Part 2 to the sugar daddy-ish blurb posted on here! (Patreon)

The promised part 2! Let me know if you would like another part :) 

part 1 

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Harry has never been so curious. 

Y/N didn’t cough it up and tell him what the little present he found was. No, after she’d gotten dressed in her pajamas, she’d taken the gift, stuffed it back into the duffel and gave him a teasing glare. “I was going to give it to you tonight but now you’ll just have the wait, won’t you?” She knows what she’s doing, if the glee in her tone was anything to go by. Harry absolutely, positively, can’t stand not being in the know about things. He’d been born a nosy little bugger and he thinks he might stay that way forever -- Y/N surely knows this. 

So it’s pure torture, knowing she’s got something for him in her duffel and he’s not allowed to know what it is. The last time he thinks he might have felt like this, he’d been ten years old, impatiently waiting for his Christmas gifts. He’d found where his mum had hid them though and got to know ahead of time what he was getting and he liked that much better than a surprise, so each year he checked those spots. And when he grew up and it came to friends were giving him him, he’d manage to weasel the truth of what they’d gotten out of them each year since he was eighteen years old. 

He’d been gifted a puppy dog pout that could convince the queen to give him all the country’s nitty gritty secrets. 

Or so he’s been told. 

But Y/N -- god, she was stone cold. The morning after, Harry woke up before her with a plan: he’d go get her favorite latte and chocolate chip scones, and maybe it’d soften her up enough to let him have the gift then. Though once he returned to the hotel room and given them to her, with a proclamation of, “Since I gave you a treat, won’t you give me one?” Y/N furrowed her brows and shook her head. 

“No,” she answered simply. 

“A bonus.” 

She shakes her head again, mouth full of scone. 

“A raise then.” 

She rolled her eyes, “No, Mr. Styles.”

“Three weeks paid vacation and that’s my final offer!” 

Y/N swallowed the scone in her mouth and took a sip from the latte, face scrunched when the heat of it splashed against her tongue, “Nope.” 

Harry falls to the bed in a huff, “Fine, you’re fired then.” He tried, no conviction behind his voice but still Y/N’s eyes went wide. 

“Mr. Styles --!” she had begun to explain but he waved his hand at her to dismiss it. 

“I wouldn’t ever fire you. Even if you’re being a proper meanie.” 

With a snort, she dusted off her fingers and threw the blankets off of her, before she pushed herself from the bed, “I’ll give it to you soon. I’ll prolong it though if you keep bothering me about it.” She’d went to the bathroom and closed the door with a resounding click, that only punctuated the fact Harry was not going to get his way. He’d thrown himself to lay on his back in exasperation, and pouted for the duration of her shower. 

Y/N kept this up the entire flight home, when he dropped her off she’d smiled at him and bid her goodbye, and even the Monday afterward when they met at work. Harry didn’t heed her warning about bugging her about it, so every free moment they had that wasn’t filled with work, he would slide in a question about the present in idle chatter. Though she was far too intelligent to fall for it, merely answered with a roll of her eyes before scuttering off to finish doing up his calendar for the month.

He didn’t mean to be such a nuisance about it, but the suspension was painful to him. What could it possibly be? In such a tiny little box, he could only imagine a few things, all of which he wouldn’t quite understand why Y/N would feel inclined to purchase for him. Christmas was near but far enough that presents weren’t due and his birthday was far off. Plus, he’s told her several times that she doesn’t have to pay him back for the things that he does for her, so if it was money in a box or something like that then he would simply refuse. Was it a gift card somewhere then? Or maybe tickets a gallery? Or nail polish, even? He’d admitted to her once that he’d like to try wearing it more in his off time and she’d promised to help him pick out a color that suited, but that was back when she was still making him lattes at the speed of light, so he doubts she remembers it.

A week passes and though his curiosity doesn’t, he accepts that Y/N is too tough a cookie to crack and promptly gives up. 

