When I wake up, a gorgeous woman is standing over me. She has fawn-colored skin, dark eyes, and purple lipstick. There’s a little silver ring piercing the left side of her lower lip. A tight purple dress shows off the curves of her generous belly, breasts, and thighs. She waves at me, bracelets jangling on her wrist. Pretty sure one of those bracelets flashes with real diamonds.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I must be dreaming.
“Yo. Miss Sleepyhead.” She snaps her fingers. “Wake up.”
My eyes go wide, and I scramble to a sitting position. “Shit! Who are you, and what the hell are you doing in my house?”
“You didn’t answer the doorbell. Dorian thought maybe you died or something. He was all ready to kick down the door and come charging in here. I persuaded him to let me pick the lock and check on you, in case you were naked in the bed. You good?”
“Yeah, I’m…I’m good.” I blink, rubbing my eyes. “God, what time is it?”
“About noon. I’m gonna go tell him you’re fine before he busts in here. But you better get your ass in the car quick.”
“Noon?” I groan. “I need to shower. Can you hold him off? Or can he come back later?”
She chuckles, shaking her head. “No, honey. Dorian Gray doesn’t ‘come back later.’”
“Fine.” I swing my legs off the bed. “Did you let my cat out?”
“Oh, he tried, for sure. But he wasn’t getting past me. Nope.”
“Thanks. What’s your name?”
“I’m Sibyl.”
“Oh, right. Dorian mentioned you last night.” Something abouther taking down any videos of him that might have gotten out. “So you guys are friends, or do you work for him?”
“Friends… I’m not sure Dorian has friends, other than Lloyd-Henry. Acquaintances, yes. Fucktoys, sure.”
She must see the blend of surprise and suspicion reflected on my face, because she chuckles again, a rich, throaty, musical sound. “Not gonna lie, I’ve been on my back and on my knees for that man a couple times. But after that, he was only interested in my social-media savvy and my tech skills. Hacking and the flip side—security. All kinds. I do everything.”
She plops onto my bed, scooping up a pillow and hugging it to her chest, like we’re sleepover buddies or something. Emboldened, I ask, “So you’re…over him?”
Sibyl mouths her lip ring. “I’m not sure anyone ever really gets over him. But I decided I’d rather live alongside him and enjoy the benefits rather than trying to make himcareabout me, you know? Dorian doesn’t do relationships. If somebody’s too needy and lovey-dovey, they’re out. He sends them packing like that.” She snaps her fingers. “It’s cool. I get what I need elsewhere. Plenty of options when you’re part of his posse.”
“Is that what I am now? Part of the posse?”
She surveys me, calculation in her dark eyes. “I’m not sure what you are. But for now, what you need to be is clean and dressed. Don’t bother with makeup. We’ll do that while we’re out. Hurry along now.”
She bustles out while I hurry to grab a few clothes and jump in the shower.
When I leave the house, Dorian is standing beside a big Rolls-Royce, wearing designer jeans, studded boots, and an artfully shredded black T-shirt. His blond hair is smooth today, tucked behind one ear.
Seeing him again clinches something inside me—seals up a small wound that was splitting wider the longer I was absent from him. He’s there, whole and existing, and I inhale a slow breath of satisfied relief.
I’ve had my share of crushes. I’ve been in love—or what I thought was love. But I’ve never felt like this about anyone. Definitely not this fast. Maybe it’s because he’s the first person I’ve met, other than my mom, who has been touched by the mythic, whose life has been deeply affected by supernatural forces.
Dorian inhales at the same moment I do. As I approach the car, his lips part, and his face softens with pleasure.
He holds out his hand, palm up.
My fingers twitch, ready to reach for him.
An acute, momentous tension tremors in the air between us.
But instead of touching him, I breeze past him to the car with a light, “Good morning.”
Sibyl’s already inside, and she bobs her head, acknowledging me without taking her eyes from her phone.
