A/N: i think you know what this picture means 👆
"Calm down," my mother begs. "It won't do us any good if he sees that you let him get into your head."
"But he did get into my head, Mum," I sigh. "My life has been a bloody nightmare since he published those pictures. I can't go out, I can't check my phone without freaking out, I can't even fucking breathe!"
"I know, okay… I know," she repeats with a pointed stare.
Yes, my mother has gone through her fair share of scandals back in the day, mostly during her rebellious phase before she had married Dad, but this isn't even remotely the same. Back then, there was no social media. The addition of the Internet makes it so much harder to avoid the media scrutiny.
"Mum, I just- this has to end," I groan.
"And it will. Soon. I promise," she swears. "But you need to stay strong or else your father will get angry. Look at me!" she grabs my chin, tilting my face to the side. "What would your grandmother always say whenever she read something nasty in the papers?"
A corner of my mouth twitches in a smile. "That we are badass women who don't ever let a man put us down."
"And?" she prompts with a smirk.
"That they're only good as long as their-" I move my pointer finger up and down, "is still fully functioning."
We both burst out laughing just as the door slides open, revealing my father with his usual stone-cold demeanour set firmly in place. He walks out onto the terrace stiffly, his expression quickly morphing into a scowl as soon as he sees us smiling.
"Have I missed something funny?" he asks snippily.
"No," my mother chirps, smoothing down her dress which I know is the little quirk she does whenever she gets nervous. "Have they arrived yet?"
"They just called. They'll be here in five minutes," he informs me, ignoring my mother entirely. "Go wait upstairs in the office."
I give him a short nod and walk past him, freezing in my step when I realise Mum isn't behind me. "You're not coming?"
It's hard to tell where this newfound need to have her around comes from, but I suppose I'd take anyone over the devil incarnate, even said devil's wife.
"She's not needed there," Dad mutters, sliding past his soon to be ex-wife without another word. She lets out a frustrated sigh, and even a blind man could tell that her perfectly manicured nails are just itching to claw my father's eyes out. As usual, I'm impressed by her ability to compose herself in literal seconds.
"It will be over soon. Just let your father and his lawyer deal with it," she murmurs only for me to hear.
Dad's eyes are still burning into the side of my face, so I reluctantly follow him up the stairs and into his office. I've always hated this room; mostly because it serves for a reminder of the realities of our shitty life. Anywhere you look, there are movie posters—also those I starred in—as well as diplomas, awards, and other shit to stroke my father's massive ego.
"He will try to rile you up," Dad speaks up after closing the door with a soft click. "No matter what, do not speak."
"Okay."
"If everything goes well, it could be over as soon as today. Then we will discuss how to proceed after, with the statements and such," he continues.
"Yeah, okay."
He exhales heavily at my obvious dismissal, dragging his chair closer to where I'm seated. "Can you stop with the attitude?"
"If I talk back, you get angry. When I'm quiet and obedient, you think I'm being rude. Nothing I do will ever make you happy," I retort dejectedly, leaning back into the expensive leather seat. "I'm really tired. Please let's just get this over with."
It looks like he's actually mulling over my words for once, but I never get to find out what he's thinking since we're interrupted by the sound of multiple voices in the hallway. The door soon opens and in strides my mother, followed by Matthew Baker, my father's attorney Adam, as well as one complete stranger I assume to be Baker's lawyer.
"I let our guests in, honey," Mum announces with a sickly sweet smile, coming to stand next to my dad like the perfect wife that she's supposed to be. I've got to admit it's quite amusing how she's managed to insert herself into the situation despite my father's attempts to keep her at arm's length. You can definitely tell just whom I've inherited my sarcastic and sassy demeanour from.
"Thank you," Dad answers without missing a beat. Sometimes I forget he's also finished acting school. Or maybe being naturally good liars is a trait that runs in our family.
There's a short moment of hand-shaking, air-kissing, and just plain awkward exchanges of fake politeness, until my father finally points to the black leather sofas in the far corner of the room. "Shall we sit?"
It's really hard to resist smirking when I spot the nervousness painted all over Baker's face. This man really must be one of the biggest morons I've ever met. Not only has he foolishly given up the only leverage he held over me—my photographs—but also subjected himself to further legal troubles. Did he really believe that editing those pictures wouldn't come back to kick him in the ass? Especially when the girl he chose to mess with happens to be the daughter of one of the most influential men in Hollywood… Yep, definitely not the smartest move on his part.
