tangled up in you ~ l.s

III.

Harry is meant to be doing something important in this meeting, he's pretty sure, probably discussing his thoughts about his next single, or what he wants the the music video to be, but he can't really focus on that because Louis won't stop texting him.

How Louis got his number, he'll never know.

And it's not like they're normal texts either. No, he's texting Harry fucking emojis, rows and rows of different smileys and people and flags and...whatever it is you can find on the emoji keyboard. A lot of things, Harry gathers, because although he doesn't use them, Louis' texts have like, fifty different emojis each.

He's in the middle of trying to decipher one of Louis' texts, because there might actually be messages in them, when a hand on his shoulder makes him look up.

"I'm listening," Harry blurts out. All he sees, however, is a secretary packing up the laptop they used for the presentation, a bunch of empty chairs, and Jeff.

"Harry," Jeff says patiently, "the meeting ended ten minutes ago."

"Oh," Harry replies sheepishly. "Oops." He stands up and pockets his phone, trying to ignore the way it's still buzzing relentlessly in his trousers. "Sorry."

At least Jeff doesn't look bothered. "It's fine," he says. "I could tell you were distracted so I had them wrap it up early."

Harry doesn't deserve a manager like Jeff, honestly. "Sorry," he says again. "I just, uh. Yeah. I owe you one."

"You owe me plenty," Jeff corrects, as he shepherds Harry out of the room. "Do you know how many times I've had to save your ass in there a while ago?"

Harry hazards a guess. "A lot...?"

Jeff rolls his eyes. "Who is it."

"What?"

"The person you've been texting."

As if on cue, his phone buzzes again. Harry pulls it out of his pocket unthinkingly, opening his phone to another string of emojis.

Harry sighs. "Louis."

Jeff frowns. "Who?"

"The professional cuddler Niall got me."

"Oh," Jeff nods sagely. "How's that going for you?"

"Terrible," Harry answers immediately. His phone lights up with the notification for a new message, and Harry resists the urge to just throw his phone to the ground and stomp on it. "He's terrible, Jeff. It's like he's made it his life mission to annoy me. Look," he holds up the phone to Jeff, "he won't stop sending me emojis."

Jeff looks at the phone, then back at Harry. "Ah yes, emojis," he deadpans. "Truly the worst thing in the world."

Harry pouts. "Stop making fun of me."

"Sorry." Jeff nudges him forward, pushing him past the conferences and the offices and towards the lobby. "I'm sure he's not as bad as you think. I mean, he seemed like a pretty great guy when I met him."

Harry whirls around in shock. "You met him?"

"'Course," Jeff says, shrugging. "Had to make him sign an NDA, didn't I?"

He...what. "You met him and instead of having my back and cancelling the entire thing, you just decide 'why not' and just make him sign an NDA?" Harry crosses your arms, affronted. "I'm your client. Me. Harry Styles. Not Niall Horan."

Jeff rolls his eyes. "You don't play golf with me anymore," he replies easily, clapping him on the back and pushing past Harry. "Which is why I like Niall better now. Also don't forget, you've got another meeting tomorrow at one!"