Chapter 22: Famous Figure

< Shirley >
After waking up from my nap, I freshened up and ate my lunch after preparing an extra bag, which had spare clothes for myself, in case my current clothes got sweaty as Dylan loved to torture me.
I got into my Mercedes-Benz and drove off to Dylan's mansion, which was really far away. I always wondered why would anyone live so far away from civilization. No matter in what direction I looked, all I could see were trees and open fields with gardens. However, it was a nice change, considering there weren't any noise pollution and annoying honks, especially no traffic.
The last time I came here, I didn't notice there was a big swimming pool behind the mansion, and just beside that, there was a basketball and tennis court. Beautiful flower gardens were decorated on all sides of the walkways. It shocked me to think that Dylan allowed those pretty flowers inside. There was no way that guy adored flowers. It seemed like the type that would stomp on a flower garden just to release his stress.
I parked my car behind the water fountain, in front of the porch. This time, the security guards didn't block my way, still, they did a thorough check of my car. I checked my wristwatch to find I was five minutes early and stepped forward inside through the big doors.
The maid I had met last time greeted me with a warm smile, to which I responded with the same warmth.
"Where is Dylan?" I asked her, walking into the living room.
"Sir is in his room. He came back just a while ago from the office," she replied and motioned me to sit on the couch. I thanked her and sat down, looking at the elegant antiques around. "What would you like to drink?"
"No, I'm fine. Thank you," I politely denied.
Even though the mansion was beautiful, there was an air of loneliness in it, something that had a mysterious vibe to it. There were many paintings hung on the wall, yet there were no portraits of Dylan with anyone, just a single photo frame of him with a faint smile playing on his lips in a sunny grass field; maybe he was too lost into the summer breeze to keep up his cold demeanor.
I was busy staring at his photo when I heard footsteps descending from upstairs in a rush.
"Are you my eyes deceiving me or has Ms. Shirley Hamilton arrived on time?" spoke up a sarcastic voice from the staircase, bemusement clearly present in it. I rolled my eyes and put on a tight-lipped smile and looked up at him. "Trisha, do you see what I see?" he asked the old man, who nodded curtly. "Could it be that we both are dreaming?" Now he was getting me angry.
"I'm the one who is called a drama queen, so stop overreacting and cut me some slack, would you?" I said.
Dylan scoffed and continued rolling up the sleeves of his black shirt. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I noticed his whole outfit. He was wearing a simple black shirt over a grey t-shirt and light blue jeans, along with black Nike airforce shoes. His disheveled hair which was slightly damp made him look even more adorable. Just a casual outfit that seemed totally out of character for him, yet so perfect on him.
"Hey, let's go." I snapped out of my trance and followed his voice. Dylan shook his head in disbelief and started walking towards the opposite of the front doors. Taking a deep breath, I got up from the couch and was about to follow him when I heard a high-pitched squeal.
"I'm back!" hollered a masculine orotund voice. I turned around to find a tall excited man in his late-twenties with light brown hair. He had a big grin plastered on his face. Everything about him was cute, except the bloodstain on his neck.
"I won't mind if you get late sometimes, you know?" Dylan huffed, turning around to face the newly arrived person, who grinned at him sheepishly and went towards him.
"Then you got to praise my skills, huh?" He smirked. Dylan rolled his eyes and took out his handkerchief to wipe the blood from his neck.
"In your dreams, Xavier. Did you even finish the job or just came back to tell me 'I am back'?" It took me a few seconds to understand what Dylan said.
"Yep, killed them all," said the man named Xavier.
What the fuck?
"I told you to leave one alive for interrogation," Dylan hissed. Should I pretend like I didn't just hear that?
Xavier let out a small laugh and went to take a seat on the couch but stopped when he saw me. About time that mister noticed me.
Xavier tilted his head, analyzing me from head to toe. "Dude, you didn't tell me that you already made her your girlfriend," he mused. If I was drinking water, I would spit it out on his face. That's the kind of reaction I had.
