3 red-haired men.
There were three very tall men chasing me through the hall. I don't know who they are and I don't know what they want, but I'll be damned if they're going to catch me. I started sprinting once I reached the stairs, I took them two at a time. I can hear their footsteps behind me, but I can't hear them breathing, this is good. I'm gaining the leg up on them…My confidence was cut short once I tripped over my own shoelace on the second to last step. Twenty two years. For the first time in twenty two years, I tripped over my own shoe laces. I ignore the pain in my knee and the frustration in my mind as all three men pull out long knives. Why not guns?
I blinked rapidly in response to the sun beaming in my eyes. What in the hell was that dream about? I rolled over to check the time on my phone. 11:15. "FUCK!" I yelled out to no one. I was supposed to be at an interview at 11:30. The interview that would potentially change my life forever, and here I was, sleeping in bed. I ran my toothbrush across my tongue, slapped on some deodorant and jumped into my clothes. I don't have time for anything else.
I nearly fell through the entrance of St. Vladimir Records.
"Can I help you?" the receptionist asked me, seemingly annoyed. "Hi, yes, I have an appointment with Mr. Riddle. I'm actually running extremely late, my…"
"Oh…you must be Sawyer…" She said dryly.
"Yes! That's me! Peyton, Peyton Sawyer!"
"Head on up to the 12th floor, his office is on the left. You literally can't miss it."
The elevator doors opened up and my jaw dropped. Maybe the word "office" has a different meaning around here. This was more like a suite. In a palace. With glass walls and chandeliers. I'm not sure how long he was watching me, but Mr. Riddle appeared to be very amused by my amazement. I walked over to where he was standing.
"So miss Sawyer. Why do you want to work here at St. Vladimir Records?" Mr. Riddle asked while ushering me to a seat.
"Well, first of all sir, Mr. Riddle, I'm such a huge admirer of yours. What you've been able to do in the course of the past three years is beyond..."
He waved his hand, signaling me to stop. "Just call me Tom. Let's talk about you. Why the music business?"
I thought about it for a minute before I decided to let my heart do the talking.
"Mr. Rid-Tom, do you have a favorite song?"
"Of course I do, it's..." I cut him off before he could tell me.
"Of course you do, everyone does. Music is the one thing that is capable of bringing any and everyone together. When you wake up and start your day, it's the soundtrack of your life. You're singing it in the shower, you're bopping your head to it before you beep at the grandma in front of you who is driving under the speed limit, you play the same song over and over to relive a moment or try to erase a memory. When we breathe, music breathes. Could you imagine a world without music? I really don't want to." I stopped to catch my breath.
"Very interesting. So where do you come in?" He hasn't taken his eyes off of me.
"I...well, I don't have any musical talents per say, but I want to help hold open the door for artists to walk through and deliver whatever it is they have to give. Music has saved lives. Music has ignited the fires inside of people. Music has brought smiles. Music is also capable of being equally destructive and I want to help put the spotlight on those who want to make life easier for people with their sounds." I smiled nervously.
I, Peyton Sawyer now work for the HPB. To say my dreams are coming true is an understatement. I'll actually be kind of important. The job entails of being the point of contact for the venues and promotion people while on tour, helping the tour manager out in anyway imaginable prior to touring up at the NYC office and occasionally being the go-fer. So. Down.
I followed Tom Riddle down to the recording space that's set up for the HPB. The room is dim and dank, not what I was expecting. They're currently laying down drum tracks as told by my thoughts being drowned out by all the thrashing on the instruments the frizzy haired girl was doing. She caught my eyes watching her in confusion and stopped what she was doing. The drumstick missed Tom Riddle's head by a mere 2 inches when she chucked it across the room.
"What did I say about visitors during recording? She's messing up the flow, her aura is whacked and she's giving me a bloody headache." She scoffed before shuffling out of the room.
"Sorry about her…she's pretty moody. Actually, I'd say today's been a good day…who is this, Tom?" the red-haired boy was staring at me. If he hadn't been talking to me, he'd been drooling, no doubt. I could feel him violating me with his mind.
"This, dear boy, is Peyton Sawyer. She will be joining us on the B2H tour this summer as an assistant to the tour manager."
"Well hi Peyton, I'm…" He was cut off mid-sentence by...OMG.
"I'm Harry." he said intercepting the creeps handshake with a kiss to my knuckles.
HARRY FUCKING POTTER. Harry Potter, singer and guitarist of the Harry Potter Band just kissed me. Well, my knuckles.
"I know." Was all I was able to muster. Idiot.
"And that, was Hermione. It takes a little while, but she'll warm up to you I swear. All that genius in her head gets in the way of her social skills." He said with a grin.
"I'm Ron!" The boy said interrupting the imaginary romantic moment Harry and I were having.
I was chatting it up with the HBP. This will become the norm for me. I wanted to die. I think I did.
"Well, it's been a pleasure meeting you Sawyer. I'm excited that you'll be joining us on the Back 2 Hogwarts Tour." He took my hand in his, again.
"Same here, Pot...PotTER..." My eyes widened at the thought of how incredibly ridiculous I just made myself look. Not only was I lame enough to mock the flirting with my name thing he just did, I was also lame enough to say it in a horrific rendition of a British accent.
"Welp. See you guys next week!" It didn't take long for me to let myself out.
