#harryxmac

It’s unusual for someone so young and inexperienced to slithertheir way into such a notorious and well known business, but with a collegeprofessor that worships the ground that you walk on and an extremelywell-written reference letter from the dean of your college, it was only amatter of time before you got your foot in the door. The position isn’t anythingspectacular–just the personal assistant to an executive assistant–but thereisn’t anywhere for you to go but up, you suppose. 

No matter the seemingly insignificant status of your new job,when the Monday morning rolls around that you’re first scheduled to work,you’re shitting yourself as you make your way into the sleek, glass walledheadquarters of the company. Dressed to the nines and sweating at the collar ofyour freshly pressed blazer, you slowly toe your way to the front desk, heelsclacking obnoxiously loud across the marble floor. 

“Excuse me,” you say, approaching the receptionist. She looksrather annoyed by your presence, obviously very busy with the call log splayedout in front of herself, and she stares you down with her heavily coated lashesand cherry red lips pressed tight. “I’m supposed to start work today. Canyou tell me where I might find Winona Jones? She said she would add my name toa list…” 

Thinking back on last week’s emails, Winona Jones came throughthe screen as a very pert and enthusiastic woman, excited to have an extra pairof hands around the office. She’d made it very clear that while she would tryher hardest to make you feel at home in the office, her boss and men of hisstatus in the business were very serious about keeping the work environmentprofessional. It didn’t do much to soothe your nerves, that knowledge, but as abusiness major you’ve been trained on how to keep things as such.

The receptionist in front of you squints for a moment, glancingover your person as if she’s judging your honesty based on your outfit ofchoice. Trying not to act offended, although you’d like to give her a few wordsto the wise about trying not to overdraw her brows next time, you give her apatient smile as she finally lifts a list of names into her view. 

“Name, please?”

You clear your throat, reaching into your handbag to pull outyour I.D. “Here,” you say, handing it over. “I’m Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

She turns her nose up in dissatisfaction when she finds yourname on the list in front of her, something that brings you an oddly satisfyingamount of joy. “You’re on here.” She returns your license and begins todig through one of her desk drawers, bringing her hand back with a scannablebadge. 

Upon inspection you find that it has your name on it, along withyour job title and access level. The sight leaves you almost in awe. None of yourfriends can say that they have an official name badge with their name and thebiggest brokerage company in the state’s emblem on it in the same breath.Honestly, for all that you are petrified, you’re excited to brag. 

The receptionist instructs you to head to the elevators in thecenter of the room, where you’ll need to scan your badge in order to make it tothe sixth level of the building. Without giving her so much as a thank you, youturn on your heel and make for the sliding metal doors. Oddly, the satisfactionof proving the woman wrong fills you with a sense of importance, and althoughno one is giving you a second glance there’s still a pep in your step, almostas if you’re trying to impress. 

There’s a security guard upon entrance to the elevator, head totoe in suit and tie. Before the doors have closed he requests to see youridentification, which you hand over without argument. He’s probably twice yoursize, a whole head taller than you despite the fact that you’re the averageheight for a woman of your age, and he looks as intimidating as one of thosespecial agent’s on television.

“You’re the new intern?” he asks out of nowhere once the doorshave shut and the elevator has started heading up. 

Awkwardly, you nod. “Uhm, yeah. Is it that obvious?”

He laughs, shaking his head, and now that he knows you aren’tplaying any games he seems about a hundred times nicer. “No, no. You looklike you fit in fine. Just relax, though. You’re more tense than my wife whenthe whole family is over for Thanksgiving.”

His comment seems to lighten the mood a bit, and you can’t helpbut laugh as you come to a halt on the top floor. The doors slowly slide open,and the scene before you makes every muscle in your body go rigid and throat tightenshut.

As you make to put one foot in front of the other, the manoffers a gentle, “Good luck, Y/N.” 

Such simple words of kindness completely overshadow the awfulexperience you had downstairs. You glance back at the security guard, smilingthrough the nerves. “Thank you. I never got your name.”

“I’m John,” he tells you. 

Before either of you can speak again the doors shut completely,a barrier between your last chance to run and your future career. There’s noturning back now, and you take a few calming breaths before you begin walkingdown the hallway.

At the very end of the marble flooring stands a set of wide,glass doors that reveal an airy office, that of which you assume belongs toyour boss. Right before that entrance is two desks, opposite each other acrossthe room. One is empty, only a computer and landline phone sitting atop thesurface. The other is home to a variety of office supplies and a very softlooking fern. Behind that desk sits a middle aged woman, curvy in nature androcking a beehive hairdo that’s been long out of style. 

