Sweetest Sin: Bad Boy Bundle

by Delilah Wilde

  “What?” he snapped, irritated now. I had to explain myself quickly.

  “I think it's better if we keep the uh, natural sexual tension between us you know? Like, I think abstaining would be a good way to increase the erotic charge of the film,” I said. Mark thought for a minute. I hoped hoped hoped that he would fall for my bullshit idea.

  “That sounds brilliant,” he said, “You're a genius.”

  “Thanks, I try,” I said. He left me alone.

  So that was that. I wasn't pestered for sex anymore. Not to say that Mark didn't still annoy me. No, I quickly found out why Dane hated being directed by him so damn much. He was a total perfectionist, borderline obsessive about things. I spent hours stitching together a gorgeous pearly pink dress to wear in our film only for him to tell me that the color didn't read well on camera and that I'd have to do another.

  “What color?” I said, as patiently as I could. He shrugged.

  “I don't know. Try a few. It's hard to tell until you wear them on camera. If you make five or six dresses we'll have a better idea of what works. And remember, think sheer,” he said. I wanted to slap him but I didn't argue. He wanted six dresses, so he would get six dresses. It was as simple as that.

  Why did I want to stay in LA so badly? I asked myself that question every night. The LA lifestyle was so opposed to everything I stood for. It felt ridiculous to be supporting it like I was. I should have flown home weeks ago, but I couldn't quite bring myself to.

  I knew the real reason, deep down. It was stupid, but it was also the truth. You could never hide from the truth. Dane was the reason.

  I wanted to stay because of Dane. I wanted him to come find me and promise me all of the things I never thought he'd be able to give me. Even if it was all lies, it would be worth it for that one moment of happiness. I missed him so much. He was everything I wanted and everything I could never have rolled into one.

  I tried to distract myself. At night I sewed my dresses and assured Mark that no, I wasn't lonely and no, I didn't think we'd captured our sexual chemistry on screen enough yet. During the day I let him order me around.

  “More graceful!” he'd shout. I learned pretty quickly that I had two left feet. I might have looked a little bit angelic but I certainly didn't have the mannerisms of an angel. Getting my arms and legs to move prettily just didn't come naturally to me.

  “Less obvious!” he's yell, “You're being too literal!”

  I'd told him a thousand times that I couldn't act, but he still insisted on trying to teach me. It's hard to learn something that you don't give a shit about. It really is. Even so, I tried my hardest. Every time I got frustrated with him I reminded myself that he was letting me stay in his mansion for free. That thought got me through the toughest shoots.

  One evening, after I'd rejected Mark again and retired to my bedroom to sew, my phone rang. That was strange. The only phone calls I'd been getting recently had been from my mother, who was still panicking about me being in LA. Last time she'd called I had to assure her that yes, I was in perfect health and no, I hadn't yet resorted to stripping as a source of income. This number wasn't one that my phone recognized.

  “Hello?” I said. A cheery female voice responded.

  “Hi! Is that Savannah Finn?” they asked. I nodded, before remembering that they couldn't see me. This stranger's voice sounded so fa miler and yet so distant. Who was it?

  “Yes,” I confirmed, “And who are you? I mean, with whom am I speaking?”

  It didn't hurt to be a bit classy about it. The answer she gave nearly stopped my heart.

  “This is Chrissy Jones. We met before on the set of Mark's movie? We didn't get to talk much,” she said. Jesus Christ. Chrissy Jones had my number. Chrissy Jones was talking to me on the phone. Chrissy Jones knew my name. It was like a dream come true.

  My voice developed a noticeable tremor.

  “Hi Miss Jones,” I stuttered. She laughed. Her laugh was like beautiful music. She really was as charming in real life as she was in the movies.

