by Parker Swift
It was after seven. Surely he’d be at some formal dinner or something and wouldn’t pick up. A safe time to call if there ever was one. I dug out his card, crumpled, folded and softened from two weeks of me thumbing it in my pocket, and dialed. My whole body relaxed when voicemail picked up. “Hi, um, hi, Dylan. It’s Lydia Bell. I hope you remember me—we met in Canada.” I mean, of course he’d remember me, right? He wasn’t senile. I was embarrassing myself already. “I arrived in London this morning, and thought I’d give you a call. Hope you’re well. Talk soon.”
Well that was only half-mortifying, and at least now it was over. I put down the phone half hoping never to hear from him again. The ball was officially out of my court. I was halfway to the kitchen to make some tea when the phone vibrated. I looked at the screen and saw the number I’d just dialed; the pit of anticipation quickly took up residence in my stomach.
Chapter 7
Hello?” I said, as if I didn’t know exactly who would be on the other end.
“Lydia.” His voice was just as delicious as I remembered. He sounded firm, authoritative, and so sexy, and incidentally like there was no need to remind him who I was.
“Hi, Dylan. How are you?”
“You arrived safely.”
“So it would seem,” I replied. Was it possible I was hearing him smile?
“You thought I might not remember you?”
“Well, who knows? Two weeks might be a long time in the life of Dylan Hale.”
“That kiss isn’t one I’d forget.”
I inhaled loudly, and I’m sure he could hear it. Was it possible he’d been thinking about it as much as I had?
“So, when can I see you?” he continued, and his voice spoke straight to the nerves pulsing through my body.
I felt like I should play hard to get a little, but the reality was I didn’t know a soul here or have any plans. “Well, let me look at my calendar. Hmm, all it says here is ‘get over jetlag’ and ‘learn how to pronounce Mara-la-ban.’ Marlee-bonee? Maree-lee-bone? Your language is chaos.” I had walked down Marylebone High Street that day and had been trying to figure out its pronunciation ever since.
“English, you mean?” he said, teasing.
“Is that what you call it?”
“It’s Mar-le-bone, and tomorrow night then. We’ll have dinner. I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“Sounds lovely.” Thank god he was making this easy on me. “Where will we go? I don’t want to dress inappropriately.”
“My place. Wear whatever you’d like.” I heard him shift into business mode and say something to someone on the other end. “I’ll see you tomorrow. And, Lydia, I’m glad you’re here.” He hung up without another word. Wow. It was definitely still there—all of that sensual tension that arose in my body in response to him. Even over the phone he was able to turn me on. I didn’t stand a chance.
That night I drifted into a long, calm, and dreamy sleep, thinking about dresses, blue eyes, country paths, and absolutely perfect kisses.
* * *
It was a Tuesday morning, my first day at work, and I left the house with plenty of time given that I didn’t really know where I was going. I walked up to Bayswater to get the tube, very happy I’d decided to stow my heels in my bag and wear ballet flats for the walk. For my first day I went with slim black cigarette pants, a loose blouse with sailboats on it, and a well-fitted black blazer. Blue suede heels Daphne had given me would make the whole thing less corporate, once I had a chance to put them on. With my umbrella tucked under my arm, and a coffee in hand, I hoped I looked as at home with all the other people on their way to work as I felt. One transfer later, I stepped off at Green Park, and made my way to the Hannah Rogan offices in the top floor of a beautiful old building deep in Mayfair. I was practically skipping, I was so energized and excited to be there.
I rode the tiny antique elevator, swapping my shoes on the ride, and was greeted by a young, thin, gorgeous guy in a drapey grey t-shirt, just putting down the phone. “And you must be Lydia.” He smiled, and I couldn’t help but giggle back. If I didn’t get used to the English accents soon, it would start to get awkward. “I’m Josh—we spoke on the phone when you interviewed?” Also, clearly gay.
“Of course! It’s so nice to meet you in person! You were so helpful during all of that, and I was so nervous. Thank you.”
