“Well?” asked Mr. Philips, and she looked up finally, as though suddenly just remembering he was standing there in front of her.
“Yes... Yes, I think I can accept that,” she said, her voice still uncertain.
“You think you can?” He asked, an eyebrow raised.
She opened her mouth to correct herself and smiled shyly. “Yes, Mr. Philips,” she amended.
He smiled this time, satisfied. “Please, call me Owen.”
Her heart suddenly seemed to beat faster in her chest. “Yes, Owen.”
“Excellent,” he said, nodding to her slowly. “Now,” he said, taking on a more authoritative tone. “For your first task, I would like it if you could have dinner with me. Jones has prepared a delicious meal, and I've been looking forward to your arrival.”
Once again, Brooke grew confused. The urgency of Jones' message on the phone had made it sound as though some pressing matter had brought her here, and now it turned out that all her new boss was looking for was a dinner date. The thought that she'd been hired as nothing more than an escort flitted through her mind, and once more she did her best to dismiss it as best she could, trying to convince herself that it was preposterous.
For a brief moment she felt bitter about having screwed up her audition under anxiety after being asked to come over, only to have it end up being for dinner. But there was no point in crying over spilled milk now, she decided. “Well, great. Okay then. Which way to the kitchen?”
She began to step forward slightly, but before she could manage to do so he put out a hand to stop her.
“Oh no... Actually, I need you to prepare first, and get changed.”
“Changed? Oh,” he said, feeling a bit self-conscious as she looked down at the dress she had on. Was this not acceptable attire for him? “I'm sorry, I - I didn't know you were expecting. I mean, I didn't bring anything to change into. I guess I didn't know I'd be eating dinner here.”
“Oh, that's quite alright. I should have given you some forewarning, I suppose. However, you needn't worry about that. I've selected something I'd like you to wear, if I may be so bold. Come, let me show you to the room where you'll be staying, and you can slip into it there.”
He's bought me a goddamn dress, for crying out loud?
As much as she'd been trying to remain enthusiastic about it all, the situation was beginning to seem increasingly serial killer-esque with every new twist and turn in the job description.
But he held an inexplicable, intense hold over her. Even were he not her employer, she felt as though it would have been well beyond her power to refuse even the most outrageous request he made to her.
Mr. Philips, or Owen, or whoever the hell he now was to her, showed her to her room, which was vast and luxurious. It could have been a shoebox and it would have been better than the couch in Becky's living room. But it was huge, plush, and comfortable. She’d just seen the dress he'd picked out for her lying on the surface of the bed, when he said, turning to go, “Go ahead and prepare. Meet me back in the dining room in fifteen minutes, if you would.”
“Certainly, sir... Owen...” She said, and he closed the door behind him as he went.
Slowly, Brooke approached the bed, as though frightened of the article of fabric awaiting her. She stood for several moments before reaching to pick the thing up, and then she lifted it up to the front of her body. Her first impression was that it looked embarrassingly too small for her, as though it would scarcely cover her up. She couldn’t deny it was beautiful; the fabric was black and sparkled in the light, but it seemed tiny for a girl her size.
She felt like trying to wear the thing to dinner would be humiliating for her. But again, there was the feeling that she had no power whatsoever to protest against her new employer's wishes. As with everything she'd been attempting to get through in the past few months, she was simply going to have to force herself to grin and bear it, and act like it wasn’t bothering her.
She slid out of her old dress like a snake shedding skin. She saw that the dress Owen had prepared for her was strapless, not to mention very low cut in both the front and the back. With much anxiety, she slid the straps of her bra from her shoulders and let them fall down along her arms. She peeled the cups from her breasts, and then held the dress up to her half naked self, preparing to slip into it.
Just as she was about to try the thing on, she caught sight of herself in a mirror on the wall. She became transfixed by her own reflection, and simply couldn't help but walk over to it and inspect herself, before attempting to squeeze into the dress.
She'd not yet dismissed the notion that the terms of her new job were just the least bit beyond what one might consider “professional.” She found herself considering her body, trying to decide whether it was one capable of pleasing her new boss in the way he might desire. Her breasts were full and supple, her torso voluptuous, her curves in all the right places. She wore a lacy black pair of panties, equal parts cute and titillating.
He’ll like those, she thought, if he likes girls my size at all.
It was still hard for her to make an objective assessment of herself without letting her poor self-esteem get in the way. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, and began to rub her hands along her body. She imagined it was Owen as she ran her own hands up and down along her torso, squeezing her breasts, filling her up with the most splendid of sensations. She began to let out deep, intense sighs of pleasure, and imagined being mounted by him, pushed up against the wall, penetrated...
Before she knew it, her hand was in her underwear. She was touching herself, rubbing vigorously, the squelching sounds of her anatomy like music to her ear as she imagined it was Owen pounding her, filling her to the brim with ecstasy.
She had no idea how much she'd lost track of time, however, when she heard a knock at the door. She quickly pulled out her hand, as though caught in the act, and then she heard Jones' voice calling in.
