a/n: above is what Niall's office might look like? (It's back for those who commented that it was not there). - dani xo
c h a p t e r t h r e e
h a r r y ' s p o v
It's almost cynical how much she has sent me into a confusing spiral.
Around the prospects of my home, Martha always sought to please my every need; whether it be to gain the richest chocolate located across the region, or finding a particular person. I was not used to the denial.
After she nearly injured my hip when I collided with the desk, the aftertaste of rejection was purely sickening.
A few days have passed since she last stepped inside this room and as deranged as it may resonate, her perfume of a vanilla scent still haunts me. The section near the door is coated with it, and it proves the reason why I haven't left, under certain circumstances.
I've spent a duration of my time peering through the only window in my chambers, overlooking the scattering amount of people doing God knows what.
My mind plays mystical tricks on me; sometimes I presume that I see her pacing back and forth on the pavement, but to only realize it is me, in reality.
"This is pitiful," My fingers shoved through the locks of my unkempt curls, attempting to channel my focus to the problem.
Vegas.
"I must get out of this room."
"Yes, you shall," I hadn't noticed that Martha opened the door, standing in her usual attire. Her hands were folded in front of her in the neatest manner. "Mr. Horan has called about a meeting,"
"What meeting?"
"He would like to organize your ideas for the novel, and meet with the woman that came here," She reported.
I've read before that if someone makes you delusional, you must come face to face with them to rid you of your experience. Perhaps, this is the reason I need to move forward with my routines of life.
"Tell Rick to bring up the car," I ordered, taking a few steps towards the compact closet that held most of the suit jackets I wear.
Out of options and time, a simple black blazer would be more suitable for this encounter, thus the reason I snatched it from the hanger with a rushed fashion.
Harold, all you need to do is discern her, and everything will return to its normal conditions.
No matter how unstable you may be about the situation.
. . .
"Mr. Styles, the pleasure is all mine,"
I've been to this office only once before. It was virtually a year ago, under one occasion. Since then, my duties have been regulated by the royal court.
Mr. Horan's appearance has not changed. Every feature is exactly the accurate to the way I previously envisioned him. With a firm shake of our hands, we settled in his office.
"Thank you for joining me under such short notice," His hands rested on the surface of his neatly stacked papers, and other organization tools. Compared to my workstation, this is heaven.
"I am pleased to visit, Mr. Horan,"
"That is great. I will bring in your editor," The telephone's receiver retrieved a short conversation, or list of commands that he supplied to the person on the other line. When the talking was through, he returned his attention to a waiting figure such as myself.
There it was: the whiff of her vanillin fragrance, tied in with the occasional subtle hints that are tangled with strawberries of some kind. Because I was inhaling this addictive bouquet, her presence is within the room, and its stimulating every brain cell to trigger a proper reaction.
Footsteps were trailed to the adjacent side of the room, her figure appearing to be standing directly next to Mr. Horan.
My eyes misleadingly glanced at the different parts of her persona, and seconds later, they landed on the clutching of the wooden clipboard between her fragile, color-changing knuckles. She was swarming with nervousness, and it could be felt from where I was seated.
However, a smirk rose along the lines that my lips formed. I continued to have that part of her stance unnoticed, awaiting the perfect moment.
"Ms. Blacke will be discussing with you the plot, or any ideas you may have considering the overall view of the storyline," He mentioned a few more details then released me to trail behind Vegas until we approached a proper location to talk amongst ourselves in private.
Like most of his office, the building was decorated with small photographies, enlivened with color scheme of the dull side on the rainbow. Oakwood was the primary use for furniture, marble to smooth over the floors, and a dash of glass for the minor objects and trinkets in the room.
The space dedicated to conferences was the chosen poison, and with it being empty and far from the likes of others, I could fully discuss the matters with Vegas. Alone.
On the three hour drive from Holmes Chapel, I processed multiple scenarios that could take place between us. A few of them included my hands regaining the flesh of her bum, but those could end with a slap across my cheek.
I erased majority of them the moment I laid eyes upon her physique, while noticing that she had placed herself ways away from my presence.
Was she as frightened as she was before?
"You do not have to sit that far, Ms. Blacke," I broke into the tearing and shattering silence between us. "I won't touch you."
"I'm not too sure of that, Mr. Styles," The mention of my name off her tongue was marvelous.
To lighten the tensed air, I shared a chuckle, bringing an ankle to the opposite knee to hold its position still.
Her locks of brown, silky curls dropped to her shoulders, laying upon them with such beauty and grace. The shade of crimson red that was curved to her unique shape suited her, and I won't mind indulging.
I hadn't seen her attire in detail, but I would love to see how her bends and curves are molding to the material she selected.
"I am only here to speak about my book that is all."
"I don't know what you were exposed to, but I will not tolerate your sexual harassment. I don't give a bloody rat's bum that you are a duke," Her manicured fingernails of a glossed nude polish flipped from the manila folder before her eyes connected with mine while her lips were in a straight firm line. "Now, on to your plot."
"What about it?" I questioned, standing to my feet to deliver a counted series of steps towards her beloved personal space.
"Do you have an idea of what you will do?"
"Not a clue."
