All or Nothing
for: mia @zarry-heaux
by: rj @madminniefics
Sasha Donovan isn’t prepared for the drastic changes in her life when a one night stand she ran out on turns out to be friends with her assistant, Zayn. She’ll give anything for Harry to lose interest, mostly to avoid coming to terms with her own feelings.
word count: 4389
warnings: vague sexual content and alcohol mentions
main pairing: harry x ofc
The sun is shining directly onto the bed and it’s hot despite the air conditioning. I’m sweating from the combination of body heat, the sun, and a fluffy duvet. The skin of my hips burns beneath foreign fingertips. My eyes follow the string of tattoos up, up, up, past the strong forearm and bulging bicep, to his face. I gasp at how young he looks. Not my usual type, with his long hair and lack of facial hair. Not even a little mustache, what was I thinking? There’s no way he’s in his thirties.
It’s after 5am, my usual wake up call, and I can already tell things are going to be more of the same. More wondering if everything I’m doing is wrong. I thought I left this in my twenties but I guess even thirty-something’s can get hit by crippling self-doubt. Is this the beginning of my midlife crisis? (God, I hope not.)
But how else could I explain waking up in this unfamiliar bed?
I sigh and begin to lift his arm off of my naked body. Moving slowly towards the edge of the bed, I keep one eye on him as I search for my things. He doesn’t even move. I spend two seconds memorizing the way the muscles in his back—marred by red scratch marks—move under his skin with every breath he takes, before snapping out of it. I’m late for something, but I can’t remember what. Getting dressed quickly, I grab my pumps and phone before running out, making sure the door locks behind me.
***
It’s not until I’m halfway through Central Park that I realize I don’t have my keys. My phone died sometime last night, which means calling my assistant for my spare set is out of the question. It doesn’t help that I’ll apparently be wearing flats for the rest of the week because of the blister I can already feel growing on my pinky toe. What a great start to the weekend.
It takes everything I have not to go fall asleep on a bench and forget this day ever happened. But I keep walking, ignoring the glances I’m getting from nannies and stay-at-home moms in yoga pants pushing double and triple strollers. I’m trying to remember where my keys are and if I even carried a bag last night. If I did, then where would they be? I try to ignore the fact that they’re either at the club, in a taxi, or at Guy From Last Night’s house because those thoughts make my head throb. I don’t even remember if we took a taxi last night.
“Oh, thank God,” I say when I spot Alfred at the front desk.
He does a double take when I walk in. I’m showing a little more skin than usual for 8am on a Friday. This is the last time I go out with Zayn. Even though it’s my fault for staying past 11pm (my self-imposed curfew), knocking back my favorite drink (blueberry vodka and lemonade), and dancing with anyone who would so much as look at me.
That’s not who I am. That’s not Sasha Donovan, magazine editor. That girl was a mess and I’m not sure I recognize her. But from this moment on, she’s gone. I’m back to being me: Sasha-With-A-Schedule, Sasha-On-A-Deadline, Sasha-Who-Doesn’t-Have-Time-For-You.
“Morning, Alfred,” I say, stopping in front of his desk. “I need to borrow my spare key.”
I ignore the sparkle in his eye and the smirk that threatens to show on his face. I know he’s dying to joke around with me, but I have too much on my plate, so when he hands me the key, I all but snatch it from him with a nod before turning towards the elevator.
After a glance at the clock, I realize that a shower is out of the question. I wipe myself down with a few baby wipes I keep around (for “just in case” situations) and quickly dress in my favorite skirt suit (the burgundy one, with a white silk blouse and black Louboutin flats). I end up having to start my makeup over after messing up my eyeliner because I was rushing.
Grabbing my favorite workbag, I stash all my important things in before running downstairs.
“Have a good day, Ms. Donovan,” Alfred says as I walk out.
***
“Never again, Malik,” I say, slumping into the seat next to him with a huff, my eyes drifting closed as my head lands on his shoulder.
“Did you at least have fun?” he asks, taking his eyes off the notebook in his lap to wiggle his brows at me.
“I honestly don’t remember.”
