It was quarter after ten when there was a knock at the door. I had taken a good amount of notes in the short time I had listened to Mr. Styles' segment, leaving me to get up and get the door. Pulling it open, I assumed that it was going to be the receptionist that showed me around, though, to my astonishment it wasn't her at all. Instead, those same enthralling green eyes met mine, his curly hair being pushed out of his eyes. He had on a leather jacket, the item not something I had seen him wearing earlier though it did suit him.

"I hear you're in need of a tour, Magdalina," he started.

I had just spent about half an hour listening to him speak, and yet something about him talking to me felt entirely different. For at least a year, I had been listening to him on and off again. There were times with my classes that I couldn't exactly tune into his segment, but he had a nice voice, and his topics were always interesting, to say the least.

"I do need a tour, but you can call me Maggie," I told him. "I figured it would be someone else showing me around, though. Why are you giving the tour, Mr. Styles?"

He very clearly checked me out. Mr. Styles glanced me up and down not once, but twice. I began to overthink, wanting to glance over myself and make sure I looked okay. What if I had something on my shirt? Or my skirt? Or I had flyaways? The thoughts were endless, pooling in my mind at a rate I didn't know possible until now.

"Let's start off by you never calling me that again," he began, his voice low. "I would much rather you call me Harry. Mr. Styles makes me sound old, and I'm not that."

"Okay, yes," I agreed. "I'm sorry, Harry."

"No worries. As for why it isn't someone else, I've heard you're a temp placement and I'm interested in being sure you have a long term home here at the station."

It was a surprise, to say the least. Why would he be interested in helping me stay with Dawn FM longer? I knew the station was constantly growing, moving, changing, but I didn't know why their most popular radio personality was already invested in me. Of course, I thought it was flattering. How couldn't I be charmed when the man speaking was not only attractive, but clearly concerned with the possibility of me staying here not even a full two hours into my first day?

"Um, what would make you want to do that?" I asked.

"I studied Journalism myself," he explained. "Is that your major, or am I incorrect?"

"No, you're right," I assured him. "I have one more year to go."

He nodded. "Well, if I work it out just right, you'll have a job when your time here is supposed to be finished. I heard your interview went well, and actually, you exceeded expectations. It shouldn't be difficult keeping you here."

Again, I was shocked. The idea that I had been mentioned in a conversation to someone that was widely talked about was splendid, but also quite intimidating. I wondered what else had been said. Though, if what Harry had said was true, I figured there wasn't anything that I needed to truly worry about. After all, it wasn't like they had been speaking about me in a bad way, rather, praising the way I had interviewed. Which, again, was something I was glad to hear considering I had been so nervous that it had gone poorly.

"Well, I suppose we'll get this thing started," he stated. "As you can see, this is the Green Room. We keep our victims here."

"Very funny," I laughed. "That's a pun you probably worked really hard on, I'm guessing?"

"Yeah, I've been waiting to use it," he chuckled.

He had been pretty cold at first, but the moment he let out a soft chuckle his hard exterior cracked some. I had honestly expected him to continue being almost bitter toward me, but I also knew he couldn't be that resentful if he was willing to try and get me to stay long term with the station.

"If you'll follow me," he continued, holding the door for me to head into the hallway before he continued to lead the way. "My room is empty now, but this is where the magic happens. We have two station rooms so that when I'm getting off the air, it can go right into Dylan's segment. He's upstairs right now."

He held the door into his room open, allowing me to enter. Harry switched on the lights, and I looked over everything in the room. There were two sides, one with a bunch of case files, and the other side with celebrity magazines. It was obvious which side of the room belonged to Harry, the man pulling the chair out for me and gesturing to it.

"Well, would you like to have a seat where I make all of my money, doll?" he asked.

The nickname was not something I had expected him to say.  Especially since he had called me by my first name when he first greeted me.  Of course, I knew he was kind of a celebrity, so hearing him say it also wasn't that surprising.  He seemed like he was good at talking to people and I was sure he used names when he referred to men as well.  That, or I was just completely making up stories in my head.

"Is that allowed?" I asked.  "You know, for me to sit in your chair?"

"Allowed? I'm offering."

"Right," I nodded.

He snickered, watching as I sat down in his chair and glanced over everything in front of me. His headset was there, the headphones something I had seen once or twice in class. He had one of those old fashioned microphones, and while I knew that most places used the kind that had the soft fabric around the mic, he was clearly set aside from most. Even Michael's space had the microphone with the fabric, yet Harry had probably chosen this type. Continuing to glance around, I found myself grabbing the closest case file, Harry quickly placing his hand on the folder before I could open it.

"Fair warning," he quickly began. "I wouldn't open that if you're easily nauseated."

