Forgetting Dylan was as easy as walking into the reception of the four-floor apartment building after another failed interview.
'I think it's the uniform,' said Janice Royce, the receptionist.
'It's not a uniform—exactly,' Sage protested, looking to the deep-green calf-length skirt and long-sleeved button-up blouse she always wore to interviews.
'You're always wearing it, number one. And it's way too conservative. How do you expect one of the many male firm-owners to hire you in something that makes you look like a schoolgirl?' Janice asked.
Sage rolled her eyes. 'They should assess my capabilities, not my wardrobe.'
'They'd love to assess your capabilities. Your capabilities in bed.'
She cringed.
'Don't make that face with me, lady.' Janice pointed a stern finger at her. 'I'm here to tell you the truth, and the truth is you've got to get a job or a rich man in the next month. Otherwise, you won't be able to pay your rent or your visa, and management will be forced to evict you.'
'I know, I know,' Sage said. 'I'm still trying. Heck, I've got another interview in three days.'
'Forget three days. A miracle's waiting right in your room.'
By the time she'd said that, Sage was already up the first flight of stairs, so she'd decided that those words were her imagination.
The entire living room/kitchen/bedroom was completely dark, which was quite unusual because she could've sworn she'd left the light on before she left.
No matter. She needed darkness.
She tossed her uniform into her overflowing laundry basket and wore her lounging outfit: a green shirt that nearly reached her knees. After, she slouched on her couch.
On average, her couch was uncomfortable and hard. What miracle had made it uncomfortable, hard, and lumpy?
Most importantly, when did her couch grow human arms?
The arms of her "couch" wrapped around her torso and held her tightly, possessively. The couch itself said, 'I missed this weight so much.'
Sage would've screamed if a hand hadn't covered her mouth. Muted, she thrashed instead, terrified beyond her wits.
Couch Boogeyperson let her go at last. The downside was that without their restraint, she fell.
She screamed two times. A real panic scream this time. Rather than shut her up, though the Boogeyperson ran for the door and locked it.
Before she could scream a bazillion times more, the lights were flicked on. Where Boogeyperson had stood was a tall man with neck-length black hair tied into what Sage could call a man bun. He wore overly formal clothes: khakis and a cream suit vest and a long-sleeved pink shirt with a matching pink tie. He didn't have shoes on, but she guessed that they would've been designer leather or something.
She kept staring until he smirked at her. That rang a bell.
'And here I was thinking you wouldn't like this,' Dylan said in his haughty, ever-so-thick posh British accent.
'I don't,' Sage said, averting her eyes.
'No need to fib. It's been scientifically proven that when Sage Scarlett stares at a man for too long, they must be drop-dead handsome. I am drop-dead handsome,' Dylan self-proclaimed.
'You're also drop-dead stupid,' she retorted, blushing.
'So you mean I'm stupid and handsome? Thank you.'
She pursed her lips. 'What the fish sticks are you doing here? You've done enough I won't ever give you more.'
'Can't you suppose that I cane for something else?'
'The way you grabbed me earlier begs to differ.'
'What kind of man would I be if I resisted a soft, beautiful woman like you resting on my body?'
Sage screamed internally but kept calm. She stood up, summoning all her courage.
'Get out of my house,' she ordered.
'It isn't a house, but a flat. It's not quite your flat either, because you're not the one who paid the last rent,' Dylan said.
'Then get out of Mandy's flat,' Sage corrected. 'Speaking of your girlfriend—'
'Please.' Dylan shuddered at her words. 'I don't need a reminder about that word for now.'
'Girlfriend?' she teased. 'What happened to your girlfriend? Don't you miss your girlfriend? Does this house really belong to your girlfriend?'
'Be quiet, or I'll make you my girlfriend,' he warned. Then he frowned. 'Pardon me. That came out too soon.'
'Say what?' Sage asked.
'Forget it,' Dylan replied. 'Hey, you look really good without trousers and a bra.'
Sage's face became so hot she had to cover it in her cold palms. 'Get out of whatever here is. Out.'
She heard the door unlock, but it didn't shut. She saw that Dylan had stopped the door from closing with his foot. The rest of him was outside.
Clever idiot, she thought briefly. Then she gagged at her thoughts.
When she had gotten herself decent, she was tempted to jam Dylan's foot. What was a little pain after what he'd done? If she weren't so scared to touch him, she would've gone as far as slapping him.
'Are you dressing, or thinking of how to seduce me?' he asked, interrupting her reverie.
