Forbidden To Say No - The Billionaire's Plaything (An Erotic Romance Novel) (3 page)

"A different address" she says, assertively, before turning back to her tub of ice-cream on the glass coffee table.
Fine
, a red dress, at a different address, for a man whose name I didn't even have the presence of mind to capture. Under normal circumstances I'd have questioned it, but I'm so thrilled to have resurrected my dying acting career in just five minutes, I instead hop merrily upstairs, and begin rifling through my wardrobes to find something suitable.
A red dress
.

Chapter Three

Something's different. Standing before the bathroom mirror yet again, wearing my long black hair neatly, falling to just below my shoulders, and a sheen of red lipstick on my shuddering lips, I'm almost content with my appearance. The red dress - that I had to beg and plead to borrow from Carissa - fits my slender body perfectly, really accentuating my hips and ass, if I do say so myself, coming to just below my knees. I look almost as though I'm going out on a date. Maybe that's the key to a confident, calm audition; dressing up for the part.

I recite a few tongue-twisters to myself, watching myself intently in the mirror as I do so, before turning and bounding back down the stairs, finding Carissa lying prostrate upon the couch, a night of hard partying and harder drinking apparently having gotten the better of her. She groans upon hearing me, and groans a little more enthusiastically upon seeing how well I fit her dress.

"You'll do fine, kidder," is all she can say, before burying her head into the fabric of the couch, and tuning back into whatever reality trash passes for entertainment on TV these days. Thanks for the vote of confidence, sister.

I'm not nervous. At least, if I truly am, I can't feel it. Carissa's words just keep going over in my mind;
he
liked what he saw?
He
wants me for another audition? Auditions before a panel usually involve a group decision. That I've been called in by one man is quite enough to pique my curiosity. And besides, just which moment in my two minute meltdown did he supposedly enjoy? The only thing I didn't do was fall to my knees in there. Maybe if I'd had the time...

I try to banish all demons of doubt from my mind, put myself in front of the wheel, and start the car, noisily silencing the niggling curiosities I feel about all of this. Carissa wrote the address down on the back of a napkin; a studio in a hotel. Unusual, but I've auditioned in hotels before. I set off, enjoying the beaming radiance of the morning California Sun.

***

"Yes?" snaps the woman behind the hotel reception desk, her attention obviously captured elsewhere. I consider speaking, but instead just pass her the napkin, hotel room crudely inked upon it and all. She shoots me one of those glances you seem to get quite a lot in Hollywood as an unrecognized actor; the simultaneously envious and resentful look, narrowing her green eyes at me and tearing her face away from mine as though physically repulsed. I guess she's a failing actress too. Everyone in this part of town is.

She nods in the direction of the elevator, unwilling to give me another single word.
Fine
. I make it to the elevator and jab the button for the 7th floor with my finger, batting at it a few more times impatiently before the doors close before me, and I'm back to being alone, if only for a few more moments. My heart pounds in my ears, my fingers tremble slightly, and my stomach is filled with butterflies, but right now I don't feel bad. If I didn't know better, I'd almost say I'm excited.

I'm shaken from my day-dreaming, introspective slumber by the loud and piercing
ping
of the elevator, and the doors open to bathe me in a harsh, golden light. We're on the 7th floor, whose corridors apparently consist of nothing other than windows. With stinging eyes and warm, burning flesh, I stumble out of the elevator, scanning each door for the correct number. 7A, 7B, 7C,
7D,
this is the one. I clumsily rifle through my handbag, finding my phone and checking the time. 10AM on the dot. And with a deep breath, holding it inside for several seconds, before exhaling deeply, I knock on the door.

"Come in" is all I hear from behind the thick, wooden door. I do as the sole voice says, feeling the welcome cool steel of the handle, and opening it. I strain my eyes as soon as I make the first few steps inside; nothing but white walls, white ceiling, and a white floor, punctuated only by a line of mirrors covering the wall to my right, and a brutal, unrelenting set of florescent white lights above me, showering me in a sterile, purifying white light. No windows, no decoration. I narrow my eyes, unprepared for the stunning brightness of this place, and barely see the man sat alone in a black chair in the corner of the room, its only other inhabitant. Shielding my eyes with the back of my palm, I can only just begin to make out his appearance.