"Oh. Is it graphic?"

"Let me see," he stated, shifting his hand so he could glance at what I assumed was the name on the file. "Well, Miss Janice Fileman would have probably preferred if her throat wasn't slit, but who's to say."

"Oh goodness," I murmured. "You're right. I suddenly don't want to look."

He chuckled. "Poor woman. You kind of look like her, actually."

The words were unnecessary. Though, they also allowed for discomfort to settle in. I had never been compared to a murder victim before, and while I certainly didn't want to be compared to one again, I wasn't sure if it was even a good or a bad thing. Then again, maybe it was just a statement. He was saying something so random because it had simply come to mind. I mean, Harry didn't cut corners or shy away from topics of conversation on his segment, so why would he in person?

"Oh, that makes me feel just wonderful," I then scoffed after the thought had settled. "Thanks for that, Harry."

"No problem, Magdalina."

It was the second time he had called me that. Of course, it was my name, but I didn't know why he needed to insist on calling me that. My name was long, and I didn't hate it, but I also wasn't in love with it either. It was why I had chosen to go by Maggie growing up. I preferred a short, sweet, and simple name. Magdalina was long, hard to say, and confusing. It was everything Maggie wasn't, and I had no idea why he wanted to continue using it.

"Alright, so what's next?" I asked. "You know, on the Harry Styles live on tour?"

"Oh, so I'm a touring show now?" he questioned jokingly. "And what would I perform?"

"Well, I don't know," I told him. "Isn't that your job? You're the personality. I just work here."

"You're right. My deepest apologies."

He was chuckling again, and I was thankful that this was going a lot smoother than I had imagined it would. Harry was not nearly as intimidating as he had been originally and I pinned it on the fact that he had been a celebrity for me, basically. After all, I had heard him on the radio more times than I could count, so I was meeting someone I looked up to, per say. He was someone that my teachers even spoke about, so how was I not supposed to get starstruck and lose my words? It just wasn't plausible.

"If you'll follow me, this is where the bathrooms are," he stated, showing me down a hallway and pointing out the two separate rooms. "You can check them out if you'd like."

"I think I've seen a bathroom once or twice before," I assured him.

He chuckled. "Are you sure? I mean, you never know. I only head to the bathroom once a year. Haven't made it into these yet this year."

It made me laugh, knowing that he was being just as sarcastic as I had been. The two of us walked to the break room, a few people in the room and waving to Harry. He sent them waves, showing me where coffee usually was and pointed out that we would normally have donuts to choose from but they were picked over and there were only plain cake ones left. I personally didn't like those, and Harry said they were his least favorite.

After the break room, we checked out upstairs, which looked exactly like downstairs, and then we walked down a few other hallways. He showed me where his office was, the man unlocking the door before pushing the wood open and gesturing for me to walk in.

"Oh, I thought this was just a look in kind of thing," I murmured, heading inside after I realized he was holding the door for me to walk in.

"I just wanted to show you briefly my collection of case files."

Nodding, I headed inside. The door shut behind us, Harry walking over to his bookshelf. There were files all along the shelf, and I noticed two large piles on his desk of them as well. He clearly needed more room, the curly-haired personality sitting at his desk. He had a brown-leather bound journal. It was something that I always dreamed of, but they were always so expensive.

"So what does something like that run you?" I asked, pointing to the journal.

He looked confused at first, his eyebrows raising briefly and then falling. I watched as he quickly grabbed the item, opening a drawer in his desk before he placed it inside. It was a little weird, but what I thought was even stranger was the fact that he locked the drawer immediately after.

"I promise I wasn't going to steal it," I laughed.

"No, no, no," he chuckled. "There's been a mole here trying to get my stories to the press before I can run them. That's why I keep my office locked. As for my journal, I write my new content ideas in there, so I really don't want anyone getting their hands on it."

It made sense to me now, especially if there was someone working here that was going around and trying to basically sabotage him. I found myself glancing aground still, wondering how long it had taken to run through these files. I knew he usually spent a day or two on each case, and would usually revisit one if more information dropped. It was just crazy to think that he had this many files, implying that he had this many murders, and deaths, and possible murderers to speak about.

"You need some more room," I told him.

"They've ordered another bookshelf for me, don't worry," he assured. "And as for my journal, it was about a hundred dollars. I go through a lot of them. I can get you one if you'd like."

"Please don't," I quickly said. "I would need to repay you."

"Fine. You just let me know and I'll ask Mr. Watson. I'll make sure you get whatever you need to thrive here. After all, you are the only other Journalism major."