She blushed for no apparent reason, then frowned. He wouldn't leave soon. He must've come for a reason, one Sage had suddenly become curious about
'I have neighbors, you know,' Sage reminded. 'Come in.'
He slid through the small opening and locked the door all over again. After, he slyly checked her out, then frowned. 'Not even a little bit of skin?'
'Nope,' Sage said while sporting a pair of ankle-length jeans, a long-sleeved forest-green turtleneck, and her only decent sneakers.
'What a waste, though. You look hot nonetheless,' Dylan said. 'Alright. You let me in to know why I'm here, and I didn't come to make you bare yourself to me or anything overly sensual. I came to apologize…and something else.'
'Skip the apology. I don't need a reminder,' she said.
'I have to; I have a whole speech planned,' he said. He even had the guts to clear his throat. 'Sage—'
Her glare worked because he couldn't get a single word more out.
'I'll fast-forward, then,' Dylan said. 'The point is: I need you—your help. I need your help. Yes. Don't mind my blabbermouth; I'm in a bit of a fix. You know what? Just say yes and I'll explain as we go. We don't have time.'
'Okay. Maybe I fast-forwarded too much,' Sage said. 'Start with half of the apology.'
Dylan muttered something—maybe a cuss. 'I'll explain now, then. But first, do you know me?'
Sage simply shook her head.
Dylan sighed and sat on the couch. 'This will take longer than I thought was necessary, but okay. Sit down.'
There were no other couches to sit on, so Sage sat on the floor.
'The couch seats two,' he reminded her.
'Your big head's taken all the space,' she quipped.
For a minute, the worry vanished from his face. He smirked like the devil spawn he was. 'I'll assume you mean my actual head.'
'You're disgusting!' she exclaimed.
'As I was saying,' Dylan said, becoming a reasonable human being, 'I'll give you the Wikipedia-article version: My name is Dylan Boris Anthony, I'm aged twenty-seven, I have a—um, a lot of money. A lot. But guess why?'
'I can't,' Sage said.
'Just guess?' he urged.
Sage pretended to think long and hard. 'Human trafficking? Male burlesque? The British Mafia?'
'I just love it when you tease me,' Dylan said sultrily.
Sage took the hint: get serious. 'You're from a rich family?'
'My father studied law and political science Those helped him well in the future when he became—oh well—the Henson Aaron Anthony English knows today.'
It was too much to take in. Sage could not hide her shock. 'Home Secretary Henson Aaron Anthony?'
'H.S H.A.A? Sure. But, er, he's my father, remember? I don't see him as much else. You shouldn't either,' Dylan said. 'He lives an average lifestyle outside of parliament and blah blah. I, on the other hand, live on the edge. And, yes, I'm quite a Casanova.'
'Quite?' she asked.
'A real Casanova, fine. I've dated over a hundred and twenty people. Dated, I said. I've slept with just thirty-four of them—or is it forty-three?'
Sage's eyes widened. 'You gave me HIV?'
'Christ kill me,' he muttered. 'I always use protection and get tested immediately afterward, so no. I did not give you HIV or any venereal disease. Anyway—'
'So you really did sleep with me? Did you really…defile me?' she asked further.
Dylan bowed his head in shame. 'I did say I wanted to apologize. I wouldn't say that for nothing.'
'I need a straight answer,' Sage insisted.
'Yes, I slept with you,' he replied after a long pause.
It didn't feel so real until that second.
'What were you saying?' Sage asked.
'I said—'
'About your philandering,' she clarified. 'I'm listening.'
His head rose slightly, but not enough for her to see his expression. 'I have a bad habit of getting attached to people and getting rid of them later. That's why…my father says I should change soon. He was especially pissed about a recent scandal involving me and the daughter of a well-known pastor from the House of Lords. He threatened to cut me off, disown me, and all that if I didn't find myself a proper partner. I panicked the first time and told him I already had someone. He went livid all over again because I'd cheated on whoever the person was, but eventually calmed down. A month later—three days ago—he asked me to bring my partner on a Friday.'
'Partner…like, a wife?' she asked.
'My father knows I'm not ready for marriage, so not a wife. A girlfriend, you could say. Not necessarily a girl, though.'
'You're bisexual?'
'Pansexual. That means—'
'—you don't date specified genders. I get it, Mr. Slut Of the Year.'
Dylan chuckled. 'You're unfortunately right. My orientation has nothing to do with my—er—passion. You know, unfortunately. Once again, I'm very sorry.'
'Shut up and tell me how your inability to keep it in your pants concerns me more than it already does,' Sage said with gritted teeth. The more he reminded her, the worse it hurt. The pain she never had at the time of the incident now manifested as a pinch in her heart.