This doesn’t stop him from ranting about it to his friend Liam, who is currently sat across from him at a bar table. They got together on Friday nights because they both have the next day off and this gave them free range to get as sozzled as they may need to. Liam may not own a company, but he’s only a few pegs lower in ranking to Harry in his own job, so the stress is all the same. Sometimes wiping away number sheets, meetings, and paperwork with a drink was the best destressor of all, especially in Harry’s case, with the additional gift that had been plaguing his mind since he’d first bumped into it. 

“You’re head over heels for this girl aren’t you?” Liam inquires after he’d explained his current situation, shaking his head while mindlessly stirring his drink. 

Harry dips his brows in, startled by the change in direction, shaking his head, “What? What makes you think that?” He’s very well aware that he’s lying but he can’t help but worry that if Liam can tell, who else might be privy to the knowledge that Harry has a bit of a crush on his personal assistant? Could his employees tell? Could she tell?

Sighing, Liam leans back in the booth they’re sat in, “You’re bleeding obvious, Styles. In the last thirty minutes you’ve given me enough about the two of yours relationship to deduce that you’re just about in love and she’s got her heart pattering for you too.” 

His heart picks up, “You really think so? About her liking me, you mean?” 

Nodding, Liam continues, “Dunno how you don’t see it.” 

Harry leans forward, “Okay, well don’t leave it there! Give me examples.” 

Liam opens his mouth to explain but they’re promptly cut off, by someone bumping into their table. A small, familiar squawk leaves the offender as they reach out to steady the table and themselves, and when Harry looks up, his heart bumps hard against his chest. 

There Y/N stood, in a chunky knit sweater that he definitely remembers purchasing for her, and jeans that hugged her thighs nicely. Her hair was pulled from her face and her eyes were hazed with alcohol, giving a loose but apologetic smile to Liam, “M’sorry -- never watching where me feet are, and -- Mr. Styles! Didn’t even see you!” She hiccups, full of giggles and oh my god. . .she’s drunk.  He’s never witnessed Y/N drunk before and from the little taste he’s getting of her now, he can tells his feelings for her are on a certain incline. 

“Had a few bevvies then, Lovie?” He asks her and she nods, grinning wide. 

“Only ‘cos the best boss ever doesn’t make me work on Saturdays,” she raises her hands like she’s meant to do a little cheer but she knocks one into the light, which Liam quickly reaches up to re-correct and Harry reaches for Y/N’s hand that she’d whacked, seeing a cut at the base of her thumb, “Shit, sorry.” She apologizes and Harry tuts his tongue. 

“Where’re your friends at? Think s’bout time for you to get home.” He suggests but Y/N shrugs, looking around. 

“Haven’t seen ‘em for a hot minute. Was on my way over here though so I could get away from this one cute guy -- was trying to chat me up but I wasn’t interested at all. . .like at all.” 

It feels like a small triumph, her not wanting to talk to the bloke even if she thought he was cute, and it gives him hope that Liam might be right about her liking him. “Okay, then I’ll take you home, yeah?” 

He expected at least minor push back but she only smiled wider and twisted the hand that was holding her wounded hand, so that she could slot their fingers together, “Yeah, that’d be fun! You could stay the night too, if you’d like -- I can make us veggie burgers!” 

Harry’s heart swells, and he turns to Liam to apologize but he puts up his hand before he can, “Go ahead,” he tells him, with a small little wink. 

“Alright then,” he slips from the booth, “Let’s get you home. 

                                                     .                               .                          .

Harry manages to convince Y/N that instead of her working over a stove to cook veggie burgers while she’s inebriated, a nice cheesy pizza was in order and she was sold in maybe three seconds. He’d walked her inside, sent her to her room to get changed into something more suited for sleep, while he ordered a pizza and simultaneously poured her a glass of water and found her medicine cabinet for an asprin. When she reappears in a soft looking shirt, and sweatpants Harry tries not to coo as she knuckles at her eyes while he handed her the water and medicine. 

