The Artist

Chapter Two

My alarm begins to make a horrendously loud noise at seven thirty, telling me I have to get up. It takes me a moment to remember where I am. The unfamiliar ceiling scares me at first, but once I remember where I am, I remember what I have to do today. Go to work.

I miraculously managed to get a job in an art gallery, but I'm not painting or drawing, or doing any sort of artistic work. I'm a personal assistant. But at least the opportunity for a promotion is there, everyone has to start somewhere I guess.

I get up and head to the shower. After searching the bathroom for the shampoo, I hop in and lather it into my hair. The apple scent wafts through my airspace, my favourite fragrance making a powerful aroma.

Before too long, I'm out and dried. I slip into a floral, knee length dress and my toms. Throwing on a cardigan to keep myself warm. Breakfast today is limited, in fact I seem to have neglected to buy any food for breakfast. Good job Ellen.

I grab my keys and lock up, making my way speedily down stairs. The Seattle air seems so fresh as I walk down the street, following the directions the guy from the gallery gave me. It's very close, just a few blocks away.

When I walk into the building, I'm shocked. It's all brick, red brick, and the floor is a dark concrete. The walls are littered in canvases and an out of place looking shiny white desk occupied the centre of the room. I walk up to it, behind it sits a young lady with tightly swept back hair and angular features. She looks crabby, I don't mean to be judgemental but if crabby were a person, she'd be it.

"Hi, I'm Ellen Darke. I'm Mr Styles' new personal assistant?" My tone comes out more questioning than assertive.

"Well are you or aren't you?" She raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow while tapping a pencil annoyingly off the edge of her desk.

"I-I am, I was just wondering where his office is?" I begin to lose my confidence and bite my lip nervously.

"Mr Styles doesn't have an office." She replies in a monotone voice. Well, this conversation is just riveting.

"Well where can I find him then?" I grow impatient, God knows I'm late already.

"Up the stairs, first room on your left." She points to the spiralling wrought iron staircase to the left of the building. I nod and jog up the stairs to find my new boss.

First room on the left. I open the door without thinking to knock, immediately regretting my choice when a dark haired head snaps round in my direction.

"Who the hell are you?" He stands up and strides towards me. I recognise him, his voice. And his eyes. He's the man from last night, the man who I tried to help.

"I uhm, I'm Ellen Darke." I squeak, assuming he knows my name from my application. I can't believe my new boss is that jerk who got beat up.

"That name means nothing to me." He snaps, giving me a ferocious look. I shrink into my frame and pull at my cardigan sleeves.

"I'm your new assistant, you did hire me?" I give him a small smile. Seeing him now, in daylight, he's really quite attractive. Apart from the busted lip and bruised eye, and of course the lip piercing. I find those utterly disgusting.

"I know what I did." he stalks back to where he was perched on his knees, in front of a large white canvas that had various yellow circles painted on it. I then realise that they're flowers, sunflowers I believe.

"That's amazing." I breath, examining the intricate swirls of colour.

"Can you make coffee?" He says as if he never heard my compliment.

"Yes?" I look perplexedly at the strange, rude man.

"Then I'll have a black coffee, two sugars and hold the cream."
....
"Do not touch those. They're mine." He scolds and annoyingly pushes past me to grab the paint off the table.

I roll my eyes but keep my mouth shut. He is so terribly rude, so ignorant and just plain mean. Everything I do is an inconveniences him, everything I say is wasted air to him. I've been here all of three hours and he hasn't said one nice thing to me, not even one normal thing. Everything's negative and a joke at my expense.

His phone beeps and he grabs it, God forbid I would actually see the message. He sighs out loud and tenses.

"Do me a favour Evelyn."

"Ellen." I correct him as nicely as I can.

"Same difference. Go next door and ask Zayn to come here now."

I don't bother to ask for a please, I just nod and head off next door to tell whoever Zayn is, that Harry, oh, Mr Styles wants him. I forgot, I'm not to call him Harry but Mr Styles. What were his exact words again? Oh yes, you don't know me nor will you ever know me so you don't get to call me by my name.

I don't make the mistake of not knocking again, if everyone in this place is as hostile is Harry, I can't imagine working here permanently.

"Come in!" I hear him shout. I walk in and my jaw is on the floor. The walls of this room are white, well they were white once. But they're covered in graffiti and bright murals.

"Eh, are you okay?" He laughs and looks to me with a mask covering his mouth.

"Sorry, yeah. Har- Mr Styles wanted to see you next door." I say as calmly as I can, it'd be great to make at least one good first impression... " I'm his new personal assistant." I feel the need to say it.

"Oh, cool. Well then, welcome to the Gem Gallery!" Although I can't see his mouth, I can tell by his crinkled eyes that he's smiling. "Sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

"Oh, Ellen. Ellen Darke." I shake his hand firmly.

"Zayn Malik." he rips the paper mask off and I see his entire face. He looks like a model, like the kind of model you see shirtless on clothing bags from Hollister.

I walk awkwardly behind him and back into where Harry is still splattering paint on the canvas.

I'm not sure what to do with myself so I stand by the door. Harry begins muttering something to Zayn, talking lowly and inaudibly. His bright green eyes catch mine and they don't look away as he finishes his sentence. He leaves Zayn for a moment and comes walking towards me. His frame towers over mine as he looks down on me.

I find myself in an unmovable position between his chest and the door. I hold my breath as he opens his mouth to speak.

"Eavesdropping, are we?" He smirks. In my short time of knowing him, it's the first time I've seen him close to smiling.

"No, sorry. I didn't know where to go."

"Go home, Ellen. I don't need you here anymore." he says in a dry tone, stepping away from me so I can get my bag.

He goes back to his conversation and as I walk out the door he calls me back. I roll my eyes and turn on my heels,

"I'll be seeing you later."