"Miss Everett," calls the voice, deep and monotone. I arch my neck outwards, peering fruitlessly to try to get a better look, but it’s no use. I'm beaten by the sheer brightness of this absurdist room. "It's a pleasure to meet you again. Please close the door behind you."

Oh, the door, of course! I push it shut, echoing throughout the four walls, before turning back around to face my inquisitor. Sitting in the corner of the large, expansive room, maybe twenty feet from where I stand, I sort of expected the baseball-capped guy from yesterday. Instead, wearing a black suit jacket, a dapper white shirt beneath, and a pair of creaseless suit pants, someone very different awaits me.

"Thank you for the opportunity," I announce, narrowing my eyes against the all-illuminating bright light. I can't shake the feeling of being forensically examined somehow. I turn my head to the right, and catch a glimpse of myself in the wall of mirrors, looking just like the proverbial deer in the headlights; my red dress clinging tightly to my slender figure, rather ill at ease.

"Don't mention it," he says, leaning back in his chair, and grinning that same wry smirk I saw so much of yesterday. I should have guessed; jet black hair, cheekbones positioned high in his face, looking so sharp they could cut diamonds. I've finally coaxed him into speaking.

"Will the other two not be joining us today?" I manage to build up the confidence to ask, after several moments of undue silence. I'm still straining - my eyes having not yet adjusted to this heavenly glow - but I see him shake his head, staring through me with the force and intensity of one of the remorseless florescent lights above.

"This is just us."

"Okay," I reply, trying my best to sound sincere and enthusiastic. I tap my feet upon the floor several times, finding a more comfortable footing. Why can't I have a chair?

"Chloe Everett," he says loudly, his voice booming and echoing against each of the four walls. "Twenty two years young, no drama school, no college qualifications - oh - but quite a lot of experience as an extra. I knew I'd seen your face somewhere before."

I giggle out loud, before banishing my inner easily-pleased schoolgirl, and put on my business face.

"So, what's the nature of this audition, Mr. -"

He hesitates a little, shaking his head from side to side dismissively, before looking back at me and speaking once more. It's hard to tell, but I think that one sentence wiped some of the giddy grin from his face.

"Mr. Grant. Mr. Daniel Grant."

He speaks with a booming and deep tone, echoing around the room once more. His words carry a certain authority, almost as if he's used to people recognizing and reveling in his name, and upon seeing my blank expression thereafter, he raises an eyebrow incredulously. Well, I'm sorry if I don't know
every
casting agent in town, sir.

"Nice to meet you," is all I offer. I'd shake his hand, but I'm quite comfortable enough where I am. Several more seconds of silence ensue, and I feel compelled to break them, even as my mounting nerves beg otherwise. "So, do I read from a script today?"

"No. No script." There's something strange about the way he speaks. I can't quite put my finger on it; it's as if he sounds his best to sound disinterested, yet every raised eyebrow and every excited vowel can't hide a torrent of exhilaration from within him. "Improvisation. Today is all about improvisation, Miss Everett. Going with the flow!"

The way he eagerly barks his words at me give me the impression of a person much more excitable than their restrained demeanor would like to admit. I like his energy, even if the prospect of on the spot improvisation strikes another dissonant chord of fear into my stomach, making my toes fidget nervously inside my high heels.

"Improvisation, right." I gulp, loud enough to produce another echo throughout the room. How embarrassing.

"You're stuck in an elevator. It's been an hour, and no-one has come to help you. Suddenly, the lights go out, and you're bathed in darkness, your only bridge to the outside world being a thin shaft of light from between the top of the elevator doors, and the gentle draft from within the elevator shaft." He pauses, looking for a moment as if he wants to add something else. I see for the first time the faintest glimmer of dark blue, glowing from his eyes like radiant waters. He's strikingly beautiful, even if I won't yet admit it to myself. "You're frightened. Take it away!"