“Mr. Philips wants to know if everything is alright?”
Brooke's heart beat rapidly, and her fingers were drenched with moisture. She couldn't believe what she’d been doing, and couldn't figure out why her new boss was having such an effect on her.
“I... Uh... No, I'm fine,” she said, panting. “I'll be out in a minute.”
She slipped into the dress Owen had bought her as quickly as she could, her body trembling all over for a number of reasons.
5
She stepped into the dining room after making sure to wash her hands thoroughly. When Owen saw her rounding the corner into the room he stood to greet her, but then his eyes widened, and his mouth fell gratifyingly wide open.
Brooke couldn't help but feel pleased with herself, despite how awkward she felt in the dress he'd picked out for her, and she stepped up to the table across from him.
“If you don't mind me saying so... You look... You look absolutely beautiful.”
“You have good taste,” said Brooke, then kicked herself as she realized it sounded as though she was paying herself a compliment. “The dress, I mean.” She amended, and then looked at the table before her. “Wow, this all looks and smells so good.”
“I'm glad,” he said, smiling. “Please, have a seat.”
He pulled out her chair for her, and she did the best job of sitting down as gracefully as she could manage, which was no small task in her new dress. The hem of it kept riding dangerously up along her thighs, revealing an indecent amount of skin, and leaving almost nothing to the imagination beneath the table. She tried, as subtly as she could, to pull it down. But this only served to further lower the neckline, and flash Owen an even more generous portion of her abundant cleavage.
She simply didn't know how some girls did it. She'd seen plenty of women around the city who wore skimpier outfits with larger figures than hers on a routine basis, yet they seemed to do so with a sense of confidence that she herself did not possess.
She decided the more she wriggled about, the more she was prone to reveal too much
on either end. She decided to just let things be, and hope that she wasn't constantly verging on indecent from one moment to the next.
Owen took a seat across from her and smiled, and then lifted up a bottle of wine. “Care for a drink?” He asked, and Brooke realized how very thirsty she was just in that moment.
“Yes, please,” she said, extending her glass to him to be filled.
He poured slowly, and then lifted his own glass in a toast.
“To new friends,” he said, and Brooke repeated the sentiment, her lips curled into a smile.
The wine tasted wonderful as it poured down her throat, and it didn't take long at all for its effects to kick in. She was drunk already on Owen's company. The whole situation felt dream-like, and she began to fall further and further into fantasy as the meal proceeded.
The food, predictably, was delicious. Brooke couldn't remember having tasted anything as wonderful as what was laid before her in all her life, and she couldn't imagine being as privileged as Owen and being able to eat such things every day.
He began to make conversation with her, and she found that her reservations and inhibitions toward the man gradually decreased as the alcohol sizzled through her system, putting her at ease.
“So, Brooke, where are you from? I'm guessing you're not from the city originally, are you? You have a little bit of an accent.”
“Oh, God, you can hear that?” She said, embarrassed, but smiling.
He smiled at her. “What? It's charming. I didn't mean to embarrass you.”
“Ugh, I just wish it wasn't so obvious,” she laughed. “But you're right, I'm from out of town. I'm actually fairly new to the city, I moved here from a small town in Virginia. A real sort of country bumpkin place.”
He laughed at her description. “Oh, I understand. I'm from California originally, but I've lived in some pretty rinky dink little places over the years. When I was ten I lived in this town that only had a single stoplight to its name.”
Brooke chuckled. “That sounds like home.”
“So then, if you don't mind my asking, what brings you to the city? You're a long way from home.”
“No, I don't mind you asking, but I guess it's kind of embarrassing. I came here to try and become an actress. You know, me and about a million other girls probably.”
“Come on,” he said. “I'm sure people act that way, like it's a pipe dream or something, but it's pretty admirable that you went after your goals. A lot of people never really follow through like that. They just settle for what's around them.”
Brooke shrugged. “Whatever you want to call it, it's not bearing all that much fruit for me so far. I got a degree in theater and everything, and I think I'm pretty good. It's just... I'm not quite so sure I'm the type of girl they're really looking for, you know?”
Owen raised an eyebrow at this, genuinely perplexed. “And what kind of girl would that be?”
Brooke scoffed at him, thinking surely he must be joking. Surely, it had to be obvious that she was curvier than the type of girls that got cast as the leading ladies, but was he really going to make her say it out loud?
But then, as she looked at him longer, still smiling and waiting for him to give up the joke, it became clear to her that he spoke with the utmost seriousness. He didn't see her weight, or anything in the world for that matter, other than, apparently, the fact that she was a very beautiful girl. No one had ever made her feel that way to an extent that she actually believed it, but as she saw herself reflected in his eyes, she began to feel that way for the very first time.
“I - nothing,” she said, shaking her head and casting her eyes downward. “Never mind...” She picked up her fork, and stabbed a few times at the vegetables on her plate, thinking of what she could say next.