"Because she is not," Dylan deadpanned.
Xavier made a thoughtful face as if he was trying to figure out the theory of relativity. "Hello, pretty lady." The man forwarded his hand for a handshake and smiled before introducing himself formally, "I'm Xavier, this good-for-nothing idiot's right-hand man." He motioned at Dylan, who let out a scoff.
I accepted his hand with a small smile, ignoring the fact that Xavier just called Dylan 'good-for-nothing idiot' in front of Dylan, and he said nothing, which was very shocking for me.
"I'm Shirley—"
"I already know you," Xavier spoke up.
"Hu, how?" I arched an eyebrow.
"After what you have done to our mighty boss, I doubt there is anyone among us who doesn't know you," he joked, retreating his hand back.
"I don't remember doing anything like that," I said.
"You stalked our boss for over a month, without being caught by the guards, thanks to your fast speed. You have the power to annoy Dylan and escape. Of course, we know you," he stated as a matter of fact. I wasn't aware that I was such a famous figure among his gang. "Anyways, what is the reason behind your gracious presence in this gloomy place?" Xavier asked curiously.
"Um, I—"
"Xavier, if you don't have any work, just go and take a nap in your room. You must be tired," Dylan cut in. I couldn't tell whether it was a concern or simply annoyance in his words. However, it was a surprise to me that Xavier lived here.
"I'm not your servant. I ain't taking orders from you." Xavier stuck out his tongue and went upstairs. Didn't he just say he wasn't gonna take orders from him?
"Ignore him," Dylan told me and made his way towards the north side of the mansion with me trailing behind him. While we were walking, I couldn't help but look around the long hallway. It was a really big house for Dylan to live alone. At least, it was a relief that someone else lived with him in this palace-like place.
The whole mansion was in a shade of grey and pale white with most of its furniture seeming modern except for some, which were antiques. On the end of the north side, there was another staircase, and there was a sliding glass door at the end.
Dylan opened that door, revealing the set of stunning sports cars that were under shade. As we walked further, the speedways came into my views. The speedways led out of the area to the roads. Since it was a secluded peaceful area, there weren't many vehicles around, so he took the liberty to make them capable of high-speed racing tracks.
"At first, I would like to check your highest speed," Dylan stated, and I nodded. "You can pick any of the sports cars."
I randomly chose an Aston Martin Vanquish which happened to be one of the fastest racing cars, and also because it looked cool. I personally loved its design.
"You sure you can handle this? I don't want one of my cars to get wrecked," Dylan let out in a mocking tone, offending me.
"You have the money to buy twenty more like this, so stop whining," I retorted, shooting him a glare.
"There's a thing called 'collection'. Ever heard of it?" he countered. As I opened my mouth to talk back, he let out, "Shut up and get in."
I groaned and sat in the driver's seat. Dylan took the seat beside me and ordered, "Don't you dare pull a stunt like last time." A frown creased on my forehead as I remembered how much he annoyed me that day.
Huffing, I glanced at him to make sure he had his seat belt on. However, he already had it wrapped around him. He didn't wanna repeat the same mistake.
I took a deep breath and spun around the key, letting the engine roar to life as I pulled the gear lever.
The speed rose to 57 mph as soon as I started it. One of the benefits of this car was it could rise to 63 mph within just four seconds. But mine wasn't that good since it started at 57 mph. The speed kept rising until it came to 171 mph. I glanced at Dylan for a split second who was calm and observing my movements.
"Faster," Dylan instructed, his previous fear forgotten.
I nodded and pressed the accelerator, but it only rose a little bit. The highest speed was far from that. I kept driving for half an hour at that steady speed, trying very hard to stay within the borders. There were a lot of turns and obstacles which I had faced difficulties overcome.
"Okay. That should be enough test driving for today," Dylan informed calmly. I nodded and carefully dropped the speed and parked the car where it was before.
