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Part 7
Things at work between Harry and I have got more and more tense. Well, more awkward really. After the whole conversation outside Laura's house, we are both pretty embarrassed and to be honest, I don't even know where things lye between us now. All I know is that every time we're in the same room, my instincts tell me to stay away, while my body tells me to go for it. I try not to think about it too much or I end up with a headache.
'Earth to Lauren?' Greta says to me, as she gives me a sneak peak at some of the finished outfits the contestants will be wearing on the first live show, which is drawing nearer and nearer. 'Hey maybe you should go get some water. You look kinda pale.' She says, her amused expression turning to one of concern.
I can feel my headache come back again as I try to think things over. Again. I'm so confused about my feelings right now, I think to myself as I walk down the hall to the vending machine.
I grab the two water bottles and am about to head back to Greta, when a door opens beside me and a familiar figure looks at me.
'We need to talk.' My father says, gesturing into his office. I'm about to protest, but he gives me a stern look, before looking suspiciously down the corner. He's making sure no one sees him talking to me. I decide it isn't worth making a scene where one of my friends might see us, so I walk into his office. He closes the door gently behind him and takes a seat behind his slick, neat desk. I ignore the seat in front of him that he gestures to, and walk over to the window over looking the car park where I agreed to get into Harry's car the night before.
I cross my arms, waiting for him to speak.
'I won't keep you long. There is just a matter we need to discuss,' he says, his eyes never leaving the papers he rearranges on his desk. His voice is emotionless as always and formal, as though he were talking to a business partner, or a friendless colleague. 'It is about you and that boy, from the band. Styles.'
Suddenly my attention is grabbed, and I spin around looking steely at my father.
'What does this have to do with Harry?' I say. I notice the defensive tone to my voice, and am surprised by it.
'You and the boy have been spotted around the building together, in the studio and so on.' He says, making his statement sound suspiciously like a question.
'Yeah, so? We work together so of course we'll be seen with each other. All the dancers and contestants are friends.' I say, with a shrug.
'Yes but not all the dancers and contestants hide away in my rather small and intimate closet in an effort to not get caught being in my office.' His steady, boring voice gets a few notes higher, letting me know he is serious.
I turn back to look out the window, remaining silent. He saw us, and there is no point trying to deny it.
'Look I know you aren't going to tell me what you were doing in my office, or what you were looking for.' His boring voice says, returning to his normal pitch. 'And to be honest, I don't really care. All I'm saying is stay away from that boy.'
I turn back to him, a flash of shock ringing through my body.
'Excuse me?' I say incredulously.
'If it were to get out to the press that you and – that boy - were, well, going out, then it wouldn't be long before the press would start accusing me of being biased towards his little band. And with the live shows approaching, even if they get through every week, people are going to think I'm fixing the line up.' He says, slightly irritable. Normally it would give me a weird satisfaction to see him uncomfortable because of me, but now I'm just too outraged to think about anything else.
'How dare you!' I say, anger bubbling within me. 'How dare you tell me what to do! I can see whoever I want to see, and not that it matters, but Harry and I aren't even together anyway.'
He says nothing, just gives me a look that tells me he doesn't think my argument is very convincing.
'And if we were,' I continue, 'what does it even matter? The press wouldn't even know we're related. It's not like we have the same surnames, and nobody working here could let slip because nobody knows!' I say, choosing to ignore the fact that Laura knows, because she's known all about me from when we were eleven. And I know she would never tell a reporter anything anyway.
'Yes well reporters are slimy people. They have ways and means of finding these things out, and if they did find out, it would be devastating for me and for the company.' He says, hard-faced. My hands ball up into fists at my sides. Of course he is only thinking about him and the company. Why would he bother himself thinking about – hey, I dunno – me.
'Just save it. You're just saying all this because you don't want any happiness to enter my world right? I mean, that would just upset your perfect little balanced life wouldn't it? Me actually being happy. God forbid.' I say with a scowl. Ugh I hate that I sound like a bratty rich kid from a stupid reality show or something. I hate that he makes me that way.
