Phantom's Proposal Chapter 1, a phantom of the opera fanfic

GREETINGS and SALUTATIONS!

I'm Back!

I know it's been over a years since I left, but I've spent the last 18 months on a quest with thirteen dwarves, one hobbit, and a wizard over in Middle Earth. (writing under the name ThatOtherWriterGirl for the Hobbit fandom.) I had a lot of fun there, but I found I missed my dear, sweet Erik, so I hurried on back.

I want to thank all those who kept asking if my modern day Erik story would ever get posted, since you made me eager to see it finished. And while I'm not quite done yet, I think I have enough chapters stored up to keep ahead of you voracious readers. I plan on posting the first four chapters rather quickly, and then slow down to a manageable pace of just two per week.

Welcome back to all my returning readers, and a great big hello to all the new ones. Erik and I love reviews, and I do answer each and every one of them!

Also, even though Erik is the rich and mysterious CEO, and he makes a business proposition to Christine...this is NOT a "50 Shades of Phantom" kind of story. Not at all. Just wanted to get that straight right off the bat.

Now, on with the show!

Phantom's Proposal

Chapter 1

~X~

What was she even doing here? Christine thought to herself for the hundredth time. This was insane…she was insane! No…it was Erik Thorn who was the madman in all this, and she had the two-thousand eight hundred and twenty-seven dollars in cash to prove it. She clutched her purse a bit tighter as she thought of the large sum of money stored inside, looking around the massive waiting room as if she expected a thief to jump out at any moment and take it from her. Yet the only one besides her in the entire room was the receptionist who glanced up occasionally, giving her an almost nervous smile.

If it wasn't for the money, Christine wouldn't be sitting there now, waiting for Mr. Thorn to deem her worthy to be seen. Granted she had only been waiting for five minutes, but as nervous as she was, it already seemed like hours. How on earth had that man known the exact amount she was in need of to pay her currently overdue rent, as well as the back money she owed? He was a strange one, that was for sure…strange, dangerous and obviously manipulative. The letter with the money had arrived yesterday, asking that she meet him here at Phantom Industries, his high-rise office building in the middle of town, stating that he had a very lucrative business proposal for her. There was no way she would have accepted his invitation if it had not been accompanied by the cash, and she was certain he knew that. Christine had decided to come today for one reason only - to throw the money back in his face and tell him that she could not be bought! And yet…keeping the money would save her from being evicted from her small and dreary one bedroom apartment, not to mention avoiding a black mark on her rental history.

Yet none of that mattered more than her pride and integrity, so gripping her bag even tighter, she was determined to do the right thing. She would return the money and after listening politely to whatever this man proposed, she would turn him down and walk out with her head held high and her honor intact. Yes, that was exactly what she would do.

"I am so sorry to keep you waiting, but Mr. Thorn is on an overseas conference call and these things do take time," the pretty secretary with long blond hair spoke up. "Would you care for a cup of coffee while you wait…a muffin perhaps?"

"No…thank you. I'm fine," Christine replied, giving the woman a nod of understanding. It was hardly her fault that the man she came to see was too busy to even keep an appointment he had made in the first place! Perhaps Christine would take a few dollars out of the money he gave her to pay for her time and trouble. It would serve him right if she did, and besides it was not as if he needed it back. Just looking around his office, she suspected that simply one of the paintings or sculptures, so prominently displayed, probably cost more than everything she owned put together.

Christine glanced at the clock once more; seven minutes past the hour. She made a mental calculation and decided to charge Mr. Thorn ten dollars a minute after their scheduled appointment time. It was perhaps a bit pricey, but her spare time was very limited these days, thus making it precious to her, as well as to her father. As a result, Christine had no qualms about charging him for wasting it. It seemed only fair.