Now Dylan could look at her with his usual confidence. 'I need your help, Scarlett. I want to bring you home. I want you to be my girlfriend.'
'No,' Sage said, point blank.
'But why? Am I not handsome enough?' he asked.
'You—' Thankfully, she caught herself. 'You are a no-good spoilt brat. I don't date your kind, even if you were handsome enough.'
'I'm not spoiled…rotten.' He got up and sat right next to her. 'See? I can sit on the bare floor too.'
Out of habit, Sage immediately scurried away from him. He sprang up as well and chased her. She would've avoided it if she didn't stop to scan him for weapons or injections—a security lesson her mom taught her.
But she did. In that split second, he reached out and grabbed her wrists. He pulled her close enough to let him whisper into her left ear, but not so close that their bodies touched.
'Answer my question, or I'll kiss you,' he warned.
'I dare you,' Sage said with no confidence. 'K—do that and I'll—I'll never give in, okay?'
Dylan placed both hands on her cheeks, holding her head firmly. Her eyes widened as if she'd been touched by fire. Terrified, she shook her head.
'Fine. What question? Just don't touch me.'
He frowned, clearly disappointed by her co-operation. He took his hands off her face, but only went back to holding her wrists.
'Why don't you date?' he asked. 'There're so many men who would kill to date you.'
'My—my childhood,' she replied. 'I couldn't feel that sort of attraction as a kid. It stuck.'
'You're asexual?' he asked.
'That's too many—'
His fingers grazed her jaw.
'I don't know,' she replied honestly, even though she knew he would want an explanation once she told him the truth. 'I don't know, and I don't want to talk about it.'
'Are you attracted to women, then?'
'Yuck. No way. I don't hate…lesbians, but I don't want any girl touching me that way.'
'Can't you try a relationship without those sorts of things?'
'Did you just hear yourself?'
His lips pursued in thought. 'I admit that such a person is rare, especially when you're as beautiful as you are…so no. I wouldn't want to go on such a wild goose chase either.'
'Is that all? she complained. 'Your hands are searing mine.'
'We haven't spoken of my proposal.'
'Why do you still want to date me after everything I've told you? I could repeat it all in Spanish if your thick skull no longer accepts English.'
Dylan didn't answer. Rather, he brought his head a little closer to hers. He then lifted her hands and put them on his face. She squeaked in fear.
'This is what I wanted from you,' he said. 'This and so much more. I wanted such ever since I met you, but the fear of rejection gave my averagely virile balls a vasectomy.'
He let her hands drop.
'That's all I really felt for you,' Dylan said, 'lust. Not just you, of course, but you brought on this whole new level of please-screw-me feelings. For a while I—thought in ways I shouldn't have. The point is I chased you, craved you, and still have a strange feeling within me when I see you. These and other qualities make you perfect…to pretend to be my girlfriend.'
A load slid off her body like the breath she didn't know she was holding. 'Pretend? Me? Your fake girlfriend?'
'I haven't had enough of you to make you my real girlfriend, right?' he asked.
'I've had more than enough of you.' Then she frowned. 'Why did that come out of my mouth? No matter. The point is why should I agree?'
'I know you don't like how you're living,' he said. 'You came all the way here because of your mother. I can help you chase your own dreams. I can give you the finances, the connections, the whole nine inches.'
'Excuse yourself.'
'No. Where was I? Yes. In short, I could change your life.'
Sage grimaced. 'I need a straight answer. No pretty talk.'
'But don't lawyers love pretty talk?' he asked.
'Preti tok—' she mimicked, '—is not what you should be doing right now. This is persuasion on a business level, not a courtroom level.'
'In that case, I'll give you three million pounds and a flight home if you agree,' Dylan said.
'I'm in,' Sage said unhesitatingly.
'So fast?' He shook his head. 'You don't know what it means to be anyone's girlfriend. Being mine isn't as simple as a little peck on the cheek.'
'Will I have to fake an identity?' she asked.
'No. You're perfect the way you are,' he replied.
'Do we have to get undressed in public?'
'No.'
'Are there—scratch that. You've dated over a hundred people, so you'll definitely have sore ex-lovers. But what other risks?'
'Hmm…wanting me?' Maybe even falling for me?
She almost put her hands on his face the bad way. Wait, there was no good way to begin with, so the worse way. 'If I fall for you, I promise to sleep with you again. That's how unlikely it is. Now, do we have a deal?'