“Winona?” you ask, approaching the woman. She immediately looksup from where she was previously keying away at her computer, and the smilethat comes to rest upon her mouth seems to light up the room.

“Oh, goodness!” Her voice ishigh and pitchy, ringing across the walls. She stands as quick as you can blinkand rounds the desk, holding out her hand for you to grab. “You must be Y/N!”

She displays just as she hadover email, almost too nice. It’s better than the receptionist downstairs, buther perky nature only rattles your nerves further. You’ve never been one to berude though, so you follow her lead, smiling and shaking her hand.

“I am! Sorry if I’m a bitearly. I figured that it would be best if we got a head start on my training.”You adjust the strap of your purse on your shoulder. “I hope that’s alright.”

Winona nods heartily. “Oh,yes, honey. That’s more than alright. Harry isn’t in for the morning yet, so thisgives me a few minutes to give you a rundown of what all we didn’t fullydiscuss over the computer.”

Before she begins promptingyou, she leads you over to the empty desk and gives you a second to situateyour blazer and purse over the back of your chair. It’s all very sleek andclean, just as the rest of the building appears to be. God, you can’t believehow lucky your life is turning out to be.

“So,” Winona says, crossingher arms. “As you know, you’ll be my assistant, and I am the assistant to thebig man. It’s kind of like a chain of command—although I’ll obviously treat youlike an equal. For logistics though, I do whatever Harry asks, and you dowhatever I ask.”

“Sounds simple enough,” youtell her, nodding along at her words.

You know in passing who HarryStyles is, seeing as his name is across the company building, but you have noclue what to expect. A quick Google search might give you a small bit ofinformation, but you don’t think you’ll have much to worry about, what withthis mystery man employing such an abstract woman to be his executiveassistant.

Maybe he’s in his latesixties, going through a late mid-life crisis as he tries to hold onto hisyouth that’s long gone. He’s probably got greying hair and a loud, boomingvoice that’ll make you jump every time he enters a room. What if one day downthe line he gets a little too drunk at a company Christmas party and admitsthat he never loved his wife of twenty years and wishes he could turn back theclock?

As an array of differentscenarios race through your mind, Winona rattles on about the perks andhighlights of the job. Faintly you can hear her explaining how she was the onewho originally requested your assistant’s job be opened, what with how thecompany is taking off under it’s new management and it’s getting difficult forher to keep up all on her own. In an attempt to mock interest you nod along,smiling every once in a while.

Eventually the two of youmerge into your own seats, resorting to talking across the room.

“I’ve got a bad back, y’know,”Winona says. “I think that we should petition the H.R. board to get us thosebig, bouncy ball chairs. What do you think?”

You haven’t been listeningreally, something you feel the slightest bit bad about, but you want to playalong. Opening your mouth to reply, she cuts you off before you have the chance.

“Oh, I’ll be back in asecond, Y/N.” She stands from her seat, knees angled inward as she beginsrushing down the hallway you entered from. “All this talking gets my bladderexcited!”

The laugh you let out isinvoluntary. Is there any chance you’ve entered the Twilight Zone? In undertwenty minutes you’ve met someone from every end of the personality spectrum,it seems, and your nerves are still causing your hands to tremble in your lap.

As you wait for Winona’sreturn, the one thing to keep you sane is the thought of how your friend’s aregoing to beg you to spill every detail about your first day, and how you’ll beable to dramatize every single second of it.

Eventually you hear footstepsagain, and you mentally prepare yourself for another bombardment of your newdesk buddy’s chatter. Except, when the footsteps come closer and eventually theperpetrator comes into view, it is definitely not Winona. It’s a young man,probably edging toward his mid to late twenties, and he’s honestly one of themost gorgeous men you have ever seen in your life.

With a sharp, strong jaw thatlooks as though it could cut glass and shoulder’s so broad that it pulls hissuit jacket taut across his chest, the man comes to a curious halt in front ofyour desk. His deep, charming green eyes blink a few times, framed by the silkysmooth waves of brown hair of his head, and he pulls his brows tight.

He’s obviously meant to behere if he made it past the elevator clearance, but you have no idea how to addressone of the company’s clients yet. Winona still isn’t back, and you have nothingto do but fumble through your words.

“Uhm, hello, sir,” you say,wiping your clammy hands across your navy pants. “I’m sorry but Mr. Styles isn’tin yet. If you’d like to wait a second I can try to see what time he’ll bearriving this morning.” You cough out of nowhere, and even though it’scompletely uncalled for, your cheeks begin to burn bright red.

The handsome stranger juststares at you for a minute, a range of emotions dancing across his face beforehe settles for an oddly arousing smirk. He shoves the palms of his hands intohis pockets, cocking a hip as he glances down at you with teasing eyes. “He’snot here yet, you say?”

