No More Pictures Please {Harry Styles Fanfic}

Chapter 8: I'm Sorry, What?

No More Pictures Please: Chapter 8- I'm Sorry, What?

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{Harry's POV}

I call Tyler and once again it's answered by voicemail.

Where is she? She always answered her phone...

The boys laugh at me, saying if she doesn't pick up, she's busy, or sleeping. But can't help but imagine if she's deliberately avoiding me or what.

One more call. One more call won't hurt.

"Harry?" I hear her voice pick up on the other end after two rings, making me sigh with relief. She was fine, nothing was wrong.

"Hello? Why did you call me 34 times?" She asks, and my eyes widen. 34? I couldn't have called her that many times, could I? Great, now I can't think of what to say.

"Um, I was just checking up on you. You didn't er, answer." I fumble, trying to steer clear of the topic.

"Yeah yeah. I was asleep. Got called to my mom's again." I couldn't help but notice the obvious tone of annoyance, the hint of anger she used when she mentioned her mom.

Her mother, Caroline Jones, was, or, still is one of the biggest names in the industry. She's a very stern, serious woman, but people say that's why she made it so far with her carreer.

According to Tyler, that means that she doesn't spare even a glance at her daughter, her mother, her father, and her husband.

She'd rather work all day.

"Called to your mom's? What for?" I question, leaning deeper into the large pillow I had propped myself up on with my elbow.

Yes, I was in my hotel room again while the lads hung out with Diana.

Yes, it was sad. Very sad.

"Showcasing my gorgeous middle finger to a few polite paparazzi." She replies, and her tome changes to heavy sarcasm.

I've always wondered if Tyler got in trouble for the things she did, even before I met her. Management and all out fans would murder us if we tried anything, even something as, "low-key," as Tyler's usual stunts.

But I guess everyone had simply gotten used to her, realizing there was no point in trying to change the girl.

"You get called out there often?" I ask, and I can almost see her let out an exasperated breath and nod.

"Yup. What with mom being the manager and all." She says, in that annoyed tone once more, obviously pushing at the fact that she didn't want to talk about it any longer.

"Well, um, where are you?" I wonder, finally just lying down with the phone pressed against my ear.

"In the limo. Oh wait, we're pulling up to the house." I hear the click of what I assume to be a car, and then the subtle click-clacking of Tyler's trademark massive heels.

"So," she begins, and I wince at the loud bang of her door closing. "Hi Edith! Why did you call me again?" She questions, and in my head I can clearly see her head tilt and her lips purse, struggling to hold back a laugh.