"I would offer you a drink, but I think we can all agree that the sooner we finish this spectacle, the better," my father says to Baker and his companion, before ostentatiously pouring himself a glass of whisky.
As much as I hate my father, I can still see the appeal in his cool and sophisticated demeanour. A single look from him, and Baker is already sweating in his seat.
"Adam?" Dad addresses our lawyer this time.
"I will get straight to the point. Mr Doherty is willing to forget that you've edited and posted his daughter's pictures without her consent in exchange for issuing this," he places a single sheet of paper on the coffee table, "public apology."
Baker's eyes swipe over the text quickly. "No fucking way. You have no proof that she had ever objected to using those photographs. Your case will fall apart in court," he says despite his lawyer's attempts to keep him quiet. "What? That's what you said!" he growls at him.
"You also have no proof that she did give you her consent. I've gone over Miss Doherty's contract, and I must say, it's very easy to question the legality of your actions. This is a very tricky case, Mr Baker…We could be at it for months, years. Which in turn means a lot of negative media attention for both involved parties, and I'm guessing this is something you'd prefer to avoid given your current circumstances?"
"You mean Mr Baker's scorned ex-employee who suddenly remembered she had been molested by him months ago? I think no one in this room gives any merit to these claims," Baker's lawyer retorts with a nonchalant shrug.
I grit my teeth, narrowing my eyes at the man.
"Your little friend can lie all she wants. No one with half a working brain will believe her." It's clear Baker's demeaning words are meant solely for me, and the little beast in me is ready to pounce; that is until I feel my mother tense beside me.
"I don't think we're here to discuss the topic of Sally Jenkins or any of the other women who have spoken up against you," she says evenly. "Time will tell who's in the right… In the meantime, it looks like this will put a lot of strain on your public image. And if we were to sue your company for illegal use of those pictures, well, I suppose it would put the future of your business in a very precarious position."
Baker's lawyer taps his shoulder and whispers something into his ear, which earns him a sharp nod in response. "We're willing to negotiate," he offers. "What are your full terms?"
"Miss Doherty will hereby be released from any contract of employment you had. The rights to all the photographs will be transferred to her. And, of course, you will issue the apology we had discussed before—the exact words that we have prepared for you. Mr Doherty will accept nothing less."
My father moves towards Baker, hovering over him as he says, "You. Saying these words out loud during a public interview. I think that would more than make up for all the problems you've created for my daughter."
"No," Baker visibly panics. This would make him look like an utter fool, and he knows it would take years to repair his reputation… if it's even salvageable at this point. "I can agree to posting it on our social media sites."
"No deal, then," Dad shrugs.
Baker's lawyer whispers something into his ear again. The tension in the room is stifling, but it is also obvious that at this point, Baker has way more to lose than I do. Which of course puts me in a much better position.
"Let's assume I say yes," he says after a moment. "We'd both do a lot better without this situation looming over our heads, so I figure we can come to a suitable agreement. But… I have some terms of my own as well."
I glance at my mother nervously. She seems to be relaxed enough, but her eyebrows are slightly furrowed which means she had not expected this kind of development either.
"We know your attorney is set to be representing Sally Jenkins in her case against my client," Baker's lawyer speaks directly to my dad. "We will agree to your terms—even the interview part—if you provide us with a written commitment that your family will not take her side during the eventual trial, as well as stop any financial aid you have been providing her with."
"No way," I lean forward in my seat, but my father's already gripping my shoulder roughly, pushing me back.
"That's all?" he checks. "These are all your terms?"
"Yes."
I look at my mother in hopes of getting any sort of support from her, but she remains deathly silent, only shaking her head slightly in a warning.
This can't be happening.
Much to my surprise, Dad actually appears to be genuinely torn. It's more than I've expected from him, given his deeply-rooted distaste for Sally. However, I don't have high hopes, and inevitably, his face hardens again, "We have a deal then. Our lawyers will finalise the details."
My fingers grip the edges of my hoodie tightly. I fail to get up with everyone else, remaining frozen in this tense position until my father returns from having walked Baker and his lawyer to the door, Mum and Adam trailing grimly after him.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Adam's the first to speak up. There's a knowing look in his eyes, and I'm sure he's well aware I'm less than pleased with the outcome of this meeting. After all, he's been my dad's lawyer for years and has known me since I was a little girl running around with her signature ginger pigtails. He must realise just how badly I want to help Sal.
"It's not your fault," I respond simply. My father pays him so he does what he's told—it's as simple as that.