I stand with my feet parted at shoulder width, my hands idly by my sides, and my jaws nervously chattering together, chewing my lip anxiously. Jesus, I didn't expect to be put on the spot like this! Seeking a refuge from the sterile, purifying white light that's all around me, I close my eyes, retreating into my own world, and try to visualize the scene. Darkness. The breeze on my shins and feet, the gentle swaying of the idle elevator car. The horrifying, maddening nerves. I've been forgotten about. They've left me here.

"Oh God," I mutter to myself, coming to terms with the so-called reality of the situation, keeping my eyes screwed firmly shut. "The lights, the lights have gone."

I turn my head, and spin myself around, looking to each darkened corner of the elevator. I feel my hands shake - my fingers trembling nervously - and my sane, rational mind begins to slip away from me. Then I think of all the stupid, trivial little things I miss. All the stupid, trivial things I might never see again.

"I left the front door unlocked," I say to myself aloud, echoing around the room, "the toaster's still plugged in, the milk's going to go off. I can't die in here, I've got too much waiting on me."

I think of my sister - my only true friend in this world - and how she'd cope without me. The very image drives a blood-curdling torrent of energy to my vocal chords, and I scream loudly.

"
Ohhh Christ, help
!"

Suddenly I feel hands on me; sharp fingers gripping the bare skin of my forearms, bringing me back to the hotel, and back to the brutal white light I've tried so hard to escape from. I open my eyes, and see him before me; his face gorgeously lit, bathed in bright light, and staring right into me.

"Okay, okay, I'm impressed," he says, holding me tightly. For the first time, I can see those eyes for how they truly are; bright blue, with thick, deep black pupils inside, so large I can almost see my own face staring back at me in adoration. He's taller than me, 6'1" at least, and his arms, although hidden behind a rather dapper looking suit jacket, feel assertive and forceful, enough to shake me from my imagination-induced stupor and bring me back to Earth, at least.

"I'm sorry, was I too loud?"

He smiles wryly again, contorting the side of his thin lips into a sly grin, appearing both graciously amused, and somewhat aloof.

"You're fine, really."

His hands leave my arms, and he takes a step back. My flesh tingles slightly, his fingers having left red marks upon my pale skin. I like the feeling.

"Miss Everett," he says with a breathy sigh, diverting his eyes to the ground as though preparing to deliver bad news. "You know, being an actor has certain intricacies that, well, I'm not so sure your background would allow for."

His words sail right past me at first. It's only when I engage my mind, and tear my eyes away from studying his handsome features that I comprehend what he's saying.

"Intricacies? What do you mean?"

"Nudity" he bellows, sternly echoing around the room. "Taking one's clothes off. I noticed in your work history that you haven't yet performed any naked scenes."

Oh boy
, we're having
this
conversation? I'd always wanted to stall this particular discussion until I'd won my first Oscar. I'd have settled for an Emmy, even. I step back involuntarily, betraying more insecurity than I'd like to admit, and put my hand over my mouth in a display of prudish shock.

"Oh, well, uhm, I suppose, I uhm -"

All of a sudden, I'm back inside the darkened elevator, and back inside my bathroom at home, trying my hardest to battle back the demons of anxiety and unease, confronting an unfortunate reality I always knew this line of work would bring me to.

"It's something I might consider" is the only thing I can spit out, a diplomatic and non-committal answer, and one that by the look on his face doesn't please him.

"Well, you can take orders can't you?" he replies with pointed disappointment. Then, crossing his arms, and cocking his chin to the root of his neck, looking down to my toes, almost, he pierces the warm, white air with a forceful yell. "Sit down!"

I jump out of my skin, shook from my reluctant nervousness by his deafening cry. Without giving it a moment's thought, I do as he says, dropping to my knees, and back onto my ass, giving no mind to the dust I'll inevitably cover my sister's dress in. I look back up to my host, and see nothing but bright, white light engulfing his face like some malevolent halo.

"Now stand up!"

Again, I do as I'm told, springing to my feet with relish. The energetic exertion leaves me a little out of breath, but at this level I can at least see the sense of satisfaction so beamingly apparently on his face. I feel used and demeaned, as though I've been brought here to satisfy the every whim of some egotistical casting agent. But oddly enough, the thought of bouncing back down the corridor and back to my car isn't even an option to me right now. I’m ashamed to even admit it, but being used and demeaned doesn’t seem so bad right now.