H. Styles
"You can't be fucking serious, Mitch." I was tucking corners of my button down into my jeans. Mitch crouched to join me in a private vehicle sent from the record company. It was considerably spacious, but suddenly felt so small now. I felt as naked and vulnerable for the entire world to see. It was all so difficult to understand — a duo? I did not build myself up as a strong standing individual to become yet another piece of another puzzle.
"Columbia Records, please." He directed the driver, "and step on the gas. We should've been there by like yesterday."
The move was bound to bomb my entire career. I could already see the media taking this opportunity and running to the ends of the Earth with it.
Harry Styles : Clinging to Others For Fame! Read how he manages to throw his entire career away with a single finger.
"Don't look at me like that, Harry." Mitch demanded, evidently bothered by my permanent scowl. "You know I don't make the rules, only follow them. If it were up to me, things would be different."
I shifted my head to the window and kept silent.
But they aren't up to you, Mitch. You don't make the rules, only follow them. So things aren't different. Things are exactly the same. They say and we listen. My new manager is nothing different than my former - Simon. Different face, same asshat. I thought this would be far behind me — the days where I was only a piece of the bigger picture.
"Give it a chance. Give the girl a chance." He shuffled in his seat due to the uncomfortable silence. I could tell it was practically suffocating him. "She has a beautiful voice."
Why should I care? If she has such a beautiful voice, she could make it on her own. I wasn't interested in Doowa Lips' potential in even the slightest.
"Really, she does. Fresh face, stable fan base. Why don't I play you something of hers?" He offered. There was tapping of his screen, soon followed by sounds of upbeat pop.
Hell no.
My hands quickly dug into my jean pocket, fishing out my earphones. I connected them to my cell, and scrolled through my music library in search for an escape from the cliche tune. Pressing the title This Charming Man, I allowed the guitar strings of Johnny Marr take me somewhere far from here. I made a mental note to personally thank Morrissey for shielding my ears from whatever Mitch had in store for them.
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The elevator doors opened to reveal the usual bustling activity of many employees. There was not one person at standstill — everyone in constant motion whether it be at desktops or fetching coffee. Insane; so many bodies causing commotion yet, I still felt so isolated.
Something I felt so often and deeply.
"Mr. Styles," I was shaken out of my daze and brought to Earth by the woman before me. She wore a loose ponytail, ripped jeans, and a band tee I recognized as my own paired with combat boots. Her lips formed into a cheesy smile, and in her hands were a box of donuts.
"Kimberly, what did I tell you about calling me that?" I ran my fingers through my hair before scanning the sweet snacks and picking a glazed donut out of the bunch.
"Never in public," She winked, swatting Mitch's hungry hand out the box all the while.
I playfully rolled my eyes. Kimberly Walters was beautiful, even a blind man could see it, but her and I could never be a thing.
And I mean never.
It took an extremely awkward kiss to establish that. We both came to a mutual agreement that our relationship would be purely platonic for the rest of our lives. Such a shame, it would have been nice to be with someone who understood me like she did.
Or just as tall as I was.
I'm sure if she stood on her toes, stretched her arms real tall, she could bring down a star.
"I hope you plan on returning that." I nodded at Kim, pointing at the band tee before biting into the glazed delicacy. Every shirt of mine she took went into abyss. I never got to see them again, unless they were on her.
She flashed me a toothy grin, "I'll think about it."
"Styles, unless you want John to kick our asses, we need to get going." Mitch called, tapping at his watch. "Already 20 minutes behind." He added, mostly to himself. He took me by the arm and pulled me along.
"I mean it, Kim!" I managed to say through chewed up pieces of donut.
Mitch led me through an endless hallway before we finally met with large glass doors. I could see that the meeting had already commenced. Men and women sat themselves around an oval shaped table. Some faces were unfamiliar. Others, I may have seen once or twice. As for names — I knew one. John Hector.
Because he was the only man I knew with two first names.
And because he was sorta kinda my manager.
Mostly because he was the only man I knew with two first names.
Mitch and I stepped in and the entire room shifted. Every head turned, it felt like.
"Nice of you both to join us." John's tone was firm. It was clear that he wasn't happy with fashionably late entrance. He gave Mitch a piercing glare, "I sent you to get him well over 40 minutes ago. Glad to see you remain incompetent with directions."
"Traffic was heavy." Mitch lied, sounding unsure of himself. "And then there was that hold up with the driver." He whipped his head to look at me.
