Polite//l.s

Two

(A/N: no one knows who I am- and that's chill. Netflix and chill😏)

After two hours of speaking with my father's employees and clients, he finally dismissed me.
I nodded respectfully to the men I had been currently speaking to, heading over to the dessert table after they had all said their formal partings.

My father had allotted Gemma and I both 500 calories each for tonight, and I planned on spending everyone of mine at the dessert table.

I turned to walk backwards so I could watch the party as I made my way to the table; accidentally knocking into one of the patrons who had been standing at the set up.

"Oh, I am so sorry," I turned to assure the person was alright. Father was always saying I was so clumsy.

"Yeah, I'm fine mate," the man allowed me to balance him, resting my hands on his shoulders. I retracted my hands, hoping I hadn't crossed any personal barriers the man might have.

"Are you that guy's kid?" He squinted his eyes, as if that would help clear his uncertainty.

"Oh, yes," I folded my hands behind my back, preparing for the schmoozing my father likes us to do when we speak with his associates.

"Cool, cool," he nodded his head, "you look really a lot hotter in person," he held up his hand making some type of 'o' shaped symbol with his index and thumb; the rest of his fingers spread out.

My cheeks heated at his words, "Excuse me?" No one had ever spoken to me that way.

"Oh god, forgot you're probably one of those," he grabbed a cookie from one of the plates, a chocolate one.

"One of what?" I didn't want him to think I was offended, he might think me to be rude.

"A prissy rich kid stuck up his own ass," he began to walk away. I tried to hide the flash of anger I felt at his insult, following after him.

"W-wait!" I called, reaching out to grab his arm. He stopped and turned around, looking down at my hand that had still been placed on his bicep. I removed my hand, not wanting to have upset him. "Why do you not like me?" There weren't very many people who disliked me, no one I've met could say they hated me.

I tried to be my nicest to everyone, be polite to as many people as I can.

"Seriously?" He asked. "You're cute, but you can't really think that I dislike you,"

"But you, you-" I was at a loss for words. Fluent in three languages, understandable in another three, and I was at a loss for words.

I heard a loud crash behind me, I immediately turned my body to see the commotion; I hoped the new man I've met didn't think I was rude for doing so.

"Shit," he laughed into his palm, "follow me," he grabbed my hand, pulling me towards the back exit of the showroom we had been in.

"Why?" I questioned, not pulling my hand away. That would be impolite.

"We've got to leave and I'm not done talking to you," he quickly let out and led me out the door labeled "EXIT".

I hoped my father wouldn't mind me leaving early as we met with another man in the alley between this building and the next.

"Finally Lou, thought you were going to be in there forever," the man was smoking a cigarette, the stale smoke hanging around his head like a cloud.

"Shut up," the man I had been with laughed, "this is that kid from that picture," he pointed to me and I waved lightly, about to properly introduce myself to the man.

"Harry Styles," He said, walking forward, "I'm Zayn,"

"Hello Zayn," I reached my hand out to shake his, earning a laugh from him instead of his hand in mine.

I frowned as he turned to the first man: now dubbed 'Lou', was this another person who didn't like me?

"You know how to pick em', Lou," he clapped his hand on my shoulder, making me jump. I had to refrain from brushing his hand away from the expensive material. If he kept touching, I was going to smell like cigarettes. I tried to keep my gaze away from the stick in his hands; knowing that if I looked at it, I would glare at it rudely. It's not polite to judge people for their habits.

"He's cute," Lou shrugged, motioning for me to follow him down the alley and out into the street.

I'm cute.

Those are words that had been spoken to me before. Most of my mothers friends would coo over me before my mother dismissed me when they would come over.

I've never had someone my age, someone who was holding my hand in theirs call me cute. His touch sent a chill up my arm as he started running; me still in his tow.

"Do you want to stay over Harry?" He waved wildly into the street for a cab, I began to worry he would get hit.

Him and Zayn were giggling uncontrollably and I tried to join in, not wanting to be a social hinderance.

"My father-" I started.

"I'm sure he won't mind," Louis cut me off, "I'm sure you can send him a text?"

My father would not let me do that. He would skin me alive.

"Yeah, I'll stay," Lou turned, a smile on his face as a cab pulled up.

Zayn opened the door, sliding in. He whistled for our attention, causing Louis to slide in, his hand pulled me in along with him.

"Sleepover Zaynie!" He patted Zayn's arm as soon as we were all in the backseat and Louis had given the man his address.

Zayn and Lou just pushed each other around and laughed about som 'Zach' guy being a fool, sometimes including me in the conversation by asking questions.

"Louis Tomlinson, by the way," he stuck his hand out for me to shake as the cab slowed and I got out.

"Harry Styles," I answered, though I assumed he already knew.

"You don't talk that much Harry," Louis observed.

"I didn't want to interrupt you and Zayn," I dropped his hand slowly, "it wouldn't have been very polite,"

(Didn't edit hahahahahaha)