He laughs. The sound makes my head pound. I cover my eyes with my hand and snuggle into Zayn’s bony shoulder. I figure I have at least an hour before we have to go to our lunch meeting.
“No more talking.”
That makes him laugh harder. I huff and stand up, walking away from his desk to take a nap on the leather couch in my office.
“Wake me up before the meeting.”
***
When I wake up, Zayn’s face is barely hovering an inch away from mine. I jump, hitting my head on the arm of the couch, causing small tingles to go up my neck and disperse through my head. I’m still hungover.
The last thing I want to do is any type of work (yes, even a brunch meeting), but we’ve had this scheduled with Zayn’s model friend for a while now. After what he went through to schedule this, the last thing I want to do is cancel it. Despite Zayn’s connection, his friend’s hard to get in contact with.
“Donovan, party of three.”
Zayn and I stand up to follow the waitress back to a booth in a secluded corner. He taps away on his phone while I look through the menu. I let Zayn pick the place and, of course, everything sounds delicious. I’m trying to decide between stuffed french toast and waffles covered in fruit when someone clears their throat.
“Harry!” Zayn says, getting up to give his friend a hug. “Sasha, this is Harry Styles. Harry, Sasha.”
He looks familiar, but I can’t seem to place him. My head tilts and my eyes squint as I try to comb through my mental contact list for places I may have seen him before. He’s pretty, almost too pretty, in a way that I’m sure I wouldn’t just forget his face if I had met him before.
“We’ve met already,” Harry says, winking at me as we shake hands.
My heart stops. I recognize the wink, but the smirk on his face is what seals the deal. Harry is Guy From Last Night. As soon as the realization sinks in, I grab my menu to cover my face. My cheeks feel hot. I know I’m blushing. My dark skin, combined with the darkness of the restaurant, makes sure that no one can tell, thankfully. I take two deep breaths before putting the menu down.
This will only be awkward if I make it awkward, I tell myself.
I look up and Zayn is grinning at me so hard that I wonder if his mouth is going to stay stretched like that. I narrow my eyes at him as the waitress walks up and takes our drink orders.
Would it be weird if I didn’t look at Harry the whole time? Last night is coming back in little bursts. The smell of his skin, the way his hands felt around my thighs, the kisses that burned my neck and chest. I gulp and take a sip of water. Maybe that will calm me down. This is a business meeting. Business.
When our food arrives I waste no time in digging into my waffles. Zayn and Harry are talking about something or other—I honestly don’t follow the conversation—as I just try to focus on my food. Every time I look up I see those green eyes staring back at me and I forget to breathe, dripping syrup on myself.
“Shit,” I say as a piece of waffle lands on my pants. “I’ll be right back.”
I all but run to the bathroom. This isn’t like me. In my career I have never been less than professional. In this industry you can’t play nice and you can’t be less than professional, especially as a black woman. Everything I’ve gotten, every promotion and model and feature, is because I didn’t say no and I didn’t back down.
I’m not going to let Harry Styles wreck my perfect record. Even if we did sleep together last night.
I stand still outside of the bathroom. I know the syrup will probably stain my pants but I just need a moment alone. Closing my eyes and leaning against the wall, I try to relax, but before I can clear my mind I hear a question that makes my breath hitch.
“Is Sasha single?” Harry asks.
I resist the urge to look around the corner.
“Yeah. She was in a long-term thing,” Zayn says, “but that ended badly a few months ago.”
Harry hums. It’s quiet for a moment and I debate going in the bathroom, but something stops me.
“You’re not her type.” Zayn says.
“But I could be.”
I don’t stick around to hear the rest of the conversation. Trying to distract myself from the feeling in my stomach I start to clean the syrup from my pants.
When I get back to the table, Zayn is alone.
“Where’d he go?”
“Harry? He had a meeting with his agent,” Zayn says, chewing a bite of his pancakes.
I slump into the booth. I can’t say I’m not relieved. Now I can be hungover in peace.
“Oh, he left you that.” Zayn nods towards the table.
My clutch is lying on the table. Eyes wide, I grab it and reach inside, finding my keys and wallet.
I don’t know if I should be relieved or embarrassed.
