"No," Mr. Elliot said. "We'll be fine. I'd like to get to know Kaitlyn better."
Oh, so it was Kaitlyn now.
Jeremy left the room, obviously unhappy. The man clearly didn't trust me. I had a sneaking suspicion that while he left the room, he didn't go far.
"So Kaitlyn, tell me, what did you do before coming here?" His voice was smooth, deep, and I was reminded of saxophone music again. Sitting there, bathed in his voice, enjoying his incredible good looks, with his eyes drawing me like a magnet, I felt my cheeks grow hot and my brain cloud over in a storm of desire.
"I, uh..." It was getting harder to breathe. The man mesmerized me staring me down with those hypnotic eyes of his. His dark hair fell across his forehead when he reached for some more wine, offering to refill my glass first. I felt a surge of lust-triggered heat hit me like a brick hitting water.
"Is everything alright Kaitlyn? You seem a bit... flustered."
It took every ounce of strength to tear my eyes from his so that I could think clearly enough to answer his question. My heart thumped in my chest as I tried to catch my breath. What was the matter with me?
"Forgive me Mr. Elliot—"
"Brett, please."
I looked at him, startled. "Okay, Brett... forgive me, but you seem very different from the last time I saw you."
His eyes darkened and his smile fell. I wondered if I should've kept my mouth shut.
"I apologize for my behavior yesterday afternoon. I was... not feeling well."
Oh. It was a simple answer, but it had the ring of truth to it. Hell, when I didn't feel well, I could get pretty cranky. Now that I thought about it, he'd tried to excuse himself and have Jeremy finish the interview, but Jeremy had refused. It pissed me off to think that Jeremy would be so inconsiderate when Brett was ill. I already thought there was something off about that guy, now I knew what. He was a dickhead.
"You never answered my question," he said.
"Oh? Sorry. What was the question?"
"What did you do before coming here?"
"Right, I'm an actress."
Brett put down his fork and looked at me. "Really?"
I blushed, "Well, trying to be. You know, like everyone else in L.A."
"Well, you certainly have the looks to make it, if you don't mind my saying so." He smiled and put another forkful of food in his mouth, his eyes never leaving mine.
My face flushed. This wasn't sarcasm. Brett was perfectly sincere in his compliment, and dining at his elegant table, eating perfectly prepared food with real silver utensils, wearing an amazing designer dress, I actually felt beautiful. "Um, thank you," I said, seizing the opportunity to get some answers. "Brett, perhaps you could answer some questions for me. I'm still a little unclear as to what my actual job description is here."
I tried to sound lighthearted and friendly, but I felt the increased pulse of my heart as it beat faster in my chest. I couldn't stop my mind from wondering what Brett's lips would taste like if I were to crawl across the table and kiss him. What would it feel like to run my fingers through his hair, slide onto his lap… I struggled to push the thoughts from my head.
"You know, on second thought, maybe we should just talk in the morning," I said. "I had a rough day. I think I'd like to go to bed."
"You can't," Brett said. It was a command.
"Umm... why not?" I asked. I tried to stop the growing anxiety from filling my chest, but it wasn't working.
"I hired you for a purpose. You must fulfill that purpose each night before you may retire."
Fulfill my purpose? Each night? Was he for real? Did he think that I would just roll over for him because he's rich and hot and he dressed me in a Dior? Brett was probably used to getting his way. Well, not with me. I didn't care how broke I was. I had boundaries. I had lines that I wouldn’t allow to be crossed. I'd go back to sleeping on a park bench before I’d agree to being his hired mistress—no matter how damp my panties got when he raked his glowing eyes over my body with that hungry look.
"Kaitlyn..." he asked, his brows furrowing in concern. "Are you alright?"
I snapped. I pushed my chair back, grabbed my wine glass, and walked across the floor where I flung my drink in his face. He looked shocked.
"What was that for?" he asked, rising from his chair, his anger matching my own.
"I don't know who you think I am, but I do not sleep with people for money. If that's what you want, I know a great spot off Hollywood Boulevard where they cater to creeps like you."
Then I turned and fled from the room.
Chapter 6
I sat on the plush bed in my new room. Angry tears rolling down my face. I'm nothing more than a cheap whore to him. And, to make it worse, here I am crying, for what? The third time today? I took another look around the room, with the closet full of expensive clothes and the furniture that looked like it belonged in a museum. Well, I’m not exactly cheap.
In a way, I was oddly flattered. How many women had applied? This guy was so rich, he could probably have his pick from thousands of women, but he'd chosen me. There was a soft knock on my door. I wiped at my eyes before checking myself in the mirror. "What," I snapped.
"May I come in?"
Brett was just on the other side of my door. Even now, the beat of my heart accelerated to a sprint knowing he was so near to me. I wanted to say no, but I couldn't stop myself from inviting him in. "Fine, but if you try anything, I'll pepper spray you." I didn't even have pepper spray.
The door creaked open and he stood outside the room a moment before stepping over the threshold. "I owe you an apology," he said.