As she watched another minute tick by, and another ten dollars added to her bank account, she thought back to the first time she had laid eyes on Erik Thorn. Had it truly only been a month since he originally came into the restaurant? Yet the passage of time was not something Christine paid much attention to lately, for every day seemed to bring with it more troubles, bills and heartache. Oh, if only she had known then what she knew now…

~XXX~

It had been a normal Monday night, nothing special…until they walked in. Five men, most of them dressed in dark suits, all looking as if they had just stepped out of some mafia movie…all but one. Erik Thorn. Granted she did not know his name back then, but he still stood out like a sore thumb amongst the others. Mostly because he wore a mask…and not just any mask, but a full faced white mask that left only his lips uncovered. Of course her first thought was that he was in disguise, perhaps just coming from some fancy masquerade party and had forgotten to remove it. Then her next thought was that he was trying to not be recognized, and considering who he was with, she could easily understand his motives. Yet, he did not seem uncomfortable or nervous in any way. In fact, he seemed in control of everyone and everything the moment he walked in, making all sit up and take notice.

The mysterious group headed for the back table, one of the few in the place that was large enough to accommodate their number. Christine gave a groan as she saw that it was table five, right in the middle of her section, and she realized that she would be the one assigned to wait on them. Granted they had many unsavory characters frequent this place, seeing as how it was not located in the nicest part of town, but Raffie, the owner, did his best to keep the place clean and free of any lowlifes who wished to make it their usual hangout. The food was excellent and Christine and her fellow waitresses did their best to keep the customers happy as well as served promptly. In between waiting tables, each girl was expected to perform one song per night, as a bit of a dinner theater, in hopes of classing up the place. It might be the job in food service that paid the bills, but it was that one performance a night that kept Christine's dreams alive…and right now she needed that.

"Man, Christine, tough break," Maria whispered as the two of them watched the men being seated at her table. "I don't envy you."

Christine gave a sigh and squared her shoulders. She would not let this get her down, not tonight.

"Who knows…maybe they'll be big tippers," she spoke up, tossing her associate a hopeful grin.

"I'm not sure you would want their money," Maria warned. "You know what kind of men those are, right?"

"Rich?" she guessed optimistically, knowing that was not what her workmate meant at all.

"They're thugs, Christine!" she hissed, placing her finger to her nose and bending it over just a bit for emphasis. "Mobsters…you know, like Scarface and the Godfather? Look, that one in the back is even wearing a mask! What does that tell you?" Maria did not even wait for her friend to reply, simply rattling on with her one track mind. "It tells me that he's dangerous, that's what. So you best be careful!" She then hurried off to take care of her own tables, leaving Christine even more nervous than before.

"Oh, well, nothing to do but bite the bullet and get it over with," she mumbled to herself as she pulled her receipt book out of her pocket and her pen from behind her ear. Not for the first time, and certainly not the last, she wished the uniforms they were required to wear fell a bit lower on her legs. They were not immodest by any means, but still, Christine was not always comfortable approaching men dressed as she was. Yet, a job was a job and this one had the added bonus of free meals and singing as a perk.

"Good evening, gentlemen, my name is Christine and I will be serving you tonight. May I start you off with something to drink?" she spoke the words by rote, having said them half a million times since she took the job last year.

"Well, hello there," the man closest to her left replied, as he turned and gave her a leering look, his eyes roaming up and down her curvaceous form. "Aren't you a sweet thing?"

Christine could not help but sigh and roll her eyes in irritation and disgust, even if she had heard it all before. During her time at the restaurant, men had called her everything from beautiful to scrumptious – as if she were some piece of pie that could be found on the menu. Most of the time she just ignored them or laughed it off, but for some reason this time it really bothered her.

Christine had never viewed herself as anything more than average, though her father had always been quick to point out just how much she resembled her beautiful mother. She was of medium height and slender, with long chestnut brown hair that was currently tied up in a ponytail and cascading down her back in an unruly river of natural curls. And even though she got her share of compliments, Christine felt no more special than any other girl you would meet on any street here in New York. Besides that, she had been on her feet most of the day, had spent far too much time in the sauna-like kitchen, and she was sure she looked a mess. Yet this creep had the audacity to try and make her believe she appeared appealing? The man was obviously delusional…or extremely desperate.