'Believe it or not the world does not revolve around you and your problems.' My father snaps at me, finally showing some emotion.
'Oh trust me, I know.' I snap back. 'I mean with you it's just business right? I mean some people think that your business is the only thing you care about, but they're wrong. You don't even care about that anymore. You don't have any emotion left to care about anything. Not even your own children. Well Seth may be able to put up with it, but I refuse to.' I say, turning on my heel and walking out of his office, slamming the door firmly behind me..
***
Chloe's POV
'Ow!' I squeak as I prick myself with the needle I'm using to sew sequins onto Wagner's outfit. A drop of blood appears at the tip of my finger, and I place my finger in my mouth to suck it.
I look around the room overflowing with fabrics and sewing kits and accessories, for a plaster to stop the small cut from getting infected, but remembering Greta moved the first aid kid down to the break room (after a particularly rough wrestling match between Niall and Zayn), I quickly get from my crouched position. Maybe a bit too quickly, I think, stretching out my stiff legs which are particularly sore from the fast movement. I walk slowly out of the room, picking up my pace as I make my way down the hall and my legs don't feel as numb.
I look down at my favourite navy blue converse, taking step after step, and I subconsciously run my fingers through my long, light brown hair. I stop outside the break room, and am about to enter when I hear voices.
'Okay what's the emergency you wanted to talk about,' a voice says, and chairs are scraped back as someone takes a seat.
I should just walk on in, grab a plaster and go back to the wardrobe department, but I'm tired of sewing, I need a break, and if I see another sequin, I might die. I mean was there a need for the Wagner creep to request an outfit so – sparkly?
'It's my father again.' a different voice says. A voice that I recognise. A voice that makes me heat up.
I quietly open the door inch by inch, just enough that I can peek through and see two girls sitting at a table.
One has her back to me, but I can tell from her unmistakable shiny, black, ultra straight hair, that it's Laura. The girl facing her has long, brown hair that hangs all over one shoulder and falls in soft curls. Her long, bare legs are stretched under the table in front of her.
Lauren.
I can't help making a face when I see her as instant anger bubbles in me. I take in her outfit of a loose t-shirt over small, light denim shorts. Her excuse for wearing them would probably be to enjoy the gorgeous weather outside, where the sun is beating down in heat waves, but I know she will probably just take any excuse to show some skin. Anything to seduce my Niall. The tramp.
'What has he done now?' Laura says, referring to Lauren's father.
'He told me I can't see Harry! I mean how dare he!' Lauren exclaims, anger in her eyes. 'Not that I want to see Harry anyway..' she adds hastily, shifting in her seat.
'Wait. Was he saying this as concerned, over-protective father? Or ego driven Michael Collins?' Laura asks, crossing her dark tan legs, and placing them, outstretched, on the chair beside her.
'Guess,' Lauren grumbles, crossing her arms.
Michael Collins, Michael Collins.. Why does that ring a bell...
'Well he can't stop you from seeing Harry.' Laura says, leisurely examining her already perfect fuchsia pink nails.
'I'm not going out with Harry in the first place Laura.' Lauren rolls her eyes pointedly. 'The point is, that my father can't just tell me what to do, and pick and choose when he wants to be a proper dad to me.'
Suddenly it clicks. I know who Michael Collins is. He's the mean, expensive looking man, with excellent taste in suits, who walks about the building with a vacant expression. The one who fired Judy last week for not producing a high enough standard of stitching. The owner and sole creator of the company, who is reported to be worth millions, and is known to have a sixteen year old son. I guess what people don't know is that he also has a sixteen year old daughter too..
'Ugh, I mean honestly, I feel like going out with Harry, just to annoy him!' Lauren says, angrily banging her fist against the table.
I slowly back out of the room, a smile slowly spreading across my face. I've heard everything I need to hear...