He’d been in her flat a few times before and each time he’s reminded how cozy Y/N lives. Everything around him is soft, the lighting is warm, and just being inside feels like being wrapped up in the warmth of a throw while it blizzards outside. It’s comforting to walk into and immediately eases his mind to such a soothed state -- he much prefers this than to his fancy place. He’d had someone decorate for him and he very much regretted not finding Y/N sooner so she could’ve helped him decorate; so everything wasn’t all pristine and proper. . .where it would look like someone was actually living in it and it wasn’t just some catalog living space. 

Y/N entertains him with stories of her night, exuberant and lively as ever telling him, every so often swatting his arm when he makes a particularly cheeky comment, or fiddling with his rings, or fussing with his hair. She’s a touchy drunk he finds and he doesn’t mind it one bit -- actually revels in the attention she’s serving him currently.

Once the pizza arrives, he gets them two plates and they chat as they eat with the TV playing low in the back. The whole time in the back of his head, Harry’s thinking about how he could get used to this -- this comfy, cozy, night in with Y/N. Not a stress or a worry on the brain, just some pizza, Law & Order, and his heart so swollen with fondness that it takes everything in him not to pull her over to him and smother her in kisses. 

In the middle of their conversation about the best type of fudge (Y/N’s arguing cookies and cream while Harry insists the regular chocolate is the way to go), Y/N’s eyes go wide, “Oh yeah,” she says, moving her plate from her lap and she does a sprint to her room. Harry’s proper confused until he sees what she’s holding in her hands. 

That bloody present! 

“Thank you for making sure I got home safe t’night. You can open this now.” 

Harry doesn’t waste a second, moving his own plate besides hers as he takes the gift from her hands, carefully peeling open the envelope (because he’s a bit of a sentimental hoarder and is definitely keeping this). Inside is a simple card, with cat stretched out on the front. When he opens it, the inside is filled with a little note. 

I’m going to try really hard to keep this short and sweet and to not get too cheesy or anything! I wanted to thank you for being such an amazing person; not just an amazing boss, but an amazing human being. If it weren’t for you, I’d be stuck with a minimum wage job, struggling to feed myself and pay the bills, and I could very well be homeless. You’re kindness then and onward has done nothing but cheer me up through the toughest of times and keep me going. You encourage me to be a better person and I swear, I’m going to live up to the title of “best personal assistant in the world” that you’ve given me! 

SO, since it’s the season of giving (the real one, not your year round gifting fest), I wanted to give you something! 

Thank you for everything and more. 

Sincerely, Y/N. 

Harry feels his eyes prickle with tears as he reaches for the present, opening it up to find a jewelry box. When he snaps it open, there is a ring. Not one for a proposal though. 

Close to the time Harry had hired her and taken her in, he’d lost his very favorite ring. It was a little gaudy, he would admit, shaped as a tiger’s head, with two encrusted diamonds as eyes. It’d been handmade for him from a jewler in Sweden so it was meant to be one of a kind and though he loved it so much, he couldn’t bare to let the man know that after four months of hard work, Harry had managed to drop it in a lake. 

Yet, here it is staring up at him. Not his exactly though -- no, this one is new. Shiny and pretty and a whole lot of fucking money. 

“I’ve been saving up, since May, when you lost it,” she tells him, and Harry looks from the ring to where she’s smiling, “You seemed so heartbroken about it, I told myself then I was going to get you one as sooner as I had the money for it. It was the least I could do I thought, since you went out of your way to help me.” 

Harry, while still holding the ring, reaches over to wrap his arms around her and bring her close, “Thank you,” he murmurs, dipping his face into her throat, “Thank you, thank you, thank you so fucking much, Y/N.” He’s squeezing her tight and she laughs, arms slipping around him. 

“You deserve it. You really are the best.” 

Harry knows one thing for certain in that moment.

He is so.

Fucking.

In love.