"And what can I get for the rest of you?" she asked the others, purposefully ignoring the rude one in front of her.

"I will have a scotch on the rocks," the next one informed her, leaning back as he too gave her an appraising stare. Thankfully he held his tongue and said nothing offensive as the other two men on her right also gave their orders. Finally the obnoxious one decided to give an answer to her question, realizing that he would not be getting a rise out of her.

"And you, sir?" she asked the dark haired man in the back, the one who wore the odd facial covering. When he did not answer right away, she looked up from her pad and met his gaze…a moment, which would forever be etched in her mind. He had piercing amber eyes that were nothing short of terrifying…and yet, equally compelling. They were not cold and dark like those of his companions, instead they were attractive and filled with curiosity as well as a touch of…wonderment? It almost made her feel like a small woodland creature, caught in the predatory stare of some approaching beast, seeking to devour her. It left her breathless and unable to look away, fearing that if she took her eyes off of his, her whole world might somehow crumble to pieces. He held her gaze for a long while…both of them lost in this moment of silent assessment, until one of the men cleared his throat.

"Are you going to order or not, Thorn?" he asked, apparently irritated by the delay.

"Water," the masked man spoke up, his voice like nothing Christine had ever heard before. It was an intoxicating mixture of music and raw sex…the kind of voice she imagined would leave a woman weak in the knees, and begging to hear it whispered to her in a darkened bedroom. Not that Christine had ever experienced such a thing herself, her life had been far too complicated lately to even think of dates or lovers. But she read books and watched movies, and in her mind she could just picture what the man before her was capable of if he chose to wield his sexual prowess on some helpless female.

"Only water?" she asked, her dry throat suddenly in desperate need of the liquid in question. "Nothing else?"

"With ice," he added, one corner of his perfectly formed lips rising in what could only be classified as a confident smirk.

"I…I'll be right back with your orders," Christine stammered, finally able to tear her eyes from his as she practically ran away from the table. Once behind the kitchen doors she braced herself against the porcelain sink and took a few deep breaths. Who was that man?

"That bad, huh?" Maria asked, sneaking up behind her and making her jump. "I told you those fellas were bad news."

"No…it...it's all right," Christine lied, straightening up and doing her best to appear convincing. "I can handle it…I mean, we've all dealt with worse." Though for the life of her she couldn't honestly remember when.

"Well, if you say so," Maria eyed her suspiciously. "But if you need any help, you just give a shout."

"Help with what?" It was the manager, Raffie, who came walking up, hearing some of the conversation and noting the concern in Maria's eyes. "Is someone giving one of my girls trouble?"

"The goons at table five," Maria was quick to inform him. "They look like bad news."

"Is this true, Christine? Did they act inappropriately towards you?" He was actually a very kind man, not what you would expect from the hard-nosed businessman out to make a buck, but he truly cared about his employees.

"They have said nothing more than what some of the college boys do when they come in from time to time," she assured him, giving him a smile. "It's just that…well…"

"They're mobsters, Raffie, plain as day!" Maria continued to insist. "One of them is even wearing a mask for pity's sake!"

"Mobsters? Seriously, Maria, you watch too much television," Raffie chuckled, walking over to the swinging door and peeking out the round glass window, scanning the room until his eyes settled on table five. "Hmmmm, they do seem rather shady, but I wouldn't be the first to cry Mafia. And the one with the mask…I think I might know who he is."

"You do?" This shocked Christine and she approached the doors as well, peeking out over Raffie's shoulder.