“Uhm, no, sir,” you reply.God, you have to be the most awkward person in the world with the way you beginto fidget under this man’s attention.

“Okay,” he says. “Are you hisassistant?”

“I’m his assistant’s assistant.But, he’s still my boss, so I guess that I’m his assistant, too.”

The man nods, chuckling underhis breath. Faintly, you wonder how inappropriate it would be if you crawledunderneath your desk and hid for the rest of your life.

He opens his mouth to speakagain, the playful glint in his eye still burning bright, but the sound ofWinona’s voice begins to echo down the hallway as he starts up. She enters theroom mid-sentence, still talking about appropriate office seating, but when shenotices the man her words come to a standstill.

She places her hands on herhips and squints at him, a disapproving look on her face. “Do you know whattime it is, young man? Do I need to call your father?”

The mystery man’s eyes gowide and he lets out a burst of laughter, copying Winona’s body language. Hesays, “Excuse me, Winona, but a queen is never late. Everyone else is simplyearly.”

Did this handsome man justquote The Princess Diaries? How do he and Winona know each other? What ishappening?

Involuntarily, you let out asmall noise of question. The both of them turn to face you, and Winona breakscharacter as she suddenly comes to life with excitement.

“Oh, Harry! This is Y/N, thenew hire I was telling you about!”

Hold on. Harry Styles?

A million thoughts race throughyour mind at once, from wondering how someone so young could be the CEO of amultimillion dollar brokerage company to how Winona mislead you to believe thisman would be some kind of hardass. You want to question everything that you’vebeen told up until now and as about a hundred questions, but everything happensso quickly that you’re left in the dirt.

“I figured that, Winona,” Harrysays, smirking at the older woman. He returns his attention to you after abeat, sending you a wink. “I don’t think Y/N has any idea of who I am, however?”

Winona laughs, slapping atHarry’s arm before making her way back to her seat. You remain where you’re at,stomach fluttering as you sit at a loss for words.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Styles,”you say, realizing that your behavior probably came across as unprofessionaland rude. Based off Winona’s description of Mr. Styles he doesn’t like to jokearound often—something that you assume he only makes exceptions for whenever heis very close to someone, as he is with Winona. “I’m mortified right now.Please excuse the last two minutes.”

Harry laughs then, shaking hishead as he waves a hand in the air. You honestly have no clue what’s going onand don’t know whether you’re going to lose your job as soon as you’ve got it.

“It’s alright, Y/N.” He stepscloser, holding out a hand for you to shake. “And, please. Call me Harry.”

What?

Despite the sheer confusionthat you feel at the moment, you shake his hand and try to come across as completelycalm. It’s probably failing, but thankfully Harry doesn’t make to embarrass youfurther. He turns toward his door, the feeling of his hand on yours lingeringeven after he’s out of reach, and he waves you and Winona goodbye.

“I would stay and chat but I’mafraid I’ve got more work on my plate right now than I have time.” He winks atWinona and send you an overly charming smile that causes your fingers to clenchin your fist. “Winona, I trust that you’ll be on your best behavior in trainingY/N today.”

Winona snorts, rolling hereyes. “Always, Harry.”

With a bit more laughter,Harry enters his office and heads to his desk. You watch him through the glasswalls, shock still sitting at the forefront of your brain, and when you finallyforce yourself to turn away Winona is smiling at you, much too knowing.

“I though you said that Mr.Styles was very… professional.” You unabashedly stare at her with an emotionother than something positive now, because you had spent the past few dayspreparing your poker face for no reason.

“He is,” Winona says. “Imeant the older Mr. Styles. Harry’s father, who owns the company.” She shrugs,turning her attention toward her computer. “Harry, however, is very charmingand fun. He hates a serious office environment. Says that it kills brain cells,or something.”

She begins droning on again,something about how she doesn’t believe half the things that Harry tells herand how she’s been here for too long, but you zone out again.

It’s an awful thought, butyou quickly weigh the pro’s and con’s of staying at this new job. It’ll be sogood for your resume and might lead to bigger and better things, but Harry Styles,as you have learned, is the most attractive human to ever bless the earth. He’slike an angel sent from heaven, here to fill you with want despite not knowinga single thing about him.

You’re going to have to see himfive days out of the week, following his every order and doing things like runninghis errands and learning his coffee order. Just the thought of spending so muchtime with someone so attractive, not able to touch and definitely not havingthose thoughts reciprocated…

Your earlier thoughts of havinga surprisingly lucky life quickly swirl down the drain. There’s no way you can walkaway from this opportunity.