The Boy Wore Black || Harry Styles

The Boy Wore Black - Chapter 30

New York at night time, with its crowded streets and flurry of lights, was least of all quiet.  This was good, fantastic even, considering the fact that Harry hadn't spoken to me since we had gotten into the vehicle and had barely said more than a few words since our blow up in the hall.

It wasn't my fault that he didn't like the honesty in my answer, just like it wasn't his fault that I didn't like the offer.  We were each entitled to our opinions, at least I thought so, but his icy demeanor had yet to thaw and I was thankful that the car would be pulling into the back parking lot of the Four Seasons within a matter of seconds.

I glanced out the window, feeling him shift beside me as the car slowed to a halt and the driver put the vehicle in park.  I didn't recognize this guy, but I didn't think it mattered that much anyway.

Harry reached for the handle to his door and pushed it open while the driver opened mine.  It was strange, the fact that the middle-aged man hadn't even tried to help the sulking celebrity, but I chalked it up to familiarity and a lack of wanting to deal with Harry's blatant attitude.

Harry frowned at the man as he shut the car door and straightened his shirt.  He was tall, not as tall as Paul, but built similarly.

"I would say we'll be back but I know you're going to stalk me."  The man nodded in response and Harry sighed.  "Fine, follow us if you want but I'm not guaranteeing that it will be quick." 

I frowned at Harry and his tone.  At least he was talking, but I would have taken his stoicism to this moodiness any day.  "You could be nice," I commented solemnly.

"And you could be accommodating," he ground out.

I clenched my fists and followed him toward the elevator, wanting very much to continue on with our previous argument but knowing good and well that yelling at him here would cause a scene.

We found the room, not on any better foot than we had been, and Harry shot who I figured to be his chaperone a warning look as I pushed open the door.

"You're not coming in."

The man bristled and crossed his arms, a set of challenging hazel eyes staring him down intently.  "Yes, Harry, I am.  You know the rules, and you know what Paul said."

"Screw what Paul said," Harry spat.  "This is not a conversation you need to be privy to, and I'm telling you that you're going to wait outside of this door or you can go home.  Take your pick."

I sympathized for the man and stepped between them, offering the poor guy a warm smile.  "You have my word that he won't be going anywhere.  If he tries then I'll call security."

"Miss-."

"And if you try to come in she'll be calling security for a different reason," Harry volunteered rudely.  "It's nothing personal," he added when I nudged him in the side.  "Just business."

"I'm standing outside this door," the guy replied harshly.  "One step in any direction and you'll be on lock down from management.  Is that clear?"

"So you're a prison guard now?"

I pulled at Harry's arm, not wanting to deal with him in this state but fully aware that there were other guests staying on my floor.  Neither of us had forgotten about vomit-gate and neither had his management.  He didn't need to tack on an additional drama to his repertoire.

"You were rude," I stated the moment he shut the door.  "You're angry at me and you just took it out on that guy."

"I'm a rude person," he fired back.  "Deal with it."