  “Please honey, there's no need for formalities with me. Just Chrissy is fine. How are you doing anyway? I hear you're staying with Mark?” she said, as if we were lifelong girlfriends. If anyone else had said that to me I would have wanted to know why they didn't mind their own businesses. But this was Chrissy Jones. If she asked me to take a long walk off of a short pier I most likely would have obeyed. She was just that charismatic.

  “Yeah, I am. I mean, just for a little while,” I said.

  “Mm hmm, that's great. Mark's a great guy. He must be a good boyfriend,” she said. I could sense that she was deliberately trying to catch me out, but I couldn't say that I minded. I had no problem telling her the truth.

  “Oh, Mark's great but he's not my boyfriend,” I said. This seemed to please Chrissy greatly. “Right, so you're saying that Mark isn't your boyfriend,” she said the last part extra loudly, as if there was someone listening and she wanted them to hear that.

  “No, he's not,” I said, “Look Chrissy, it's great to hear from you and I'm a huge fan, but I have to ask why you're calling me. Movie stars don't usually have my number.”

  There was one movie star who did but I didn't feel like mentioning him just now.

  “Ah, yeah, this must seem a bit strange. I promise, there's a good reason. I just wanted to catch up first. You know, see how you're doing,” she said happily, “But I'll get to the point. I have a premiere coming up in a few weeks and I'm still trying to decide what to wear. I have so many designers throwing stuff at me. Chanel, Dior, Prada, Armani, the works. It's really nice to have such a wide choice but I just haven't found anything I like.”

  I swallowed. Could she really be suggesting what I thought she was about to suggest?

  “Do you need help choosing?” I asked as politely as I could. Surely that was it. It was flattering to think a star like Chrissy Jones would want my advice as a stylist. That would be fantastic. To think that she'd actually want to wear one of my gowns was ridiculous. I should be happy with whatever it was that I got.

  Chrissy laughed that lovely warm laugh again. I wished my own laugh was as attractive as that. I probably would have attracted much better guys if it had been.

  “No, silly. I want you to make a beautiful evening gown for me,” she said. It was as if she was asking me to pass the peas. She obviously had no idea about the gravity of this offer.

  “But...but...I mean, oh my god, oh my god Chrissy I'd love to design for you!” I exclaimed, though my heart was pounding. How would I make a premiere worthy gown in a number of weeks? It didn't matter, I would have to pull through somehow. If I treated the deadline like I treated my deadlines in school I soul be OK.

  “Great!” responded Chrissy, “I'm so happy to hear that!”

  I grabbed a notebook and pen and asked her a few questions about what she wanted. She was gloriously vague about it, basically telling me that I had free reign as long as it didn't make her butt big. She was the dream client that I'd always hoped for.

  By the time we finished talking about what she wanted I'd already gotten the preliminary sketch done on a scrap of notebook paper. I described it to her and she squealed in excitement. “You're a genius!” she said, “You deserve this exposure. You're going to have a great career!”

  “Thank you so much Chrissy, that means the world to me coming from you,” I said. I couldn't help adding, “But I've got to ask; how did you find out about me?”

  She paused thoughtfully before giving me her answer.

  “Dane recommended you to me. He told me you were very talented and he was right!” she said. Now Chrissy had a wobble in her voice. I felt my blood boiling.

  “Oh, so this is a plot?” I said.

  “A plot?” asked Chrissy, “What are you talking about, Savannah?”

  “This is plot between you and Dane to get me to start talking to him again. I should have known that this was too good to be true,” I said, “I should have known.”

>   “Savannah, no...”

  “Enjoy your Dior dress, Chrissy. It was great talking to you but I don't have any interest in pursuing this project. Sorry for wasting your time,” I said. I hung up before the poor woman even had a chance to defend herself.

  I wasn't sure what Dane wanted from me, but forcing my favorite star to wear one of my dresses was just out of order. It was what I'd wanted for years, but I'd never dreamed that I'd have to give blow jobs or god only knew what in return. Dane was obviously missing my sweet ass. Well, that was tough. I wouldn't settle for men who didn't do commitment anymore. I wouldn't settle at all.

