Styles & Co.

Chapter Four

Authors note: Sorry, there's a lot of dialogue. I'm trying to work on it! I hope you all enjoy part 4.

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My fingers type away at my desk, composing an email for my boss who doesn't have a way with words. He's not excessively formal. He's too straightforward and doesn't tend to stick to sophistication when it comes to emails.

My eyes leave the screen, and I see a shadow at the door. I smile up at my best friend as she transits in with files in her hands. I lean back in my chair and cross my arms, taking note of her attire. A nicer than usual dress, and a pair of heels that look brand new.

"Addilyn, what's this?" I gesture my finger up and down, curious as to why her attire is nicer than usual. She gives me a timid smile, and I raise a brow. "Spill," I instruct, and she places the organised collections of documents on my desk.

"I'm going out after I get off," she bites her lip, intriguing my curiosity even further.

"C'mon, don't make me guess the details." I lament.

"Tonight's the night." She whispers, her eyes gleaming radiantly.

"The night?" I call into question.

The night for what?

Her very vague response only leaves me quaintly wondering what she means. 

Honestly, it could be the night she finally gets rid of the repulsive Christmas sweater she wears when we are told to wear Christmas sweatshirts. It could also be the night she gets drunk for the first time. She's quite the goody-good— some would say somewhat reserved and a smidge sheltered.

"You know." She whispers, blushing lightly.

"...the night for sex?" I challenge, just for my own amusement. 

Watching her eyes grow wide as the word sex slips off my tongue is entertaining. It makes me chuckle.

"No!" She reprehends, shaking her head at me.

The word sex is a word she tries to avoid coming to grips with, and as her best friend, it is my duty to bring it up and observe her as she squirms.

"Addi, there's nothing wrong if it's the night. It's pleasant," I assure her mischievously, imperceptibly winking at her.

In all honesty, I am correct. It's pleasant.

She huffs and stares at me. Okay, time to be serious-minded.

"What's tonight?" In a low voice, I interrogate, drawing the papers relating to a matter requiring attention to my lap and running my fingers over them.

"I think he's proposing." She shrieks, overly aroused as the words roll off her tongue.

"Really?" I narrow my eyes at her, considerably surprised that she thinks she's getting engaged.

This is the first I've heard about it, and I'd expect her lover to inform me if he's marrying my best friend.

"Yes, I found the box. I hinted I wanted a holiday proposal." She comments, sitting on the edge of my desk.

"Addi, I have found many boxes, and none of them has been an engagement ring. It could be earrings or something." I elucidate with a sigh, not wanting her to get her hopes up.

I recall the time I was attempting to find god knows what, and a small-sized Tiffany blue box fell from the built-in wardrobe. Instantaneously I started freaking out and panicking that Harry was going to propose. I didn't open the box. I put it back and disquietly paced the house for a good hour. That night when he came home, I could barely gaze at him. It turns out he had brought me a pair of earrings to match my dress for his entrepreneurial party. My panicking was literally for no reason. All because I presumed he was going to propose marriage.