I chuckle as Niall nearly trips over a pair of boots while we get ready for the concert. The dressing room is pure chaos—stylists rushing to fix our outfits, makeup artists packing up their kits and someone still searching for the shoes Louis decided to hide. Niall is casually eating a bag of crisps, Zayn hums a tune and Louis and Liam are messing around like always.

Right in the middle of it all stands one of the most important music producers in the industry. He’s here to talk to us—well, mostly to me, since the others are acting like children. He says he’s staying to watch the concert and tells us not to disappoint him. Apparently, he really likes us. So much so that he brought his daughter.

When I hear the word “daughter,” I picture a little girl in colorful skirts with bouncy pigtails—shy, giggling, maybe asking for a photo.

Not…you.

My breath catches when you walk in. Definitely not a kid. You smile and start shaking everyone’s hands and just like that, the room changes—Niall stops chewing, Zayn stops humming, Louis and Liam freeze.

We’re all thinking the same thing—you’re gorgeous.

Then you turn to me and reach out your hand. I take it, trying to remember how to speak. “H-hi,” I say, my voice embarrassingly shaky.

Pull it together, Harry.

I clear my throat, managing a small laugh. “I’m Harry. Nice to meet you,” I say, flashing a nervous smile.

Your dad grins. “She’s a big fan of yours!”

Your eyes widen and you shoot him a glare. You didn't even tell me your name.

“No, I’m not,” you mutter, clearly embarrassed.

He laughs, raising his hands like he’s surrendering, clearly amused by the whole situation.

I glance between the two of you and smile, leaning in just a little as I say, “Well, if you’re not a fan yet…I’ve got about two hours on stage to try and change that.”

Ok, fine, guilty as charged—I'm flirting. Shamelessly. Totally. And I'm not even trying to play it cool.