***
The rest of my weekend is great. I avoid Zayn, don’t see Harry again, go to yoga, and mind my business. On Saturday I make my favorite dinner—four cheese penne with chicken—as well as take a bubble bath and read a book. By the time Monday rolls around, I’m floating on a cloud. Friday’s brunch meeting disaster is forgotten and I’m looking forward to the workweek.
That is, until I walk into my office to see a large bouquet of pink peonies. It’s a bit overwhelming and, for a second, I think I’ve stepped in the wrong office. I walk back two steps, check that the plaque outside the door does, indeed, say ‘Sasha Donovan, Editor-In-Chief’. It does. Walking back inside, I check the card to see if there’s been a mistake. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Lovely brunch on Friday. Would love to do it again.
Maybe without Zayn.
xx H
I grab my chest to keep my heart from jumping straight out of my body. I can feel droplets of sweat beading on the back of my neck and in between my silk shirt and back. I can’t tell if it’s because of the heater overcompensating for the blistering cold outside or if it’s because of the memories flashing through my head. Let’s go ahead and blame it on the heat.
Someone knocks on the doorframe, making me jump and toss the card onto my desk. Turning, I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize it’s one of the senior editors—my best friend, Elise—and not Zayn (or worse, Harry).
“You wanna go get lunch around 11?” she asks, walking in to admire the flowers.
I can only nod. Sometimes you need an outside opinion. Elise has no idea what she’s getting herself into by asking me to lunch.
***
“I’m failing to see your dilemma, Sash,” Elise says after finishing off her second mimosa. “A hot, younger guy is expressing some interest…what’s the issue?”
I sigh, rubbing my cheeks because if I rub my eyes I’ll ruin my makeup. “Three things: one, we’ve already slept together.”
“Good, that takes out all of the awkwardness.”
I press my lips together. “Two: he’s Zayn’s friend.”
“Even better, that means he must be a good guy.”
A sigh leaves my lips and I fight the urge to let my head fall onto the table. “Anyway, three is the worst: he’s gonna be working with us.”
“Oh…” Elise bites her lip. “Can’t you make an exception, just this once?”
“I don’t know, El, I don’t know.”
Could I?
***
It’s after lunch when Zayn finally walks into my office. I have a feeling he’s been avoiding me all morning because we didn’t have our usual Monday morning meeting. I try not to glare as he smiles down at me.
“How was your morning?” he asks in a singsong voice.
I hesitate. “It was good.”
He grins wider. He looks like that creepy cat from that Disney movie that used to give me nightmares as a kid—Checkers, or something like that.
“Did you tell him about the flowers?”
“He asked at brunch, before he left.”
I tilt my head, trying to decide if that’s cute or creepy, when Zayn plops onto my couch. I narrow my eyes at him but he ignores me. I really should stop treating him differently than my other employees. But there’s always been a soft spot in my heart for this kid, ever since he was a goofy college intern and I was his supervisor. He’s my protégé and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t grooming him to take over my position one day.
“Harry’s a romantic,” he says with a shrug.
“So you date him,” I say, rolling my eyes at the screen as I hit send on yet another email. It’s mid-month and reports are starting to trickle in from all of my creative directors, managing editors, and executive directors. It’s going to be a busy week.
“I’ve tried,” he says, “didn’t work out.”
I glance over at him, brows raised, but he’s full on lying on my couch now, so he doesn’t see me. I giggle because that is such a Zayn thing to say. He looks over and smiles.
“You wanna go out tonight?”
The smile falls from my face so fast. I shake my head, laughing sarcastically.
“Remember what happened last time?”
***
Apparently, the flowers were just the beginning. The next day, Harry shows up at work to take me to lunch. I decline, making up a lie about a meeting with some higher ups. He leaves easily. I thought that would be the end.
On Wednesday he shows up again. As soon as I see him I duck into the bathroom and text Elise. She gets rid of him for me and I go on with my day.
On Thursday, he gets smarter. Zayn walks into my office just as I’m standing up, grabbing my bag to go get lunch.
“You getting lunch?” he asks, leaning against the door.