Speaking of Dad, he's standing in the door with an expression that tells me he's bracing himself for a confrontation. He probably expected me to jump down his throat the moment he came into the room, not stare at my feet like a brain-dead person. However, there's only as much stress a single person can take, and with all the drama happening in my life lately, it's safe to say I've finally reached the end of my rope.
"He'll do it next week," Dad says once it's just him, mum and I in the room. "We will have to follow up with a statement of our own. Make it seem like we're doing him a huge favour for not suing, which we are."
I nod numbly, feeling too worn-out to speak. He opens his mouth to say more, when my mother surprisingly cuts him off.
"Leave her alone, Peter," she says haughtily. "You basically just made her agree to backstabbing her best friend. You're a disgrace."
"Our family needs to come first, always," There is no family. "You need to learn how to accept small victories. She's thrown herself into this mess, and I just got her out of it relatively unscathed. If anything, she should be thanking me."
It's like some invisible barrier in me snaps after hearing those words. Abruptly, I jump to my feet, moving forward to place a small kiss on his cheek. "Thanks, dad. Am I free to go now?"
My eyes are set firmly on the floor, because I fear if I look up, I'm really going to burst out crying right now. And I don't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break down.
"You can leave," he agrees, clearly taken aback by how meek and passive I'm being.
"Thank you," I wave at my mother half-heartedly. "Bye."
"Wait," she sighs, and as I'm descending the stairs, I hear the beginnings of her outburst. "See what you've done now? You're always like this, you fucki—"
I quicken my pace before I can hear more of the argument breaking out between them. Trust my parents to make something that concerns me all about them. Everything is always about them.
Pulling out my phone from the pocket of my jeans, I check my messages only to see an unread text from Asa. Of course, he's asking all about the damn meeting, whether we've made any progress and if there's any news on Sally's situation.
Yeah, about that...
Taking a deep breath, I decide to call him right away. Better rip off the proverbial band aid fast.
"All good?" he picks up on the first ring, but when he hears nothing but a small sniffle on my side, he sighs deeply, "Oh, love…"
"My dad made a deal with him," I nearly sob into the phone. "Basically he's making Baker apologise, but Adam can't be handling Sally's case anymore… We both know how this looks. She will think I bailed on her. I feel like shit, Asa."
"It's not your fault. I'm sure she will understand."
"I couldn't do anything…" I bite my lip, frowning.
"I know," he says gently.
"Yes, you know. But Sally doesn't. She won't understand why I didn't fight my parents harder on this. She even got pissy at me the other day because I refused to hire a bodyguard for myself. I wish I could just tell her everything."
"We both know you can't. I love Sally, but this girl has the biggest mouth, especially a few shots of tequila in. One day, when it's all over, you will explain it to her and she will understand then," he says softly.
"I guess… " I murmur tiredly.
"Listen, A, it will get harder to win her case without your father backing us up, but it's still doable. We will find another way. Money's not an issue, I'll pay for her lawyer if needed." There's a short pause before he asks, "And you? Are you alright?"
"Me? Why are you asking me if I'm alright? I'm not the one who just got screwed over," I mutter.
"Because you're being impassive. You're not angry, you're not sad, you're not anything at all, and it scares me. I know you. Your parents are being twats again, aren't they?" I smile tightly because yes—he truly knows me well. "Can you ask that hilarious neighbour of yours to stay over tonight?"
"I don't need anyone to hover over me, I-I'm fine," I stammer, "but alright. I'll ask her… For you. And only for tonight."
"I just want to make sure someone's taking care of you for a change. You can't keep stressing over everything all the damn time. You worry too much. It's not good for your mental health." There's a short pause before he asks, "And how's everything else? Any new developments on the Harry Styles front?"
"What?" I murmur absentmindedly. I'm surprised he's even bringing this up, especially after having just mentioned my mental health. Thinking about the way I ended up treating my almost-friend is definitely not advisable if I want to stay sane. "I blocked him, you know that."
"Yeah, yeah, just checking," he chuckles. "You know me, always want to stay on top of things."
"Are you trying to distract me?" I opt for a slightly chipper tone despite my sour mood.
"Maybe," he admits slyly. "How about a Skype stress-baking session tonight?"
"You're still in the hospital," I point out, "and I literally have nothing in my fridge. And by nothing, I mean zero, zip, nilch, nada. Unless you count rotten tomatoes for food."
"So? I'll spectate. Just buy your bloody groceries, A. And text me when you're about ten minutes away from your house."
"Why? A bit over the top, don't you think? I can get home just fine."
"Stop asking questions and just do it!"
