Untouchable |h.s|

Nine

Harry Styles

"Are you sure you don't want me to sit in the parking lot until it's over?"

Aubrey lightly rolls her eyes from the passenger seat as I'm parked outside of the location for the first table read of her new movie, shaking her head at my proposition just as I knew she would.

I woke her up promptly with the sounding of her alarm, showered with her, watched her get ready, ate breakfast with her, made myself a coffee, called her newly hired security guards assigned to watch over her when she's doing anything specific to this film, left a note for the others for when they awaken as if they haven't heard us talking about Aubrey's first day of work for weeks now, and drove her here in order to arrive with a few minutes to spare.

She wears a plain white cotton short sleeve paired with some dark beige dress pants, coupling those choices with a nice tan belt with a gold buckle along with white dress shoes as well. Her hair is sleekly straightened to rid herself of her natural waves, going for a more professional look as if she isn't already in the running for many nominations this upcoming film awards season. She doesn't need to act differently to come off as professional, she already is.

"You aren't sitting in a parking lot for ten hours after already driving for nearly two just to get me here on time."

"So you're going to make me drive that length of time back home alone?" I try to slightly guilt her into letting me stay, speaking in a playful tone but secretly hoping I can change her mind.

"Yes. Zeke is going to drive me home when I'm done, and I'll be back as soon as possible." She names one of the security guards who followed behind us on our trip here for our safety. The other of the two is being sent to follow me back home to ensure that I'm safe and ease Aubrey's mind as we're separated for the day.

I would normally not enjoy the idea of Aubrey alone in a car with a man for that long, but our hired security guards are all very trustworthy people with intense background checks run on them before they can acquire the job to begin with. I have nothing to worry about in terms of her safety. Zeke, in particular, is one I trust more greatly than the others. That's why he's been assigned to either drive or follow Aubrey to and from work when I'm not doing it myself.

He's also a 45-year-old man whose only flaw is talking about his wife a little too much, so he's harmless. I can relate to that flaw myself, so I can't judge it, to begin with.

"And you'll be back around 8:00, right?" I ask with a frown, reading the time on the clock and knowing how long I'm going to have to go without her.

"Yes. I'm thinking of picking up late dinner for everyone on the way home, so maybe a little after 8:00, but yes."

"Okay," I nod, "And you're sure you have everything, right?"

My question reminds her to go through her mental checklist of required items for the thousandth time, beginning with her thick script that has been read and reread countless times and also highlighted accordingly, and ending with the contents of her purse; highlighters, pens, pencils, her phone, chapstick, gum, extra hair ties and pins, her wallet with a polaroid picture of me on the inside, strawberry candies ready for stress eating, hand sanitizer, extra rose-scented perfume, her keys, and a note from me she promised not to read until her lunch break.

I think I'm going to stick a note in her purse every day she works to make up for the amount of time she'll be away. She promised to call or text when she can, but a note is more personal to someone like her. I can sense her nerves about this—how I'm going to handle this, specifically—and I'm trying my best to ease them even though I'm part of the cause of them to begin with.