Angel Eyes

Chapter Two

Harry's POV

"Hi, I have a reservation for two under Styles," I indicated to the young lady behind the podium.

"Yes Mr. Styles your party arrived moments ago and has already been seated. Please allow me to show you to your table."

"Thank you and please call me Harry," I said as I followed her lead towards the back of the restaurant. We entered a private room where one of my best friends and recent manager, Jeff Azoff, sat pursuing his menu. He looked up long enough to acknowledge my presence and went back to his usual indecision. He always did the same thing; he'd pick out two or three different things before the waiter took the order and then ultimately always chose something entirely different in the end.

"No, no Jeffrey don't get up or say hello, I wouldn't want to take you away from your important task there." I pulled out the chair opposite him and he mumbled something about the Halibut looking good. The serving team came in and of course he ordered the Filet Mignon. I had just gotten off a 10 hour flight from London so I stuck with something light in the way of an Asian Salad.

Jeffrey, as I called him, had just become my personal manager after a long and complicated history with MODEST management. My band, One Direction, had just gone into a self-imposed hiatus after five years of non-stop touring and recording. To say we were all exhausted was a gross understatement. I was the one known for having the most arduous work ethic and couldn't seem to relax for more than a week or so at a time.

My bandmates; Niall, Louis and Liam, deserved the time to do as they pleased, but knowing myself I moved on to stay creative during the break. Jeffrey would be an intricate part of that journey as I ventured into the unknown territory of solo artist. I was excited and more than a little nervous about the whole prospect. Whether I was successful or fell flat on my face I would never betray or leave the lads that I was bonded to both musically and personally.

After catching up personally we began discussing the first steps I would be taking and decided on a meeting time the next day with his dad, Irving (one of the most powerful men in the business of music). Although Jeffrey was my manager Irving had agreed to be a close consultant and I was very honored by his interest. We finished tying up some loose ends at dinner and he invited me back to his beach house to crash for the night. Normally I would have politely declined, but fatigue had taken its toll and Malibu was much closer than Beverly Hills.

Glenn, Jeffrey's live-in girlfriend, was the only one at the house when we arrived and I was silently grateful since I really didn't feel like being on for the rest of the evening. She was standing by the living room patio doors and as I sauntered over to give her a kiss on the cheek I noticed the sun was low on the horizon. I took the opportunity to give them a bit of privacy by walking out on the deck breathing in the twilight air.

At first the beach was deserted, but just as I turned to go back inside I saw a lone figure appear from behind the rocks. Actually what first caught my attention was a flash of red, which turned out to be a scarf unfurling from the neck of a woman. She was completely unaware of my presence and I felt like a bit of a voyeur as I watched her stroll along the sand.

The waves were mean spirited for low tide and the wind was whipping around her. I had no idea why, but her movements fascinated me like the inspiration of a song before I wrote it. She never looked up so she paid me no mind. Just as she passed the house she finally lost her scarf to a sudden gust. I hurried down the stairs to catch the article before it was lost to the sea as it floated away from her. I caught it just before it hit the water and a wave up to my knees caught me.

"Excuse me miss I believe this is yours," I said offering her back her possession. "I don't think it got wet." She was hesitant at first, but eventually reached out and took the material.

"Thank you so much, it's my favorite scarf and with my hair in my eyes I couldn't even see where it went."

I extended my hand and introduced myself. "Hi, I'm Harry, I'm glad I was able to help."

"Hi, I'm Angelina, by the way where exactly did you come from Harry? I thought I was the only one out here."

I just pointed up to the balcony of Jeffrey's house. "My friend lives there, do you live nearby?"

She shook her head and told me about a rather unpleasant meeting she had just had with Martin Devers at his estate further down the beach. I certainly knew of the mogul, but had never actually met him. As we turned and wandered back in that direction she explained her profession and why she was there. I was good at dialects and could discern a South African accent so I assumed the potential account was important to her business.

I watched her without actually staring. She was lovely with long brunette hair that fell loosely around her shoulders. Her face was soft and although I couldn't make out the color of her eyes in the lack of light I liked the shape. She was barefoot and stood even to my shoulder, which would make her around 5'7" tall. She was lean, but had the curves of a woman; thank God I was so tired of women with boy bodies. She was engaging in the way she spoke and it was an easy assumption that she was both intelligent and confident. The closer we got to her car the more intrigued I became.

As we approached her Audi she thanked me for walking her back to her car since it was well past dark. I assured her it was my pleasure and decided to take my chances and ask for her number. She said she would give it to me with the stipulation that I give her mine in return; explaining that she didn't answer censured numbers.

I had several numbers, business related and personal. I only had one that came directly to me without being screened by my assistant or security. It was exclusively for family and close trusted friends. I had learned through years of mucking my way through the worst of human deceit to be an excellent judge of character. In other words I had a great bullshit detector. I gave her my direct line.

I stood long enough to see her taillights move out of view. Turning back towards Jeffrey's house I had forgotten about my previous fatigue and my wet boots. Instead I decided to call a car when I got back and go on to my own home. Beverly Hills was a lot closer to West Hollywood than Malibu and one of the things I had found out during our walking talk was that she loved breakfast.