Ambition || Harry Styles

*9*

I'm exiting the big double glass doors, telling myself I'll give him exactly the twenty minutes he said he would be to show up otherwise I'm going back upstairs.

The night air is fresh, making me acutely away that I haven't left that concrete box of an office since I arrived at sunrise.

To my surprise, I find Harry already leaning against the wall, cigarette hanging from the lips I've thought far too much about over the last three days.

His leg is kicked up behind him, one hand holding a pizza box with a smaller bag perched on top. My heart is racing, my hands trembling as I approach him and I try and rationalise with my frantic mind that there is literally NOTHING to be nervous about.

I almost hope when he sees me that he smiles, his face lighting up, but as his head turns to regard me he doesn't react at all, not even pushing off the wall to face me.

His chin flicks up in a half-arsed greeting as I get closer, making me feel like I'm the one who forced him here not the other way around.

"Hey," my voice is short, my walls building up a little higher in self-protection.

His ring clad fingers pinch the cigarette, pulling it away from his mouth and holding it up to mine. Without thinking I find myself silently leaning forward and my skin tingles as my lips graze his fingers.

My stomach flutters when he licks his lips as he watches my own wrap around the white stick.

"Um, thanks for bringing food," I exhale, nodding to his other hand, as I twirl the ends of my hair, anxious that he still hasn't spoken.

"All good," he responds nonchalantly, before taking back his cigarette, sucking in a long drag and butting it out with a swivel of his boot.

Only then do I notice the tight black jeans clinging to his thighs and the black and white striped shirt, open like the last one, to the top of what looks like a butterfly, tattooed into his sternum.

All good? Why is he acting like being here is a burden for him?

"I could have got my own food, Harry, you didn't need to come down here if you didn't want to," I snap, hating how powerless I feel and wanting to smack the smirk that crawls up his face, right off.

"Chill out, would you? C'mon let's go up."

My blood boils and I feel my temper rising, there's something about him that makes me feel stupid, like he has the upper hand and I'm a little girl with a crush, and I fucking hate it.

He takes off for the entrance before I can say anything back and I find myself swiping my after-hours card against the striker to open the doors as he swans in ahead of me like he owns the place.

As we step into the lift car I'm already regretting this decision. The lift ride to the 43rd floor is going to be the longest of my life.

Harry steps to the side as I file in after him and my eyes lock onto his as I realise he is standing right in front of the buttons.

If I didn't know any better I would think he has done this deliberately, a smug look etched into his face as the doors remain open, the carriage not moving and he doesn't flinch as I lean around him and press the number 43.

He doesn't bother to move out of the way, my front practically brushing against his and it takes all of my willpower not to take in a deep inhale of his intoxicating scent.

Fuck he smells good.

I push the button as quickly as I can and step back, his heavy gaze on me and my mouth dries from his scrutiny.

I back into the opposite corner, trying subconsciously to get as far away from him as this tiny space allows, my head foggy from just being around him.

His lips curl up on one side as he casually leans a shoulder against the wall, clearly not affected by me like I am by him and makes no attempt to hide that he is looking me up and down.

My teeth grip my bottom lip when feelings of complete inadequacy and judgement pass through me in waves, his eyes dragging from my feet up to my face and my fingers twist the ends of my hair as I silently wish the lift would crash to the ground.

"What are you looking at?" I bark instinctively, trying to push him away mentally.

"Nothing," he shakes his head slowly, a satisfied smile touching his eyes but he isn't even slightly rattled. "What do you wear on the weekend?" He takes me by surprise and my brow pulls into a frown when I look down at my grey tailored trousers and black shirt.

"What? Um, I dunno, why?" I'm overly defensive for such a simple question.

"Just wondering what you look like when you're not Alexa Patterson - Development Manager," he teases lightheartedly, maybe confused by how bothered I am by the line of questioning.

I shrug, not wanting to tell him I'm always that person and most weekends I'm at my desk as well.

A/N:
Dedicated my my girl ChickenNuggetThug who's having a shit time. Hope this brings you a little light and a couple minutes of escape.

Please HIT THE STAR - It's something small that makes my day

Love Ruby

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