28 Minutes

6:02

I stand to my feet, wanting to eliminate every inch from between me and this man. My heart leaps for me to save him from the lions. The innocent lamb will live to another day if only my feet will move.

I pray that my own rough exterior, stripped over years and years of the Hollywood life don't show. I pray that the lines in my forehead aren't too deep and the bags under my eyes aren't too purple. I pray that my hands don't shake and my watch doesn't gleam. I pray that my suit doesn't shriek of over-priced cologne. I pray that he's not put off by initialed cuff links or my Prada suit or the 24 karat gold watch cuffing itself to my wrist.

I pray that he doesn't see what the industry has done to me and run.

It takes 15 seconds for me to cross the room. I count them off in my head as I come to a stop in front of the man. Up close I notice how he stands a few inches taller than me. I notice him now more than ever and can feel his energies radiating off of him.

"I thought I'd introduce myself, I'm Louis Tomlinson," I say. My left hand hovers above his clothed elbow. I've interrupted a conversation and I can tell by the other man's expression that he's not happy. The man of the hour, however, gleams down at me. Unfazed. Happy.

"Well it's wonderful to meet you Mr. Tomlinson. I'm Harry Styles," He introduces. His voice is soft and slow like smooth syrup. Dripping with charm causing anyone to stop and wait agonizingly long for the next vowel to sweep from his plump pink lips.

God, I'm screwed.