Beachwood [H. STYLES]

Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

Part of me wants to be excited, walking into the café and let my colleagues know that if I'm successful under Rhodes Records, I can quit. But, the other half of me remembers who I work with, Mark – who couldn't really care less. Instead, I sit behind the coffee machines, trying to formulate a way to tell Mark that I need to start working overtime. If I want the opportunity, I need to make that EP, even if it is at my own cost.

Asking Marie to cover for me for a minute, I make my way to Mark who is at the back of the café, shifting heavy bags full of coffee beans.

"What do you need, Rory?" he spitefully asks, rolling his eyes when he sees me in his sight. Fighting the urge to hiss back at him, I squeeze any negative thoughts out of my head and put on a fake smile.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," I say, walking closer to him, attempting to carry a bag of beans myself. Mark stops his actions and looks back at me, arching his eyebrows like he wants me to continue.

"I-I'm going to need to start taking extra shifts. As many as possible." I mutter out, not meeting his eyes. I'd like to think that I'm strong enough to just be able to say anything, but there's something about Mark that intimidates me at times – maybe because this is the most stable job I've ever had and I didn't want to lose it, not with the pay I'm getting a week. It was a lot, for a barista but not enough to be recording my own EP for a record label. Studios in Los Angeles were expensive, the prices Cameron and I came across yesterday probably cost my left kidney.

"Trying to be employee of the month eh? Sorry babe, it won't be you ... ever" he snares, laughing at his own harsh remark. I do my best to contain any form of anger towards my boss, but his attitude half the time makes it more difficult. I retain my smile and pick up another bag, whilst I speak.

"No, didn't know we even have that. I just need to make more money, as fast and as soon as possible" I say, hoping he could move around our shifts so I could gain more hours. Mark isn't as rude to everyone else like he is with me, but over three years you kind of learn to swallow it. He stops his movement and turns around to face me. I don't know why he's acting like it's a big deal, we work at a café, not a drug cartel.

"Why?"

"Don't we all want to make a little more money, Mark? Just let me work overtime, or if you don't want to suffer by changing our shifts around ... just pay me at a higher rate." I smirk. Mark is young, but he is very lazy.

"You're dreadful. I'll think about it. In the meantime, work as much overtime as you want. I couldn't care less to be honest," he shrugs, slaps his palms together to get the dust off his hands and walks away. He's extremely vile to him for no reason. Every week I question it, but it's really not worth my time.

I walk back to the front of the café, taking my place behind the machines, thanking Marie for covering for me. As I make all the orders that come at me, I can't help but to let my mind think. The coffee doesn't need much focus, it gets easier day by day to make a flat white or a chai latte, so I just let my hands do all the work while my brain gets to thinking.

The past few days have been exciting, truly. It's been filled with walks to West Hollywood, where Harry's recording studio is. I still find it hard to wrap my head about the events of last week. From the meeting with Linda Rhodes to Harry wanting me to work with him for the next two months – everything just seems unreal.

Although, I can't help but to worry. I know Harry insisted and offered, but I don't want him to think I'm using him for my own gain. We haven't known each other for too long, but I'd like to think of him as a friend, like what he said when he was at my apartment. He's a big personality; not only in Los Angeles or the nation – he's a 'global heartthrob' according to Cameron and I can't believe the odds I had that let us be where we are now, friends.