The Boy Next Door || Harry Styles

epilogue.

2016

"Good morning, how are you today?" I smiled at the front desk receptionist at AFIRE Records San Francisco.

"I'm wonderful, Ms. Harte. You're pretty free today, one conference at 10:30." I looked at the time, it was only 9 o'clock.

"Thank you!" Adjusting my purse higher on my shoulder, I strolled towards my glass office. I had been promoted to manager and music producer at AFIRE Records not just two months ago. The pay was good and I was content with life, like actually happy. I had a job that I enjoyed, friends to hang out with on the weekends, a family I was in close touch with, and a decent sized apartment with a cute dog. That was all I could ask for.

My life changed drastically after leaving Holmes Chapel and I finally came to terms with myself. When the time was right, I would meet the person I would spend the rest of my life with. It, or rather he, would come naturally.

Ring! "You've got a package coming in, Ms. Harte." I clicked on the phone and thanked Jennie, the front desk receptionist. When the package was delivered, I signed it off and placed it aside, not giving much thought to it. I always received random things.

I quickly glanced at the brown box and realized it didn't have a return address. Hm, odd, I thought. It was probably promotional junk. I placed the box on the table behind me and made a mental note to open it later.

Turning back around, I focused on the tasks at hand. There were several contract agreements I had to look into and numerous phone calls to make. No time could be wasted.

* * *

"Yes, it was nice meeting with you, Mr. Chilston. We'll be in contact with you and your daughter and we cannot wait to start working!" I smiled and shook the middle-aged man's hand. I led him towards the front lobby of the building and proceeded to wave goodbye as he walked out the glass doors.

"That went well," I said quietly to myself. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was already 12. The meeting had run a half hour late.

Gathering my folders from the desk, I hastily made my way back to my office. I was going to grab my purse and get a quick lunch before finishing the paperwork for our new client.

At my desk, I began arranging things so that I could be ready by the time I got back. I shuffled around some papers and organized them on the flat surface.

"Okay, these documents over here, mh, where did that. . . oh, here. Now, where did I put the. . . ah," I muttered to myself as I worked away.

Ring! Ring! Ring! "Ms. Harte, there's a --" Jennie was interrupted and the phone speaker went off. A couple of minutes later, she tried again.

"Excuse me, sir, you can't --," I rolled my eyes and chuckled quietly. She would figure out whatever was going on down there, eventually.

Roughly three minutes passed when I heard my office door open. It was a heavy door, so the swishing noise could evidently be heard.

"Did you work it out, Jennie?" I said, my back to the door and my eyes on the desk.

The speaker went off again.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Harte, I told him he couldn't go up without a meeting, but I --," Her voice was breathless and she had let go of the button, she had a tendency to do that.

I swiveled my chair around and expected to see a scrawny, teenage boy with dreams of becoming a world-wide phenomenon. I expected some kid with a CD, maybe even a guitar, in his hand and a look of desperation in his eyes, as if he had just run away from home and I was his last resort. I half-expected to see Jennie with her blouse untucked and her hair in a mess of brown curls.