i.
Y/N didn't want to do this.
She blames her reluctant willingness on just being a damn good friend and an even better worker – honest to goodness, she doesn't think Jeff pays her enough for all the mire he forces her to sludge through. Growing close to the Azoffs in the short time of knowing them hadn't seemed like the worst possible idea she's ever had, but after the first few sticky situations she probably should've weeded herself out before she became to entangled in the warm, cozy feeling of belonging that they bestow upon her (which was nice, especially since she was so far away from home). From having to soothe a very angry, very pregnant wife of a client with saltwater taffies she'd gotten as a gift (she was still very bitter), to running around the entirety of LA trying to find a replica of a gold trimmed, rose broach Jeff had accidentally broken of his wife's grandmother's.
Doing it all with minor complaint, Y/N must've lead him on to believe she loves terribly tricky tasks.
However, sailing across the sea last minute to find a replacement for ten Swedish models that were meant to be apart of Jeff's girlfriend's upcoming projects wasn't particularly her idea of a great time. Neither was packing up and hitting a jet with a pop star still buzzing from interviews, album releases, and promos, but since the curly haired, green eyed prodigy was already headed that way, had a vision in mind for what they were looking for, and happens to know quite a few people at the modelling agency she was meant to visit. Nor was the short notice of doing it tomorrow morning, catching a 6AM flight out to the UK.
Yet here she was, watching with a despondent slump of the shoulders as he booked one room, with 2 beds for her and Harry Styles, who had agreed easily on the other line of the phone.
Jeff took a look back at her, before rolling his eyes, "Don't look so shattered, Babe. Really it's like m'sending you on a vacation while I leave the brunt work to myself."
Y/N huffs, sinking in her seat and her dress rides up a bit but she pays no mind to it, "Can't I just go to your sister's wedding as a stand in? Heard I'm great at impressions."
Snorting, he clicks the bright red BOOK NOW button to seal her fate, spinning back around in his chair, "Yeah, just reconstruct your face a bit and I'm sure that'll totally pass over well." He leans forward and straightens out a stack of papers, patting them down on the table in a heap, "You'll be fine. 'sides Harry'll be there, and he knows his way around London well, so you've nothing to worry about."
Y/N doesn't know how to tell Jeff that Harry going might actually be the worst part.
Harry and Y/N have a – well, a weird relationship. While Y/N doesn't hate him, Harry takes to teasing her relentlessly and Y/N fires back whenever he does. He seems to love getting her all grumpy and flustered and pokes at everything he can to just rustle her feathers, which is better dealt with in small doses, but a two week expenditure of constant jabs, was enough to make her shudder. (And once she'd overheard him tell Jeff that he just didn't like her – no real rhyme or reason to it, or at least Y/N didn't hear one).
Believe it or not, Y/N had been a big fan of Harry before this. When she met him she was all jittery and wiggly and squeaky but somehow managed to place herself on his shit list, without doing anything. . .okay! Okay, maybe she accidentally spilled a tray of drinks on his lap and ruined his suit, but in her defense it was a heavy tray. Though she didn't think that warranted his tireless taunts for the rest of forever. Surely the loved by all, sweet guy could turn around and show her some of that soft side, right?
Wrong.
So the mere idea of more than 168 hours with Harry makes her want to scream a bit, especially when she has no time to mentally prepare.
