My life is just a series of strange situations

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It's been a week since I staggered out of Harry's surprisingly crap apartment and dragged myself though the worst day of my life. If there's one thing I learnt from it, it's that 7 hours sleep in 48 hours combined with my body weight in alcohol makes me even shitter at my job than usual.

But I'm a week on, the hangover is long gone and I'm just trudging through my day to day work. Working for a pop star isn't half as exciting as you'd think it would be. It's less sex, drugs and rock and roll and more coffee runs, paperwork and trying to avoid your bitch of a boss.

I've just brought Monica her third Starbucks coffee of the day and I'm trying to look busy so that she doesn't issue me with any more mind numbingly boring commands. I've re-arranged the papers on my desk several times and I spent 15 minutes pretending to take a call from a magazine.

Luckily Monica doesn't think I'm important enough to check up on me. If I'm doing something when she glances at me then she doesn't think to check further.

Today there's some excitement in the office as Harry arrived for a meeting. I can see him through the glass panels of the board room and it's distracting me from pretending to work.

I guess I kind of thought he'd stop to chat or at least acknowledge me after we hung out but he didn't. He just breezed past my desk with a tight smile.

I watch him through the glass as he fiddles with his phone, fidgeting in his chair. He looks unbelievably bored by whatever they're discussing. He's distractingly attractive today, wearing his skinny jeans and a plain white t-shirt. He's actually far more ripped in the flesh than he is in pictures. He has huge hands too and this really sexy habit of rubbing them across his jaw. I watch as he sips the water in front of him then looks down to his lap.

My own phone buzzes in my hand and I glance down at it in surprise.

You know hippy, its kinda hard to concentrate on this meeting when you're staring at me x

I stare between my phone and Harry. How on earth does he have my number? He doesn't even look at me and I decide it can't be him, someone must be messing with me. I glance round the office but nobody is playing me the slightest bit of attention.

I decide my best bet is to ignore it, it must be somebody winding me up. I grab a magazine from my desk that has done a long feature on Harry and stare down at it.

Surely that text couldn't have been from Harry. I mean, I haven't heard from him since we drunkenly hung out. My phone buzzes again and I furtively check it from behind the magazine,

You do know that you're pretending to read that magazine upside down, right?

My cheeks flame as I realise he's right. I look through the panels to see he's watching me, trying not to laugh. Trying to retain some dignity, I pretend to stare at the magazine, turning it side to side as if I'm studying upside down for a reason.

What are you studying so closely? Is it that topless picture of me of me they published? I bet it is 😉

I'm just reading this text when another one pings through.

I'm feeling rather used Lennon, last week you were all over me, now you've got what you wanted you've tossed me aside, you're not even replying to my messages 😢

I cringe at the memory of me thinking he was going to kiss me. I hesitate before tapping out a reply.

L: How did you get my number?

H: You gave it to me, about an hour before you threw yourself at me.

I roll my eyes as he shoots me a wink.

When Lennon met Harry Where stories live. Discover now