"Not personally, but by reputation," her boss confessed. "I'm willing to bet that's the reclusive billionaire, Erik Thorn, the CEO of Phantom Industries. He doesn't grant interviews or consent to having his picture plastered in all the newspapers, but rumor is he wears a mask to hide some kind of deformity…and from what I hear, it aint pretty." He then gave a shrug of his shoulders. "Yet how much stock can you put in rumors these days, he probably just does it to hide his true identity. You know, kind of like how some of those country stars always wear cowboy hats and a beard while performing. That way, when they want to go around as normal people they just shave, remove the hat, and no one recognizes them. Maybe he does the same thing…wears the mask so that when he walks around like a regular guy, he's invisible. I'm sure with as much money as he has, having no one know who you are from time to time can be a blessing. I'd be more willing to believe that scenario than the one where he's said to have a face that looks like death," Raffie said with a slight chuckle.

"When I took their order, one of the other men did call him Thorn," Christine confessed, now even more in awe of the man who had caused her so much panic. With those eyes, that voice, and money to burn…he wasn't dangerous, he was downright deadly!

"Well there you have it," Raffie concluded. "Yet the rest of those men…I have to agree with Maria…they look like trouble. You sure you can handle them, Christine?"

"Pretty sure," she told him, giving a weak smile.

"Well, I'll be close by, so if they start hassling you, just flash me a sign and I'll take over," he assured her, giving her a wink of assurance. "In the meantime, you best not keep them waiting. With Thorn in the mix, you don't want to risk losing out on a big tip due to slow service."

"Yes, sir," Christine laughed, feeling much better now that she knew someone was backing her up. So after taking one last deep breath she headed out the door and towards the bar to fill their drink orders.

When she returned with her tray, laden with both alcohol and a tall glass of ice water, Christine did her best to avoid eye contact with any of the men, listing off their orders as she sat them in front of each man. Once everyone was served she set the empty tray on a nearby table and pulled out her receipt book once more.

"Have you all decided what you would like?" she asked, noting that they had closed the menus the hostess had given them when they had been seated. Christine did her best to keep any hint of trepidation out of her voice, but even she knew she was not fooling anyone.

"What do you recommend, honey?" the man on her immediate left asked, causing her to cringe once more at his rude comment.

"The sea bass is fresh tonight," she rattled off. And so are you, it would seem, she thought to herself, refusing to look up as she spoke. "The chef has also prepared a very tasty eggplant parmesan."

"And what do you recommend for dessert, darling?" he continued, his tone suddenly becoming even more smarmy, if that was at all possible. Yet, before Christine could open her mouth to answer, the man's hand shot out and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her forward as she stumbled and fell against him, bringing their faces…and lips… dangerously close to each other. "How about I take a sample from you now, and then have you come back to my place for the full course, sweet thing?"

Christine was aghast, shocked and completely stunned by his actions. Her mouth fell open and her eyes grew wide as she fought for something to say…anything that might get her out of the predicament…and this man's arms. Just when she had gained enough of her wits to begin to struggle, mentally calculating the most damaging spot to place her knee and inflict some pain, the lecherous lout suddenly froze, his face morphing from confident to panicked in the space of two seconds.

"I would suggest you let the lady go, Morte," came the sultry voice of the man in the back. Yet this time it held more of a threatening tone, one that promised misery and pain if one did not comply with his wishes. "That is…if you want this meeting to continue without any hard feelings."

Christine noted that the fellow sitting between the masked man and Morte had pushed his chair back from the table, a look of shock on his face. Following his eyes, she caught a glint of metal where Thorn's hand met with her would-be accoster. Christine was not sure if it was a gun or a knife, and truth be told, she didn't want to know. But whatever it was, it had the man still holding her sweating with fear.

"Hey, now…" he began, loosening his hold on Christine enough so that she was able to regain her footing and stand up. "It was just a bit of fun…no harm done…right, darling? It was all a joke."

"The lady does not seem to be laughing, now does she?" the masked man continued. "And her name is Christine…not honey, or darling, and certainly not sweet thing! Understood?"

"Yah…sure, whatever you say," the man stammered, while the other three watched on with what Christine considered respectful compliance. It was her guess that if this Thorn chose to turn violent at that moment, none of the others would lift a finger to help this Morte fellow. She was spared having to find out, by the sudden and greatly appreciated appearance of Raffie, apparently having kept an eye on the situation like he promised.

