Jeremy looked at me like he didn't understand. "For dinner," I explained. "You said I should go down and meet him for dinner right?" I was getting frustrated. I wasn't asking for a lot, but a few details about what was expected of me would be nice. "Am I supposed to serve him dinner or something?" A new thought occurred to me. Oh God. "I'm not supposed to cook for him, am I?"
I thought I almost saw Jeremy smile again, but it was either an illusion or he was so practiced at repressing his emotions that he shoved it back down effortlessly. "There is no uniform. There is only a gown. It is on the bed. You will find others in your closet. If they are not to your liking, they can be replaced. However," he hesitated, "Mr. Elliot selected that dress himself, especially for you." He started to close the door again.
"Wait, wait! I still don't understand. What are my hours?"
He looked anxious to leave the room. "You are on-call twenty-four hours a day. When Mr. Elliot needs something, he will send for you."
"Send for me how? What does that even mean? What is my job here exactly?"
Jeremy sighed and said, simply, "You are his caretaker." Then he closed the door and left me alone in a strange new world where everything seemed upside down. I bet this is how Alice felt.
I stepped further into the room and approached the bed. A stunning black dress was laid out. I hadn't even noticed it till now. I'd been so preoccupied with the beauty and grandeur of the room itself and trying to figure out what the hell job I’d just been hired for, that I'd failed to notice all the personal touches that had been placed here for me. There was makeup on the dresser, an adjoining bathroom, where I could see a huge tub and freshly laundered towels. A small jewelry box sat on the dresser, open. A sparkling emerald necklace lay beside it.
A massive walk-in closet was positioned just off the bathroom. I turned on the light and saw more clothes than I'd ever owned in my entire life. I quickly flipped the light back off, my heart starting to pound a little too hard. I wasn’t stupid, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that something wasn't right here.
I looked back at the dress on the bed. I didn't know much about clothes, but I knew that this dress was not something bought off the rack at JC Penney. I stretched out a hand and touched it dress carefully. It was soft and smooth, very expensive looking. I noticed a tag at the top of it. Christian Dior. $10,000
I pulled my hand back like I'd touched fire. This couldn't be right. This wasn't for me. I checked the size. It was my size exactly, although I'd never given it to Brett when he'd asked. "Good guess," I mumbled.
I didn't think I could accept something so extravagant as this, but the simple beauty and elegance of it made me want to at least try it on. When would I ever be this close to a dress like this again? I undressed and decided to shower first. I didn't want to go to dinner smelling like a woman who slept on a park bench, even if that had been my reality lately. Besides, the bathroom was beautiful and I couldn't wait to sink into that tub. Later. Right now, I just needed a quick shower so I could get dressed and find out what was going on here.
Towels had already been set out for me. They smelled like rose petals and the shower itself was like nothing I'd ever seen. Two shower heads, one on each side, sprayed fine mist at me as I lathered my hair and soaped my body. I wanted to stay in this shower forever, but my stomach grumbled and I realized I hadn't eaten anything all day. Suddenly, dinner seemed less like an awkward chore and more like an enjoyable treat.
I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around myself. Back in the bedroom, I searched through the drawers, wondering if there might be a hair elastic or a bobby pin in one of them. I opened the top right drawer of a long, dark dresser. It was filled with exotic lingerie and custom bras. They were all my size. I shut it quickly.
What the hell is going on?
I sat on the bed, my legs weak, contemplating the situation. A closet full of clothes. A drawer full of lingerie. Vague answers or complete avoidance when I asked about the job. What was my role here, exactly? Brett's concubine? I looked around the room, with its lush furnishings and soft bed—sure beats a park bench. I was here. I might as well eat dinner. I was sure I'd find out more there, and if there was anything funny going on, I'd leave after dinner. I stood up, nodding my head, trying to reassure myself that I was making the right decision, and slipped into the dress.
Chapter 5
Downstairs, I learned what Jeremy meant about the house buttons. There were intercoms all over the place. When I got lost going down a hallway, I saw a button, and pushed it. Jeremy's voice immediately rang out guiding me to the dining room.
It was just as richly furnished as the rest of the home. Many of the furnishings were clearly antiques, including the table. Mr. Elliot was already seated and when I came in he stood up. "Good to see you again," he said.
"You too." His demeanor was so different from the other night, that I scarcely recognized him—except, of course, for the piercing ocean-blue eyes that seemed to slice into my soul. Well, that, and the fact that at 6’2” with a square jaw, straight, patrician nose, and wide, muscular chest tapering to a slender waist he was probably the hottest guy I’d ever seen in my life. I suddenly realized I was staring and averted my eyes.
"Thank you," I said, as he walked around and pulled out a chair for me. We sat on opposite sides of a long dining table. It was a little strange, but I supposed this way we each had our own space. He pushed my chair in before returning to his end.
Could this really be the same man I met the other day? Maybe Mr. Elliot had a twin.
"You look beautiful," he said. His eyes raked over me sending chills up and down my spine.
I blushed. "It's the dress."
"It's the woman in the dress."
I smiled. Slipping into the Dior had felt like taking a bath in champagne. It clung to my body in all the best ways, accentuating my curves and showcasing my breasts, of which I was very proud.
He rose from the table, which was long, dark wood, and poured a rich looking wine into my glass. "Thank you," I said again. "And thank you for the dress."
“Thank you… for wearing it.” He replied quietly, almost under his breath.
Jeremy came in then, followed by a woman in a simple chef's apron and pants. "Hello, Jeremy. Annabelle." He turned to me, "This is our talented chef, Annabelle. She prepares the most exquisite meals."
Annabelle smiled. She was pretty, but not in the plastic way that I'd begun getting used to out here. She was thin and lightly colored, with wavy golden hair that fell to her shoulders. She smiled at Mr. Elliot and a thin sliver of jealousy ran through me. Where did that come from?
"What is on the menu tonight, Annabelle?" Mr. Elliot asked. His voice radiated warmth.
"I kept it simple tonight," she replied. "Filet mignon with potatoes au gratin. Apple pie for dessert. Does that sound okay?"
Mr. Elliot looked directly into my eyes, and I felt a tingle of pleasure surge through my core. I had no idea where it came from, only that now that it had made its appearance, it may be impossible to push aside.
Annabelle smiled warmly at me and I fought the urge to rip her eyes out of her head. My hands trembled as Jeremy watched me intensely. "Sounds good," I said, hoping to hurry things along. What kind of idiot thought that filet mignon was a simple meal? Not us poor peasant folk. I felt a little like she'd insulted me. But, what I really couldn’t understand was the fierce protectiveness I felt for Mr. Elliot. He wasn’t “my Brett”, but my brain didn't seem to have gotten the memo.
Luckily, Annabelle went back to the kitchen, and it was Jeremy who returned with several trays of food. He laid them all out on the table in rich ceremony before serving us. It felt surreal having dinner served to me by a butler in a formal dining room while wearing a $10,000 dress. I wasn't sure I could get used to it. I kept wanting to get up and help, but decided to pretend I was auditioning for a movie role.
"You may leave us Jeremy," Mr. Elliot said with a wave of his hand.
Jeremy looked at me and his eyes darkened. "Are you quite certain Sir? Perhaps I should remain until after dinner. In case you require anything." Again, there was that veiled double meaning lurking behind his words. I couldn't explain it, but I knew it was there. Jeremy saw me watching him and smiled. His lips were pressed too-thin and his eyes too-narrow.
"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 series 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.
CLAIMED BY THE ALPHA UNDERBOSS Page 19
