The Darkest Night

I hated French food.

It was nearly unpronounceable, pretentious and came in serving sizes that didn’t make it worth the exorbitant amount of money required to acquire it. But under the duress of keeping my job I appeared dressed in too expensive couture, made up and smelling of vanilla and honeysuckle at hopefully the first and last meeting I was ever going to have to attend with Harry Styles. Upon calling Lanie, my sole friend in this world, she had just gone on and on about the eligible bachelor list which apparently he had been the top of and how lucky I was to actually get to meet him. I couldn’t care less about what some sniveling, doll like fashion journalists had decided but I would admit to the fact that Harry Styles was one of the most devilishly handsome man I had ever seen.

He apparently knew that too as he appeared at the meeting fifteen minutes late and a pretentious smirk all over face. Mr. Proctor stood in greeting but as I went to join him he raised a hand keeping me in my seat, at least he knew his manners. Steely green eyes scanned from my heat curled stiff with hairspray to the overly tight and majorly uncomfortable dress that the company had stuffed me into. His smirk grew into a seemingly predatory grin before he slid into the seat next to me ignoring Mr. Proctor.

“Harry Styles.” He offered his hand and in an attempt to put him off I offered my left hand Carter’s diamond glinting in the low lighting.

“Isadora Cross.” I wasn’t sure I was supposed to offer my qualifications and figured that vagueness was beneficial. An IT would seem out of place at a fancy business meeting.

“Miss Cross is my assistant.” Mr. Proctor offered miffed that I was getting his attention although it was precisely why I was there.

The men launched into small talk and I took the useful opportunity to boredly analyze our guest. He hadn’t seemed fazed at my engagement ring which set off a red flag in my brain. But the longer I studied Harry the more the silences caught my eyes. The times when Mr. Proctor was paying more attention his food when a brooding darkness fraught through with conflict seemed to descend on his countenance.

“Am I just that devilishly handsome?”

The question startled me and looking up from whatever strange looking food was on my plate I blushed a light shade of pink. I usually was a little more discreet when observing, a distinct look of boredom staining my face, but there was something about him that I just couldn’t put my finger on. I went to stutter an answer but he raised a hand to stop me. His face warped from bored playboy into what I would almost mistake as kindness.

“So Isadora while your boss takes a bathroom break with our waitress. What do you actually do at Proctor Finances? You’re certainly not his secretary,” he stopped me again before I could protest, “I’ve met one too many secretaries in my time. They spend the entire dinner admiring the loaned finery and unabashedly flirting with me, not listening to all of the business deals with a glance like you actually understand what’s going on.”

“I’m an IT tech and it’s Izzy.” I offered in a sign of peace. If he already knew I didn’t see why I had to continue the charade.

“And what do you think about Proctor Finances? And I don’t mean the side that your boss wants me to see. Don’t worry I won’t tell him anything.”

All of me screamed that I shouldn’t trust him. That he was using sweet talking and brief bits of truth combined with white lies to try and convince me. But there was a tiny whisper in the back of my mind that wondered if what I had seen earlier, the mix of kindness and sadness, was actually real. So against the rationality of my mind I told him what would surely get me fired.

“Proctor Finance is close to bankruptcy; he wants this deal to boost his investments although not much of it will ever actually make it to the employees or clients. Taking his deal would lead your profits right into his hands.”

“And you know this how?”

“MIT class of 2016, masters in Statistic Analysis and computer...programming and they have me entering the numbers into their spreadsheets.”

I felt slightly bad telling him everything I should but I couldn’t get myself to feel much of anything anymore, the familiar cloud of numb settling over me like a weighted blanket. It made me bold, reckless and not like myself.

“How old are you?” He stuttered his eyes once again giving me the once over. I was used to the question, had heard it my entire life.

“23, graduated high school at 16, did college in three years with a degree in computer science also at MIT.”

I spouted off the answer like a robot because that’s all the answer was, a single sense recap of why I’d never quite fit in either in college or in high school, something about being overqualified.

“And you’re a lab tech.” His question was more of a statement and an incredulous one at that a single eyebrow raising. I could tell he’d done the calculations and found the time gap.

“Proctor Finance didn’t particularly care about my past…. indiscretions.” I admitted challenging his steely gaze. I didn’t know where this Izzy had come from, I was blaming it on the wine, but something about Harry Styles, the man I was determined to hate, put me at ease.

“I think I like you.” He shrugged with a smile before twirling the stem of his wine glass through his fingers.

I didn’t know how to reply to that so I just sat back in my chair slightly aghast earning another chuckle from him. Thankfully Mr. Proctor’s heavy-breathing return saved me from further awkwardness. I quickly went quiet and Mr. Proctor sent me a sly grin convinced I had been doing my job on helping him secure his deal. Part of me didn’t want to know what would happen if he found out that I’d probably done just the opposite.

“So where were we? Sorry that took so long there was quite a line.”

Harry sent me a sly smirk and glance like there was an inside joke. We both knew what had taken so long but we didn’t care to actually mention anything. It was the subtle remarks actually directed my way (much to Mr. Proctor’s chagrin) and the coy smiles that had me convinced at the end of the night the Harry Styles might not be as bad as I though he was.

Notes