“Ms. Lockhart, I presume?”
“Yes,” she said, smiling and extending a hand to the man, determined to be the height of professionalism. He took it, his palm squishy with wrinkles, and nodded for her to follow him.
“Right this way, please.”
Brooke tried to figure out whether the snub was a bad sign of some sort, but pushed her anxiety down. This was just the butler after all, and not the individual whom she needed to impress.
“Have a seat,” he said, after they'd stepped into the main room of the penthouse. “Mr. Philips will be with you momentarily.”
“Thank you very much,” Brooke said nervously, and the butler ducked away from view.
With him out of sight, she was left to take in the splendor of her surroundings. She'd never had the luxury of being in a top floor penthouse before, and the room which surrounded her was breathtaking. It was spacious, filled with top of the line furniture, and the view was to die for.
To think, if this went over well, she could actually be living in a place like this, after having spent months freeloading on a couch in one of the worst, dirtiest parts of the city, made her grin.
As she was fantasizing about the many possibilities, her host appeared all of the sudden, catching her off guard.
“Hello, and thank you for coming.”
“Oh, hello!” she said, startled, as he came across the room from behind her. “Thank you for seeing me.”
The man took a seat in the chair across from her, his face buried in his phone for a moment. He seemed scarcely to take note of her, preoccupied as he was with his own affairs, and making her feel a bit insignificant. She bit her lip nervously, thinking it was a bad sign he wasn’t interested. However, when at last the man looked up, his eyes captivated her. She seemed to freeze, feeling something resonating inside her.
Something about his appearance seemed suddenly to floor her. He was a remarkably handsome individual, tall, dark, and handsome and all that. Yet there was something more to him, deeper than all that. Something primal, that made her throat close up, and caused sweat to prick along her skin, her muscles tensing up as she sat patiently across from him. She realized with horror that she was staring at him. She forced herself to smile awkwardly at him.
“I, um... I'm Brooke. Brooke Lockhart.” She raised her hand to shake his, and he took it with a business-like manner. Curt and abrupt like he probably did it twenty times a day. He continued to stare at her with his vibrant green eyes, as though sensing something deeper about her no one else had ever spotted before.
“Owen Philips,” he said, in a low voice, and instantly the resounding feeling she'd been experiencing toward him intensified. She knew that name.
This man is a billionaire!
She'd read about him in the newspaper. Owner of a real estate firm, investor, and something of a mogul. It occurred to her that this specimen of masculinity sitting before her now possessed the complete package. Wealth and looks in abundance, muscles bulging through the sharp angles of his suit. A true alpha of a man, if ever there was one.
Her lip quivered, and she pushed her knees together nervously, pulling her skirt down like she was covering her inadequacies. She needed to get a hold of herself, and not let any urges take over. She mentally scolded herself, reminding herself to prioritize landing the job, not jumping into bed with a prospective employer.
She cleared her throat, and brought her hand back down. “Pleasure to meet you Mr. Philips,” she said. The formal address seemed to set the first smile she'd seen across his lips.
“Let's get this interview underway, shall we?” he said, the smile and any manner of cordiality disappearing from his face once more.
Brooke nodded, and readied herself for what she expected to be a wild ride. She'd been preparing for this interview over the course of the last twenty-four hours. She'd rehearsed for nearly all the standard questions she could think of such as experience, education, background, why she was the best candidate for the position. Everything her past months of unemployment had taught her she should have excellent answers for.
Instead Mr. Philips' queries seemed to border on the bizarre in nature, very little of which he asked about seemed of any relevance to the job as Brooke understood it.
He asked her all manner of personal questions, such as whether she was seeing anyone. What was her family history? What size clothing she wore? None of these seemed at all appropriate for an employer to ask a potential employee, and she thought that they must surely verge into the territory of sexual harassment.
Yet she wasn't offended by any of these questions. Perhaps under different circumstances, she might very well have been. But being inquired into by such a suave and attractive, clearly capable man, was strangely gratifying, almost arousing. The degree to which he seemed to have taken an interest in her all of the sudden set her heart beating like a drum in her chest, getting her starry eyed and hopeful.
Although she answered his questions as casually as he doled them out, she was torn in how she should be reacting to them. She knew she should be offended, even creeped out by it. She almost felt alarmed at herself for taking this all so nonchalantly, and by the time Mr. Philips made it around to the final question in his arsenal, Brooke felt as though she needed to say something.
“Look, I'm sorry, but some of these questions feel - I don't know,” she stumbled for words. He looked intently at her, waiting for her to elaborate. “I'm a little bit confused, I guess is what I'm saying, about the nature of this job...”
“Oh?” He said, as though surprised, having thought that the matter was completely self-evident.
“I mean the listing said it was a caretaker job. And... I guess in certain contexts I know what that means, but well... What, exactly, will I be caring for?”
He looked up at her, engaged to a level he'd not been since the very beginning of the interview. He smiled at her, as though amused, and then said, “Why, you'd be caring for me.”
A chill ran down along her spine.