"Asa…" I call out, but the line's already gone dead.
All I want is to go back home and crawl under my covers, but I know Asa is right. This is exactly what I should try to avoid. Succumbing to my most depressing thoughts in my current state is really not the best idea.
__________
An hour later, I ask the driver to drop me off two blocks away from my street. I can't even remember the last time I had entered my own house through the front gate, like a normal person. With the paparazzi constantly camping outside my house—I swear it's like they can materialise out of thin air sometimes—my only option is to sneak in through Georgie's backyard. I still need to make sure I'm not spotted on the street though, which explains the baggy sweatshirt and the hood covering my signature red hair.
Much to my relief, the area appears to be mostly empty aside from an occasional passerby. A black Range Rover speeds past me, and I nearly panic until I realise it's just my neighbour—a quirky girl with a minor role in some vampire chick flick, mostly known for being a homewrecker. Not the best reputation to have, but she's actually quite nice… and definitely shares my absolute hatred towards the paparazzi.
This time, she rolls down the window to give me a cheerful thumbs up. It's become our universal sign for 'all clear', and I try to match her enthusiasm, but all I manage is a tight smile in response.
Asa is right, I realise grimly, I really need to ask Georgie to stay with me tonight.
My arms are beginning to ache from carrying the heavy bags, not to mention the watermelon wedged under my right arm. I may have possibly gone overboard with the grocery shopping, though I have a feeling I will be stress-baking more than just one fruit cake tonight. Besides, Georgie's front gate is literally ten steps away and safety is already in sights.
That is until I hear the sound of my paper bag tearing apart.
"No, no, no," I panic, trying to balance the damn watermelon while simultaneously leaning back in an attempt to brace the bag against my chest… All before the handle tears off completely.
Yep, everyone wants to be eco-friendly until your damn paper bag rips apart, and all your shit goes spilling out. Which, of course, is exactly what happens to me.
In the last ditch effort to save my dignity, I try to set the bag on the ground only to end up falling onto my knees, scraping my palm against the rough pavement. A hiss of pain escapes me, just like the damn watermelon which rolls away to eventually stop at Georgie's beloved rose bushes. The rest of my stuff, mostly different types of fruit, scatters around me to form a truly comical image.
"You have got to be kidding me."
I throw my hands up with a bewildered laugh. Not to be dramatic, but clearly it's not enough for the universe that my life is in literal shambles. Now it's also brought me to my knees, both literally and figuratively.
My bleeding hand stings lightly but I ignore it, crawling forward to start gathering my things. However, with my hands shaking like crazy, it proves to be a nearly impossible task.
Feeling utterly defeated, I fall back onto my butt, drawing my legs up to my chest and burying my face in my knees.
I can't pinpoint the exact moment when 'a lot' becomes 'too much'. Before I know it, the chuckling becomes choking, and I'm no longer laughing but rather sobbing uncontrollably right in the middle of this damn street. All the stress that's been building up for weeks—or possibly months or years—is now manifesting itself in the form of the biggest breakdown I've ever experienced.
I can't even bring myself to care that literally anyone could stumble upon me now; I guess you could say I'm resigned to my fate. All I can think about is how desperately I want this shit show to end. For good.
Vaguely, I register the sound of footsteps behind my back. This is probably the moment that I should be making a run for it. Or, at the very least, trying to shield my face from this person. But I'm just so fed up with this shit… Seriously, let them post my ugly crying face all over Twitter. See if I care.
I tighten my hood around my head and silently pray for the best.
A pair of bright orange shoes stops right in front of me. "Everything alright? Do you need help?"
If it wasn't for my semi-paralysed state, I would have cackled out loud. Because there is just no fucking way that Harry Styles is standing right here in front of me. Out of all the possible places he could be at right now, he's somehow chosen this street. My street.
I can't decide whether this requires a laugh or more crying, so the resulting sound is somewhere between a snort and whine. This seems to convince Harry that the lunatic in front of him is indeed in a dire need of help.
He gasps dramatically as he bends down to inspect my lightly scraped palm. "Looks like you might be losing a limb or two tonight, Miss," he jokes in an obvious attempt to lift my spirits, cradling my hand in his much bigger ones.
I say nothing, not even when he produces a tissue from his waist bag and presses it gently against my barely-existent wound. After a few seconds of admiring his handiwork, he finally looks up at me.
His sight is honed on to my face, mouth parted slightly as a look of recognition passes through. "It's…" he pauses to glance around us quickly, "you."
