fight for control ↠ harry styles [b1] ✓

CHAPTER 8

Renleigh Kensington

No need for the 'why' or 'how' questions because in all honesty, there was not one sufficient answer for them. Somehow, it just happened and not one bone in my body knew how to say no. The fact that my mouth couldn't decline the offer felt much like I had betrayed my own-self. Even before he had arrived, I continued to make my situation worse by re-reading the email which came through almost an hour after last night's dinner.

From: Harry Styles <harrystyles@styles.co.uk>

To: Renleigh Kensington <rkensington@kensingtonandco.com>

Dear Kensington,

Tonight, was surprising in many ways, although I must admit you agreeing to accompanying me to Savini's was the greatest of them all. Perhaps I should thank you for not standing me up, I guess I won't give you that satisfaction just yet.

Your knowledge when it comes to wine was one of the surprises you had graced me with. It had completely left me shocked as I did not expect you to know so much about something that I hold so dearly to my heart. Nevertheless, it made me wonder... would you like to tag along on my wine tour, tomorrow, at twelve pm?

Should you decide to come, I will be at your hotel around 11:40 am as the journey is just under ten minutes. This time around, please, do drop me an email back whether you're coming or not.

Have a nice night of rest, and hopefully, see you soon,

H.

Kind regards,

Harry Styles,
CEO of STYLES

I closed the email once it engraved itself in my mind for the fifth time. My reply was kind of... well, let's just say it was a drunk one. I knew I shouldn't have had all that wine but it was so fucking nice. The taste of the drink was still on the tip of my tongue and not even the slight headache put me off of it.

The email said to be ready by twenty to yet there I was, in my hotel room, in front of the mirror in nothing but my black bodysuit. My makeup and hair were done and my outfit was laid out on the bed already, yet somehow, I was still late. The time on my phone hit eleven forty-five when my jeans were up on my ass, my white trainers were tied on my feet and my red coat was on my back.

By eleven forty-nine, I was in the lift with a bag over my body as I posed in the massive mirror and snapped a quick photo of my fit. I liked to keep track of what I wore which was why this worked so well for me. They usually ended up on my Instagram account which was pretty nice.

The main doors of the hotel were opened for me when my phone showed eleven fifty-one and at the same time, I noticed Harry outside. His dark blue jeans looked more like a second skin on his thighs and calves, they perfectly sat on his arse and hid his front package. Perhaps that was why it caught my attention right away. When he turned around, I saw how he had one side of his white shirt tucked in the front of his jeans, the top three buttons left undone therefore leaving his chest tattoos to pop out in the open alongside his cross necklace.

That was the first time I had seen ink on him. And he didn't only have it on his chest, but his arm, too. Since his shirt was rolled up, it revealed the anchor on his wrist and whatever else crawled under the material. His ring clad fingers held a phone to his ear as he – kind of – angrily spoke to whoever was on the other side.

"Good thing I didn't come just before we had to be at the tour," he snapped at me and my eyebrows furrowed. Why the fuck was he taking his anger out on me? I knew for a fact he had spoken to his employee or someone who was connected to his business in some sort of way because I had the tendency to get like that. Especially after something didn't go quite right.