intolerable || h.s. au

three.

three.

"He's tellin' me more and more about some useless information. Supposed to fire my imagination..." - (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction by The Rolling Stones 

River.

"You got the job?" My best friend, Habiba, asked me. She looked confused, and I didn't blame her. A wealthy family, like the Styles', had hired a clumsy idiot like me to clean their expensive home.

Habiba was a good person when she wanted to be. That's why I loved her. But no doubt she was beautiful from the outside. Her hijab clung perfectly onto her head, and it always framed her beauty in the right way.

"Yeah, I just gave an interview and I think she liked me." I tried to explain to her, holding back the offence I was feeling. I couldn't possibly be that bad...

"Do you not understand how lucky you are?" She squeals suddenly, making me jolt in my chair. The other customers, in the small cafe we were sitting in, shushed her. She looked at them with annoyance.

Habiba was a loud personality, which wasn't so bad sometimes, but she definitely didn't know when to shut her mouth.

"Um... Yeah, I guess. The pay is amazing." I retort, taking a sip of my hot chocolate. She looks at me as if I was crazy. What else did she expect me to say? "The people there are nice?" I try again, hoping to make a smile appear on her face.

She shakes her head lightly, while tutting at me. "Have you met the Styles' son, Harry, by any chance?" Just the mere mention of his name was giving me disturbing chills down my spine.

I scoff. "He's an ass, a rude pain in the ass. His personality doesn't justify his looks." I say, whilst rolling my eyes. My blueberry muffin now becoming the most enticing thing. That is until something clicks in my brain. "How do you know him?"

"You're joking right, River?" She looks at me in disbelief, before reaching into her dainty bag.

She seemed to be struggling to pull something out, until she finally succeeds and lays a crumbled-up magazine in front of her. She swiftly flipped through a few pages until settling on a page near the middle and pushing it towards me.

I stare at her in confusion. "You're getting happy over the fact that Kim proved Taylor Swift wrong. Like I totally understand she is a liar, but shouldn't Kim have settled a business like this a little more privately, plus what has this got to do with Harry?" I ask her.

"No, you moron." Her brows were furrowed in confusion, before pointing towards the small picture of Harry exiting a club. 'Heir to his father's company, Harry Styles, seen leaving with an unidentified blonde' was titled above the picture. "He's the soon to be CEO of his father's publishing company, making him one of the richest kids on the planet. Hell, the family even own their own private island." She exaggerates with hand movements.

"Oh." I say, taking in this new information. That must be a huge deal, and so much pressure for someone who looked to only be twenty-one, or twenty-two. "So, what? Just because he's rich and famous, for whatever the hell his dad does, doesn't condone the repulsive attitude problem Mr CEO has."

"He's not CEO yet." She points out. It slightly annoys me that throughout my whole rant she seemed to pick up the most irrelevant piece of information. "But any who, I think you may be over-exaggerating slightly. He seems really nice in his interviews." 

"You don't understand Habiba, I hadn't even seen his face and he already hated me. He was so rude. As long as I don't have to encounter his presence for too long while working, I think everything will run smoothly." I explain, kicking myself back on the seat.