Dirty Laundry

I’d somehow convinced Harry to see me outside of work. Don’t ask me how; I had Liam give me a bank of finance terms and I mad libbed my way through an email, each word more desperate than the last. I’d been sure it wouldn’t work. Surely Harry Styles had better things to do than appease my financial woes, but I was shocked to receive a response not even ten minutes later.

Don’t worry, love, I’ll clear my schedule for you. xx

Despite my initial excitement over what little progress I was making, I found myself growing extremely annoyed with a bunch of British guys calling me “love.”

I hit Sloane with the good news first, partly because I needed to know which salon she went to for her Brazilians (Harry and I had agreed to meet at his penthouse and I had to be on the safe side) and partly because Mia was out with Zayn and Liam wouldn’t care. He’d already done his good deed for the week with the vocabulary words and was of no further use to me.

“So you’ve got a plan?” Sloane asked, not bothering to look up from her nails, which she was filing into perfect squares.

I huffed. “Well, no, but how hard could it possibly be? Women—at least the ones smart enough to realize it—have all the control in a relationship. One good fuck and he’d tell me the cure for cancer if I asked.”

Sloane didn’t seem very impressed. “I don’t think it’s going to be that easy,” she said. A string of curse words fell from her lips as she filed her pinky too short. “Him admitting he’s giving his secretary a happy ending bonus is instant blackmail—you think someone like him is that stupid?”

“I don’t—”

Sloane cut me off. “Hand me that bottle of nail polish.” I handed over the bottle of pink glitter with a scowl. “Don’t look at me like that. This is your job; you know you can’t go there without a plan.”

“I’ve never needed a plan before.”

The blonde finally looked up at me, her blue eyes clearly wondering if I was truly a dumbass or if I just played one on television. “Then don’t come up with one. What do I care?”

I huffed again, already knowing I wasn’t going to get anywhere with her. I returned to my office to go over the details of Harry’s email and to get in touch with Genevieve to see if she had any suggestions. As much as I didn’t want to admit Sloane was right, I knew I had to at least have the upper hand. That meant wearing a dress of his favorite color, wearing the most seductive perfume I owned, and saying all the right things.

The results of my labor landed me in the lobby of Harry and Genevieve’s building promptly at eight-o’clock. I didn’t look a tad out of place in my attire, which the future Mrs. Styles had accompanied me in picking out. As soon as she saw the form-fitting white dress, she thrust it into my arms and demanded I buy it. Of course a $3,000 dress caught her eye; she could’ve put the entire store on credit if she wanted to.

I’d recruited Mia to help with the minor details, like which shoes and accessories to wear, before she started blabbing about Liam giving her a bouquet of pink roses. She was having a real crisis and I didn’t have time for it, so I bid her adieu and left to get my hair and nails done. I’d gone all-out before, like when I’d been hired by the wife of a Yankees player, but even I had to admit I’d never looked more like sex on legs. I could’ve walked straight out of a Victoria’s Secret catalogue and no one would’ve known the difference.

All of this was why I was on a power-high when Harry came down to the lobby to greet me and visibly grew hard in his pants. I’d always thought they were a bit too snug, but now I was thankful for the visual.

“Evangeline,” he breathed, taking another long look at the length of my body, “you look…incredible. Simply stunning.”

I smiled, making sure to let the deep red lipstick show off every curve of my mouth. “Thank you, Harry. That’s very sweet of you.”

He placed his hand at the small of my back, gently guiding me toward the elevator. We didn’t say much on the way up, mostly because there was so much tension — sexual and otherwise — that it was hard to breathe. Harry never removed his hand, though, and I had to remind myself that I was here to find out the extent of his relationship with Emma, not spend the next twelve hours in his bed.

The ding of the elevator snapped us back to reality. Ushering me into the hallway, he moved his hand from my back to intwine our fingers. His suite was 1802; I remembered it from Genevieve’s application. It was also the only penthouse on the eighteenth floor.

