Yes, Boss

eleven.

Flora. 

I'm half asleep, it's a Sunday afternoon and after a well deserved lay in this morning I have acomplished nothing. I sigh as my phone buzzes, rolling over from my comfy position reluctantly, I'm completely into the new series of Pretty Little Liars and have barely left my bedroom all weekend. 

'Harry; Can you pick up my suit from the dry cleaners and bring it to me asap, I need it tonight. xx'

He has to be joking. He's never asked me to come to his house before - I have no idea really where he lives. But how do I say no. Do I dare say no?

'But it's a Sunday? xx' 

I reply and instantaneously his typing symbol comes up. 

'Princess, it's in your contract - are you saying no, then?' 

I gulp, getting up out of bed with a disappointed mumble. 

'Sure, Boss. I'm coming, what's your address?'  

He sends me his address promptly as I look in the mirror, I tug my hair out of the scraggly top knot it has previously been shoved up in, searching for some actual clothes frantically, wondering if me taking a long time will piss him off. I manage to find a pair of black leggings and an over-sized stripy t-shirt, pulling them on and ruffling my hair a little more. I grab a pair of black suede ankle boots and quickly slick some mascara on, grabbing my leather jacket, phone and bag before heading out of the room, rubbing lip balm into my lips as I descend the stairs. 

My mum is in the kitchen, clearing up from Sunday lunch. She looks nothing like me, she's tall with blonde hair and blue eyes, although a lot of people say we've got the same smile. 

"Mum can I take the car?" I ask, speeding to a halt on the tiles. We share a car, living in London there's really no point in us having seperate ones, also nowhere to park, but I like driving and I figure on a Sunday the traffic won't be terrible. 

"Of course love, where are you off to?" She frowns, looking at the clock on the wall. 

"Just a quick work call" I say, taking the keys from the side with a rattle and waving quickly as I leave. A little out of breath from my mad dash. 

I was right, the roads aren't so bad and it's pretty easy going as I drive through central London towards Hampstead, of course Harry lives in Hampstead, I couldn't see him anywhere else. I turn up the Catfish and The Bottlemen Album that's playing, one of my favourite bands, tapping my fingers rhythmically on the wheel as I navigate the lanes and pedestrians. 

I don't come round this way much, but it's so green - pretty odd for central London, full of well kept parks and three story town houses. Gorgeous though, I think as I drive past Primrose Hill, nearing Hampstead Heath, having picked up Harry's suit, placed neatly in a Burberry suit bag I hang it in the back of the car to keep it straight. Something tells me he wouldn't take kindly to creased trousers.

I pull up outside Harry's house, it's completely white washed and gated, shut off from the road, I'm unsure where to park, all his parking must be inside the gates, I park askew on the curb. It's never been my strong point, if I'm honest. I grab the suit and my phone, heading to the gate, I press the buzzer and I hear a click as the gate is opened, stepping through onto the large gravel driveway, his house is on a corner, over looking the heath, and his drive stretches right round to the back. A black range rover is parked in the prime spot, and a porsche next to that.

I walk quickly to the black front door, knocking the gold knocker and bouncing up and down on my heels in the bitter spring air, waiting for him to answer. Sure enough he appears at the door, I've never seen him this casual, black skinny jeans and a plain black long sleeve t-shirt with a few buttons at the front. It sits tightly against his torso and biceps. Perhaps the most surprising thing - his long brown curls are tied loosely into a man bun, wisps coming free here and there,  it's not a look I thought I would ever like on a guy.. but now I see him like this..