Her growls of irritation were amusing. Among that, her pen scribbled against paper. Possibly she was writing down something negative about me. Oh, that won't do.
With a turn of my torso, I continued my stride to her occupied, slouched form in the leather chair. She remained unaware; my hands could clothed her shoulders, lips tickling the exterior of her chocolate-covered ear.
The attitude that she sparked towards me was repulsive, but there was something that drowned me close to her being.
From where I parked my feet, her handwriting was clear and concise. She wrote that I 'have a lack of concentration to the subject' and 'need to create a plot as soon as possible'.
It was not as bad as I assumed it would be, but any words that are not of a pleasant essence, I find it completely incorrect on the author's part. You may have an idea of how I dealt with critics of Nightingale.
"Have you read my book, Ms. Blacke?" She flinched at the closeness of my whisper among her sealed off thinking session.
"Y-Yes.."
"Do you think it was terrible in any way, for you?"
She paused, computing her answer.
"No, I've read over it nearly a hundred times," She honestly revealed, sinking her teeth into the cap of her pen.
I do not know what came over me, but out of attraction, I gulped.
Gulped..I've never done something to restrain myself before. That is peculiar.
Nevertheless, I continued, "Then you must know that I have no problem creating a storyline, right?"
"I-I suppose."
"Suppose? I thought you read the book, nearly a hundred times, Ms. Blacke."
"I-I can not assume from what you have written. That could of taken years, months to plan," She was slightly correct, but not enough to convince me otherwise.
"Well, it did not," My waltz around the long, center table and its pairing chairs began the moment she objected my train of thinking. "Vegas."
"At this point, Mr. Styles, I will only need an overview of what you plan to do."
I rolled my eyes in protest, huffing with a release of my folded hands behind me, "Assuming I follow the plot without doing a prequel, I will allow the two characters to, at least, face prosecution for their acts."
"You will send them to court?"
"Not literally. Metaphorically, Ms. Blacke."
"Meaning?"
"The male protagonist will face the true consequences from his race, family, and friends. The female love interest may be included in a few violent acts, to add the more dramatic effect, certainly."
"Will they ever return to each other's arms?" Her eyes exclusively watched me, diligently hearing the details of my ideas.
"I would assume so.." I was not sure about any of this. I was merely pulling most of this out of my bum, hoping she would catch something to actually write about for them to get off my back.
To be honest, I would like to discuss the matters over dinner, a cool glass of champagne or scotch, rather.
"The chapters will be longer, seeing that the details will be more descriptive for the readers' pleasure."
Out of nowhere, a squeal leaked from her red lips. Of course, she didn't expect me to hear it, but from her expression, she was one of the readers that signed that bogus petition. Multiple ones.
"Do you find that appealing, Ms. Blacke?"
"W-Well of course. I am a fan of your novel," She revealed the obvious information, fluttering her eyelashes to the window. Within a short period of time, her attention was pulled from me, intertwining among her thoughts.
"Aren't you my editor, Ms. Blacke?"
Her focus was broken, and the pen top that returned to her teeth was removed. Her position straightened; she knew that she was caught.
"I apologize. Do you have anything that you want to add to the ideas?"
"Not as of now."
"Alright, then this session should con-"
"But over, dinner."
"What?"
"I would like to talk about the remaining parts of my ideas over dinner, Ms. Blacke."
Her face did not take the request very well. Her eyes were wide, processing the words. She did not respond for a while, which led me to believe that she wanted to.
"May I take that as a yes?"
"I don't remember saying that."
"You said nothing, I assumed."
"Don't do that," She shot down. "The answer is..no."
No. No. No. No..that word was foreign coming from the lips of a woman. One that was clearly attracted to me at that. I could not understand the basis of her reason, and it boggled me. How could he say no? Why did she say such an ugly word?
"Why is that?"
"If I remembered correctly, I do not go to dinner with guys who touch me unwillingly," She collected her materials, shifting the seat to stand. "I will contact you soon to check on the progress of your thoughts. That is all."
I couldn't stand by while she says words that she doesn't mean. Clearly she is not thinking in her right mind. Something appears wrong.
"Ms. Blacke. I do apologize if I have done something,"
"Still no."
"Ms. Blacke," My fingers reached, grasping her waist from jolting out of the door, leaving me to reconcile on the odd ways I've accustomed myself to. "Go out to dinner with me."
Lowering my head to level with her eye sight was a bit difficult, but when our pupils to twitch at each other's, she could not reject me.
I kept my hands to the side of her hip, feeling the suede material of her skin-tight dress, and the curves they provided her with.
With a fan of her strawberry-tangled breath, I connected the two scents together enough to memorize them, and code them to the memory of her.
"I-I have to go,"
I was stunned. Her swiftness was recognized after she was gone from my hold.
She managed to deny me in all aspects.
How?
It seems that I can not quite understand this specimen of the detailed, attractive Vegas Blacke.
How wonderful.
. . .
so, how did you like harry's pov? i tried my best to capture his thoughts. He talks and thinks in a particular fashion, much different than vegas.
please comment and vote your feedback regarding the story.
voting will help my story, even if you do not comment. :)
thank you for reading,
dani xo