“Oh, I’ve been there. Not to worry,” he replied, smiling broadly at my enthusiasm. “Hannah may have a bark, but really she’s a great boss. And I have it on good authority she was impressed with your interview.”
“Oh, that’s a relief to hear. Thank you. I don’t look too nervous now do I?” I looked down at my outfit and then back to him. Hannah was known for having high standards, and the truth was that I was apprehensive about meeting her and her staff.
“Not even a smidgen,” he replied kindly.
“Whew,” I said with a dramatic brush of my forehead. “And thank you for sending a car to the airport—that was so welcome after a long flight.”
He looked puzzled by my appreciation. “Huh. Wasn’t me. Perhaps Fiona? I didn’t even know we had a car to send. Anyway, do you know where you’re headed?”
“Not a clue.”
He pointed down a long hallway behind him, and said, “Last door on your right, and you’ll find Fiona, Hannah’s other assistant.” I nodded. “The loo is that way,” he added, pointing down another hall. “Oh, and we’re going out for lunch at one—you should definitely come.”
“Oh, that’d be great. See you in a bit then.” I was so relieved that the first face I’d see every day at work would be a friendly one.
I knocked on the frosted glass door as I entered, noticing there were two shiny white desks, one of which was likely mine. The office was large, light-filled, and very modern, with windows looking down at the bustling street below. “Hi, Fiona? I’m Lydia.” Fiona, tall, buxom, and with killer style, rose and reached out to shake my hand.
“Welcome! Here, have a seat, and I’ll fill you in.”
Over the next three hours I learned that Hannah was only in the office a couple of days a week, preferring to work from a private studio, especially with London Fashion Week fast approaching in three weeks. But the office was where we handled everything related to the business. We’d be noses to the grindstone until Fashion Week passed, and I realized that if I was looking to see all sides of this business, I’d arrived at the perfect time.
It was just after noon when we were walking at a clip to the Caffè Nero around the corner. “So, Lydia, you just arrived yesterday morning? Aren’t you completely knackered? Was the flight just awful? Do you miss New York terribly? You don’t look like you missed a night of sleep!” I could tell Josh’s speed-talking exuberance was going to bring me great joy. It was simply infectious, and I laughed out loud.
“Oh, well, it’s probably all of the cocaine I’ve been doing,” I replied, deadpan, and he acted playfully shocked.
“Oh, I’m going to like her,” Josh said, pointing at me and looking at Fiona.
“But, seriously, I think I’ve bought this fair city out of coffee already,” I continued. “So, unless you’re horrified by my asking, what’s the office gossip? Can you fill me in? Catch me up so I don’t feel like such a newbie?”
“Well, first, and I’m not supposed to tell anyone, because officially I don’t know,” Fiona glared at Josh with an I’d-better-be-able-to-trust-you vibe, “but Hannah’s going to be opening a private client studio in a few months. There’s been enough interest that she feels like it’s time to move the fittings out of her regular studio and into a more posh setting. Lady Amelia Reynolds alone has already tapped Hannah to dress her for six events before the end of the year. And now her friends are following. It’s great for us.” Josh’s eyes got wide. “No, don’t worry, Josh. This isn’t one of those things that will result in you losing your job. Lydia, Josh is always panicked that we’ll get purchased by one of the big conglomerates and there’ll be redunda
ncies. This isn’t that. I’m sure she’ll tell us all soon, but I have a feeling not much will change, except maybe now we can order in from the good Vietnamese restaurant instead of the dodgy one.”
One of the reasons I’d wanted to work for Hannah Rogan was because she was a smaller house, established enough that a couple of celebrities had worn her dresses on red carpets and business was hopping, but not so big that there were knockoffs of her handbags on Canal Street. And certainly not big enough that she was being peddled by one of the few major luxury goods operators out there. She was still an artist, and still in charge, which I loved. I hoped to learn a lot from being around her, both about the business and about art and design.
“Well that was better gossip than I’d expected,” I replied. “Although, still pretty tame. I mean, what? No office romances? No one making out under the desks or anything?”