He grinned maniacally. There was a strange twinkle in his eyes. 'I wish. I'm not ready for love, or I'd have you head over heels before next week. I'll need that by next week.'
'Not that one!' she groaned. 'The one with money.'
'Money? I don't remember any money.'
She was forced to say it. 'The deal where I pretend to be your…your girlfriend for three million.'
'Now that rings a bell,' he said. 'You have to agree to some things, too. Number one: you'll live in my house for a month. Secondly: I'm allowed to touch and kiss you however I like in public. Then, you'll sleep in my room, on my bed, and not too far away from me. Four—'
'Write a list and text me. Gosh,' Sage said.
'Now you're just looking for excuses to get my number,' Dylan teased. 'Girlfriend behavior indeed.'
'I have only one condition: this stuff is limited to just the public. When we're alone, don't,' Sage said.
'Unless you want me to,' he said.
She huffed. 'If I ever want you to, go ahead.'
He nodded. 'No other conditions?'
'Well—and judging from your history, it's unlikely—when we're done, we're done. Don't beg me to stay or all that romantic nonsense.' She did her best imitation of Dylan's smirk. 'Hey, what happens if you fall for me?'
'Same deal: I'll sleep with you in such a way that I blow your mind,' Dylan said, 'because there's no way I can fall for you without you falling for me?'
'And if I don't want to be slept with?'
Dylan's answer was interrupted by Charlie Chaplin's "Cat's In The Cradle." 'Look, baby. Daddy's calling me—us, actually. I'm needed elsewhere.'
'I agree to your terms,' Sage said. 'So when do I start?'
'Now,' Dylan said. 'I'll give you a shouting match's worth of time to collect a few things. A few, if I must remind you. We're buying you a new wardrobe.'
With that, he stepped out.
Sage gave herself some time to think. Did she really want to help the man that did something so horrible to her in the way he'd stated?
change your life…three million…
It's worth a shot, she decided.
The next two hours passed in a blur of designer clothes and shoes, expensive makeup, suitcase shopping, and Dylan driving like a maniac
But three mini heart-attacks later, they pulled up to the driveway of a stacked white duplex with a white roof and lots of glass windows. The porch looked about the size of a club dance floor, sheltered by the roof which was supported by shiny white pillars. Even the door was white.
The appearance of the house wasn't her problem. As she stood at the entrance, she was wearing an emerald dress with the longest intentional slit she'd ever seen. She was pretty sure someone had sabotaged it. No fashion trend would allow people to wear something that showed off their entire right leg, right?
'How am I supposed to meet your parents in this?' she asked for the fifth time. 'They'll think I'm a prostitute.'
'You're wearing a long dress, and you're complaining about looking like a street worker,' Dylan observed.
'Let me guess: the girls you bring wear bikinis and lingerie?'
He rolled his eyes, then hit the silver knocker on the door five times.
Within seconds, the door was open. Their answerer was a short, platinum-blonde woman who looked about forty-five with her grey knee-length skirt and blouse and the disappointed expression she cast at Sage.
'What took you so long?' the woman asked, glaring at Sage but talking to Dylan without a doubt.
'Traffic, Mother. Busy traffic,' Dylan replied.
'Just because I'm forty-nine doesn't mean I've gone blind, Boris,' Mrs. Anthony said. 'Are you sure there isn't a more tangible reason than the one standing beside you?'
Sage shivered in her dress. Mrs. Anthony's gaze wasn't just cold; it was freezing.
'Sage is not a reason; she's my friend. Where's Father?' Dylan asked.
'He left for another shouting match at Westminster, but he'll be back for the party.' Mrs. Anthony finally looked at her son. 'Which begs the question; where have you been? The cooking staff and I have been unable to decide on dinner. You're the tie-breaker, after all.'
'Oh really?' Dylan exclaimed. 'You know, I'm not too hungry right now, so I have no idea what we could make. What do you think, Sage?'
'Uh—' Sage didn't expect that question. She would've solved a pop quiz better than being asked what an entire family of non-vegans would eat for dinner.
'Well, since you're not hungry, I guess we can make the three-course I had proposed.' Mrs. Anthony turned on one heel. 'I hope your friend likes spaghetti Bolognese.'
Queen Elsa II left without a word more.
'Perfect. She likes you,' Dylan said, 'else she would've said worse.'
'How much worse could things have gotten?' Sage muttered.
