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28
Sky
Steve crosses to Dylan—theolder man is a good few inches shorter than his rock star charge, but Dylan’s body language surprises me. His shoulders slump a little, as if he’s being reprimanded. For the first time, I get a glimpse of Dylan’s lack of control over his world and a twinge of sympathy pulls at the edge of my heart.
"Kim is on her way over. We sit down, come up with a story and go from there."
"What do you mean? Who's Kim?" I ask.
Steve doesn’t look at me. "Kim deals with the media on behalf of Blue Phoenix and we need to give them a story that suits you both. She’ll have some suggestions—you might want to talk through your own ideas first. Then you can go."
Neither of us speaks. Then Steve knocks Dylan on the head. "Wake up."
The exchange confuses me. The power balance is off in their relationship, and in a weird way. Steve isn’t Dylan's father, but he talks to him as if he is.
Steve turns to me. "Listen, love, sit down with dumbass here and tell him what you want. Agree on a price or whatever the hell. Kim said she'll be here by three…" He shakes his expensive gold watch around and reads the time. "Three hours. Go."
Dylan doesn’t respond and Steve tips his head. "I’m not facing another Lily situation here, am I?"
"Fuck, no!" says Dylan.
"I bloody hope not," says Steve. "I can only make so many things go away."
Something unspoken passes between the two men, and there’s a tension with hidden meaning.
"You don't need to make me go away," I say, "I'm quite happy to do that myself as soon as Mr. Rock Star leaves me alone."
Steve laughs and claps Dylan on the shoulder. "I can tell she doesn’t take shit from you. I bet that would’ve been funny to watch."
I bristle at the patronising tone he uses on Dylan. Next, he’ll be ruffling Dylan's hair and asking him to fetch his slippers.
"I don’t take crap from anybody, including you,” I retort.
Dylan chokes back a laugh, as Steve is rendered speechless for a few seconds.
"You might need that skill," says Steve before leaving the room.
The mood in the room shifts and some of the tension leaves as Steve walks out. Dylan crosses to the vast double-door fridge. "Are you hungry?"
Am I? I haven’t eaten today. "A little."
Bread, butter and bacon appear on the kitchen bench and Dylan ducks his head from behind the fridge door. "Bacon sandwich?"
My mind flashes back to Dylan’s naked back, as he cooked breakfast on the first day. A teasing smile pulls the corner of his mouth and I’m off-guard. Steve’s treatment of Dylan peels away some of the anger and exposes the stupid Sky who wants Dylan, despite his selfish behaviour.
"Toast, thanks."
He pouts. "Was my cooking that bad?"
"No comment."
A tiny smile escapes me as the tug back to our banter disarms me further.
* * *
The viewfrom the terrace outside the kitchen stretches across Dylan’s property. Broad stone steps sweep down the back of the house, neatly maintained lawn stretching out beneath the terrace. The burr of a lawnmower fills the silence around and I close my eyes, the smell of mown grass calming my mind.
Dylan twists his glass of orange juice around on the table. Is he nervous?
