Ambition || Harry Styles

*Prologue*

I'm not completely surprised that he's here today. I've been expecting it with equal parts dread and dizzying excitement.

The second I hear his voice from down the hall, my heart automatically catapults into my ribcage, despite days of talking to myself in the mirror and warning my poor nervous system of this exact moment.

Compliments roll off his tongue to a couple of my colleagues and he waltzes past with a smug tone that makes you question if he's actually mocking you, rather than being genuinely nice.

"Katie, nice to see you again. Blink three times if she's forcing you to stay here against your will!" he jokes to my assistant around the corner.

There is a specific timber to his voice that could only belong to him. The raspy, roundness of his vowels roll a tingle up my spine as my breath shallows and I start to internally panic.

*BANANA!!* My email dings up on my screen with Katie's code word, alerting me to the man approaching.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I stand up so quickly at my desk that my chair rolls back and hits a filing cabinet with a loud clang, my hands shaking immediately as I hear him taking the last few steps down the hallway.

Maybe it's fight or flight that takes over; my body knowing exactly what sort of heart-shattering danger I'm about to face.

There were rumours circling that he was back in London and I had been incessantly stalking my father's online calendar for days until the appointment, that I knew I would see, popped up. 

Seems like he still idolises my father.

I'm looking down to pick some lint off my sweater when I feel him round the corner, my body awkwardly snapping to stand up straight as if I had just been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

How does he still have this effect on me?

"Well, well!" I announce with a fake sense of confidence, my trembling fingers digging into the desk below me so they don't give away my reality. "Mr Harry Styles is in the building."

I know I will replay these moments in my head for days, maybe weeks, overanalysing everything, including why the fuck I seem to fight his cockiness with a false version of my own. I sound obnoxious, not suave.

He holds his arms out and twirls, not minding there are at least another six people in this area of the office, crammed into temporary desks while our main headquarters is renovated.

"Hey," he drags out the sound, looking me up and down deliberately and I can feel the heat crawling up my cheeks.

"You look good."

His tone is almost a question and it throws me into a spiral of self-consciousness.

"Lose your office, Princess?" 

He is borderline offensive, but that's Harry. The issue is the sickeningly sweet smile that the words are always paired with, his face looking like it was created by an angel and no malice is detectable anywhere.

A walking, talking contradiction.

His smile; green eyes sparkling, adorable tooth baring, dimple in the cheek popping smile. This exact one is my greatest weakness.

I throw my head back in a dramatic laugh, part theatrics but mainly nerves.

Oh god, I actually hate myself.

"Only temporarily, Styles. You know, taking one for the team during renovations?"

I know I sound like a fuck-wit, I don't even know where it comes from because it's not who I am, not even a little. It's like he unleashes this inner dickhead in me, a natural defence to try and combat his gigantic ego.

"Wow, the rumours are true then, you have changed."

There are no rumours, especially none that he would have heard, but it's hard to tell if anything he says is the truth.

That's the most frustratingly addictive part about Harry; the guessing.

"And you are clearly exactly the same," I counter in jest, my smirk matching his and I'm extremely aware of the colleagues around me, shamelessly staring at this bizarre interaction.

He looks sensational, my mind begging my eyes not to scan his body and only feed on the scraps I'm being thrown by my periphery.

His tall frame is decked out in a dark pinstripe three-piece suit that I'm fairly certain I saw in the latest Gucci campaign, his curly brown hair is long but not as long as it was, and his face so beautiful it feels like it literally drags you into heaven. Until the devil himself stops you at the gates.

"Oh come on now, Ally, you know that's not fair."

I want to slap him as badly as I want to kiss him.

"And you know I hate being called Ally," I raise my eyebrows at him, crossing my arms for effect and faux humour lacing my voice.

I swear my insides melt when he laughs, his head tilting back to show off his strong jaw and that vein in his neck that I just want to sink my teeth into, just as much as I want to knee him in the balls.

Most people would correct themselves, but he's called me that deliberately. Why? Well, just add it to the long list of why Harry does anything like that. Sometimes, I think it's to get a rise out of me, other times I think he genuinely loves being a bit of a dick.

Instead, he tilts his head to the side, his eyes still on me and the smirk still ghosting his lips as he taps his cheek as a sign for me to come and give him a kiss hello.

I breathe through my nose and notice my jaw clenching. It seems petty, but he always does this type of thing; the small gestures that have him claiming all subconscious power.

But it's been a long time, a lot has happened since he left and I'm not the same girl.

My eyebrows raise up and I point to my own cheek in response.

"Ah come on Lexi, meet me in the middle, at least," he jokes with a wink that could be sweet or could be condescending.

I exhale a laugh, trying not to cause an even bigger scene and nod.

We both take a step forward but as I take my second stride, he stops, wanting me to come to him.

I'm always going to him. 

"You always need the upper hand don't you!" I snap, and if there was any doubt in my colleagues' minds that there was more than a simple working relationship between Harry and I, then this has cleared that up.

"Ey! There's the negative Lexi I missed!" He jokes but doesn't come any closer. "Suit yourself," he shrugs and I try not to scream at how infuriating he is, but also at the missed opportunity to be closer to him.

I try to think of something clever to respond with but all I can do is shrug back as I notice Katie's head peeking past the hallway wall to watch the interaction.

"So, where are you taking me for lunch?" he smirks, seeing my unease and clearly liking that he is winning this ridiculous game.

I want to tell him I'm busy, not to assume we are going to lunch when he never even told me he was back in town, but of course, I don't.

I grab my bag and shake my head at him as I follow him out. The moth to his flame.

A/N:

This one is gonna be fun!

ENJOY!

Love Ruby

x