Inside was just as rich-looking as outside. Between the curved twin staircases, a few feet from the entrance was a mini bar with a blonde male behind the counter. Their living room looked like a mini cinema, with its 219-inch plasma and comfy seating arrangements. Unlike outside, Anthony Whitehouse's interior looked a lot less monochrome. The couches were different sorts of blue, the floor was black, their Persian curtains were red, and their chandelier lights changed color every five seconds like an old-fashioned disco ball.
Before she could take in more, a shrill scream shattered her thoughts.
A girl of about thirteen charged toward them at top speed. She jumped into Dylan's outstretched arms.
'Percy!' the girl cried. 'Gods of Olympus, I've missed you too much!'
'It's only been two weeks. Remember when I left for my horsemanship?' Dylan asked.
'Don't you ever leave me again,' the girl warned. 'I mean it. Else I swear by the River Styx—'
Dylan/Percy kissed her cheek. 'No swearing. Hera might hear you.'
The girl's eyes widened.
'Okay,' she whispered. 'Who's your new Aphrodite?'
'Who's the Myth geek?' With their faces so close, Sage assumed the girl was his daughter.
Dylan dropped the kid. 'This is my brave huntress, Zoe. Brave huntress, this is Sage Scarlett. Sage Scarlett, I suggest you brace yourself.'
Sage didn't. Zoe jumped on her.
'You're really pretty,' Zoe said, her legs around Sage's waist since the latter had no experience carrying teenagers.
'You're even prettier,' Sage half-groaned, 'and really heavy. Please get off.'
'Oh come on,' Dylan took Zoe back in his arms with almost zero effort, 'my huntress likes it when my Aphrodites carry her.'
'I don't mind. She was honest, and I like her,' Zoe said. 'Speaking of honesty, tell me exactly where you've been.'
'Elysium, more or less.' Dylan winked. 'We stopped at Tartarus Shopping Mall for a while, but it's great to be with you.'
'You too.' A trumpet sounded from Zoe's jeans. 'Anyway, I've got to go. Flying powers, activate.'
Dylan carried her away to a door at the far end. When her feet hit the ground, Zoe pointed to her boots. Dylan knelt to her, and she whispered something into his ears. Whatever it was had to be disgusting because his whole face turned pink in an instant.
He ran back to Sage's side, a smirk plastered on his chiseled face. 'What was one of the things I told you when you woke up a month ago?'
'Something about an explanation I won't like,' Sage replied.
Dylan kissed her cheek and scooped her off her feet. With her arms flailing, she let herself be carried upstairs.
He led her into a room, where he deposited her into a cloud-soft bed before backtracking to close the door.
'You have no idea how much I wish you were my girlfriend now,' Dylan said, returning to her.
'I beg your pardon,' Sage asked.
'Never mind.' He laid down.
'You're curious about what my sister told me, I'm sure. But it's not something you'd like to hear,' he said. 'However, it gave me a brilliant idea.'
'Your sister asked you to—gross,' Sage gagged. 'What is she? Thirteen?'
'Eleven. I'm her brother. There's no way I'll be that and let my younger sister be a prude,' Dylan said.
She fell back into bed too. 'What's your brilliant idea?'
'Every Friday—which just happens to be the day of the week right now—my family holds an evening party. Lots of people come, they eat, they drink, they get drunk, they dance—'
'I know what a party is,' she interrupted.
'Of course, you do, wise one,' he teased. 'Basically, there will be a lot of people. And what better way is there to have a lot of people to be aware of something than causing a scene?'
'I hate this explanation.'
'But the results will be perfect. Trust me on this.'
She looked to the left and met Dylan staring back at her.
Trust a man?
She blinked rapidly. 'Fine. I'll trust you if that'll stop you from staring at me.'
'I'm the one staring?' Dylan asked, blushing. 'We haven't spoken in the past four minutes.'
'That felt like four seconds. Don't lie, liar.'
'Enjoyable moments are often the shortest. A long time—even an eternity—of doing something you love or being with someone special never feels enough.'
Sage waited for the inappropriate joke. No guy says something that beautiful without saying something to ruin it at the end.
But he said nothing. He turned away from her and curled into a ball.
She rolled her eyes, then sat up and read the terms and conditions of her tenure as Dylan's girlfriend. They were mostly disgusting and things she would never agree to on average. Sleeping close to him naked every Monday and Thursday, for example.
She almost asked Dylan for Anthony House's WiFi so she could call her mom. If he was serious about his father's standing in the British government and his own personal fame, it wouldn't take long for the news of their "relationship" to hit the news. And if her mom found out that she had gotten a man involved in her life after everything she'd taught her…
She shut her eyes, forcing her childhood memories into the back of her head. One thing remained: A man's touch is fire. Be wary of fire.