I stood by the bed with my fists bunched at my sides, staring at the floor so I didn't have to look into those eyes. "For thinking that I'd trade sex for money?" I looked up, meaning to emphasize just how offended I was with an indignant glare, but when I looked at him all I could see were his moist pink lips, golden skin, and an expression that looked sincerely apologetic.
"For not being clear," he said.
I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. Men this good looking and this rich were not to be trusted, ran through my head, but then I mentally kicked myself for thinking like my mother. "What do you mean?" I asked.
"I would never presume that a woman such as yourself would sell her… favors. I can assure you, I have the utmost respect for you."
My breath was shallow. I didn't want to pass out in the middle of his apology, so I made myself take deep breaths and hold them. "So, what are you saying? What did you hire me for then?"
He sighed and took a deep, slow breath in himself. "Would you follow me please?" Then he turned and exited my room without waiting for my response. I only hesitated a fraction of a second before following. My mind was riddled with conflict. I was glad he didn't want me for sex, but why was I was feeling a little disappointed? Did he find me unattractive? Why was he being so cryptic about what my job here actually was, then?
As I followed him down the hall, I couldn't help noticing the way he walked. For such a large man, his steps were smooth and perfectly balanced, almost as though he was floating. There was something about his manner and bearing that suggested importance. I got the impression that it would exist even if all of the wealth that surrounded him was gone. It was an energy that emanated from him—raw power.
He led me down the hall towards his bedroom. For a moment, I thought he was about to turn down the stairs. A giant wave of relief rush over me, followed by a smaller one of disappointment. But instead of turning, he continued down the hall and my heart skipped three beats. Outside the door to his room was a security lock with a key pad that I hadn't noticed before. It blended with the wall and from a distance looked like a decoration.
The door to his room stood just as mine—floor to ceiling, dark mahogany, very sturdy looking. I didn't see a lock and wondered what exactly the keypad was for. Brett pulled the door open and behind it I was shocked to see a second door, just as large and made of steel. To the right of the door was a s
eries of mechanical locks that were arranged from top to bottom. There must have been at least ten of them, and they all looked like Superman himself would have a difficult time breaking them.
Brett turned to me, his eyes serious. "The only way into this room is with the key code. 074892. Remember it, please." I watched him punch it into the key pad, each number lighting up as his large fingers tapped them. There was a click and the locks slid open.
"Repeat the numbers back, please."
"074892," I said instantly. I was an actress. It was my job to memorize things quickly.
He smiled his approval and I turned my eyes to the door behind him which was still shut. He must have seen the apprehension behind my eyes because he said, "I promise, no harm will come to you." I thought it was a strange way to assure me that he wasn't leading me in here to rape or torture me. Or both. Then, he pushed the door open.
I stepped into the room. A massive bed dominated the middle of it. Behind the bed, where a headboard normally would have been, was a set of chains and handcuffs. The chains looked like they'd been set in the wall with concrete and reinforced with steel. They came out of the wall about five feet and ended in a set of thick, enormous handcuffs. What in the world were they for? Even Houdini would have a hard time getting out of those.
Walking further into the room, I began to notice other things, whips... swords... a net? And there was a strange padding on the walls. Oh shit. Is this room sound proof?
"What the hell is this?" I yelled, feeling that I'd been tricked. This was obviously some sort of perverted sex room. It might have even been a turn-on if the handcuffs were the kind covered in soft fur and easily escapable—but no! I took a step back towards the door.
Brett raised his hands in a placating gesture. "It's not for you," he said quickly. "It's for me." I narrowed my eyes and looked back at the bed where the chains and cuffs lay. He hired me as a dominatrix?
"You mean, you want me to tie you up and... and what? Pleasure you?"
A hint of a smile played across his face. "It's funny that you can sound so offended by the word pleasure." I blushed and turned my head. "But no, it's not for that, either."
"Then what is it for?"
His eyes had a storm raging in them. I could have sworn he was in physical pain. "I need you to secure me in this room, in these bindings by ten o' clock every night, and do not return for me until six the next morning."
I laughed, thinking it must be a joke. "What are you? A vampire?" Brett didn't smile. "You really want me to leave you chained up in here until the morning?"
"I do."
I was beginning to realize something. Brett was either incredibly eccentric, or incredibly nuts.
"Do you understand?"
"Oh yeah, sure, I understand. What’s not to understand?” I mocked, “You want me to chain you to the wall and leave you there till six. Nothing strange about that. And for this you're going to pay thousands of dollars in dresses and..."
Brett was watching me with the most pained and agonized expression on his face. I suddenly felt like a complete jerk. I knew how it felt to be ridiculed.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "Sure, I'll do it, if it's really what you want."
He let out a relieved breath. "It is," he replied quietly. As he walked to the bed, his expression never faltered. He appeared stoic, but with each step, I was reminded of a man marching towards his death sentence. His body seemed weighted with strain. For the first time since meeting him, I realized that he must be an incredibly lonely man.
He positioned himself on the mattress and held his hands out for me. I laid a caressing hand on his wrist. He looked up at me, a split second of surprise registered before he attempted a smile, then closed his eyes, waiting for me to cuff him.
