More Than You Know [l.s.] ✓

Chapter 4

The rest of the week, Louis thankfully never sees Zayn's smug face again. It would be easy to be happy about that had he not seen a different good looking man every day this week asking for Harry.

Every night around seven, some hot bloke would walk in and ask to be sent up to Harry's home. Louis had hated every minute of it, but at least none of them gave him patronizing looks like Zayn.

At least he'd gotten the opportunity to talk a little with Harry every time he buzzed to let Harry know he had a guest. Harry had rambled and overshared something during every brief conversation, even if it was something simple. He now knew Harry likes bananas, wore briefs when he chooses to wear underwear at all, loves cats but doesn't have his own, has an older sister named Gemma who loves to put him in his place and likes sunrises more than sunsets. Louis was endeared.

The visitors had made any chance of meeting Harry impossible. Louis was feeing pretty defeated. He'd gotten so close to seeing him earlier this evening too, but close doesn't amount to much of anything. It did nothing other than make Louis more desperate to find a way to meet him. And desperate to seek revenge on Shitant vice president, Miss Taylor. It had been her fault he missed the only chance he's had to see Harry so far.

Work had been dragging the entire hour he'd been there. He should have never silently begged for something to do to cure his boredom, because it wasn't a minute later that Miss Taylor was approaching his desk. She would have been scowling had the botox not prevented facial expressions.

"Louis, I need you to carry my shopping bags up to my room. Hurry up. They're in my car and my driver has somewhere else he needs to be."

She had actually snapped her fingers before turning on her heel and Louis' eyes bugged at the audacity before he let out a groan and headed out the door. Taking the steps two at a time, he then opened the door of the sleek, black Escalade parked out front. He grabbed Gucci bags, Channel bags, bags with designers names he'd never heard of emblazed across the front.

Mumbled complaints were muttered in frustration as he headed back inside, taking things much slower this time since he was weighted down with merchandise. He wondered if he could somehow toss these out the window when he got to her floor. Maybe he could have said the wind swept them out of his hands before he could save them. She'd deserve it.

Once in the hallway, he paused and was balancing one of the bags on a raised knee while he tried to get a better grip on some of the totes. That's when he heard it.

The faint sound of Harry's giggle nearly fried Louis' brain. He whipped his head around behind him and then in the other direction. The motion caused him to lose a Marc Jacob shopping bag. It fell from his hand and a blouse and a black makeup compact laid on the floor from the tumble.

It reminded Louis of the box in Harry's apartment tumbling over when he tripped. Oh, and that's right. Harry was close.

"Bloody hell," he squatted and chunked the contents haphazardly back in the bag before quickly rising back to his full height and breaking out in a slight jog. He had to find Harry. It had to have been him Louis heard. He'd be willing to bet his copy of GQ with David Beckham shirtless on the cover that it was Harry. That's how sure he was.

The bags shook and bounced with his exertion, but he was determined. This might be his only chance. Harry started talking again. He could hear it. Louis was getting closer. He could hear him again.

Fuck. The elevator. He was going to the elevator. Fuck these bags, and fuck Miss Taylor. He dropped them and broke out in a sprint. Just as he rounded the corner, the elevator doors were closing the last inch.

"No! Damn it!" He stomped his foot on the ground like the mature twenty-six year old he is, the taste of defeat causing his expression to sour. "I was so close."