"Is there a problem here, boys?" he asked, pushing up his shirtsleeves as if he were preparing for a fistfight. It occurred to her that he might seem a bit more intimidating were he not wearing a bow-tie and an apron.

"No trouble at all," Thorn replied, sitting back in his seat, his right hand gliding under the table for a moment, before reappearing as he opened his arms in an innocent gesture.

"Right," Raffie replied, not sounding at all convinced. He eyed the now sweating pig of a man to his left, having seen exactly what had happened between him and Christine. He would have liked nothing more than to toss them all out on their ear, but even Raffie feared the repercussions of what might happen should he do something so insulting. If these were indeed mobsters, like Maria had been saying, then it was best not to make enemies. Still, he could not allow them to treat his girls that way! "Christine, isn't it almost time for your performance?" he asked, looking over at the slightly shaken girl, and taking pity on her. "I'll cover your stations, so you can go get ready."

It was at least an hour before she was scheduled to sing that night, yet Christine was not about to pass up the opportunity to escape all this and turn the table over to Raffie. Giving him a grateful nod of thanks, she picked up the tray and headed for the backroom, eager to find a quiet spot in which to break down. Yet as she went, she couldn't help but steal one last look at Erik Thorn, whose eyes seemed to bore into her with the heat of a thousand suns.

"Now…what'll you all be having?" Raffie asked gruffly as he whipped out his own tablet and began to take their orders.

By the time her turn came to take the stage, Christine was feeling much better, and she attempted to put the confrontation at table five out of her mind. Singing had always been her joy, her passion, yet when her father had become ill, she was forced to drop out of music school and find work. That had been a year ago, and each day since Christine felt like her life was slipping farther and farther from her grasp. Yet for the next few minutes, she would lose herself in the music….forget all her troubles, and just sing. And that was exactly what she did, not even noticing the piercing pair of amber eyes that never left her as she raised her voice in song. However, the very large tip that had been left at table five, wrapped in a napkin with Christine's name written across it, gave her some idea that he might have still been watching.

While that had been the first time Christine saw Erik Thorn, it would not be the last. The very next evening he came back, thankfully alone this time, requested table five, and sat there until she came to take his order. He asked for ice water again, as well as the special, not even bothering to inquire what it might be. Christine was not sure if she should speak to him about what happened the previous night, perhaps thank him for intervening on her behalf. Yet he did not seem eager to discuss anything but his order, so she kept things professional, doing her job and nothing more.

The next night, and just about every one after that, the masked man returned, showing up at the restaurant and requesting the same table as well as ordering the same thing. He hardly ever touched his meal, only sipping at his water glass as his eyes stalked her every move. At first it was very unnerving, yet after so many nights, it began to feel less invasive…less threatening. Sometimes he would bring a laptop and a folder full of papers to work on, spreading them out over the large table and appearing completely engrossed in his work until Christine approached. Then he would shut the computer, push the papers aside and wait for her to speak, appearing almost eager to hear her voice.

Each night he would leave directly after Christine's performance, always placing a large gratuity within the folds of a napkin with her name written on it. All the tips earned by the waitresses were split between them equally, giving a share to the hostess and the busboys, since they too only made minimum wage. The others were always curious as to how much Christine's mysterious man left each night, and often credited a new pair of shoes or handbag to his generosity. Even Maria, who had originally been dead set against 'his kind', as she still referred to him, now looked forward to his presence each night.

Christine had grown accustomed to finding his nightly gratuities, yet when he began to write a few words about her singing on the napkin as well, she was shocked! It was not exactly criticism, more like helpful suggestions on how she might improve the song, yet his words stung her pride and Christine quickly wadded up the napkin and tossed it in the garbage in a huff. What the heck did he know about music? Who was he to lecture her on breathing techniques and how to hold a note longer? What a colossal jerk!