  Maybe my movie with Mark would be a surprising smash hit and make us both billions of dollars. It could happen. I didn't need a man. I just needed a lucky break.

  I just wished that when I got into bed at night that I could stop thinking about him and wishing that he was next to me.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dane

  Chrissy turned to me in disbelief after Savannah hung up on her.

  “I see what you mean about her being stubborn. Jesus, I haven't been treated like that since...well, I can't even think of a time. She's tough,” she smirked, “I kind of like that. Doesn't make it any easier to win her back.”

  “No,” I said, “Am I trying to win her back?”

  I genuinely wasn't sure. Chrissy sighed and looked at me.

  “Dane, you're a very smart man but you're also an idiot. Listen to me please and answer all of my questions truthfully. You want Savannah back in your life, yes?” she asked. I nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes of course I do. I wouldn't be driving myself crazy like this if I didn't,” I said.

  “All right, but say she does go back to you. What will happen then?” she asked, “Will the problems you had before be gone or will they start arising again?”

  “I don't know,” I said, “Our main problem was me not being able to do a relationship.”

  “OK.. So has that changed?” she probed. Jesus, I felt like I was being cross examined here. It was like being in court after being accused of doing something terrible.

  “It's bad for my career to be in a relationship,” I said. Chrissy repeated what I said in a mocking tone, “Hey, there's no reason to be a bitch about it!”

  “They told me it was bad for my career to marry an older man, but guess what? I don't give a shit. I married him and my careers nowhere near dead. You know what I did to the agent who told me that my marriage would ruin everything? I fired him. That's what you should do too honey,” she said.

  The thought of firing Craig was appealing, but then again the thought of choosing a new manager was horrifying. Going through the process the first time around was bad enough.

  “But that's not the only thing,” I said, “I'm just not a relationship kind of guy.” Chrissy blew a giant raspberry to show me what she thought of that excuse.

  “Bullshit, fucking bullshit and you know it. Any guy can be a relationship kind of guy if they want to be. You just have to want it bad enough. I'm not sure you do, if I'm honest,” she said. I could see what she was doing. She was appealing to my male ego by challenging me to prove her wrong. Too bad that her tactic totally worked.

  “I do want it,” I said, “I want her.”

  “More than anything?” asked Chrissy. Damn it. She had a way of getting me to spill my guts. “More than anything.”

  “Then show her,” she said. I wasn't sure what that meant, but I had a feeling that I would soon be finding out.

  I'd do whatever it took to get her back. Even if I had to flush my career down the shitter on the way.

  Savannah

  The morning after my phone call from Chrissy Jones I got another call from an unknown number. It was lucky that Mark and I were on a filming break while he made himself some breakfast. I was sitting in his garden underneath the shade of a lemon tree when my phone buzzed. I considered not answering it for a moment, but my curiosity got the better of me. I needed to know who it was. Maybe Dane had begged some other celebrities to wear my gowns out of pity.

  “Hello?” I asked suspiciously. I heard the person on the other end take a deep breath before they spoke. I knew who it was before he said a word.

  “Hi Savannah,” said Dane and I suddenly felt so dizzy that I had to lay down in the grass. It felt like years since I had last heard his voice. I hadn't realized quite how much I had missed its deep but gentle tones.

  “Hi Dane,” I said, looking around to make sure that Mark wasn't eavesdropping, “How are you doing.”

  “I'm all right,” he said, “You?” “I'm good.”

  “Good.”

  It was the most awkward conversation I'd ever had. I could practically feel my skin crawling. “What do you want, Dane?” I asked. There was no point in beating around the bush any longer. I just hoped he wouldn't ask me for sex. Even though it would be obvious to both of us that it was a booty call, I wouldn't trust myself to say no. I missed him so much I'd take whatever I could get. “Are you still in LA?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I am. I'm staying with Mark right now. He's been really good to me so far,” I said. All right, so I maybe shouldn't have emphasized that so much but I figured there was no harm in making Dane feel a little jealous. After all, the guy had broken my heart.

