2019, September 10h - tuesday | 3am
Aster's P.O.V:
You're only head of something here because your father fucking owns this place.
You're 24, dear, not even if you were fucking Einstein you would be head of anything at this age.
I'm not a fucking whipped, kiss-ass robot like you.
I turn on the bed again, rolling to the cold side of it, the blanket wrapped around my body like a straitjacket. I just can't shut Harry's voice from my mind, his words echoing in my head, over and over, remembering all the things he said. I was so pissed that I didn't even processed the actual meaning behind this words, but now that I'm calmer, alone in my bed, I can't think of anything else besides how much they've hurt me.
He hurt me.
He touched such a sore point in my ego. Everything I've always worked so hard to achieve, all the waken nights I spent at my office, making sure everything was perfect, it all became so... Little. Meaningless.
I'm not an idiot, I know that having the father I have is an immense privilege, and I know that if I wasn't a De Loutherbergh, I would not be in the same place I'm today. I would've not became the head of an entire department at 24. I am aware of that, but in the other hand, I don't think my father has given me everything on a silver plate. I had to work for it, and I used my privilege to go to the best colleges, to work my ass off and prove everybody that I'm worth of being where I am.
And for the past two years, I think I actually proved myself. All I need to do now is to show Harry that I'm not just some advantaged, spoiled little girl that has everything figured out. But somehow, I know that it doesn't matter what I do, he will never change his opinion on me.
He seems to already have everything he needs to judge me, and now that he has, he is never coming back.
It's so frustrating, this is going anything like I was expecting when Des and my father announced about Harry's arrival. I was so excited about having him around, just like he used to be when we were younger. We were best friends, back then, and he was so sweet and so protective about me. I always felt so safe, so at home when I was near him... He was my first kiss, and my first meaningful crush, but now he is nothing but a jerk to me.
I don't understand what did I do for him to hate me so much nowadays. Sometimes I wonder if I'd fantasized over what actually happened that day, 9 years ago, in Desmond's car. Maybe I was too naïve, and the experience I've lived, that for me was so good and endearing, was actually a terrible experience for him? Maybe he just kissed me back because he felt obliged to? If that was what actually happened, it would explain why he went away without even saying goodbye, then kept coming to New York during all those years and never tried to reach me out.
And he said that to me so nonchalantly, in the day we've finally met again. He was so indifferent about it, as if what he was saying wasn't supposed to hurt me at all.
I guess I was wrong about Harry ever since day one... And while I thought he was the kind of guy I would like to always have around, now I know he is not that person.
Tate is snoring lightly by my side at the bed, and I can feel Brie's warm body laying next to my pillow, but I feel awake. My body is exhausted, I'm up for almost 24 hours now, but I know myself well enough to know that my mind won't relax. There's only two things capable of making my mind go silent, and considering I don't have anyone to have sex with me right now, guess I'm going to do the other thing that can distract me.
To work.
Getting off of bed, I go to my closed and throw in some comfortable clothes - black leggings, a black tank top and an oversized knitted cardigan, also black and very, very thick. My hair is getting kinda oily in the roots, because I usually wash it in the mornings, so I put on a white beanie with two pompom, resembling as two fluffy ears. It's not at all the type of clothes I would like my co-workers to see me wearing, but it's 3 in the fucking morning, the only people there are the pharmacists and chemists working at the fabric, in the other building.
I don't even think about putting makeup on - my plan is to go to the office, anticipate all of the work I have to do tomorrow - or, to be more accurate, later today -, assign as much as I can to Dennis and Steph to do tomorrow, and come back home and try to actually sleep. Then, depending on how well-rested I feel, I can go back to the office later just to review the intern's work.
Even though the Lamborghini is comfier, I sorted out my Aston Martin's keys - it's late at night and the streets are probably empty - or emptier than usual, and I felt like speeding up tonight. So much, I arrived to the office in record time - 12 minutes with no traffic.
Nodding to the security guard, I put my finger on the digit reader by the elevator, then choose my floor, already feeling a little lighter and centered, just for being here.
You think I would be here if I was the spoiled little brat you painted me to be? In your ass, Styles.
The elevator doors open at my floor, and the first thing I noticed is that even though everything is dark, there's light framing the door of my office. I was so upset earlier that I didn't even came back to my office after having my weekly meeting with finance, with Tim. Harry was probably the last one to be in the office today, and of course being the sloppy twat he is, he forgot to turn the lights off.
He can't do anything right.
Rolling my eyes to myself, I cross the corridor, but stop dead on my track as soon as I approach the door. What the fuck...?
