Taylor Swift's dad works in New York, helping Dunn manage some capital operations. Especially this year, with Dunn making big moves in the stock futures market, Scott Swift has been swamped.
Little Taylor, meanwhile, is studying and learning music in Los Angeles. Dunn often swings by to hang out with her, and when she's on break, she loves popping into his company or house to stir things up. She's met—and knows—pretty much every woman in Dunn's orbit.
One weekend morning, Dunn was planning to cuddle up with Rose Byrne and Charlize Theron for a little more fun, but the maid's voice cut through from outside the door: "Sir, Miss Swift is here!"
Dunn groaned and dragged himself out of bed. That girl was a total little gremlin.
Once, when he was in the middle of some morning "exercise" with Nicole Kidman and didn't come downstairs right away, the wild child stormed up and nearly walked in on an awkward scene. Since then, he's had to stay on his toes.
He threw on a robe, didn't even wash his face, and bolted downstairs. There was little Taylor, cross-legged on the couch, munching on grapes with her little guitar by her side, chatting away with Penelope Cruz like she owned the place. No trace of being a guest—she acted like the princess of the house.
When she spotted Dunn, her eyes lit up, and she waved a hand. "Hey, Dunn!"
He sighed, nodding. "Didn't I tell you not to show up this early?"
"What, I'm not welcome? You kicking me out?" She didn't hold back, knowing full well Dunn doted on her. She treated his Beverly Hills estate like her second home. "Did I interrupt your sweet dreams with Rose and Charlie?"
"Nah," Dunn brushed it off, then froze, narrowing his eyes at Penelope Cruz. "Did you tell her?"
Taylor huffed. "I'm not dumb. She didn't have to say a word!"
"Huh?"
"There's three girlfriends living in this house. When I got here, Penny was working out, so the other two had to be upstairs keeping you company in bed. Simple logic!" She bobbed her head as she laid it out, sounding all proud of her reasoning.
Dunn's face went from pale to flushed. Penelope, sitting nearby, was biting her lip to keep from laughing.
"That little brain of yours—focus it on school and music, not wild guesses. This stuff's not for your age!" Dunn couldn't help slipping into dad mode, lecturing her.
Taylor giggled. "I know, I know. I came to sing for you this time!"
With that, she hopped up, stuffed the rest of her grapes in her mouth, and grabbed her pink guitar.
Dunn's expression softened. No denying it—little Taylor had real musical talent. Her sense of rhythm was spot-on, and her songwriting? Impressive. She'd been a poet since she was tiny, even winning a national junior poetry prize back in the day.
He walked over, patted her head, and plopped onto the couch with a grin. "Alright, let's hear it!"
"If I sing, will you let me join American Idol?" She blinked up at him, eyes wide and curious.
"American Idol?" Dunn was caught off guard.
The world's first music reality competition show—one he'd personally dreamed up—was in the works. Dunn Films' Dick Clark Productions had finished the early prep and kicked off a big promo campaign. Auditions would start across the U.S. in July, with the show airing next February on a partnered network.
"Nope, not a good fit for you," Dunn said after a quick think, shaking his head.
"What? That's not fair!" Taylor pouted loudly.
Dunn explained slowly, "Shows like that… they're more of a nationwide party. It's all hype and marketing—not much real music. It wouldn't help your music path."
"What do you mean?" She looked confused. "Didn't you come up with it?"
"Yeah, I did…" Dunn shook his head, a little exasperated. "Point is, you're too young, and you don't need a fluffy show like that to break out. Got it?"
She let out a disappointed "Oh." "So I just can't join, huh?"
"Exactly," Dunn said with a smile and a nod.
"But I already bragged to my friends about it!" Her face crumpled, tears threatening to spill.
Dunn was torn between laughing and groaning. "Okay, how's this? You said 'join,' not 'compete.' When the finals roll around, I'll take you to watch the show live!"
"Whoa, really?" Her mood flipped in an instant, eyes sparkling.
He gave her a look. "What do you think?"
She grabbed her guitar and plopped down next to him, beaming. "Deal! Now I'll sing for you. This is a new song I wrote—'Mr. Tycoon.' It's for you!"