She settled, simply, on, “please can I have some more wine?”
The alcohol continued to flow, and the conversation grew more and more lively and involved. She was astonished at how down to Earth he was, particularly after their shaky first meeting that day, and after all the creepiness he'd suggested in his behavior toward her up to that point. She was still unsure what exactly she what role he expected her to play in his life. But it was undeniable, she thought, that he was interested in her, in a way that was more than just platonic. Every so often, she would catch his eyes falling unabashedly to her breasts, taking her in as subtly as they could. His gaze made her squirm in her seat, but she encouraged it, leaning forward on occasion to showcase her assets more visibly.
Perhaps it was the wine, or just the fact that someone was paying attention to her for the first time since her move into the city, but she found herself falling head over heels for him. She knew she was playing a dangerous game, yet she was unwilling or unable to stop herself from the endless plunge.
In the back of her mind, she felt full of doubt about the whole affair. It seemed ridiculous, whenever she put too much thought into it. Why the hell did a man like this need to pay a girl like her to have dinner with him? He could have had nearly any woman in the world that he wanted, for virtually any purpose that he set his mind on. What gave her the gall to think that she was the type of woman who interested him, and that this was anything more than just a job?
But still, the more they talked and continued to dine together, the more difficult it became to escape the thickening romance in the air. Her heart was beating faster and faster, and she was staring intently at his lips as he talked, watching them form sweetly around the words which he spoke. Her lashes fluttered, and she imagined the delight of being able to lean in, and kiss his tender lips. Tasting him, pushing her tongue into his mouth, making love right there in the very center of the dinner table.
She swallowed hard, feeling embarrassed, and sat back in her seat for a moment.
I seriously needed to get a hold of myself right now...
Or did she?
Her move to the city aside, she realized that she never took any chances with anything. She always played it safe, staying shy and diffident, and refusing good things any time they came close to her. It was the perfect explanation, she realized, for why things never got any better for her. She was her own worst enemy, and had no one but herself to blame.
She studied the situation she was in. It was clear, as clear as she could possibly hope for anyway, that this man wanted her. Any normal woman would have accepted that fact after all that had happened so far, with the dress and the flirting and everything, instead of trying to poke holes in it and trying to find reasons why it couldn't possibly happen.
Maybe this was the situation she needed to start embracing the good things that came to her in life. Surely, it was worth a try. She could chicken out like she always did, and let this slip away. Or she could be proactive, and act on her impulses.
With that notion in her mind and plenty of wine in her system, she proceeded to do something that she might never even have considered in the past. She waited, until at last there was a lull in the conversation.
Then, slowly, she shifted her body forward beneath the table. Carefully, tenderly, she outstretched a leg, holding her breath, her tongue between her teeth. She maintained constant eye contact with Owen from across the table, and began to rub her foot up against his own, slowly brushing back and forth, for several seconds.
He stared at her. For a moment she had difficulty reading his expression. Perhaps it was a desire not to see what was written on his face. “What are you doing?” He asked, in a flat tone.
She stopped moving, her foot still cradled over his. She swallowed hard, and felt herself turn scarlet.
“Oh. Oh, I -” her ears were ringing, and slowly she brought back her leg to herself, feeling her stomach plummeting. He continued to look at her for an explanation, and when nothing would come to her, she hung her head low in shame, laughing at her own stupidity.
“God. I'm - I'm so sorry. I've had way too much to drink. Would it be alright, if... I mean, can I be excused? I think I should turn in for the evening, sleep i
t off.”
She was beginning to back out of her chair, waiting for a response, but he stopped her in her tracks, placing a firm hand on hers.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, please. Don't worry about it. And anyway, I require something of you before you go.”
For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Brooke's blood ran cold.
6
Require something of you...
The words circled around in her head as she made her way down the hall in his wake, and she felt as though there could be only one possibility for what he wanted out of her now. And yet - hadn't he just spurned her advances, flat-out? How the hell was she supposed to live with this manner of suspense?
She had been working for Owen for less than a day, and already she felt as though she'd been tossed about on an emotional rollercoaster, struggling to keep up with his many eccentricities. Was working for a man like this really something she wanted in life, much less sleeping with him?
Yet she continued to follow behind him, obediently, like his shadow. Every instinct seemed to be screaming to get the hell out of there, before she came any more embroiled in whatever madness this man had in store for her.
She was remarking to herself how vast the penthouse seemed to be, when at last they made their way to a door at the very end of a hallway. There was a keypad next to it, and she watched, wide-eyed, as he reached up and appeared to peck out some sort of combination with the numbers.
“I would appreciate your discretion with regards to what I am about to show you,” he said, in a low voice.
“Oh. Of course,” she promised. As the door opened and the contents of the room became apparent, she wished she hadn't made such an agreement.
“The code to enter this room is 325, 527. Remember it for later,” he instructed. Brooke scarcely heard him through the dense fog of her astonishment.
“Alright...”
Big Bad Bear: Billionaire Shifter Romance Page 3
