract, Isabella." My heart couldn't help but sink at his words.

"You can't be serious. How do you know I haven't signed it already?"

"Because I saw that you hadn't, before I pulled you out here," he said, and I scoffed again, shaking my head as I tore my eyes from him. So he'd pulled me out here in an attempt to convince me to shirk my opportunity and, basically, to go back to wherever I'd come from, out of his way. At this point, I didn't even want to look at him. "You need to tell Ally you've changed your mind, and you don't want the job."