Good Intentions| Editing

Two

-edited-

Finally.

Throughout the meeting I only stuttered four times, dropped my pen twice, and only stared at the sweet creature sitting next to me once. I was quite proud of myself.

"Since I'm back from the European branch for some time," This is not going where I think it's going. "I will need an assistant occasionally," Shit. "Just to sort out some things and to get things running smoothly." Mr. Styles looks at me out of the corner of his eye. The side of his mouth is pulled up, but just barely, not enough to notice unless you were totally looking.

And I was totally looking.

"I'd be happy to lend Arabella to you from time to time," Mr. Frederick says looking at me with one of those you-better-do-it-or-your-fired looks.

The room is quiet, so I guess I have to respond. "Oh-um sure. That be totally fine, Mr. Styles. Just call me when you need me," I pipe in looking awkwardly at Mr. Styles then down at my notepad.

"Good," he mumbles and stands up. "I'll see you later George."

"Ms. Kirking would you please walk Mr. Styles out?" Frederick asks.

"Of course," I oblige and head for the door, "This way Mr. Styles."

He nodded his head and followed me out the door. I kept my eyes on my feet, trying not to trip in my agonizingly painful heels. As I walked, I heard Mr. Styles designer shoes click against the floor. Those shoes probably cost more than my student loans, I think to myself. We approached the elevator and I pushed the down button for him. I turned around and stuck out my hand.

"Nice meeting you Mr. Styles." I say in a business tone.

"Don't you mean asshat?" He says nodding his head making his curls shake.

I feel my face start to turn red as a beet. He has a devious smirk on his face that I want to smack off. "Sorry about that sir, it was rude of me. Not the best first impression."

The elevator door opens and he steps in. "No, but you know what they say? Everyone gets a second chance." He looks at me with his chin tilted up in the air like an arrogant prick.

"Really?" I ask with my confidence coming back.

"No. I'll be taking your mishap into consideration to see if you are a good fit for my company. You should learn your place. I don't like disobedience," He scolds.

Immediately my shoulders drop.

"But sir-" I try to reckon with him.

"It's Harry, love," He says

What?

Before I can say anything, the elevator doors close taking the beautiful asshat of a man out of my sight.

••••••••••••••••••••••••

"People just want to watch the world burn," I say to myself almost slipping on ice. My landlord never puts salt on the sidewalk, so I'm practically skating in the winter time.

I open the door to my one bedroom apartment and lay my coat over a kitchen chair. Opening my freezer, I pull out my Lean Cuisine frozen dinner and stick it in the microwave. While it's heating up, I stroll over to my fish tank to feed my friend, Spaghetti. The fish gratefully eats the food while I stare at her with sad eyes.

"Did you know that a whopping 36% of Americans have an office affair?" I ask Spaghetti. She looks at me and puffs out her cheeks. "Well, anyways my coworkers Josh and Cindy were caught gnawing each other's faces off in the break room. Unreal. Who would do that? Not me!"

Spaghetti doesn't respond. But I didn't expect her to. She's a fish.

The microwave beeps and I take out my food burning my hand in the process. "Son of a bitch. God dammit!" I yell going to the sink to run cold water under it. Looking over to Spaghetti, I say, "Wipe that smirk off your face."

Running my hand under the water, I realize how pathetic my life is. Working at a job I don't like, eating frozen TV dinners, and talking to my fish. My old high school and college friends didn't like me because I was "too smart for them," I didn't have a boyfriend and my family only called once a week.

But I learned to accept it. I had a good working job. A nice apartment and Spaghetti I had to care for.

I take my food and plop down on the couch. Turning on The Office, I grab my computer and start working on a new story. I wrote short stories for fun and I hoped to be a novelist. Yet I work at a publishing company watching other people achieve their dreams of being writers.

My stories were okay. They got me into college and got me a job. I mostly wrote stuff about me and changed the characters with more details.

My phone rings and I see my boss's number pop up. I let out a groan before answering. "Hello?"

"Yes, hello Arabella. I need you to come in to work tomorrow. I know it's your day off but Mr. Styles and I have some business and we need you to be there."

"Of course. See you tomorrow then," I respond trying not to sound tired. I was dreading seeing Mr. Styles. But I would show him I earned my position and was a nice person. I'd show him I could obey. Sometimes at least.

My mind floats back to our encounter by the elevator. Why would he ask me to call him Harry? He was my boss after all. Plus, it wasn't professional. And what did he expect me to do by being his assistant? Expect me to answer his every beck and call? Hell no. Not after the way he treated me today.

He was just some egotistical, conceited prick who thought he was superior just because he was some hot-shot CEO who looked like God himself. I wouldn't stand for his attitude, not at all.

My phone beeps again with a message.

I expect you at the office tomorrow at 7 sharp. Don't be late.

-Harry Styles

How the fuck did he get my number?

He probably stalked my office desk and found it somewhere. But who was he to order me around? I worked for Mr. Frederick, not him.

The world does hate me, I think and continue writing with the sounds of Dwight Schrute in the background.

••••••••••••••••••••••
Kinda short but the story is only just beginning. Please comment what you think.
Xxx
Emma