Have you ever been so cold that your teeth started chattering? That’s me right now, hanging around outside the London Studios, waiting for one of Dylan’s people to come out and let me in.
It’s November, so of course it’s cold, but the audience members queuing up to get into the studio all came tooled up with coats, hats and scarves. I, on the other hand, thought it more important I turn up looking as glamorous as possible, which I think I’ve achieved with my meticulously curled, newly lengthened locks and my Three Floor black lace and velvet dress. I’d look great, had my skin not turned purple.
Dylan is here to record a TV appearance, performing his new single at the end of a chat show. At the moment he’s chilling in his dressing room, so we’re going to have our first meeting there. It’s just a quick chat to get to know each other. Apparently his schedule is so hectic that the person working with him has to just shadow him and get as much information as they can in between his commitments. I spoke to Lindsey about where the other writers had struggled and apparently it was down to Dylan being a combination of unaccommodating and unforthcoming.
‘Mia,’ Mitch calls out, gesturing the direction he wants me to walk in with his head. ‘Christ, girl, don’t you have a proper coat?’
‘The jacket looked better than a coat,’ I tell him honestly.
‘Someone tell you Dylan has a soft spot for pretty blondes?’ he asks. ‘That why you got the job?’
I raise my eyebrows as I follow him.
‘Erm, no, I got it because I can string sentences together,’ I reply. ‘Were my predecessors male or female?’
‘We had a fella first of all, then a woman – older than you, though. Dylan didn’t like her. She didn’t like him either, or me for that matter. She complained I “mansplained” things to her – some BS invented by feminists. It’s where men supposedly explain things to women that don’t need explaining.’
I laugh, until I realise he isn’t joking. He’s mansplaining mansplaining to me.
‘Anyway, through here,’ he says, before knocking on the dressing-room door. ‘Courtesy knock.’
Oh God, what am I about to walk in on?
‘Come in,’ a voice calls back.
‘In you pop,’ Mitch tells me. ‘I’ve got to go and see about some business.’
Mitch darts off, leaving me alone. I take one final deep breath before walking into Dylan’s dressing room, mentally preparing myself for what I might be about to clap eyes on…
The dressing room is exactly as I imagined it. There’s a large dressing table, with lights around the mirror. There are fresh flowers on every surface. There’s a platter of food out that looks so good I just wanna plough my face into it. The walls are white and everything is spotless. The room might be what I expected, but Dylan isn’t. He’s sitting at the dressing table – in here all alone – all dressed up and ready for his performance.
‘Hello,’ he says, standing up. ‘Mia, is it?’
‘Mia Valentina,’ I reply, offering him my hand cautiously.
Dylan shakes my hand before pulling me close, embracing me as he kisses both my cheeks in that showbiz way all industry people do. I’d forgotten about that.
‘Dylan King,’ he says, as though he needed an introduction. ‘Wow, your hands are freezing. Can I get you a tea or a coffee?’
I blink several times.
‘Erm… a tea would be wonderful, thank you.’
‘Milk and sugar?’ he asks, heading for the door.
‘Just milk, please.’
‘Sweet enough?’ he laughs. ‘Be right back.’
Alone in Dylan’s dressing room, I wonder if I just imagined that. I was expecting a diva – the Dylan you read about in the news, the kind who would blow off a work meeting for a threesome.
Soon enough he’s back, placing the mug down in front of me before sitting on the sofa next to me.
‘Hi,’ he says with a big smile.
‘Hi,’ I reply.
Dylan King in undeniably sexy. He isn’t buff, or classically handsome… but there’s just something about him. He’s got that rough and ready bad-boy look about him. His relaxed demeanour and his dad bod just make him look like he doesn’t give a shit. and something about that is seriously sexy. Like, this is him, take it or leave it.