Josh jumped in, “Ooh, I’ve got one! I overheard Stephanie, our media booker,” he clarified for me, “talking to her boyfriend in the loo. It sounds like she thought he was going to propose, but he didn’t, and she was in a snit and bloody impossible about it.”
“Josh! What were you doing in the ladies toilet?” shrieked Fiona.
“Oh don’t be such a prude, Fee!” He hit her playfully. I knew I was going to have fun with these two. “Oh, and Fiona has a fabulously fit boyfriend, Lydia, so don’t think of falling in love with her.”
“Good to know, Josh,” I replied, giggling. “And how about you?”
“He wishes!” Fiona laughed, “He’s too busy breaking hearts in every club in Soho. What about you, Lydia, leave any suitors behind you in the States?” My mind drifted immediately to the night ahead of me, and I paused, completely distracted and taken out of the moment. “Hellooo?”
“Oh, sorry, no. No boyfriend for me. I’ll just have to work my American charms over here.”
The remainder of lunch flew by in a sea of boisterous chatter. I felt instantly comfortable with Josh and Fiona, and had a sense I wouldn’t be friendless in this new city for long.
On the way back to the office my new phone buzzed in my pocket. I looked, and my skin came alive the second I saw Dylan’s name on the screen.
TUESDAY, 1:45 pm
What’s your address?
TUESDAY, 1:46 pm
You don’t have to pick me up. It’s the 21st century. Women can use the tube, have the right to vote, etc.
TUESDAY, 1:46 pm
And the right to be impossible. Address, please.
TUESDAY, 1:47 pm
Ah, but will we both fit on that white horse of yours?
TUESDAY, 1:47 pm
I’m sure we’ll manage. Polishing the saddle as we speak. Address.
I smiled and texted him the address. I couldn’t help it—the grin was spread ear to ear. I was just grateful that he couldn’t see just how happy his texts were making me.
TUESDAY, 1:48 pm
Now was that hard? See you at 8.
The afternoon back at the office moved just as quickly as the morning, and before I knew it I was slipping my flats back on and heading out the door.
When I climbed the stairs from the tube onto the street, dark clouds were moving in, and I immediately picked up my pace. I just made it to the door of my house before the heavens opened and big, thick raindrops began to fall. Fumbling with my keys, I nearly tripped over a huge bouquet of flowers on my stoop. I leaned over to grab them, rushing them and myself inside before we both got soaked. After settling in, tying my wet hair in a ponytail, and pouring myself a glass of wine, I returned to the flowers. Two dozen white roses, which I now noticed were absolutely perfect, stood in a beautiful porcelain vase, not the typical crappy type sold by florists. I opened the card.
For your first day. Delivered via horseback, naturally.
See you at 8. Be ready. —DYLAN
I could actually hear Dylan saying these words, imagine the way his accent would make the words bleed together, and it brought a big stupid smile to my face. No one had ever sent me flowers except for my father, on my birthday, and for a moment I dipped into that ever-present well of sadness. He would have been so happy to know a man had sent his daughter flowers. And these were stunning. After a moment, I took a picture and quickly texted it to Daphne.
TUESDAY, 6:43 pm
He sent these! Having dinner tonight. Wish me luck.
I looked at the clock, and it was already 6:45. If I was going to shower, I was going to have to hustle. For some reason, I didn’t think his be ready comment was to be taken lightly.
I shaved my legs, plucked my eyebrows, and spent about twice as long as usual in front of the mirror attempting an elegant messy ponytail I’d seen in a magazine. After holding up every article of clothing I owned and deeming each one subpar, I decided if there were ever a night for the blue dress, this was it. The reality was I didn’t really own anything that felt appropriate for hanging out with a man like Dylan Hale. I had a feeling this was the make-it-or-break-it night for us, and I was going to need all the confidence I could muster. I quietly willed myself to shed my nerves and vowed to just have fun with him.
At 7:52, I was throwing on black heels and applying a second coat of lipstick.
At 7:56, I was grabbing my jacket off its hanger.
