corporate affairs [Niall Horan AU]

T W O

T W O

A board member whose name I can't remember lets us into the conference room, a grim expression on his face. Niall and I take two spots in the middle of the table, surrounded by the same ill-content, expensively dressed men.

"Mr. Horan," Mr. Jones begins. I've always despised Mr. Jones. Everyone kind of does. He's a skinny fifty-something-ex-paralegal, who has the emotional capacity of a brick wall. But that's not what bothered me. What bothered me was that he seemed to think I was here to fetch water for him and the other board members, and he seemed to think he was the boss of Niall, not the other way around. "This situation has gotten rather far out of hand."

"Yes, it has. Unfortunately, the tabloids got hold of the story before we could." Niall remarks calmly, though I can feel just a hint of tension between his words.

"Well, we need to act fast. Have you taken care of the girl?" Mr. Tomlinson asks, spreading his fingers beneath his chin.

"She's boarding a plane out of the country as we speak."

"Good." Mr. Jones states, nodding his head. "Now we need to figure out a counter-attack. Something positive."

"A charity event." Mr. Zambini murmurs from beside me. He's a nice man with a beautiful family, and I often see his twin daughters trapising down the hallways in little pink dresses behind their mother, the scent of sub sandwhiches from the downstairs deli following them.

"No. Something stronger than that. Something the media has always wanted but never gotten." Mr. Tomlinson states, his eyes falling onto me. I feel uncomfortable under his gaze and shift in my seat, desperate to remove myself from his stare.

"I don't do publicity. There's a lot they could want." Niall retorts, somewhat annoyed. I jot down the summary of what the men are talking about, my messy handwriting even messier today. Everyone's quiet for a moment.

"Zambini, make sure you get some people on clearing that girl's name from all records of her being a... you know." Mr. Jones instructs as he taps something into his laptop. Zambini nods, scribbling it down on his legal pad. I hate the way they're talking about this girl, like she was some type of flith that had latched herself onto one of their Armani pantlegs. It made me feel sick to my stomach. I felt bad for this girl. She loves Niall.

Niall's face didn't express any emotion, and he wouldn't catch my eye, so I was alone in my quiet anger. I'm typing an email to Calinda about making sure not to answer any press calls, when Mr. Tomlinson gasps. "How did Kennedy handle his scandals?" He asks, referring to America's 35th president.

"Jackie would do something. Like, a fashion event or a charity promotion. It's how most presidents handle their scandals."

"Exactly." Tomlinson says with a snap of his fingers, a gleam in his eyes like he'd just solved the Rosetta Stone.

"I fail to see your point, Mr. Tomlinson. I don't have a wife. Neither am I a president."

"So we invent you one!"

"And who do you think we should 'invent', Mr. Tomlinson?" Niall asks detachtedly, his voice some what uninterested in his words.

"Think about it, Mr. Horan. Who has been by your side for everything? Who knows your scehdule from your first shit in the morning to your last breath before you fall asleep." It occured to me then that they might be considering me for this role, which then made my cheeks turn bright red.

"That would be... Miss Watson." Niall says quietly, his eyes glancing at me quickly before returning to Mr. Tomlinson.

"Excuse me," I interrupt, bringing all eyes to my red face. "But are you suggesting I..."

"Become Niall's pretend wife." Mr. Jones fills in, nodding at Mr. Tomlinson once, as if approving the idea.

"Maybe not wife," Tomlinson ammends. "Fiancee. Invent a story about the secret engagement. Get a ring. Then we'll lead the media on the story for a while..."

"And then what? Get married? We're not getting married." Niall snaps, a bit too harshly, and Mr. Zambini glances at my even redder face, slipping me an apologetic smile.

"I agree. The media will never buy it."

"Think about it. Highly successful self-made billionaire falls for his small-town PA. They won't buy it, they'll eat it out of our hands. They'll steal it and re-invent it themselves."

"I still don't see where this is all going to go." I murmur, trying to catch Niall's eye. He refuses to look at me.

"Well. Let's evaluate. The situation is only going to get worse the longer we decline to comment," one of our rather quieter board member declares, turning to focus of the group to himself. "We all know that sometimes in business we have to make sacrifices."

It seemed that now the question was wether or not we were ready to make that sacrifice.

"We'll leave it up to you and Niall then. Gentlemen, let's give them a minute to discuss." Mr. Tomlinson remarks as he scoops his things into his arms and strides out of the room, followed by the rest of the board. I watch each man file out of the room, my palms growing sweatier by the second.

As soon as the door is closed, I turn in my chair to face Niall, but he's standing at the window, his back to me. Frustrated and nervous, I cleared my throat, hoping to push him into talking.

"Elouise..."

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(like the beginning of fergalicious) oH SHIT