#TargetGirl [Harry and Liam FanFic] [COMPLETED]

Ally Khrystn enjoys her job @ Target.
Getting into work late. Stacking albums...
But a 'Battle of the Bands' display is up @ Target between The Wanted and One Direction and the boys from 1D just can't help themselves, so they go and check out the sales.
Ally, unbeknowist to their plan tells a disguised Harry that he's a pervert.
Later on, Harry tweets about an elusive #TargetGirl which gets the media buzzing about who she is and if Taylor Swift and Harry Styles are still together....
Liam, brokenhearted from Danielle, comes up with a plan to get her back...
But everything back fires as he falls for #TargetGirl
What does a girl do, when 2 of 1D are after her heart???
And to make matters more interesting she has a crush on her cousin... But then it's understandable when you find out who he is? A clue... He's British and also in a band. What will happen when another falls for the Wyatt heiress??
Read and find out
Follow me on Twitter: @EhlKayy1D and give me ideas :)


28. The Time to Conceed


Ally’s POV


I definitely needed to get out of this house and today was the best day…

Mom has been here for the past 2 days and it was already a nightmare.

I was forced to wear ‘suitable’ (according to Mom) clothing that consisted of clothes worth nothing less than $500.

On the first day of her arrival, I had defied her and as a result I was forced to watch as my Myers tank went up in flames.

From then on she had scoured my wardrobe and split the clothing into two piles named ‘suitable’ and ‘unsuitable’.

Half my clothing was thrown into the clothing bin in town and was immediately replaced by an entirely new wardrobe flown in from Paris. When she had ordered me to put it away I had glared at her. She hadn’t even given me a proper time in order to mourn for my lost clothing.

Today was Lou’s birthday and I was dressed in a Chanel top paired with a dark Hugo skirt with the dreaded Jimmy Choos that I had been avoiding since my arrival in London on my feet.

“And where do you think you’re going Alisha?” mom asked as I cringed again for the millionth time at the mere mention of my real name.

Mom had gone out of her way to consistently call me that instead of Ally.

“Out,” I muttered.

“Out where?”

“To a friends'.”

“Oh no, you don’t,” she snapped.

“Why not?” I turned and glared at her.

“I haven’t met them yet,” she replied.

“Mom,” I started. “This isn’t preschool for you to meet my friends then deem them appropriate for me to hang out with them.”

“I don’t care if you’re a teenager or an old woman Alisha. I will meet your friends before you hang out with them and there is not going to be an argument on the case. Understand?”

“You don’t have a say in who I hang out with mother,” I argued.

“Yes I do Alisha,” she growled.

“I’m 18 for goodness sake.”

“You are still a young girl. Now no further quarrelling. You are not going out today. It’s Christmas Eve and your father is coming over.”

As if a switch was thrown I lost all the will to fight within me.

Not because I was giving up but because I wanted to see my father desperately.

I hadn’t seen him for what must be two months now.

He was always on another business trip and although he had been in London for the past 2 weeks like me, I hadn’t seen him once except on the tabloids.

The only contact I had had with him was through mom or through his assistant dropping off my new credit card with no limit.

I had avoided his calls; none the less call him myself because I was worried that he’d be angry at me for nearly costing him our UK branch. I didn’t want to hear the tone of disappointment from him.

“Dad’s coming over?” I asked, bewildered and happy at the same time.

Mom hadn’t in the last 2 days brought up dad’s visit.

“Of course darling,” she muttered then smiled having sensed that I was losing my edge.

“Oh,” I muttered then turned around and headed back up to my room.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Upstairs to change,” I answered, continuing towards my room.

Behind me I could sense a victorious smile form on mom’s face.

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