At 7:58, I was sitting on the bottom step of the staircase willing the next two minutes to go faster.
At eight p.m. sharp, the doorbell rang.
Chapter 8
I hesitated a moment. I couldn’t believe I was actually going to see him again. The uncertainty and the waiting had elevated our moonlit kiss to an operatic level in my mind. It had been replayed over and over, and now he was just outside, a few feet away.
I finally opened the door, and it was like seeing him for the first time all over again. Jaw drop and all. I would have thought my memories were exaggerated, but they hadn’t been doing him justice. He looked back at me, a different Dylan: architect Dylan, urban Dylan, London Dylan, Lord Dylan. He was clean-shaven and wore a crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the top and a sleek grey suit, which he wore perfectly. It looked like it had been sewn right onto him, and it probably had. His blue eyes smiled at the corners, and I swear I sensed joy mirroring back at me.
“Hi, Lydia,” he said, smiling his rakish smile. He was standing in my doorway, and he rested one hand on the doorframe, half leaning into it. He looked so calm and relaxed, the exact opposite of the riot that was taking over in my body. His hair, freshly cut, begged for me to run my fingers through it. And his eyes, the fathoms-deep blue eyes, held my face and made me blush. I gave him a huge smile back, unable to hide my appreciation. I wished just for once that I was able to play it cool. My fingers felt long and tingly at my sides, and my skin seemed to light up under his gaze.
“Hi,” I said back, still smiling.
He stepped through the doorway and reached out, using one of his hands to grab mine and placing the other firmly on my hip. Part of me was surprised by his brazenness, by his touching me the way he was, but of course he’d already kissed me. We’d already crossed into a world where it was ok for Dylan Hale to wrap his fingers around my hip. And when he did, it sent sparks flying straight between my legs. He pulled me closer and said, “You look unbelievable, not an ounce of jetlag.”
I looked up at him, resenting the few inches of space that remained between us. “Thank you,” I replied. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
“Better than you remember? Or worse?” A smile and boyish eyes lit up his words.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” If there was a time to channel my sassiest, most confident self, it was now. “Now, feed me, Hale. I had a busy day at work, and I’m hungry.”
He laughed out loud, a smile spread across his face, and he pulled me through the front door of my own home, shutting it firmly behind me and testing its lock. As we approached the street I saw the same long silver Mercedes that had picked me up at the airport, with Lloyd at the wheel. I stopped short and shot him a look. �
��It was you? You sent the car to the airport?” I said it with more force than I’d intended. I was more confused than angry. It had, after all, been lovely.
“You’re angry?” He was puzzled.
“No, just…How’d you…I mean, it’s kind of a kidnapper-y move.”
He shrugged, looked at me in a way that was somehow both disapproving and charming, and said, “You need to learn how to accept chivalry, Lydia. I wanted to know you’d get in from the airport safely. I didn’t like thinking about you lugging your suitcases into a cab on your own, or worse, the tube.” Lloyd was holding the car door open, and Dylan gave me a slight nudge, encouraging me to get in.
“It’s not chivalrous when you don’t know who’s doing it.” I stood my ground. “The creepy kind of outweighs the sweet in this situation. I mean, how did you even know what flight I was coming in on?”
“You told me.”
“No I didn’t,” I stated firmly, crossing my arms over my chest and racking my brain for when I might have told him. “When?”
“At the pub. You said you were coming into Heathrow the morning of the sixth. I sent Lloyd there before the first morning flight arrived.”
“Oh.” I guess I had. “Good thing for Lloyd I arrived at eight in the morning. What if I’d been on a flight that arrived at eleven?”
Dylan just shrugged as if to say it wouldn’t have mattered.
“So, wait, you already had my address when you asked me for it today?”
“I had access to your address. You’d given it to Lloyd, not me. I felt like you should give it to me on your own. If I’d just shown up out of nowhere that would have been creepy.”
“You’re kind of splitting hairs, but…” I sighed in defeat. “Ok. Thank you for the airport pickup. It really was lovely.”
He smiled slightly. “Not so kidnapper-y then?”