“I... Oh. Yes, of course,” she stuttered thinking his explanation did little to clarify things. She wondered, in the back of her mind, whether sex was entailed in such a description, and if so whether that made her any better than the escorts she'd been scoffing at the previous day.
He gave her a long look, considering her. Brooke thought she saw one last hint of a smile across his lips before he stood up from his chair. She stood up as well, unsure if the interview was over but certain she should follow his lead.
“Alright, I think I've heard all I need to for now. My butler will show you to the elevator, and we'll be in touch with our decision.”
“Oh... Okay,” she said, and she suddenly felt certain that she'd just bombed the entire interview. With a desire to remain professional, she shook his hand turned toward where the butler now stood. “Thanks very much for taking the time to see me.”
“Bye, now,” said Mr. Philips as he exited the room without a backwards glance.
As the elevator doors closed around her, she held her hands to her head, defeat creeping in as the lift sank back down to the bottom floor.
There goes that dream, she thought.
At least she still had the audition to occupy her mind, and she prayed she was good enough for it after such a knock to her confidence.
3
“Look, you know I seriously wouldn't be saying this if I wasn't your friend, okay? It's just - I'm not sure if you're the type of girl they're gonna want for this part.”
“And what type might that be?” said Brooke, an eyebrow cocked, not feeling up for Abby's bullshit today.
Abby let out a sigh, as though she was trying to think of a non-offensive way to say what she was about to say. Brooke, however, had a fairly good idea of what it might be, and was certain it would be offensive. Somehow the fact that Abby thought she could tone down such a remark felt even more insulting.
“Brooke, obviously I wish the absolute best for you in the world. I mean, you
know that. It's just, I've been here a lot longer than you have. I know how this works, and as cruel as it can be sometimes, I just don't want you to end up disappointed.”
“Thank you for your concern. But if you could be so kind as to tell me what it is, exactly, that you think I should be aware of because, really, you haven't said all that much yet.”
Abby sighed again. She seemed to think that if it looked enough like she felt bad for saying it, the fact of actually saying it wouldn't be as insulting as it was. She really was a crap actress, Brooke thought, which made the fact that she landed so many roles mind-boggling.
“It's just... The people who cast these things expect a certain type of girl. It really isn't right, but they're always looking for some stick figure of a girl. They're demanding about it too. And I'm sorry, but that's just how it is. I know it might be a shock coming from such a small town but...”
Brooke feigned surprise as the anger boiled up inside her chest. “Wow, gosh, really? Gee, thanks so much for opening my eyes, Abby. If I had known there was discrimination against girls like me in this business, I never would have put myself out there in the first place. You really saved me from humiliating myself.”
Abby smiled a patronizing smile at her, not seeming to pick up on the sarcasm in her voice. She reached out, placed a hand on her arm, and said, “I still think you should go out there and show them. Give them the best you've got, and let them know damn well just what it is they're missing out on.”
Brooke couldn't believe her sometimes. She wanted to be mad at Abby, but the girl actually, truly believed that she was being helpful. Her earnestness was just too thick to be too pissed off, and so all she could do was let out a deep sigh, and force a strained smile at her.
“You're right... That's exactly what I plan to do,” said Brooke, giving up the fight.
“That's the spirit,” said Abby, with a last pat on the shoulder. “I just didn't want you to come away disappointed.” With that, Abby turned and left, leaving behind a foul taste in Brooke's mouth.
As sad as it was to say, Abby was Brooke's only friend in the entire city, and Brooke knew she couldn't afford to lose her. It couldn't be denied that she was shallow and ditzy like a lot of the people she'd met in the business, but in her own way she at least attempted to be nice. She always seemed to think that because Brooke hailed from a small town, she knew next to nothing about the ways of the “real world,” and had a habit of talking down to her. Revealing common sense about the way things worked like it was a deep truth.
If nothing else, Brooke had to at least credit what little dating experience she’d had in New York, to Abby. Brooke had been introduced to a friend of hers, Fletcher, who had seemed taken with her. They hadn't really gone out yet, but they always did more than their fair share of flirting whenever the two of them happened to be in one another's company. He was similar to Abby in many ways; nice but a bit shallow and Brooke wasn’t sure if he’d be interested in her. Though if he ever did ask her out, Brooke wouldn't have said no.
Brooke stood amongst a queue of girls waiting backstage to audition for the play. Between the course the interview had taken earlier that day, and the “encouragement” given her by Abby just now, she was not feeling good about herself. As subtly as she could, she let her eyes swivel around the room, taking in the sight of all the other girls trying out for the part in question. It was undeniable, they were all on the thinner side than Brooke could lay claim to. What’s more, Brooke was still wearing the outfit from her interview, which didn't hold a candle to what some of these girls were wearing. Their gorgeous, flowery dresses clung to their lithe, lurid little bodies. She was beginning to feel on the verge of going back to the apartment and cracking open some cheap wine, saying “screw it” for the day.