Clearly, he's just as shocked by this unlikely meeting as I am.
I want to say something but all I manage is a sharp nod. My red hair spills out from my hoodie, and his green eyes widen even more. Reaching forward, he takes a small strand between his fingertips before allowing it fall back down.
"You've got red hair… and you live on this street," he murmurs in wonder.
I can basically hear the wheels turning in his head. The thoughts he's having right now must be much like my own. Same hair colour? Check. The running game at the party for no apparent reason? Check. Lied about being out of LA? Similar age? House in the same area as his 'friend' Cherry lives in? Check, check, check.
It's pretty easy to put the pieces together if you're looking in all the right places.
"It's you," he repeats with a dazzling dimpled grin this time.
I want to return his smile—I really do—but since the tears are still flowing thickly down my face, it comes out more like a grimace.
His grin falls, a sad frown taking its place. "Oh, pretty… What's happened to you?"
"Why- how-" I try to ask how in the world he's here, because this is way too much of a coincidence for my liking, but my body is wrecked with yet another round of loud sobs. Thankfully, he seems to understand what I mean, sliding closer to me.
"I've been looking for you, obviously." His hand envelops my right cheek, pressing me face to where his neck meets his collarbone. "You didn't think I was going to give up so easily, did you?"
I cry even harder at that, because he's sweaty, but also somehow smells so damn nice, and I'm just really, really sad right now. My life is a joke, I'm a joke, but he's still been looking for me even after I was a complete bitch to him… I can't for the life of me understand why.
All of the sudden he's standing up, leaving me staring up at him with my lips parted in surprise.
"You think that's bad, huh? A ripped bag?" he tries to appear strict with a finger pointed at my face. "Imagine having to jog around the same bloody area over and over again, trying to find a girl that doesn't even want to talk to me. I was so close to losing my fucking shiiiiiiit," he bellows the final word up at the sky, arms dramatically thrown out wide.
I press the back of my hand against my mouth, a bit dumbfounded by his sudden outburst. He's obviously being playful, but still...
"Don't even get me started on the amount of weird looks I got…" he shoves the bag with the ripped handles into my arms. "Excuse me, ma'am, do you happen to know any redheads living in the area?" A small crease appears between his eyebrows as he concentrates while aiming at the bag in my arms. "No, I swear I'm not a creep. Just trying to locate a stubborn friend of mine, s'all."
He throws an apple, but it misses its target and ends up bouncing off my chest and onto the pavement.
"Don't call the cops, ma'am," he continues cheekily, throwing more fruit, some hitting the bull's eye, some causing me to duck my head in fright. "I'm harmless, swear to god!"
He's marching towards me now, two kiwis in his right hand, one in the left. He's visibly displeased; probably believing that his theatrics would have earned him a good laugh by now. My sobbing has long stopped, but he's clearly fishing for a smile now. And he nearly gets it when his attempt to juggle the kiwis ends disastrously with two of them falling down and hitting his toes.
"I swear I used to be good at this," he remarks, bottom lip sticking out in a pout.
Wordlessly, I point to the last remaining fruit on the ground—the watermelon stuck between Georgie's roses. One would hope that H would just pick it up like a normal person, but no. Instead, he starts rolling it across the pavement, bent over in what reminds me of a 'downward-facing dog'. Yes, the yoga pose.
At long last, he huffs and drops to the ground next to me, eyes closed and tongue sticking out for a dramatic effect. "Now I just have one question left," he pants out. "All this damn fruit," he gestures to the full bag, "And no cherries?"
I rub my puffy eyes, sniffing lightly before mumbling, "They taste funny. Always leave a sour or bitter aftertaste in my mouth."
"Wait," he sits up, staring at me with a lopsided grin. "You mean to tell me that I've been calling you Cherry all this damn time, and it's literally the only fruit that you hate?"
I give him a half-hearted shrug in response.
He shakes his head with a chuckle, "Well, I think you're wrong," he says softly, rubbing his thumbs against my tear-streaked cheeks. "I'm pretty sure cherries are the sweetest," he raises a single eyebrow at me, almost as if daring me not to laugh at this sickeningly cheesy line.
"You're unbelievable," I mutter, cracking a smile at last.
__________
Aaand here we go. It's finally here. Their first official meeting. I hope this wasn't underwhelming!
Let me know your thoughts on their first meeting, Cherry's breakdown, the whole Sally situation, and what you think will happen in the next chapter, now that they're finally going to hang out for real?
Next time, there will be a double update!
Love you all xx
Cathy
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