He’s taller than me, but not that tall, 5’11” maybe. He’s got dark-brown hair, very short on the sides but long and tousled on top, and he’s rocking the designer stubble – although maybe that’s just because he’s neglected to shave. He’s wearing black, skinny-fit trousers, a black waistcoat and a white shirt with sleeves rolled up, showcasing all the tattoos on his arms. I noticed a flat cap on the dressing table but I’m not sure if he’ll be wearing it onstage. His look is sort of styled, but in an unstyled way. Everything about him just seems effortless, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. That must be nice.
‘How are you?’ he asks.
‘I’m good… you?’
‘I’m doing great,’ he replies.
I frown.
‘What’s up?’ he asks. ‘Oh, sorry about last night, something came up.’
‘Yeah, I think I heard,’ I reply.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean I was at your house and I could literally hear what “came up”,’ I tell him.
He laughs.
‘Sorry, yeah. Letting off steam. But I’m here now, and I’m ready to work.’
I raise an eyebrow in disbelief.
‘What?’ he laughs. ‘I am. Look, I’ve been the perfect gentleman since you got here. I got you a cup of tea – I don’t get anyone anything, not even myself.’
I glance at the mug in his hands.
‘Mitch just gave me this, it’s a vodka on the rocks,’ he laughs. ‘Look, I’m sorry about yesterday. Let’s just start fresh today, yeah?’
‘OK, sure,’ I reply. I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt because I’m a reasonable person, but also because it’s kind of difficult to resist his charm.
‘You look like your pictures,’ he tells me.
‘Erm, thank you, I think.’
‘You’re welcome. Not too many girls look like their pictures these days, with airbrushing and angles – and even just filters, you know? You can work wonders with a filter. Kittenfishing, I think they call it.’
‘Looks matter to you?’ I ask.
‘Looks matter to everyone, right? You put all that make-up on, you bought that dress. And before you get mad at me and say you’re not doing it for anyone but yourself, OK, sure, but that still means looks matter to you.’
He’s got an excellent point.
‘So—’
‘You got a boyfriend?’ he interrupts me.
‘A fiancé,’ I tell him, holding up my left hand.
Dylan immediately takes my hand and examines my ring.
‘Hmm,’ he says.
‘What?’ I ask curiously.
‘Well, either you’ve bought yourself this ring to play hard to get – which is working, by the way – or you’ve got a fiancé who doesn’t value you. This can’t be worth much.’
Dylan caresses my hand as he speaks. I quickly snatch it from him.
‘You know not everyone is a millionaire, right?’
‘I like you,’ he tells me confidently. ‘You’re not taking my shit. Most people just take it. Since I made it, there’s only been two people willing to call me out, my brother and my best friend.’
‘Well, that’s good,’ I reply.
‘Yeah, except I don’t see either of them any more,’ he replies, chewing his lip thoughtfully. ‘But I’ve got you now. What do you think of this hat?’
Dylan jumps up and grabs his flat cap, tossing it to me to examine.
‘I don’t like it,’ I tell him honestly.
‘Then I won’t wear it,’ he tells me, all smiles. ‘I’ve got a good feeling about you. What does your fiancé do?’
‘For work?’
‘Yeah.’
‘He’s a fireman,’ I reply.
Dylan pulls a face to show his indifference.
‘Anyway…’ he continues. ‘The other two didn’t really get very far, so we’re starting from scratch with the book. You’re OK to follow me around for a bit?’
‘I am,’ I tell him. ‘I just need to get enough information from you and then you can leave me to it.’
‘Sweet,’ he replies. ‘Well, I think I’m on in ten, so maybe we’ll start another day? But stay here, watch the show on the TV, eat something.’
‘Thank you,’ I reply.
‘I can’t believe you’re engaged,’ Dylan says with a laugh. ‘You know that’s probably just going to make me try harder, right?’
I shrug.
‘It’s not going to make a difference,’ I say with a confident smile.
‘Game on,’ he tells me. ‘Game on.’
Mitch comes back in and takes Dylan off, leaving me here to drink my tea and pick at his food.
I’ve got a good feeling about this job. I think it’s going to be fun and just the right amount of challenging. I’m not sure how I feel about Dylan yet, though… why do I get the feeling he’s going to be trouble?