I nod. I’ve just finished up reviewing a particularly long report and all I want is this sweet and sour chicken from a tiny hole-in-the-wall Thai place a block away. It’s my treat to myself for being able to finish all the reports with a day to spare.
“I’m going to the Thai place.”
He nods, walking out with me to the elevator. He was uncharacteristically quiet, texting on his phone and occasionally looking at me from the corner of his eye instead of rambling on about his day. I pretend not to notice choosing to savor the quiet instead, closing my eyes and leaning back on the wall as the elevator makes its way down from the 40th floor.
When I open my eyes, the first thing I see is Harry.
My nostrils flare and lips purse as I look over at Zayn, who doesn’t even have the decency to look surprised. I should’ve known. Why did I think that Harry would suddenly stop showing up, suddenly stop expressing interest?
“Alright, lets go,” I say, exhausted from avoiding Harry but mostly because of reading reports for a week straight.
***
We end up taking our food to a park not too far from the restaurant. Despite being winter, it’s a beautiful day. The weather, combined with the food, elevates my mood. I can never be upset when I feel the sun kissing my skin, making it tingle with its rays.
He sits on one side of the bench, his legs tucked into a pretzel, with his food in his lap. I try to mimic how he’s sitting, but my pencil skirt only allows certain movement. I end up sitting sideways with my legs hanging off the side of the bench.
“Thank you for returning my things.”
He shrugs. “Thank you for giving me a reason to see you again.”
My eyes widen and I shake my head. Even though I was avoiding him all week—due to embarrassment more than anything—the last thing I want is for him to get the wrong impression. Sober Sasha would never need a reason to see a man again, especially not one as flimsy as leaving something behind on purpose.
“No—th-that’s not,” I start to say, but am cut off by his laughter.
“I was just kidding,” Harry says in between giggles.“The look on your face…”
It makes me laugh, realizing how tightly wound I am. Maybe lunch away from my desk every once in a while would do me good.
We’re quiet for a while, too busy digging into our food. When I look up, I notice Harry smiling at me. I’m taken aback for a moment. The sun is shining on his face, his eyes are half closed, his dimples are front and center, and his jawline makes me want to reach forward and caress it. I smile back, knowing that my own dimples will show, and go back to eating.
In that moment, something changes. I’m not sure if Harry can tell, but I can. It feels like our dynamic has changed. He’s gone from someone I never expected to see again to someone that wants to take our relationship—could you even call it that?—further. I’m not sure if I’m ready for that.
***
Next week I try to get things back to normal. I wake up on time, go to my yoga class, have my morning meeting with Zayn, and avoid any and all talk of Harry. What makes it easier is that he stopped coming around. Even better. With our age difference, I know it wouldn’t work out.
My phone buzzes with a text from Elise as soon as I sit at my desk after lunch. I turn my computer back on before reaching for my phone.
sash can z go with you to the event tonight? lola is sick and andrew’s stuck at work late tonight
I sigh. I was really looking forward to a girl’s night with Elise at tonight’s charity event, but I understand that her daughter takes precedence over hanging out with me. Zayn has been dropping hints for weeks for an invite, so I know he’ll be only too happy to go with me. This way maybe I‘ll still have a good time.
After sending off a quick text, I yell for Zayn. He runs in quickly, his trusty notepad in his hand as he lands on my couch.
“Elise can’t come tonight. Are you still free?”
I’m focused on checking my email, but I still catch the grin that slides onto his face.
“I can move some things around.”
I nod, even though I know he doesn’t have anything else to do, having kept his schedule open just in case there was an extra ticket.
“Pick me up at six?” I ask, looking up at him quickly.
“I’ve got to go make sure my suit is clean,” he says as he runs out of my office.
***
The magazine sponsors tonight’s event, a charity ball with dancing and drinks and bidding things off for charity. That means going a step above and beyond the usual pant or skirt suits that I usually wear and dipping back into the dark depths of my closet to pick out a little white dress.
My phone dings as I’m putting my gold heels on.
outside xx
After making sure that my keys and wallet are in my gold clutch, I make my way downstairs. I look for Zayn’s car in front of the building, but all I see is a tiny, black two-seater. The second thing I notice is Harry leaning up against the passenger side door, a black hat on his head and a mismatching suit with a sheer black button up showing off most of his chest.