I appreciated his words, realizing now that he wasn't the one who was going to buy it if he asked Mr. Watson. It would have made me feel a little bit better, but I also felt like I would be scared to just carry around a journal that was a hundred dollars because of the binding. Once Harry was done explaining to me how many case files he had, we left his office, the radio personality being sure to lock his office behind us before we went back downstairs. Though, we didn't make it far before Harry said hello to the receptionist.

"Hi, Harry," she greeted. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm doing fine, Grenny.  How are you this morning?"

"Lovely.  Did you come here for a piece of candy? I have lollipops today."

"Oh, I'm okay today.  Did you want something, doll?" Harry asked me.

"I'm perfect, thank you," I nodded, glancing at the receptionist.  "Thank you."

She nodded, telling the two of us to have a great time on our tour.  Harry showed me the small library that they had at their fingertips as well.  Or, by small it was smaller than my school library, however, it was a good size for a radio station, I would think.  It wasn't very long until we were heading back to the Green Room, my stuff still resting on the couch and table.

"So, did you take notes or something?" he asked.

"Oh yeah," I nodded.  "Mr. Watson wants me to write a weekly newsletter for people and the top one hundred listeners get a signed copy."

"That sounds pretty cool.  Do you have any ideas about what you're going to do?"

"I'll probably put your possible weekly topics, and then maybe a fun fact about you or something like that.  I tried to take notes while you were on today."

"Yeah?" he questioned.

"Oh, for sure," I nodded.  "I'll probably be here listening to Dylan and Michael at least."

"That makes sense.  I hate that Jack is on so late.  He's so funny."

"That's what I've heard," I agreed.  "I'll have to turn him on when I get home."

"You live around here?" he asked.

I was surprised he was asking.  Then again, I was amazed by most things today.  Of course, I was pretty sure it was because today had been filled with a bunch of surprises, and this was basically my dream job in my hands before I had even graduated college.  Though, the fact that he was asking if I lived around here seemed a little off to me.  But of course, he was pretty good at making conversation and I pinned it on that.

"Like, in Winter Haven?" I asked.  "Or if I'm from here?"

"Both, I guess."

"I moved to Orlando for college," I told him.  "But I moved back here for the summer.  I graduated high school from here, too."

"I moved here a few years ago," he nodded, seeming interested in what I had to say.  "Winter Haven is cool.  Well, it's cool aside from the murders, I guess.  But that's what pays my bills."

It was odd to think.  After all, the thought of someone being killed benefiting Harry was simply weird to think about.  Yet, I also knew he had a point.  After all, if people weren't dying, he wouldn't have much to talk about on his segment.  So, sure, it was sad to hear, but it was also fascinating as well.  People tuned in just to hear the gorey details.

"Do you ever feel wrong morally?" I asked him. 

"If I didn't ask the family's permission to use the stories, absolutely I would.  However, I try and frame it where telling their deceased member's story might get a clue from someone out there and it could be a step closer to catching the bad guy that's out there."

It made sense.  I liked the fact that he asked the family's for their permission as well.  Mr. Watson had mentioned it to me, but hearing Harry talk about it truly confirmed that it was what he did.  I thought it was both respectful and kind of him to ask permission.  I had heard things about people being on the news and not even knowing until a friend or neighbor had told them.  But, here was Harry, approaching the family about it before he even aired. 

"That's really kind of you."

"It's the least I can do.  They're going through so much, I just want to respect their wishes."

"Have you had anyone say no?"

"I think one or two families," he nodded.  "They just didn't want to deal with the news and stuff and they told me they appreciated me even being interested in their family's case."

His words were fascinating.  There was something about the way he spoke that just pulled you in to what he was saying.  I was certain that he could talk about paint drying and I would be engrossed in his words.  Of course, true crime was much more captivating to an audience, but again, the way he spoke truly drew you in.  It was like he knew exactly what to say, how to say it, and the tone it needed to be said in.

"Well, I have to run.  It was a pleasure meeting you, Magdelina."

"Maggie," I told him.  "You can call me Maggie."

"Oh, I certainly could, doll, but what's the fun in that?"

"Are you implying you won't call me Maggie?"

"I'll call you by your name," he assured.  "Have a lovely first day.  I look forward to seeing you."

He left shortly after, leaving me alone in the Green Room.  A piece of me was confused by his behavior with me, but I also figured he was acting the same way he had on his segment.  Harry was truly the way he was in person and on the air.  It was refreshing, in a way.  After all, I had plenty of radio hosts speak at my college and most of them were snobbish off the air.  Yet Harry was still funny, charming, and pleasant in person.  It set him apart from other radio personalities, and I suddenly felt my nerves beginning to calm.  I had originally been worried about this job, but now I felt at ease.  Maybe this summer wouldn't be as bad as I thought it was going to be.