“After you,” Harry said as he unlocked the door. I should’ve been surprised that the lights came on automatically, but nothing about people with too much money and how they spent it surprised me anymore.

Still, the penthouse packed a surprising punch. It was much less modern than his office, bordering on personal and warm. Genevieve’s touch was obvious. There was no way a bachelor with a net worth nearing half a billion dollars could’ve accomplished that mood, even with hired help.

The walls of the kitchen, dining room and living room were made up of grey brick. It was industrial and cold, but Genevieve had offset it with large pieces of artwork and little pops of color. It was impressive; either she had a background in interior design or she had few other ways to spend her time. Everything looked straight out of a magazine.

“You have a beautiful home,” I said, running my fingertips along the brick walls. Harry nodded his thanks, watching as I made my way through the floor plan. It was large with an abundance of open space, and I got the impression that nothing Genevieve did was on accident. No matter where you looked, a framed photographed of her and Harry together was the first thing to catch your eye.

Smart girl, I thought.

“Would you like something to drink?”

Spinning on my heel, I nodded. “That would be great. Thank you.”

I stopped in front of a large bookcase, not at all surprised by what I found lining the shelves — Niccolò Machiavelli’s The Prince, Sun Tzu’s Art of War, Plato’s Phaedrus. I didn’t have to be a psychologist to see that Harry saw himself as some kind of predator, a wolf of Wall Street if you will. No one could argue with that. He wouldn’t have found success if he hadn’t made a few enemies along the way.

Just like myself, Harry got off on power. Perhaps that’s why he was so keen to entertain me. Although I was playing a part, he could sense that we were somehow more alike than I was letting on. I intrigued him; he wanted to dominate me. It was a shame Genevieve had turned the tables. Harry would’ve been fun to play with.

“Are you much of a reader?”

I shrugged. “Took a few lit classes in college. Nothing serious.”

Harry nodded as he handed me a glass. Some honey-brown liquid swirled around the inside. “I picked this one up at an antique market in Florence,” he said, skimming the spine of Galileo’s Sidereus Nuncius.

“Do you speak much Latin?”

Harry grinned. “Not a word.”

We made stagnant chit-chat for what felt like hours, with Harry excusing himself every now and then to refill his glass. I hadn’t touched mine since he handed it to me initially, and by midnight his cheeks were permanently blotchy and he was slurring every other word he tried to speak. He was surprisingly easy to talk to, even with his arm slung around the back of my shoulders and his breath warm against my neck. Usually I’d be in bed with him by now, but he was making no effort to get me there and I’d made an unspoken promise to Genevieve to not lead him there myself.

He’d been telling funny anecdotes all night, mostly from bad experiences he had while traveling. When he got up to fetch a photo album, a polaroid of him and Louis fell from between the pages. I picked it up carefully.

“That’s Louis, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded, taking the photo from me. “From before he went to law school. We spent the summer backpacking through Europe. This was in Switzerland.” Somewhat of a smile lit up his face. “You know him?”

“I took the elevator to his floor by accident the first time I came in.”

“Yeah, that happens a lot,” he chuckled. “We’ve been mates for a while. I convinced the company to hire him after he graduated. He’s a brilliant lawyer.”

All I could do was smile. “You both look really happy in that picture.”

“It was the best summer of my life. Before it all got so crazy, you know?”

“Looks like you’re doing pretty well to me.”

Instead of pouring himself another glass, Harry started taking swigs straight from the bottle. “Do you ever wonder if it’s all worth it? The money, I mean. Sometimes I think I’d rather be poor and alone than have everything I do and still be this miserable.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. “I don’t follow,” I lied.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, Evangeline. There are a lot of people who don’t like me and I can’t blame them. Even my mates don’t fancy me the way most friends do.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” I said, trying to console him. “You’ve got Louis and your fiancée.”

His green eyes snapped to meet mine. “That’s the thing, love: they hate me, too.”

“How could they possibly hate you, Harry?”

