REVOLUTION || HS

ONE || FORTNITE CALLS

"FOR THE LOVE of satan, Terrence! Terrence! Get your small ass in my office now!"

I paused for a moment, only giving him about five seconds before I opened my mouth to scream and fire him.

"I'm here! I'm here, Mr. Styles," my heavy, chocolate-skinned secretary nearly yelled, rushing into my office with his fat rolls jiggling at every step.

"First of all," I calmly began, taking my beautiful leather work shoes off of the desk. "DON'T FUCKING YELL AT ME. And second, be cool. Why're you so tense?"

Terrence whimpered at my tone before he started to take deep breaths, sweat ferociously dripping from his temple and onto his shirt. He was careful to watch where it landed, because I swear - if it gets on the new carpet I had put in the office, it was over for my main man Terrence.

"Mr. S-Styles, I'm s-sorry. I was using the restroom."

My fingers went to touch my lips momentarily, processing his statement with a nod of my head. His dark eyes didn't dare to flicker up to mine, and I continued to narrow mine at the frightened secretary with patience to see if he would indeed dare to.

After a few moments, I sighed loudly and spoke with widened eyes and an eager tone. "Number one or number two?"

"Um," Terrence gulped deeply, his gaze directed at his chewed cuticles. I visibly cringed at the sight, staring at my beautiful, recently-polished cuticles before returning my narrowed eyes at my secretary. "Number two, sir."

Terrence tilted his head to stare at the ground, a slight whimper coming from his mouth.

"Welp, glad you're emptied out. You gotta shit when you gotta shit," my hands went to grasp the thick files filled with papers on my desk. "Ugh, anyways, Donald is having a rally right here and I'm supposed to go to it. You know, with my good looks and to sway the enemy to join the Trump Train."

I was part of Donald's team in order to help him - you know - win this election. It was only four months away from the election, and we both were stressing like crazy. Kanye West was becoming a fucking favorite in this running, and Trump could not let that happen.

Kanye was not going to be the president.

Terrence cleared his throat before returning his gaze to me and wiping the few drops of sweat from his forehead. "Will I be attending with you and Donald?"

I gasped loudly at his question, my eyes widening with a hand over my heart.

"How dare you address him as Donald - you have no respect, Terrence. NO RESPECT."

"But sir, you just called him Donald-"

"I know what I called him. Donald and I are real friends - besties actually. He scratches my back, measures my dick to see everything's good down there, and sometimes even gives me his "four more years" merchandise. You and Donald have none of that."

My muscular, tattooed chest was heaving in anger, breathing heavily after my rant.

How dare he call him Donald?

Absolutely no respect.

My finger pointed at my secretary, hanging in his face while Terrence stared at it, almost going cross-eyed since it was at the end of his nose. He gulped before once more wiping at the sweat on his forehead.

"I'm just - just gonna go."

And he left with fat rolls jigging and all.

A sigh escaped my lips as I cracked both sides of my neck and propped my feet on the cherry oak wood desk. My legs were exhausted - exhausted as in I had been walking all over this damn building looking for Terrence and my occasional stress walks. I always went on walks when a bitch tried to test me, and I had enough for the day.

I already had my third walk today.

With several jobs, I lived a tough life. Similar to Donald, I owned Styles Towers along with several other buildings. Styles Towers was the headquarters of my buildings, and I planned on constructing more soon since my partners and I had already discussed our ideas.

Apart from that, I also helped Donald with his campaign dealing with financial things, campaigning, and many rallies. Since my job basically forced me to stay where I was, it was impossible to help my old buddy out and accompany him to his rallies.

Oh well.

Another day, another dollar.

"Mr. Styles."

A scream sounded from my mouth, my fists slamming down violently on my desk as well as my head. That occurred for a couple seconds before I picked up the phone, clearing my throat with sweat dripping down the side of my face. "Yes, Robert?"

"You've got some protesters out on that new building - I don't know which one and I don't frankly care either," my asshole of a receptionist stated before I pinched the bridge of my nose in a frustrated manner.

I really needed to fire my whole staff.

"Do you know if it's the one that will be constructed soon?"

"Nah," he simply replied, my ears perking at the noise of him tapping keys through the phone.

"What the fuck are you doing? You're typing like crazy-"

"Fortnite calls. Gotta go."

And he hung up.

My receptionist literally hung up on me when I was speaking.

Robert wasn't much of a respectful man. In fact, he was only about twenty-years-old and still in college - I thought. His time of being a receptionist included playing fortnite and watching anime - not at all helping the people who would ask him for help. He would simply point to one of my assistants passing by, not speaking a word.

Robert had received many complaints, but he went with me to get my nails done several times, so I wasn't complaining. He claimed that his cuticles were "too fucking perfect" to be messed up or to do a dirty job. That was where I hired him to be my receptionist, and I realized every day that it was one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made.

Well, aside from jacking off to Donald Trump in the living room when my mum walked in on me.

It wouldn't have been as bad if she had actually liked Trump. Instead, the devil worshipping woman liked Kanye - as well as my father.

Daddio and I haven't had a relationship ever since I found out their big secret.

No regrets.

These protesters, though, they were something else. They were Kanye worshippin', boy band lovin', stank ass haters.

The absolute worst.

The protesters had been the biggest problem with me, along with Styles Towers, for almost a year. Since the police backed me up, I had never been face-to-face with the scumbags. And now, I had to take care of them since my little piggies could not handle the job.

Whoever they were, they were ruthless. But, with my Republican charm, beauty, and dick size, they would be eating my ass within seconds.

Let's hope.