sugar baby [h.s]

forty four

Well that wasn't how I expected things to go. I figured that I would be the one to storm out in a fit, that he would be the one that needed to apologise. He does, he should have told me, but I'm not completely blameless in this either.

He's totally right; I still think that he will leave me at a moments notice. But it's not anything that he is doing or saying, it's all in my head. I think. I still don't feel like I deserve him, that I deserve this happiness or adventure that he brings into my life, so it would make sense for him to have someone else in his life. Except he doesn't, I believe him when he says it.

But fuck I hate that bitch. Whoever she is, she's a bitch. I imagine her being some leggy blonde who has a long history with Harry, maybe back in the old days when he was less uptight and formal. The vision in my mind of a younger Harry running around New York with his friends makes me ache for all the stories he's never told me, they must be incredible.

He just needs to cool off, I should let him, but I also want to take off my makeup. I venture quietly up the stairs and find the door to his bedroom is still wide open, probably not the one he's stormed into. Nevertheless, I still creep up to the doorway and pop my head in just inside the door frame to check that the coast is clear. When I determine that it is, I quickly unzip my dress, hang it back up in the closet and slip into the Fleetwood Mac shirt that Harry always allows me to use when I'm here. Even though I've worn it on a number of occasions, I can still get a small hint of his cologne on the collar. It was my loyal companion while he was in New York, I'd allow my mind to trick me into thinking he was beside me using this shirt. And now to think he's in god knows what room of this massive apartment, thinking that I think he's a liar.

I shake my head as I head to the bathroom to wash my face, I have to find him and talk to him about this. Once my face is washed and pat dry, I set off to try and find him.

There are quite a few spare rooms in the apartment, ones I've never even bothered to go into before. But all the doors that I pass are open, and none have Harry in them. I round the corridor and find the light in his study is on, and the door is open. If he did slam it shut, maybe he opened it back up again? Maybe he doesn't want to shut me out after all.

Sure enough as I approach the door way, Harry is standing inside hovering over his desk. He's taken off his jacket and tie, leaving him in just his white button up and black trousers. A small lamp on the table lights up a series of papers he appears to be examining. He's working, at nearly midnight. I lean against the open door frame and watch him for a moment. His brows are furrowed as he flips through the papers, they look like they're sketches, probably the new Shanghai hotel. Eventually his gaze hovers over to me, and lands first on my face, then on my T-shirt. Relief floods through me as a soft smile spreads across his face.

"You do love that shirt don't you" his voice is soft, but endearing. I shrug my shoulders and play with the hem of the shirt, that hangs around the middle of my thighs.

"It's comfy" I respond. I'm not going to be a creep and tell him I like that his scent lingers on the collar, that's weird, and we need less weird in this conversation. There's a slight awkwardness that hangs between us after that, it's no longer tense, I think we are done being mad. I know I am.

"I'm sorry" I let out a soft sigh and lean further against the door frame. "It just freaked me out I guess"

"Why?" Harry asks genuinely, sitting himself down on his large leather seat behind the desk. He raises his hand to beckon me into the room, I gladly enter, opting to sit myself on the edge of his desk around his side, my bare leg resting just a few inches away from his knee.

"I don't know. You said when you first got back that you might want to move back to New York one day. Hearing that there is a girl in New York that you met up with while you were there...it just set something off in my head, I don't know" I shrug my shoulders as I try to explain my previous anger. He listens to me and nods his head, letting out a quiet sigh as his head tilts back slightly onto the head rest of the chair.