  “That's great,” he said, though we both knew he was lying, “That's really great, Savannah.”

  “Dane...”

  “No, wait. Listen to what I have to say,” he took another sharp inhale, followed by a strong exhale, “I want to take you out on a date.”

  “A date?” I repeated, “A date? Did I hear you right?”

  It must have been a mistake. Dane Reynolds did a lot of things, but he did not do dates. He especially did not do dates with me.

  “Um, yeah,” he said. For the first time in his adult life, Dane Reynolds was being coy. Jesus, the world really had gone crazy. I didn't even give myself time to consider his offer before I accepted. “OK. Let's go on a date!” I said.

  “Great. All right. Let's do it. I'll pick you up at six, OK?” he said.

  “Sure. Six sounds good,” I glanced back at the house nervously. Mark would be pissed but I could make up some excuse, “Six sounds great, actually. I'll see you at six.”

  “See you at six.”

  There was an awkward pause. We were like two teenagers who hadn't quite gotten the hang of the whole dating thing yet. I eventually broke the silence myself.

  “Goodbye, Dane.”

  “Bye Savannah. See you later.”

  I checked the calendar on my phone. It wasn't April fools day. I had a date with Dane Reynolds.

  Dane

  Reason number four hundred and fifty four that Dane Reynolds did not do relationships: first dates. They were awkward and uncomfortable and there wasn't even a guarantee of sex at the end to make it all worth it. I was willing to go out of my comfort zone for Savannah, so that meant something. I just didn't expect to be as nervous as I was.

  I spent forever agonizing over what I should wear. Where you supposed to wear a tie to these things or would that make me look stupid? Eventually I said fuck it, threw on my favorite leather jacket and felt like myself again.

  Savannah asked me to pick her up a block away from Mark's place. I didn't blame her. I'd knocked the shit out of the poor guy. If he knew that I was trying to reignite something with the girl he had such a huge thing for I would never live it down. She'd be kicked out and I wasn't sure if she'd come live with me again. I wasn't one hundred percent sure that was what I wanted anyway.

  I chose my least flashy car to avoid being recognized and struggled through miles of LA traffic before I got to our meeting spot.

  Now all I had to do was wait.

  Wait and hope that she showed up.

  Savannah

  “Where are you going?” asked Mark when he saw what I was wearing. He was sitting in the kitchen with his laptop, editing film in his pajamas. I'd spent the last few hours making a cute little cocktail dress th
at showed off my delicate shoulders and slender legs. It was sensual enough to be attractive without flashing too much skin. I looked good and I knew it. It was all for Dane.

  “I'm just going out,” I said. Mark frowned. “Out where? With who?”

  “Out. With a few friend,” I said. I quickly tried to change the subject, “How's the editing?”

  That was the right thing to ask. Mark went on and on and on about the problems he was having and how the software he was using just wasn't good enough. I kept glancing nervously at the kitchen clock. I was already five minutes late now. There was no guarantee that Dane would wait for me. “Anyway,” said Mark, “Why don't you hold on and I'll throw on a blazer? We can head out together.”

  Shit. There was no polite way to turn him down. I tried my best even so. “It's a girls' night, Mark. No boys allowed.”

  “Oh,” he said, sounding disappointed, “That's a shame.” “I know,” I said, “A real shame.”

  I made my way outside and down the block before Mark could bother me any more. I really hated being under his thumb like I was. It made everything all the more difficult. I needed to leave soon. Even if that meant going home.

  After a brief moment of panic I got myself together and spotted Dane's car, parked exactly where he had promised he would park. I ran over as fast as I could in my high heels and rapped on the car window. Dane opened the door and let me in.

  “Hey,” he said, as I closed the door behind me, “Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?” “If you say so,” I said. He laughed.