A few weeks later, Erik arrived to find there was already a party seated at table five, enjoying their meal and lively conversation. He waved off the hostess' offer to be seated elsewhere, and marched right over to the group. He slapped a hundred dollar bill down on the table, and in a very authoritative voice told them to move! They only stared at him in stunned silence for a few seconds, before picking up their half-eaten plates and quickly relocating across the room. Obviously pleased with himself, Erik sat down, took a linen handkerchief out of his pocket and began to dust the crumbs off the table, making things a bit neater.

Christine had been delivering an order to one of her other tables when she caught sight of what Erik had done. Her customary warm smile faded to a look of pure rage, and she set the tray down in the middle of the group rather abruptly, tipping over a water glass and a basket of breadsticks in the process. With a hasty word of apology, Christine left them to serve themselves, and marched directly over to table five. Fully intent on giving Mr. Thorn a much overdue piece of her mind!

"Who do you think you are?" she hissed through clenched teeth, doing her best to keep her voice low, while still letting her ire show. "Those were some of my best customers! How dare you treat them so callously?"

"It is six o'clock," he stated matter of factly. "I always come in at six o'clock and sit at table five. If you had simply held my table open, I would never have had to relocate them. The fault is clearly not mine. Besides, they were well compensated for the inconvenience."

"That's not the point!" Christine seethed. "Just because you are some big shot rich guy, does not give you the right to treat people like you can buy them!"

"Are you certain of that?" he asked, his lips upturned in a bit of a self-satisfied smirk.

"Yes! I am!" He was such an infuriating man!

"Yet here I am, at my table nonetheless," he pointed out, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back in his seat. "So are you going to take my order, or not?"

"Why should I bother? You always ask for the special, no matter what I say it is, along with your customary glass of water…with ice," she ranted on.

"Have I truly grown so predictable?" he inquired, that smug little smile of his making her want to throw something at him. "Very well. I will have a glass of ginger ale, no ice and the…fish and chips, I believe."

Christine stared at him for a long moment, unable to fathom the arrogance of this man. All she wanted to do was reach across the table and slap that mask right off his face! Instead, she gave an angry huff, turned on her heel and stomped off to the kitchen to fetch his order.

~XXX~

That had been over two weeks ago, and the last time she had seen him at the restaurant. Maria had told her that he had come in the very next evening, yet she had been forced to take an unexpected night off, needing to be at her father's side more than the money working would have provided. Yet after that, he seemed to suddenly disappear, not showing up at his usual time or coming in to listen to her sing. Christine told herself that she should be happy about his absence, even if everyone did miss his generous tips. However, when the letter arrived, with the fistful of cash and the note demanding her presence at his office, her happiness turned to outrage.

Today she would tell Erik Thorn, in no uncertain terms, to quit coming to the restaurant, to stop sitting in her section, and that she would no longer be humoring his creepy stalker ways. However, the longer she sat there, fretting over what she might say, the more she realized exactly what a dangerous position she had placed herself in. This was his domain…his territory, and here there was no Raffie to step in, should things turn dangerous. Granted he had never acted in anyway threatening towards her…yet she was not fool enough to imagine he was incapable of such things. What was she doing? She really was insane!

Christine had just stood up to leave, deciding to simply mail the money back to him…minus her fee for coming here and being made to wait, of course, when she heard a buzz at the receptionist's desk.

"Yes, Mr. Thorn?" the perky girl asked, pushing a button down on the phone as she spoke into the intercom.

"You may send in Miss Daaé," came the mellifluous voice on the other end. "I am ready for her now."

Oh, God, Christine thought to herself. He might be ready for me….but am I ready for him?

Ready or not...here he comes!

Well, what do you think so far? Is Christine in a heap of trouble or what?

And what was Erik doing that night at the restaurant with those goons? How did Erik find out the details of her financial situation? But most importantly, what do you think will happen when Christine walks into his office?

Tune in on Tuesday and find out!

Here is where I would normally put any guest reviews, for those who leave them but don't have an account for me to respond to them in person. But since this is Chapter 1...there are none yet. ha ha. Maybe next time.