Titan was elusive after that.

Busy, she guessed? At any rate, it turned out guests weren't a problem, as long as she gave Blake enough notice to clear it with security and update Titan's diary so he knew she wasn't available.

Mika called earlier to say she was in town—had been in town, actually—for a few days, because of the birthday party Lloyd had invited her to. Malora was supposed to attend the party, too. Oh, well. . .

As far as she could remember, Mika had always been a head taller than Malora and her skin was a bit darker than Malora's too. Unlike Malora's hair, Mika's was darker and shorter.

Mikayla Calhoun was sexy as sin. Her hourglass figure made head turn, and her slender frame would have landed her a gig in modelling had she ever shown interest in it. But Mika would rather travel around the world than work under slave drivers, her word, not Malora's.

She was actually super excited to see  Mika. And Malora thought Mika was happy to see her—although it was slightly overshadowed by her reaction to the apartment.

'Holy fuckballs,' she said, her bag slipping off her shoulder and thumping onto the floor. 'When you said to meet you at Hyde Park, I assumed you were just using it as a landmark and we'd be off to some scuzzy bedsit you were in Peckham.'

'Yeah, I'm just crashing here while my crack den is being repainted.'

Mika turned dazedly, her dark eyes skidding over glass and silk and marble, much as hers had done when she'd first arrived. As, to be fair, they still did because Malora wasn't sure how you ever got used to a place like this. 'Seriously, Mal. How can you afford it?'

It was an entirely reasonable question. 'I'm housesitting, I guess?'

'For who? Mohamed Al-Fayed?'

'Um'—crunch time—'Titan Pitts.'

Malora was being gaped at. She shuffled her feet. 'Do you want to maybe not stand in the hall?' She asked. 'There's a sitting area. And a receiving area.'

'Sure. Why the hell not. Receive me.'

Malora didn't, in the end, receive her. The sitting area was cozier—cozier, that is, by the standards of the apartment. Meaning it looked basically like a magazine except the pearl-gray sofa was only very large as opposed to inconceivably vast. You could have fit all her friends and family into the  receiving area with room to spare. Here they would have had to squish up.

'Let me get this straight.' Malora sank onto a chair. 'Your. . .friend. . .Titan Pitts—the same one that paid you to sleep with him for three months. . .Is letting you stay in his home?'

Malora curled up in the corner bit of the sofa. Sofas with corner bits were the best sofas and this one, being an elegant U-shape, had two. 'It's not his home. It's just one of his houses. He was very clear about that.'

'Right. But he's just letting you stay here?'

'Only for three months.'

'It's not the duration that's confusing me here.'

'Is it really so weird that Titan Pitts would offer his multimillion-pound luxury— Okay, yes, it's weird. The truth is, I have to stay here until our deal is up.'

'Holy shit.'

'Yeah.' Squirm. 'And while that's happening, this is where I'm living.' Squirm. 'I know it makes me look like a kept prostitute.'

Mika stared at her. 'Are you kidding me? I think it's awesome. Look at this stuff.'

'Isn't it neat?' Malora mustered a limp smile.

'Oh come on. You don't feel bad, do you?'

'Sometimes. A little bit. I mean'—awkward gesture—'this place is just. . .and I'm not really. . .then there's the money. . .'

'Not really what?'

'Worth it.' Eep. That sounded bad. 'I mean,' she added hastily, 'in a literal exchange of goods and services way.'

'You're not fungible, Mal.'

'Damn right I'm not. I'm very hygienic.'

Mika laughed. 'Boom tish. I just meant, it's all proportional. He's a multibillionaire who keeps this place around as his spare. . .I don't know what. This is nothing to him. And you're something.'

Malora blinked. She actually had a point. Titan wanted her. Within certain limitations, admittedly, but he wanted her. And it wasn't like she'd be any less interested in being with him if the apartment was no longer on offer. Cards on the table, Malora was secretly hoping he'd still be into her when their contract ended.

'Besides'—Mika was once again gazing at the magnificence—'I think I'd sleep with him if he let me stay here. And I'm a Lesbian.'

'I think that makes you heteroflexible at the very least.'

She grinned. 'No, just mercenary.'

'What about the time—'

Before Malora could remind her about the enthusiastically received hand job delivered by yours truly, she'd bounced off the sofa. 'Can I get the guided tour?'

'Um, sure.'