By then, Charlize Theron and Rose Byrne had come downstairs too. They knew Taylor's talent—her voice was a treat—and sat down with smiles, ready to listen.
Dunn was over the moon. Talk about a boost to his ego! This quirky little girl actually wrote a song for him. She knew how to play her cards right.
"Alright, go for it," he said, grinning ear to ear.
Taylor cleared her throat dramatically, gave everyone a serious look like she was about to perform a sacred ritual, then bent over her guitar and started strumming—
"He's my Mr. Tycoon,
Tall and big, handsome and bright,
No need for proof, no need for much,
Just a simple joke,
And you get it all…"
The melody was straightforward, and with her pre-teen voice still pure and sweet, it sounded lovely.
Dunn nodded, impressed. She'd come a long way since moving to L.A. Even her lyrics had depth now.
Charlize, Penelope, and Rose listened with wide eyes, smiling as they soaked it in.
After a couple of verses, she hit the chorus, her fingers picking up speed on the strings—
"Oh~~~~ Mr. Tycoon,
You're unstoppable,
Rocking Wall Street,
Taking on Hollywood,
Silicon Valley's investment king,
You're my Mr. Tycoon,
Oh, Mr. Tycoon,
How much money do you have?
I don't know,
No one knows,
But I know the women you've been with
Outnumber the cash in your banks,
Oh-oh-oh-oh~
The women you've been with
Outnumber the cash in your banks…"
The first time through, Dunn thought he'd misheard. By the second, he was dumbfounded—mouth hanging open, eyes nearly popping out.
What in the world?!
What kind of lyrics were these?
Then it hit him. Taylor Swift's songs were famous for one thing: writing about people. In her past life, her messy love life—cycling through boyfriends—turned into hit songs about every ex, driving them nuts while the world sang along.
And now, at this tiny age, she'd turned him into a song…
Charlize and the others exchanged looks, their faces a mix of shock and suppressed laughter. It was hilarious but too awkward to let out.
Taylor finished, set her guitar down, and grinned proudly. "So? Pretty good, right?"
Dunn took a deep breath and said firmly, "Sweetie, you can't write about me!"
No way. This had to be nipped in the bud. He wasn't about to let his private life become a global pop anthem.
She pouted instantly. "Why not?"
"I'm a public figure. You can't put my private stuff out there!" His tone was stern.
She wouldn't back down. "Why not? That's tyranny! Besides, I just wrote about your money. What's private about that?"
Dunn nearly exploded. Money? He didn't care about that! Write about his wealth all she wanted—just not the part about his women outnumbering his bank account! If this got out, the world would lose it.
Penelope stepped in gently. "Taylor, Dunn's… complicated. You can't write about him—not today, not ever."
"That's not fair!" Taylor huffed, tears streaming down her face. She sobbed, "You're all mean! Bullies! I worked so hard on this song, and you don't even praise me—you scold me! I'm telling my mom… wahhh…"
"Your mom wouldn't let you either!" Dunn almost blurted it out, but seeing her cry softened him. He swallowed his words, sighed, and pulled her into a hug.
She squirmed, pushing at him. "Let go! I hate you! You're a jerk!"
Dunn's head started to ache. When she got like this, it was impossible to deal with her.
Penelope, quick on her feet, smiled brightly. "Taylor, honey, don't cry. Here's a fair deal: Dunn takes you to the Grammys from now on, and in return, you don't write songs about him. How's that?"
Dunn's eyes lit up. "Yes, exactly! Sweetie, I'll take you to the Grammys. Deal?"
Taylor's tears stopped like magic. She squinted at him suspiciously. "For real?"
"Of course!" He held out his pinky. "Pinky swear."
Her frown flipped to a grin, her face blooming like a flower. "You better not trick me!"
"When have I ever tricked you?" He laughed, finally pulling her onto his lap. "Don't you remember? I took you to the Victoria's Secret show too."
"Oh yeah! Those models were amazing—their figures, their chests!" She gestured with her hands, tracing a soccer-ball-sized curve. "Do you think I'll ever—"
"Okay, enough!" Dunn cut her off, his face darkening. "So it's settled. No more songs about me."
"Deal!" She beamed like sunshine.