There are quiet, male voices mumbling something inside, but I can't quite understand what they're saying. I check the time - it's 3:48am! It's impossible that there's anyone working right now, especially Harry, being the lazy son of a bitch he is. Are we being robbed? I mean, it doesn't make any sense, the only valuable thing inside of my office are the client contracts and our gadgets, but... Should I call security? Or can I just enter the room and fulfill my curiosity?
In a completely out of character decision, I turn the doorknob softly, opening a little crack so I can peek inside.
Fuck, no.
Are you fucking kidding me?!
The first thing I notice is the smell - the same one I had lingering in my college dorm all the time - and the smoke in the air. The second, is Harry's blazer tossed over my desk. And the third thing are the three guys sitting at the couch and armchair, surrounding the center table and talking in low, rushed voices.
"What the hell is going on here?" I beam out, completely unable to hold it in, my blood already starting to boil in my veins.
Harry jumps from his seat, snapping his head towards me with a surprised expression. The other two guys, which one with a weed cigarette in their hands, just looks at me unfazed, raised eyebrows and nonchalant expressions. I recognize one of them as Abel, the rude guy that came here the other day, but I've never seen the other one, who is a little chubby, has curly hair and... Are those tattoos? On his face?
"What are you doing here?" Harry asks, walking towards me and kind of blocking my view. He is still in the same suit he was wearing earlier today, the deep violet, embroidered pants and black dress shirt, again opened till the middle of his chest, and Gucci shoes. His eyes are not bloodshot red as the other guys, his lips are deep pink, hair a little messy and he looks absolutely fucking gorgeous.
It's a pity that he is so ugly on the inside.
"This is my office!" I use the brattiest tone I can manage "What are you doing here, with those strangers, in the middle of the night? Smoking weed!"
As soon as Harry recomposes himself from the surprise of my arrival, that damned smirk is back to his lips, again looking like everything is just fun and games for him.
"I said I'm not a morning person. I work best during the night. What are you doing here? Don't tell me that's the time you arrive every day!" He scoffs.
"No, of course not. I just... Couldn't sleep." I shrug "But what are you working on? With them?" I nod towards the two guys, who seems to be lost in their own conversation again.
"Not reeeally your concern, is it?" Harry smiles, his voice inflection surprisingly nice even though his words are harsh "And that's what you do when you can't sleep? You work?" He seems to be honestly surprised, and that's the only reason why I answer him nicely.
"Yep. It helps me relax."
"Working helps you relax?" He chuckles. "You're more of a corporate machine that I've anticipated."
So much for trying to be nice. I don't know why the fuck do I even try! Really, he is so frustrating.
"Are you fucking crazy? Smoking weed inside of the office?" I recompose myself, catching up with what I was saying just before Harry distracted me with his makeshift friendly interaction.
Instead of answering me, Harry just rolls his eyes and turns his back on me, going back to the couch - my couch - and grabbing a bottle of whiskey from over the table. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down just enough to face him again without losing my temper as I did earlier today.
Instead of following, I go to my desk and grab his blazer and damn, this a soft fabric! Now that I'm actually close, I can see it's from Gucci. Well, I should've guessed, Harry's stamps and style scream Alessandro Michele. I hear the guys laughing again and the sound wakes me up from my momentaneous distraction, and I walk towards the desk. Harry is drinking whiskey straight from the bottle, Abel guy is in the middle of a puff from his cigarette and the other guy, the one with tattooed face, is looking at me like I'm a ghost or some kind of vision. Don't know how to explain this, it just seems like he is having a hard time deciding if I'm real or not.
What a fucking idiot.
"I think it's time for you to go." I announce, throwing Harry's blazer over him and smiling to myself when it covers his eyes for a moment. "You're all too wasted to work anyway and I've got things to do."
"We are working." The guy with face tattoos says, his voice slurred. "You come to help us?"
"No, I didn't." I roll my eyes and look at Harry, who already his eyes on me... well, to be specific, on my cleavage. Is he checking me out? Why? "Would you please just go?"
Harry sighs, shaking his head with clear discontent, then looks at the guys "Go. We'll talk tomorrow." His voice inflection is slightly different when he is addressing to them, he sounds more serious and collected. Maybe it's just because he is not trying to find ways to make fun of them all the time, like he does to me. Actually, during the past week I've noticed he seems to reserve his jerkiness especially for me - I've seen him interacting with other people in the office and he is always so nice, kind and playful, it's the only moments he actually looks like the Harry from my memories.
My eyes follows Harry's gaze and I gotta say, I'm a little surprised of how quickly the guys obliged to his order, even though both of them are obviously high. Abel is the first to stand up, stretching his back, then the other guy follows him, grabbing the big briefcase from over the desk. What does he has inside? It's too big for just a notebook, and it looks heavy as well. As he lifts it, the brief opens and the guy closes it quickly, but not before I could see what is inside - a lot of money. I raise my eyebrows, turning my gaze to Harry.