It didn't take very long because everything was laid out to look as impressive as possible, which meant most of the rooms flowed together. But Mika gasped and cooed and squee-ed over everything, turned on all the devices, opened all the cupboards, poked and prodded and peered, and rolled around on the guest bed like an excited golden retriever. And, for the first time since she'd moved in, Malora felt. . .not at home exactly, but unambiguously happy to be there. It was that naughty holiday feeling you got from staying at a posh hotel, knowing you could flump around in the branded dressing gowns and use the fancy shampoo in the tiny bottles.

'This is the best.' Mika waved her arms and legs in the air. 'I wish I hadn't got onto this tour. I could have stayed here, leeching off you.'

'No, you couldn't. Titan is going to want to, y'know. . .bone down on me at some point.' Friday , she hoped.

'You could put a sock on the door.'

'Go fuck your own billionaire.'

Grinning, Mika sat up and gave Malora what she probably thought was a coy glance. 'Well, at least show me a good time tonight.'

Malora had always been nervy of taking advantage of Titan's generosity. Which, in practice, meant living on Coco Pops and pretending not to exist. Honestly, if there'd been a cupboard under the stairs, she'd probably have moved into it. But he'd given her access to a lot of really cool stuff and Mika didn't seem to think there was anything wrong with what she was doing so. . .maybe. . .just this once?

'Come on, then,' Malora said, holding out her hand. 'Let's live the high life.'

She took Mika down to the pool, which was way less murdery when she wasn't on her own. And afterward they tried out the sauna, where Malora got to enjoy the sight of a largely naked and incredibly glisteny Mika. Unfortunately, Malora thought she probably just looked pink and fainty—so she removed joint sauna taking off the list of sexy things she could daydream about doing with Titan.

She'd never quite been able to wrap her head around the fact that the building had its own spa—but it really did, and they welcomed them lavishly enough that it made Malora self-conscious. Mika seemed pretty happy, though, as she was whisked off to do this special gentleman treatment thing called a power lift facial. Malora had a rose-themed series of massages that left her limp and fragrant from toes to scalp. They did manicure and pedicure, and finally had another French nails done, and toenails painted with steel gray cortex.

'Wow.' Back at the flat, Mika had raided the fridge, poured a glass of the water Malora hadn't dared drink, and draped herself over the sofa she usually perched on. 'I can't imagine being able to do this every day.'

'I don't,' Malora protested. 'Mainly I spend my time failing to be anything productive.'

Mika gave her a look. 'I think you have to actually do something to fail at it.'

'You mean I'm failing at failure?'

'You've hardly been here two months.'

'Yeah, I know.' Malora heaved out a tragic sigh.

'Hey,' she started dramatically, 'I've got an idea. Why don't you approach people and pitch stuff?'

Malora pouted.

'What? You know you're a good writer.'

'Maybe at university. But this is the real world now. The stakes are different. Besides, who would want to employ a failed accountant?'

'Not really. It's the same pool of people if you think about it.' Mika frowned. 'You're not a failed accountant. That Damien Gold-digger tried to take advantage of you.'

Huh. 'I guess.'

'Then maybe. . .write something worthwhile?'

Malora opened her mouth—

'And don't whimper about it.'

'But I'm so cute when I’mw whimpering.'

'Save it for your billionaire.'

She whimpered anyway. 'I was about to tell you that I submitted an article to GQ this morning.'

'Wow!' She gasped. 'That's nice.'

'Titan encouraged me to do it.'

'At least he's useful for something else other than fucking.' Mika gazed around the flat. 'Nothing to write about here.'

'I can't. . .OMG. That would be a total violation of Titan's trust.'

'I'm not suggesting you give us a blow-by-blow of your relationship. But isn't this lifestyle magazine gold dust?'

'Regular reader of those, are you?'

'I went to school with half the people who show up in Milieu these days so'—she blushed—'yeah. Of course I am.'

Oh my God, too adorbs. Malora just had to tease her. 'And how else would you know what handbag Kate Middleton is carrying.'

'Hey, hey.' Mika got, if possible, even pinker. 'They do this watch and sports car pullout, which is amazing.'

More famous still was The List, which was a rundown of the UK's top hundred most eligible single people. Malora could vaguely remember a time when it had been bachelors only but yay for social equality. Last year Titan Pitts had been number seven, sandwiched between Prince Harry and Phoebe Collings-James. Not that she'd looked it up or anything. Ahem.

'It would be completely amazing to work for Milieu or GQ,' Malora said dreamily.

'Then get scribbling.' Mika had obviously reached her limit for talking about her feelings—which, to be fair, was higher than you'd expect for someone whose preferred emotional outlet was running really fast or chain-smoking. 'Is there anything to eat around here?'

