This Thing Upon Me [Order The eBook] [Harry Styles]

Chapter 53

(DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. It's important to remember this is all totally fabricated, embellished, and exaggerated for entertainment purposes.)

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"Chained to the wall of our room

Yeah you chained me like a dog in our room..."

Justin Vernon | Love More

Amy looked sterner than usual. She was the head of our PR team on the road in the US and followed us from city to city in case we ran into media trouble throughout our stay. Today she looked...perturbed, to say the least. I kept a curious eye on her pale blue blouse, and her brittle blonde hair, and the way she pursed her thin lips every so often. I also kept an occasional eye on the picture of the hydrangeas on the wall behind her head, because I found the watercolor to be startlingly realistic.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end of the conference room, I gazed entranced from the 6th story at a sky so blue it appeared wet, reminding me of the pool I had made plans to visit later this evening, and the royal blue patio furniture littered around the courtyard beneath. As things grew more awkward by the moment, I considered complimenting her on her blouse to break the ice, but eventually thought against it. A few more moments of silence prevailed, wherein the only sounds were her rustling notepad and the air conditioner, before I gave in and tried my hand at flattery anyway.

"Lovely blouse you're wea—"

"Not today, Harry." My mouth snapped shut. A snicker arose from beside me. "Do you have any idea why I've called you here today?" she asked plainly.

"Uh, no...no idea actually. Hey, any idea why we're here?" I drawled, looking over at Z with disinterest, who sat beside me at the massive conference table occupied by us three alone. There was nothing else present except a 50-inch screen TV mounted on a cart with wheels. It sat beside Amy and she looked disinclined to use it. Even though it was turned off, it seemed to wield an untold power over us all; looming like a veiled threat.

"Noh ideah," Z replied with as much disinterest as me, chin planted to his raised fist on the leather armrest. Occasionally he sat back in the seat and tested its reclining capacity, scrolling through Twitter.

"If indeed you are unaware, then perhaps we should rectify that?" Her words were accompanied by a visible tension, one that made her throat taut, as if she were restraining her body from jumping up and fleeing.

"Please do," I said, biting my thumb nail and waiting for her to expound.

With one click of the all-powerful remote, the TV flicked on to what looked to be grainy security footage. Only then did I note the tiny flashing red light in the USB protruding from the monitor's side. I vaguely thought the Marriott should have been able to afford a higher quality surveillance system than the footage being shown, before my eyes became riveted to the image of Zayn and I striding down an empty corridor. We were nearly arm-in-arm. As we strode into plain view of the camera, my stomach dropped. There was no way this would end well. We were both hammered.

Amy provided a voiceover for what we were witnessing, while Z sat up on the edge of his seat, cured of his earlier apathy.

"What's this?" he asked, embellishing the tail end of the question with a wary inflection.