corporate affairs [Niall Horan AU]

F I V E

F I V E

I went to a very liberal college. It was so liberal that the dorms were co-ed and roommates were assigned at random, without gender discretion. My uncle hadn't been entirely pleased to find my name, Elouise Watson right beside the regal sounding, a little exotic, Zayn Malik.

We were busy unpacking my things when Zayn entered, a few of his own boxes and trail of young girls behind him, each somewhat similar to him in looks. He set his things down on his bed and turned to my uncle to make a joke about how much clothing women own and the bond was sealed. 

Zayn was my first guy friend. I'd shared a slew of girlfriends in high school, all of whom I promised to stay in touch with after high school but doubted I really would. Most of them were too keen on men and marriage. I was after something else. That alone, my ambition, I suppose, made it hard to get near those girls. But Zayn was different. Zayn wasn't after marriage or men either (though the latter would've relaxed my uncle even more). Zayn wanted to make it to Broadway (something that should've sealed the deal about the whole men situation) and become One of the Greats. 

We became fast friends. While he took European Literature, Physcology, and Improv, I took Econ and Political Science. Our classes should've drawn us apart, we had nothing to study together, but instead it made us closer. We worked out a system to teach each other our classes, and because of Zayn, I still feel like I could've become a psychologist. 

Zayn was definitely more an extrovert than me, and he always had a gaggle of girls giggling over him, or a group of guys wanting to kick a soccer ball around. But he always managed to find time for me, and if he wasn't such a good best friend, I might have developed a small crush on that slightly angsty, brooding man. 

After college, Zayn and I packed our things and decided to move to New York together. A girl Zayn had been dating had told us stories of some young suit kicking up a storm about finding the perfect personal assistant (with degrees in exactly my majors) and it was all we needed to pursuade us to move to the Big Apple. 

We moved into a tiny studio near Washington Square Park and fell in love with Greenwich Village and it's diversity. I appreciated the fact that it was out of the commotion of central Manhattan and that there were ample bookstores to get lost in. Zayn just appreciated the hookah bars and the "underground" clubs. 

Zayn walked me to my interview for Mr. Horan that morning. He'd been very careful to wake me up early so that we could sit at our favorite bakery with our bubble teas and our pastries for a little while. He interviewed me as he thought Niall might, made sure I had on the Marc Jacobs perfume he'd gotten me the previous year for Christmas and then studied my face carefully for a few minutes, making sure my makeup was perfect. At the Rushmore Building, we were both surprised to see at least a hundred young women bursting from the doors, wrapped around the block in one single file line. 

It took three hours to get through that line. By the time I made it to Niall's office (which was only the size of mine at the time), my feet were killing me and I had to pee from all the bubble tea. I'd left Zayn in the lobby to fend for himself against the dozen or so old betties still waiting for their turn.

Niall's office was very airy and light, much as it is now. Modern and impersonal with only a few hints of usage. He was confident and calm. Asked me the same cookie-cutter questions with a polite, not interested smile, and then something came over him. He closed his notebook and loosened his tie and looked up at me with a curious glance. 

"Miss Watson. Why do you want this job? Really." 

"Well. Mr. Horan, to be honest with you, it's a big risk. You're a self-made man. Not even. Not yet. But I'm interested."