*Liam's POV*

After opening my eyes, I immediately close them. The lights are too fucking bright and the ringtone on my phone is too loud. Fuck this shit.

I go to end the call, it's probably one of the guys, when I see it's actually one of the people from my management calling. Hank O'Taylor. I fucking hate that guy. He's so controlling.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Exactly, Liam. Get down to the offices by 10 this morning or you'll be fired. Bye."

"Harsh." I say to the phone, even though Hank's already hung up. I rub my hands over my eyes and look at the clock. 9:40. The offices are about 10 minutes from my flat.

Even though I'm sure the threat is empty, performing with One Direction is one of the highlights of my life. Especially since that bitch left me.

Well she isn't exactly a bitch-

No. Stop those damn thoughts. I tell myself as I get into semi-presentable clothes and wash my face. Deciding to get coffee on the way, I head out the door.

I step into the front foyer of the main offices. The receptionist Debbie points to the left. We either meet in the Left or the Right Room when we have to, so I guess it's the Left Room.

The conference room is normally filled to the brim with other suit types like Hank. And while it is today, there's also a girl.

A pretty girl.

Pale blonde hair, light green eyes, pale skin. She's wearing a blue-and-white polka dot dress which she keeps running over with her palms. She looks up at me, then squints. And then notices my tattoos, which trail up my arms, torso, and neck. (You can see the torso ones through my kinda see-through shirt.)

I like to consider my tats art. Most have meaning, but some don't. Those that don't are drunken mistakes after partying too hard with my bandmates Niall, Harry, Louis and Zayn.

Speaking of Zayn, I need to talk to him about getting more cigarettes. Weed is fun at parties, but I could smoke cigarettes in public without getting arrested.

"Glad you made it, Liam." Hank says, sitting in his fancy chair. He gestures for me to sit in the empty nearby chair, but I shake my head. If I stand in these meetings, it's easier to run away.

"We're getting worried about your reputation, Liam." One of the few women, besides this new chick, gets my attention. Her name is Hillary Carter. And she's annoying and bossy, like a second mom. But pushier.

"And why would that be?" I ask, drawling since I'm still hungover and dealing with business this early in the morning is fucking with my head.

Then a bunch of them list things at once.

"The drinking" "The smoking" "The Yacht Party" "The tattoos" "The single-ness" "The swearing"

"So? My kidneys are working now."

"Regardless, it's looking bad for One Direction. And we're going to fix it." Hank says.

"No." When these fuckers try to fix something, they make it worse. When they were afraid of the "bad press" having a gay couple would have on the band (not like Harry and Louis are gay, they're both just really close), they made them be completely and suspiciously separate. And it just made our fans more convinced that there was something.

"You're going to listen." Hank's voice gets so harsh I actually quiet. "Ever since you and Danielle broke up," My fists clench. "You've been bad. And it's hurting One Direction." I saw no evidence of this, but before I could interrupt, he continued. "So we're getting you a fake girlfriend to fix these things."

"No."

"It's not up to debate. Liam Payne, meet Kendall Riverden."

He grandly gestures to the polka-dot-dress girl. And she, to her credit, gives a small smile and waves.

Oh, messing with her is going to be fun.