Harry Doesn't Like the Interior Designer. For good reason.
Harry walked beside Riddle down the steps that lead away from the building, his senses on high alert. He kept his hand on the gun stowed away in his coat as he meticulously scanned around for threats.
The green eyed man was conscious of all of the eyes that lingered on Riddle and himself, especially the ones that focused on the arm Riddle, Tom, had wrapped around Harry's waist like a vise.
Tom tightened the hold he had on Harry’s waist once, before letting go and pulling the door to the passenger side of the car open for Harry to slide in.
“Thank you” Harry said, eyes darting around for threats as Tom slid into the driver's seat.
“How many people will be at this meeting?” He asked, snapping his seat belt in place as he eyed a blond haired man who was paying a bit too much attention to Riddle’s car.
“Not as many as you would think, it will be Rufus, his guards, and his wife.” Ridd–Tom replied as they pulled out onto the road. Harry couldn’t help but admire the way his arms flexed as he moved…Harry mentally slapped himself, not again. He REALLY needed to get his hormonal brain under control, he was NOT a teenager, (Yes you are Harry, you’re 19) and didn’t want to keep the brain of one.
Harry softly clicked the safety on and off of his gun, a terrible habit he had gotten over the years, because playing with guns is not in fact a good idea, despite what some of his past colleagues may have said. Thankfully most of that group had stopped playing around shortly before he left, only it was after one of them had gotten shot through the calf while watching an emotion filled football game.
Harry eyed the blurs of color out the passenger side window as he removed his hand from his pocket. As he turned his head, he caught Riddle sneaking glances at him through the rearview mirror. He scowled, averting his eyes back to the rushing buildings out the window. Jerk was probably mocking him.
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Harry currently felt like some suspiciously Ronald Weasely shaped pixies had danced through his head, abducting his last few remaining brain cells as they went. He was being dragged into a large office building by Riddle, who had successfully looped Harry's arm through his own, like Harry was a lady from one of Ginny’s cheesy romance novels.
Harry winced at the thought. He was already being called a wife, he didn’t want to be called a lady. That would be one hit further against his masculinity than he was comfortable with.
Harry sucked in a breath as the heel of his stupid boots caught on a crack in the stone steps, sending him stumbling into Tom —much to his embarrassment. He was nearly thankful when his boss didn’t even comment on it and merely stabilized Harry before continuing on, nearly. He was still reeling from the events of the whole day so far.
Riddle pulled open the thick oak doors, gesturing for Harry to go inside. Such a gentleman, Harry thought sarcastically, even as he smiled and stepped indoors. Much to his regret.
The room was hideous, bright pinks, sick yellows, black and greyish purple carpets that were dull but somehow blinding. Harry had never wanted to gouge out his eyeballs any more than he did now, not even seeing Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had been this bad. Harry wanted to gag. He turned and looked pleadingly at his boss, momentarily forgetting that, A, Riddle was his boss, and B, Riddle had annoyed him.
“Can we leave now? Please? Before I go blind.” Harry asked only partially joking, as he eyed the single lime green square of carpet that wasn’t quite in the middle of the room.
Riddle’s expressionless face twitched into a hint of a smile at Harry’s clear disgust, “no, sadly this meeting is required. Though decor is rather unfortunate isn’t it” he gestured to the hallway, urging Harry forward. “I believe Genre’s wife was allowed to decorate herself, much to the distaste of everyone.” Riddle’s lip curled as he moved into the hall, it seemed impossible, but it was even more hideous than the entrance.
Harry found himself holding back a giggle, a Giggle. What was he? A seven year old? Giggling at a joke, made by his annoying dumb boss of all the world. Harry scowled, it wasn’t his fault that Riddle apparently had a sense of humor that mirrored his own. Stupid Riddle, he hadn’t even been working for the man for a day.
Harry nearly wanted to sob in relief as they entered another room, this time it was decorated in a way that didn’t viciously attack his eyes. Although the man who was sitting waiting for them destroyed the effect. Harry tried not to judge people, he really did, but this man was U. G. L. Y.
Under average in everything but weight.
Greasy like hamburger grease
Lumpy everywhere
Yesterday should have been his last day alive
Harry winced, this guy was married? Hopefully he had a sunny personality? Harry scowled, he could feel Riddle smirking at him, even if the man’s stupid stone face wouldn’t show it. He fought the urge to slam his elbow into the side of Riddle's sculpted torso, it wouldn’t do to assault his boss, that would be a sure way to get fired.
“Riddle! I wasn’t informed you would be bringing an extra person along” the man’s slimy voice piped up, he looked annoyed, good.
“This is my wife, Genre, you would do well to not annoy me” Riddle reprimanded, eyes narrowed to slits.
Genre paled, “o-oh my apologies Mr. Riddle, I meant no disrespect you see” his fingers fumbled around with something on the table as he tried to backtrack. Just then a woman barged into the room. Harry stared at her, he knew this woman.
She went pale at the sight of him, her beady eyes flicking from Harry’s face to the mans.
“Ahem,” Genre coughed as he spoke up, introducing the woman, “Mr. Riddle, I would like to introduce you to my wife, Delores.” He seemed to ignore how pale his wife was, opting to hold out and arm and gesture for her to join him.
Harry’s eyes bore holes through her skull, and she knew it. She had cheated him out of payment before after all. Harry didn’t forgive, and he sure didn’t forget.
She had hired him to kill her previous lover, Harry’s elementary principal, but when it came time to pay, she surrounded herself with bodyguards and disappeared.
Well, here she was now, trembling at the sight of him. Understandably so, he had nearly killed her six times after all.
Harry’s mouth slowly curved into a cold grin, full of too many teeth to be polite. He didn’t seem to notice Tom staring at him with a look of newfound appreciation. He was far too focused on the way Delores had turned so pale she looked like she could collapse into chalky powder at any moment.
It seemed pretending to be Riddle's wife would pay off after all.