As soon as I got out, I looked at Dylan with expectant eyes for some comments. He looked at me blankly. "Say something, will you?" I insisted, and he inhaled a deep breath.
"Not bad." A smile was about to break out on my face. "Not good either." Before that could happen, the smile dropped. Did Dylan use to be a player? He definitely knew how to break hearts. "You have potential though. When I first tried driving this, I started off at 60 mph and the highest speed was 179 mph. So it's not that far from mine."
Not far from his? Was he kidding me? The difference was like the sky and the earth. And what's with his consolation technique? If he was going to say I had potential, why compare his excellent history with mine and ruin it? That jerk.
"Now, don't be upset because I was better than you. I was born talented, and I had the best mentor." A momentary sadness flashed in his orbs as he said the last part. He bit his lips and ran a hand through his hair and continued boasting, "It's not your fault that you don't have that much talent. Don't lose hope." I shot him a glare before he went further with the bragging. He was the one making me feel bad with his comments, and he dared say to not lose hope.
I heard him sigh. "Look, it doesn't matter where you start. What matters is what you end at. Even if someone drove Aston Martin at 50 mph in the beginning. In the end, if he can drive at full speed, which is 183 mph, that's what matters. It won't matter that he started at 50 mph. It will improve. Cheer up," Dylan urged.
"I'm not depressed," I hissed, stomping my foot.
"I don't remember mentioning that you were depressed, rather I'm the one who's depressed," he responded, and I furrowed my eyebrows at him as he sat on the hood of the car.
"Why?" I crossed my arms over my chest, demanding an answer.
"I have got to work harder to train you and make you the best. Such a pain in the neck." He made an annoyed face, making me chuckle. No matter what he said, he was still trying. His comments were harsh, and he was cruel during training, yet somehow I could feel that he was giving it his all. Also, at least, he was showing some expressions now and then.
"Anyways, we shouldn't get off-tracked. Let's get you groomed for the upcoming event." Dylan got off the hood and took hold of my hand and pulled me along with him.
It felt weird as he held my hand, though his grip was loose. Somehow I didn't get that disgusting sensation when someone else touched me, his hands were calloused yet warm. Most importantly, I liked this feeling.
Dylan led me to a room and opened the door to reveal a personal gym.
"Not again," I groaned and sat down on the floor like a five-year-old kid
"Start working out," he ordered, pulling me up by hand and pushing me towards the treadmill.
With my puffed cheeks, I went to start my workout. I took off my loose top, leaving myself in a sports crop top. I had black leggings on, which were comfortable for exercise.
Dylan didn't ogle me like other guys would, even if he did that discreetly, but he asked a really stupid question.
"Why are you stripping?" he asked with a 'what the heck are you doing, lady?' look.
I looked at him for a few seconds to check whether he was serious or not. Not tracing any signs of a joke, I burst out laughing.
Dylan raised an eyebrow in question, but I continued to laugh, annoying him even more. "Don't laugh, woman," he let out.
"Why? It shouldn't matter to you because that's not your headache," I repeated what he had told me in the morning.
He rolled his eyes and sat on the couch, whereas I stood in front of the treadmill. "Yeah, right. Do whatever you want. If you want to workout naked, that's not my headache." I stopped laughing and gave him a stern look, which he royally ignored and kept talking, "Okay, today you will do the exercises I'll tell you to, which will make your reflexes fast enough for a racer. While you will be sweating like a pig, I will be giving you tips about racing."
"You will do nothing while I will be working my butt off?" I gaped at him.
"Who said I will be doing nothing? I'll be resting," he replied and laid down on the couch with a business magazine in his hands. I watched him with my mouth hanging open in disbelief. "Now do as I say, trainee," he commanded, his eyes focused on the magazine contents.
I heaved a sigh since there was no point in arguing with him and sarcastically responded, "Your wish is my command, sir."