Her train of thought was interrupted by the buzzing of her cell phone. It startled her, and for a moment she thought she might have been imagining it. She instantly recognized the number as Mr. Philips', and she hurried to answer the call. She cleared her throat, nervous all of a sudden.
“Hello?”
The butler replied, in a sharp, emotionless voice, “Mr. Philips says to come over now. You're hired.”
“Wh-what?” She asked, having expected rejection. She hadn't been prepared for a twist such as this, and she certainly hadn't been expecting to get started that exact same day.
“You're hired. Mr. Philips needs you to come over right away and tend to him.”
“Oh-kay,” she stammered, and was trying to think of which question she should ask first. But he ended the call before any words could formulate on her lips, and she was left listening, for several seconds, to nothing but dead air.
“Lockhart,” came another voice, catching her off guard. “Is there a Brooke Lockhart here to audition?”
Shit, she thought, not knowing whose call she should respond to. Acting more or less on autopilot, she stepped forward to give the best performance she could muster to be reviewed by the casting director.
She knew afterwards that it had not gone well.
4
After the failed audition, Brooke had hurried home, showered, changed, and gotten chewed out by Becky for no reason. Then she'd scurried over to the penthouse, shivering as she rode up to the top floor, thoughts spinning around dizzily in her head. She pinched herself a few times to check she wasn’t dreaming, hoping that the new living situation would prove better for her than her current joke of an arrangement. She couldn't conceive of how things could possibly get worse than they already were.
The doors to the elevator slid open, and the butler stood beyond them, peering out expectantly at her. “Mr. Philips has been expecting you,” he said.
“I'm so sorry, I got held up. I was across town and traffic was awful. And I had to stop at home and change...”
“When Mr. Philips says he needs you right away, that means right away,” said the butler.
Brooke opened her mouth, feeling as though this was unreasonable, but then closed it. She had very little leverage in the situation given that this was her first day of employment.
“I'm sorry,” she said, giving him a single nod.
Her previous thoughts of sex and expectations of becoming a live-in prostitute, crossed once more through her mind, but she did her best not to push them away.
She stepped into the vast main room of the penthouse to find Mr. Philips standing there before her, dressed to the nines in a tuxedo, and looking fine as hell. He looked at her with more warmth to his gaze than he'd shown throughout the course of their entire interview earlier.
“Mr. Philips,” said Brooke, shyly. “I - I'm so sorry I'm late. I realize there's no excuse, but -”
“Please,” he said, lifting a hand to stop her. She curled her lips shut, as though trying to obey his commandments to the utmost extremes after her first breach of propriety. “Jones there probably gave you a hard time about it, but it doesn't matter.”
“Oh,” said Brooke shortly, and she could feel her cheeks reddening.
“However,” he then said, becoming stern. “In the future, I am going to need you to be as prompt as possible. Otherwise, this simply isn't going to work.”
It was strange, being forgiven and then reprimanded again for the exact same offense. “Yes... Yes, of course,” she said, casting her eyes to the floor. Then she looked back up at him, realizing that she was still missing a crucial piece of information. “I... What exactly are my hours then?”
“All hours,” he said, as though it was obvious, and she blinked at him.
“R-really?” She asked, dumbfounded. She wondered if this might be a joke of some kind, now that she'd seen the more lighthearted side to him. His expression did not change.
“Really,” he repeated, nodding. “That is to say, you need to be available at all hours, ready to cater to my needs at a moment's notice. You'll of course have time to yourself, but if I say I need you, then you need to be prepared to drop what you're doing and tend to me. No questions.”<
br />
“Oh,” she said, and she couldn't help but feel a sense of eroticism to such an arrangement. Sensing doubt across her face, Mr. Philips looked at her carefully.
“Is that a condition you feel you can accept?”
Brooke opened her mouth to answer, but then bit her lip, not wanting to condemn herself to this fate just yet. Undeniably, it was a big commitment. How the hell could she so easily tie herself down to wait on one man's needs, night and day, and never have time for herself? She contemplated just what sort of implications this might have for her life here in the city if she agreed to go through with it. She couldn't go out and have fun. Couldn't date anyone, really. And how was she supposed to keep going to auditions if she was expected to report back to headquarters here with scarcely a moment's notice?
There was certainly a lot of doubt in her mind about the whole situation. But then, on the other hand, if she didn't take on something soon her beloved “life in the city” would be over, and so it didn't really matter how much free time she got to enjoy it.
The pay for working for Mr. Philips was excellent. The living situation, commitments to her boss aside, couldn't be beat, and she couldn't have imagined being able to live in a place like this by her own means. It was a tall order to be at this man's every beck and call, but it beat living on Becky’s couch, or moving back home. It wasn't ideal, no, but it was a start. Perhaps she could give it a few months, see how it went. It would give her a chance to save some money, and she could keep practicing and getting better while she was waiting to continue with auditions. Hell, maybe she could even lose some weight as per Abby's many suggestions.
All of these thoughts flooded through her mind in the matter of moments following Mr. Philips query, and at last she came to a decision she thought she could live with.
Big Bad Bear: Billionaire Shifter Romance Page 2