I try to look away. Really, I do.
As I walk closer, he opens the door and offers me the smirk that started all of this. I want to argue with him, to ask where Zayn is, but I’m already running late. Harry will have to do.
The car is silent. Harry is driving slow, catching every red light, while I bounce my leg and look at the clock every ten seconds.
“Is there any way you can drive faster?” I ask, turning away from the bright lights filtering in through the tinted windows.
“No,” he says, not taking his eyes off the road for a second.
“Why not?”
“Traffic safety, Sasha.”
A car speeds past us through a yellow light, leaving us with a honk as we catch the red light. I huff, pursing my lips, and crossing my arms as I take a peek at the clock again. I’m late.
“Are you sure?” I ask, turning my head to look at Harry.
This is the first time he’s looked at me since I got in the car. It’s dark but somehow I can still make out how beautiful he is.
“I guess I can make an exception,” he says, smiling so wide that little crinkles appear by his eyes.
I laugh. The light turns green. “Thank you.”
“But if I get a ticket…” He winks at me and begins to zip through the city, dodging between cars and through back alleys.
I jump out as soon as the car comes to a stop. I’m dizzy but I can’t complain because we made it on time.
“Thanks for driving me. I can take a taxi hom—”
“Mr. Styles, welcome home.”
I turn to see Harry handing the valet his keys.
“You live here?” I ask with my head tilted to the side. I can’t believe I can’t remember what this building looked like.
“You don’t remember?”
The glint in his eye makes me roll my eyes. I quickly paste on a smile as I run into a few of the charity’s board of executives in the lobby. Harry stands by my side, inserting a few jokes here and there, as we mingle and laugh with a few of the executives before we go into the ballroom.
During the speeches, I zone out, thinking about how I ended up with Harry here instead of Zayn. The last thing I want is to lead him on. I’m not ready for another relationship. As the last speech ends, I catch sight of a familiar head of hair a few tables over, sitting with Elise. My eyes bulge and jaw drops. As soon as the lights come back on I stand up and head straight over to their table.
“You planned this,” I say, poking Zayn’s shoulder.
“Have fun,” Zayn says, winking and nodding behind me.
“I can’t believe you two did this.” I clench my jaw, looking back to see Harry making wide eyes at me as an older woman (older than me, ahem) hangs off of his shoulder. I laugh at the look on his face and, despite my best efforts, can’t help but think about how good he looks.
“You’re welcome!” Elise calls after me.
I make my way over to him and we meet in the middle, on the dance floor, just as an upbeat song switches to a slow one. He places his hands on my hips and I shiver.
“Thanks for driving me.”
He shrugs. “No problem.”
There are very few places to look during a slow song. My choices are the floor, the ceiling, or Harry. I can feel myself reverting back to 13-year-old Sasha at my eighth grade dance. Except back then I had nobody to dance with so I just stared at my shoes the whole time.
“I wasn’t avoiding you, by the way,” he says, making me snap my head up away from the floor.
“Okay.”
We are quiet for a few minutes before my curiosity gets the best of me.
“What were you doing, then?”
He laughs, a loud one that makes his head tip back. “I had a photo shoot in London and I was visiting my family.”
I nod, biting my lip, feeling like a bit of an ass for how quickly I wrote him off. I mumble a quick apology and look away.
Harry brings me in closer, laughing, and tells me that it’s okay.
***
We dance for a few more songs before sneaking away.
“I have better wine upstairs,” Harry whispers in my ear.
“I bet you don’t,” I say, my voice slurring as I look up at him.
He nods and leads me by the hand to the elevator. We spend the ride up to his apartment smiling at each other in the mirrored walls. As soon as the door shuts, our hands are everywhere. Lips on necks, his pants unbuttoning, my fingers tracing his tattoos, his hands tracing up my back to grab my neck.
We end up in his room, somehow. He leans down to take my shoes off in between kisses and, as he reaches for the zipper on the back of my dress, he looks down at me.
“Are you sure?”
I can only nod as I reach for his face, leaning up to kiss his soft lips again.
We never make it to the wine.