The Girl Who Can't Say No: Bound To The Billionaire (Part One) (A BDSM Erotic Romance Novelette) (3 page)

My heart sinks once again. I stand before her
with my jaw open wide, and my eyes peering into her, hopefully and
expectantly, awaiting the news she has to give me.

"Apparently he liked what he saw today. He
wants you to go back in tomorrow morning for another audition." She
closes her eyes, and gently taps her palm against her head, trying
desperately to stoke the fires of her memory. "Red dress, that's
it."

"They called the house phone?" is all I can
think to ask, slightly shocked and bewildered by the news. I'm
wanted?
I'm actually fucking wanted
?

"Don't shoot the fucking messenger next time,
huh."

I pounce on her, wrapping her in my arms,
squeezing every last breath out of her, grinning wildly.
You're
the best messenger I could hope for, Carissa
. As she bats me
off her slender body with playful closed fists, however, one more
thing pops into my mind.

"Wait, what do you mean,
he
liked what
he saw today? I auditioned for three people."

She blows her hair out of her face, and
breathes heavy, struggling to regain the breath I hugged out of
her. After several suspenseful moments, she answers.

"That's the message. He wants you to go in
tomorrow. I wrote the address down on a notepad somewhere."

"The address?" I scratch my head, before
planting my foot down on a half-eaten bag of potato chips upon the
floor, arousing a loud
crunch
. Sort of reminds me of where I
was an hour ago. "I have the address, I drove there earlier today,
obviously."

"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."