"Yeah," I shoved my hands into my jean pockets, an uncomfortable smile dancing on my lips, "He had like all this nausea, and something was up with his bowels. There was this huge accident in the limo where he was all like.."
"Throw up. Just throw up and terrible gas." Mitch added. He began scrunching his face up into a grimace and I did the same in attempt to recollect the fake events.
"I'm pretty sure he's alright now." I reassured the audience. "But trust us, it was not a pretty —"
"Just sit down, both of you." John demanded not convinced nor amused.
There was a small laugh from the far end of the table as we grabbed our chairs and took our seats. I turned my head in search of the culprit who was clearly entertained by our failed attempt to save our asses. She bit down on her lip to hide her amusement and we made eye contact, but she was first to break it off with a clear of her throat. I already knew who she was without the introduction.
Duo Whatchamicallit.
My eyes were still on her. The young woman had dark bedroom eyes, dark hair falling into them, dark brows. Her lips touched pink, and her nose thin. Her face was familiar. Maybe I've seen her at an event? I'm sure I would have remembered her.
"Well, let's get down to business, yeah?" She spoke into the air. Her English accent was thick and her voice smokey, like melting honey.
I hated her already.
Here she was, demanding the room, and taking over like she was meant to do so.
John spoke up, "Of course. I am especially excited to welcome you to Columbia Records. We all are."
Who was she supposed to be? What could she possibly want from me?
"If you could just sign here." One of the men added, another shuffling to find the papers.
I had finally begun to find myself. I was climbing to the top, and I could see it — the finish line was so close. I put my blood and sweat into my work. It was overwhelming enough to apply the effort, but to sign someone else's name at the bottom, I would rather tear it all up.
"And here." There was scribbling.
"And here." Scribble.
"Great, now if you could just do the same, Mr. Styles."
If there was anything I hated in my life the most was this moment. The feeling of not being able to stop events from happening — manipulate them to my liking.
"Mr. Styles?"
"Harry?"
I swallowed. "Hell no," I shook my head, slowly coming back to my senses. My eyes narrowed in the direction of John, and I swiped my tongue across my lips quickly. My feet had forced me to stand now.
"Harry, unfortunately, this isn't your decision." John said in a low tone.
Not my decision. Of course it wasn't my decision. No matter how hard I try, I could never make my own damned decisions.
"Well, it should be. I was doing this on my own. I didn't ask for this. More specifically, I didn't ask for her."
The young woman was just about to snap and I saw every single movement as if it were in slow motion, but it was John that interrupted.
"Give us a minute." He was now standing as well. He took my arm, and tugged me to follow him out the room.
"Fuck no, John." I barked once we were out of earshot.
"Harry, don't be dramatic."
Dramatic?
"Dramatic?" I laughed dryly, "I've put so much work into this solo career. Now. you want me to what? Roll over and let someone take the credit!"
"Get over yourself, Styles. It's been almost two years since you've written a song!"
"Fuck you, John. I've written music!"
"I mean good music, Harry. That indie shit doesn't sell! People want sex, drugs, reasons to get shit faced and call up an ex! Whatever you're selling, they're not buying. "
We both fell silent.
"Look," His voice was softer, lower. "The girl is talented, appeals to the crowd. Her voice is insane and she is undeniably beautiful—" I let out a tired sigh. "But she'll burn out as quickly as she was lit. I need you to take advantage of her fifteen minutes. Take her opportunities. Make sure when they think Dua Lipa, they think Harry Styles too."
I licked my lips, running my fingers through my hair in attempt to piece together the entire thing. It was clear what John was asking of me.
"You want me to use her."
"Just until you're on the charts again. " He held a grin so menacing.
"But her contract.."
"It's negotiable. She's fully aware of the terms." He piped up, inching closer to wrap his arm around my shoulder. "She knows she isn't here long. If she gives any trouble, I'll have my people make her yesterday's news."
I could feel him pushing us both back to the room where the meeting was being held, only stopping once we were by the glass doors. "I just want you to succeed. Sign the papers."
I thought back on my career, the words John said, everything. I'd be wrong to say no. He had my best interests at heart, and it wasn't permanent.
When we entered the room, Dua was the first to look at me. Maybe not the first, but the first I noticed. Her brown eyes made me uneasy and I felt them on me even after I inscribed my signature.
Just a couple months, I thought to myself.
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