'Coco Pops? Or I could make toast.'

'Seriously? People who live in places like this dine on breakfast cereal?'

'Well, no. There's private chefs and restaurants I could call, I guess. Or there's. . .what's it called. . .in-residence catering from the hotel next door.'

'Isn't that one of Heston Blumenthal's places?' Mika gave Malora astarving puppy eyes.

Malora winced, very aware she was being a rubbish host. Blake had explicitly told me she had access to, well, basically anything she could imagine wanting. But running up a massive bill felt seedy as all hell. 'Let me check, okay?'

She left Mika devouring the menu on her laptop and went into the hall to phone Blake. He picked up on the second ring.

'Yes?'

'Um.' Was she ever going to manage to talk to Titan's assistant, either in person or at a distance, without feeling gauche and stupid? Our survey said: no. 'You know how I've got my friend Mika staying?'

'Yes.'

'Well, is it okay if we order dinner from the hotel restaurant?'

There was a sharp little silence.

'Yes, Malora. It is okay if you order dinner from the hotel restaurant. If you're very good, you can even stay up till eleven.'

Great. Now Malora wanted to curl up and die. 'This is your way of telling me I shouldn't be bothering you, isn't it?'

He hung up.

Ow. Ow. Ow.

Mika was still glued to the screen when she slunk back. 'Mal, this menu is totally whack.'

'Order the whole damn thing if you like.'

'Don't tempt me.' She glanced up. 'Are you okay?'

'Yeah, I'm fine.'

Mika held out an arm and Malora snuck in gratefully beside her. Tried to distract herself with the familiar warmth of her body. And the menu, which was, indeed, whack. 'I don't think I know what any of this is.'

'We could roll a dice.'

'Nerd.'

'Or pick for each other.'

Sensing a prime opportunity to troll her beloved friend, Malora perked up and went for it. 'Let's do that. You're having Rice & Flesh to start.'

Her eager little face went through several variations of perturbation, distress, and apprehension. 'Well, fine. You can have the Savory Porridge. Which is frog legs, garlic, parsley, and fennel. Mmmmmmm. Sounds delicious.'

Malora was pretty sure her own little face turned gray. 'Yay,' she said weakly. 'I love fennel.'

Sadly the mains and desserts offered a lot less opportunity for mischief, though they did our best. Malora tormented Mika by ordering her a dish just called Braised Celery, which made her get Malora the most expensive beef thing on the menu—bone in rib, apparently—on the expectation she could share it with her when the braised celery turned out to be a bust. Because, as Mika put it, fucking celery, man. For pudding, they went with Sambocade, which was apparently a kind of goat milk cheesecake, and an apple tart, the description of which contained absolutely no references to apples.

While Malora phoned through the order, Mika opened a bottle of champagne. She'd chosen one of the extravagant bottles—a bottle studded with pink crystals, and an austere label reading Alizé Vodka—she hoped it wasn't too expensive. Malora would later find out that the bottle of it cost half a million dollars.

'This,' said Mika, 'is like. . .if there was a unicorn made out of vanilla and sparkles, and it was running through a field of primroses on a spring morning to meet its best unicorn friend for honey cakes. . .like. . .if that was Vodka.'

Malora nodded. 'Or like. . .if you had a pear, right, that had lived a life of absolute virtue and had reached a higher state of pear. . .and if that pear was nestled into the bosom of a nymph, with flowers in her hair, bathing in a crystalline spring in the Elysium fields.'

'Yeah. Just like that.'

'It's. . .it's really good, isn't it?'

'Yeah.'

They contemplated this for a while.

'You don't think,' Malora asked, 'it was special or anything, do you?'

'Nah—the crystal on the bottle was just for fashion statements. You know how these producers are.'

'It's looks older than me.'

'Yeah, but you're not mature. Or Vodka.'

Malora pressed a hand to her heart. 'If I was, I'd like to be this vodka.'

'If you were, I would drink you.'

'I'd probably let you.'

Sometime between opening the bottle and finishing the bottle and embarking on another one, they had decided to lie on the rug to better appreciate the beauty of the universe.

Chapter dedication: ruboftommy

A/N:

What do y'all think of Mika?

Also, the Vodka, I'll have you know I've only had once in my life (Magic Moments)  and nearly fainted. I kept throwing. It was horrible, but I loved the taste 😂😂😂

Ladies and gentlemen, that was the last time I drank anything alcohol!

What's your worst alcohol story?