"Why is he carrying so much money? This isn't safe!" I blurt out before I can stop myself, and the moment the words falls from my lips I want to suck them right back. I know I'm being too nosy, but there's nothing normal on the current circumstance and I hate that I'm completely oblivious as to why.
"None of your fucking business, is it sweetie?" Harry chips, but there's a seriousness on the under layers of his tone that I haven't heard so far, at least not when he is talking to me.
Abel chuckles as he exits the room, probably amused with how rude his boss is to me. The other guy, the one with face tattoos, throws me an apologetic look before he follows Abel, closing the door behind them.
"I want to know what the hell is going on, Harry." I sigh, feeling exhausted "You bring strange people in all the time, it's almost 4 in the morning and you're here, smoking weed, drinking and with a briefcase filled with money. This is not normal."
"Can you just drop it?" Now he sounds frustrated, and takes a big sip of whiskey straight from the bottle before he continues "You ask too many questions, Honeycup. One of these days you'll get an answer you're not looking for."
"What is that supposed to mean?" I go sit behind my desk, and open my notebook, my eyes still glued on the handsome asshole sitting on the white couch. "You are not doing anything illegal, are you?"
"God" Harry stands up, hiding his face behind his ring-cluttered hands and brushing his eyes "Mind your own fucking business, would you? After all, you're the one who came here, of all places, just because you have insomnia. Do you know how weird that is? To come to work? One could think you're only here to bust my fucking balls." He spits.
"I couldn't care less for you, Harry, it's a coincidence that I ran into you here and now I want answers. After all, you're using my office." I add, childishly.
Harry rolls his eyes, then closes them and sighs, as if searching for patience to keep this conversation with me. Well, I'm not liking it either, pal.
He walks towards my desk and sits over it, his bum dangerously close to my pen holder. I wonder what kind of exercise he does to have such a nice and firm ass.
"What those guys were doing here?" I press further, this time not thinking that I can actually get an answer from him, but asking only to channel my attention to other subject that is not his butt. "If don't tell me, I'm going to tell Desmond."
"What?" Harry's voice sounds high pitched and for a moment, he is so surprised he even looks younger, but the moment passes quickly when he blurts out a loud laughter. "Oh my God, you're just a little girl, aren't you? Jesus Fuckin' Christ, are you trying to threaten me by ratting me out to my father? Oh, Honeycup, you're so clueless, I almost pity you."
What? Why the fuck does he pity me? I mean, I know threatening to sell him out to Desmond was childish and unnecessary, but come on, I'm awake for 24 hours now. My brain is not working as it's supposed too, I'm damaged by lack of sleep.
"I don't need your fucking pity, Harry." I spit.
"Well, there's nothing I can do about it now, you're just so... Pathetic." He scoffs, pinning his eyes on mine and there's so much despite showing on his green eyes, I feel tiny under his gaze "You should get a life. Don't you have like a fuck buddie or something? A booty call is way better than coming to your office at almost 4 in the morning, that is just sad."
His words hits me like punches, and for the first time ever since we met again, I find myself in a loss of words, completely unable to think of something to answer him, even though I would like to have something to say in my defense, or think of a hurtful thing to say back, just so I could hurt him as much as he just did to me with his words.
I break eye contact with him as I feel tears starting to wet my eyes, and turn my gaze to the notebook right in front of me. I blindly open a document, I don't even know what document, and start typing something, anything, just to pretend I'm busy and that his words haven't hit me as hard as they did.
Harry moves and I see with the corner of my eyes when he stands up from my desk. I'm still fighting against the tears with all my will, refusing myself to cry in front of him, to show him just how right he is to assume I don't have anything else going on in my life. That I don't have nothing better to do with my time.
I mean, I've always took pride of my lifestyle. It was never a secret that my career is the most important thing in my life, and I've broke up with both my exes simply because they tried to get a higher place in my life. My only friend lives across the damn ocean, and I only talk to him by text and Facetime, and I've never thought that was a bad thing. Of course, I miss having people to go out with, sometimes I get really bored during the weekends when I don't have work to do and have to focus on my non-existent personal life, but so far it has never bothered me. I've always knew that's for the greater good, always trying to get ready to the empire I'll inherit someday.
And that has never, ever been a reason for me to be ashamed, until now, when I heard and felt the loathe in Harry's voice. It's like I've just had a glimpse of myself thought his eyes, and I hated what I saw. For years I dreamed about our reencounter, and how he would be taken aback by my success, about how he would think I'm the most fantastic woman he has ever seen in his life... But reality is, we have met again and what he saw was a pathetic, lonely person who is defined by her career and nothing else.
And what I hate the most about all of this, is that somehow I still care about what Harry thinks of me.