"You don't want to change or anything first? Er, pajamas or something?" He shook his head. "Okay, then." I placed the cuffs over his wrists and locked them. They were huge, five times too big. Even his large hands could easily slide out of the metal restraints. Whatever. I locked the massive padlock that hung off them and stepped back.
"How will I know if you need anything?" I didn't see a phone anywhere, or even one of the house buttons.
"I won't."
“What if you need a glass of water?”
“I won’t.”
"What if you need to pee?"
He finally managed a smile. It was soft and barely there, but it was genuine. "Thank you for your kindness. I'll be fine." I hesitated, then walked to the door.
"Remember," he called out. "Not until six. Not for any reason." I nodded and left the room.
Chapter 7
I couldn't sleep. I kept opening my door and peeking down the hall at Brett's room. He'd forbade me to come in until six, but I couldn't help wondering if he was really alright in there. I kept picturing the sorrow in his tired, weary eyes as I closed the cuffs on his wrists. What if there was a fire? Or if he got sick? Or if he was suffering a heart attack at this very minute?
The last thought was what did me in. I couldn't handle the image of him lying chained to his bed while his heart slowly gave out and the life faded from his body, all because I didn't check on him. Just a quick peek inside—that's all. Just so I'll know he's safe.
I tiptoed down the hall, hovering outside his door. My hand went straight to the keypad then pulled back. As concerned as I was, I didn't want to piss him off. He’d given explicit instructions, and I’d promised to follow them. I opened the wooden door that was more for show than anything else and pressed my ear to the steel one behind it. It was cold and hard and I couldn't hear a thing. I listened harder, straining my ears. Still nothing.
"Get away!" A voice, harsh and loud and very close, shouted from behind me. I jumped and almost screamed. Jeremy stood in the hallway, glaring at me.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Nothing," I said, terrified. “What the hell are you doing, sneaking up on people? Creep, much?” Was it really that wrong to want to check on Brett and make sure he wasn't dead? "I only wanted to make sure he was alright. Do you know what he's doing in there? That he's chained up to—" I paused, wondering exactly how much Jeremy actually knew. "Do you know..."
"About his condition?"
I screwed my face up. "Condition?"
Jeremy looked taken aback for a minute, like he'd let something slip that he shouldn't have. "I know about everything that goes on in this house," he snapped. "You are not to return to his room until six. It is only now just past midnight. I advise you to go to sleep. For your own good."
I took one last look at the steel door before stepping away and heading back to my room. Jeremy followed me until I was inside, where I shut and locked the door. Something was definitely off about Jeremy. Did he know that Brett was losing his mind? Maybe he was playing into Brett’s delusions, whatever they were. I bet he's after Brett’s money. Suddenly things made perfect sense. Brett was rich, but mentally ill. He had no friends or family that I'd seen, only Jeremy, who was no doubt manipulating him, and I was hired to be a pawn in his evil scheme. Well, I wouldn’t do it. I would find a way to break his plan wide open.
I laid my head down on the pillow and realized how soft my bed was. It was a far cry from Colin's couch. Funny how I'd so quickly gotten used to thinking of my old apartment and the things in it as Colin's. We had lived there together for six months, and up until the last month had split the cost of everything, yet it was Colin's apartment, Colin's couch, Colin's everything. Had I ever had anything that was really mine?
Before I knew it, I was asleep. I had bad dreams of floating on storm clouds while monsters chased after me. I opened my eyes around two a.m. and starting thinking about Brett again. I got out of bed and took one quiet step towards his room but didn't dare go inside, not if Jeremy was going to be hovering so close by. I could have sworn he’d told me that Brett and I were the only ones sleeping here at night.
Instead, I decided to explore a little. If this was to be my new home, I should know w
here things were. Maybe there was something I could use to free Brett from the strange hold Jeremy had over him. I wandered up and down the halls, opening doors that weren't locked and poking my head into places where I wasn't sure I should be, but went anyway.
One room looked like a movie theater. It had the same style of chairs that you'd find in a theater, only richer and plusher. Some of them were actually more like theater love seats than chairs. There was even a concession stand. It was a cute room. Back by the projection booth, I noticed a trophy case. Curious about what sort of trophies I'd find in a media room, I went for a closer look. The shelves were lined with Oscars, Golden Globes, and SAG Awards. My mouth dropped open as I read each inscription. Brett Randolph Elliot...producer.
Suddenly, everything slid into place. I couldn't believe what a giant idiot I'd been. I'd read about Brett Randolph Elliot a hundred times. A thousand times! His name was mentioned in papers and online trade content across the country, probably across the globe. He was known for producing blockbuster after blockbuster. He was also known for being a complete recluse. His private life was one big enigma that no amount of overly-ambitious paparazzi had ever been able to crack.
I'm working for the biggest producer in Hollywood!
Holy cow. If Colin knew where I was, he'd piss himself. I was tempted to text him just to mess with him a little.
Having this new information, I felt better, safer somehow. It gave me some context for what was going on here. I still didn't trust Jeremy, but at least now I knew who I was really working for. I went back to my room, intending to force myself into a restful sleep, but found my mind drifting again and again to the image of Mr. Brett Randolph Elliot, award winning and esteemed producer, chained to his bed.
Bears of Burden: WYATT Page 104