He chuckled bitterly. “I told you, I’ve made mistakes. I’ve hurt them both more times than I can possibly count and they don’t even know the half of it.”

You have no idea, I thought. “How bad can it possibly be? Your fiancée’s still with you and Lou is still your friend. They haven’t gone anywhere.”

“They…they know some things. The small ones. But if they knew everything, they’d never look at me again.”

I placed a hand on his knee. “Maybe it’d do you some good to talk to someone about it. Get it all out, you know? Maybe then it won’t feel so suffocating.”

Harry looked at me with all the wonder and amazement in the world. He was drunk and I was his savior in that moment. “You think?”

“If you’re comfortable talking about it. Don’t feel obligated.”

He took a deep breath. “She thinks I don’t love her,” he said after a moment. “She thinks…I-I don’t know what she thinks, but she doesn’t wear her ring anymore.”

“Why?” I asked, my eyebrows knit together in faux-confusion.

“She says I’m all talk,” he lamented. “I’ve made mistakes, Ev, but I swear I love her. You believe me, don’t you?” he asked, his voice thick with tears.

“Harry—”

“Tell me you believe me,” he begged. “Please.”

“I believe you,” I whispered.

Harry choked back a sob. “I betrayed Lou. I slept with his girlfriend.”

“What?”

“We were at a party and we were drunk and it just happened. I didn’t mean to. She meant it, but I didn’t. I love him. He’s my best mate and I…” he trailed off, looking at yet another framed photograph that sat on an end table. Looking around Harry, I saw that it was of him and Louis. I was beginning to think Gen had done it on purpose to remind him of all the times he’d hurt those closest to him.

“Do they know?”

Harry nodded, his head heavy in his hands. “I told them. They say they’ve forgiven me but I know they haven’t.”

“I don’t know what to say, Harry.”

He looked at me again. “Tell me I’m a bad person. Tell me I deserve to be miserable.”

“You made a mistake. You don’t deserve to suffer because of it.”

“Nah, I do,” he laughed, “because I never fucking learn my lesson. How’s that saying go? ‘Once is a mistake, twice is a choice’?”

“What do you mean?”

Taking another swig of liquor, Harry spilled every secret he’d been hiding. “We still sleep together. She says if I don’t, she’s going to tell him.”

“Louis?”

Harry nodded. “I don’t want to hurt him again. I can’t. He’s my best mate and I’d do anything on Earth for him. And Gen…oh god, it’d kill her if she knew.”

She does, you goddamn idiot. “How much have you had to drink, Harry?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged pathetically. “A lot.”

“Come on,” I said, rising from the couch to lend him a hand. “Let’s get you to bed. You’ve got work tomorrow.”

Harry stood, instantly matching my height. I’d never lugged a drunk man to bed wearing designer heels before, but I’d gotten all the information out of him that I could before he started wailing and I wanted no parts of that. The inner workings of Harry and Genevieve’s relationship was of no concern to me, not anymore, and I was no therapist.

I had no idea where Harry’s bedroom was. I lead him through dead-end hallways and empty guest rooms until I finally found it. Harry immediately gravitated toward the large bed, the scene of what I could only imagine were a hundred heartbreaks for the woman who loved him more than anything, and collapsed on top of it.

As carefully as I could, I removed his shoes and set them neatly by the dresser. It wasn’t until I took a second to look around that I noticed there were no signs of Genevieve anywhere in the room.

“Ev?” Harry asked, his voice muffled by the bed linens.

“Yeah?”

“Can you stay? No funny business, I promise. I just…I don’t want to sleep alone.”

“I’m sure Gen will be home soon, Harry.”

Harry sighed. “She doesn’t come home anymore.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. I couldn’t help myself as I ran a hand through his thick curls.

“I bought her an apartment two floors down. She doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Har…”

He rolled onto his side to look at me. “It’s okay. It’s better than losing her.”

I sighed, my heart aching for him even though it shouldn’t have. I gripped his bicep as I pressed a kiss to his temple. “You’ll be okay. Everything is going to be okay.”