fight for control ↠ harry styles [b1] ✓

CHAPTER 22

An hour and a half later, I was left with no answers. I was frustrated. More than normally. This Skype call was meant to help me move forward with the expansion of my brand yet I felt like someone pushed me back five steps.

A loud grunt mixed with a sigh, erupted from my chest through my throat and right out my mouth. I leaned my head back on my chair and spread my legs under the table, my feet no longer trapped in my heels, hands on either side of the chair arm rest. Things weren't in my favour and that didn't make me happy at all. I didn't like it when the control was not in my hands. It made me feel lost and helpless, like if anything would have happened would have been my fault even though I didn't even do anything.

"Miss Kensington," suddenly, my office door slid open and revealed Danielle. That automatically reminded me of the fact that the new assistant would be starting tomorrow. Well, their training, anyway.

"Yes, Miss Jones?"

"I, um, was put in a pretty difficult situation with this one. Seeing as it wouldn't have been proper of me to send them away, not to mention it wouldn't have worked anyway without bringing security into it, I decided to do what was best," she rambled. And it confused me. I stood up and buckled the button on my blazer. The floor felt warm against my feet as I walked out from behind my desk, my shoes still where I kicked them off to.

"Danielle."

"I understand if this is not something, you're in the mood for after the meeting..."

"Spit it out," I said a bit sterner. She never rambled like this. It made me think she had done something terrible that would lead her to a serious warning, perhaps the termination of her contract. Not that it was something I would've happily done.

"Mr Styles is here. He is under the influence of alcohol. He is in a bad state," she told me. Thank god. I thought something serious happened.

"Well, did you ask him why he's here?"

"I tried. He didn't tell me. All I could get out of him was that he needed to speak to you specifically."

"Of course, he did," I mumbled. "Where is he?"

"I took him in one of the waiting rooms, just after the reception desk, up here. I didn't want anyone to see him in that state whilst I came to speak to you," she informed me.

"If you could please get one of those bagels and a bottle of water for me and bring in the room where he is..."

"Yes, of course," she said right away. She didn't interrupt me, it was more like she knew what I would say anyway and just confirmed she would do it. "Will that be all?"

"That will be all, thank you," I sighed. "He's in room two, right?"

"He is."

I locked the office with my card as I placed it on the scanner then slipped it in my blazer pocket. Without my shoes on, I walked along the carpet and knocked on the door before I entered. Then there he was. All displayed on the couch, his blazer off and shirt unbuttoned to the point where his chest tattoo was on show.

Chest tattoos.

Two birds, he had. Not a single thought like that crossed my mind when I thought of him having tattoos. It was truly unexpected yet it weirdly fit him. It went nicely with the cross necklace that rested around his neck and on chest.

"Renleigh," he called me by my first name. It was weird. He only done it once before. He was pissed off at me then. Well, more so angry. Doubted it was at me, probably at the situation. Then again, it was likely to be because of me because I'm difficult as he would describe me.