Pink Slip {h.s.}

PART I

Talulah's P.O.V.

"I didn't pay $10,000 a year so you could crack some eggs."

That is what my mother told me when little me expressed dreams of being a baker. Much to her happiness, I didn't become a baker. I somehow made it through 13 years of Catholic school with only minor religious trauma, a truck load of self esteem issues, and the path to a good college. I worked my ass off to get into one of the best architecture programs in the country.  Not because it was a passion, but because it was something I was good enough at and wouldn't hate in ten years. It also appeased my parents, so there are a few bonus points. I graduated top of my class, with my choice of reputable internships and job offers.

And now I am baking cupcakes.

In college, I applied for an internship at one of the most prestigious architecture firms in the city. It was one of the most stressful experiences of my entire college career, but I wouldn't trade it for a second. They hired me right out of college, transitioning me from an intern to a full time employee. The work was far from glamorous. The only difference between the internship and my current job was a slight pay raise.

Around two months in to working full time, I was pulled into a meeting with some higher ups offering me a job working as the personal assistant to the CEO of the company. It wasn't the direct line of work I wanted to go into but it was an even bigger pay raise and the opportunity to be working at the right hand of a man who could help me get very far in this world. I got the chance to learn all that I could from him, ask him questions when I wanted—not that I often did—, but he did encourage it. I didn't want to seem eager or too annoying. I tended to keep my head down and do what I was asked.

So how does having an amazing job lead to me making vanilla bean cupcakes at almost 1am when I have to start getting ready for work in about four hours? Well, tomorrow at 8am my boss, CEO of the Flood & Strobel Architecture Firm, none other than Harry Styles himself has one of the biggest meetings of his career, and subsequently, mine. Working for Mr. Styles, I observed a lot of things quickly. For example, he ties his shoes with bunny ears, always double knotted. He always orders a black cup of coffee when he is ordering with a group of people, but then secretly puts sugar in it with the packets he keeps in the second drawer of his desk. He prefers to use the thick fountain pens when signing contracts (he likes to pretend he is on Mad Men), but for drafting he always has a HB and 2B lead pencil on him. Most importantly, he has a sweet tooth, especially when he is nervous. 

Ever since I was around twelve I have loved baking. Dare I say, I have perfected it at the amatuer level. I spent all my time baking after school and trying out new fun recipes when I could. When I pictured my future I really imagined myself owning a cute little bakery in a small town with a pink and white striped awning. The place where grandparents take their grandkids after picking them up from school and letting them get a cupcake as a treat. The place that people in town go to for birthday cakes, anniversary cakes, or really any type of cake because not only would it be delicious, but they would trust me to make it special. Well like I said, my mother didn't want me to go to culinary school so I used my other talents to wiggle my way into an architecture "career" - if you can call it that.

I liked working for Mr. Styles. He was a good boss, stern but fair, and well, very nice to look at. I know I should be learning from him but it is kind of hard when his hair is always neatly combed, he has one dimple that always chooses the right time to pop out, and I think the fact that his lips are the perfect shade of bubblegum pink so naturally is kind of rude. It's just a harmless little work crush that gets me through my day. As his personal assistant I have had to do a lot of interesting tasks for him. I would like to say that it is all scheduling meetings and getting coffee but there have been more than a few occasions where I have had to go over to his apartment and make sure that the one night stand he left in his bed that morning got the hint and left. You would be surprised at how many girls I have had to walk in on completely naked because they are waiting for him to come home. All stick thin, bleach blonde hair, perfectly plucked and waxed, looking like they are a walking Sports Illustrated cover. I don't blame him, they are gorgeous. It's not like I actually feed into this fantasy of anything happening between Mr. Styles and I, but it sure takes a toll on the ego having to be the one to break these girls' hearts.