Learning to Trust Part 1 (2 page)

I finished my sip and tried to put myself back together. “Yes, yes, Mr. Starland. I’ve got many questions for you.”

“Please, call me Ro
land
. You’re in my home with me, a guest. We don’t need to adhere to silly social conventions here.”

That hit me a little off guard. Here I was in business attire, ready to professionally deal with one of the richest men in the world. “
Uh, okay. Roland
.”

“You probably want to know about StarChem. Shame what happened with that illegal dumping in India.”

“Yes, Mr. Star—Roland. Are you accepting responsibility for that disaster? What are you doing about it?” I suddenly felt empowered, like I could dig into his mind. I felt like regular old determine
d
Marisa again.

“That’s a big question, Marisa. I don’t think we can talk about that right now.”

Shit.
He was already closing up.
Time to try a
gain
.
“What about the unlawful evictions that Starland Realty has been associated with? The banking fraud? The forged books?”

Roland sat there, staring at the bea
utiful, high walls of his house, totally unfazed by my questioning. Certainly a man this rich had dealt with things much more intense than my humble questioning. “Marisa, I know what you’re doing here. I think you’re moving a bit too fast. If we were romantically—well,
never mind
that.” A wicked smile formed across his face, one that held me captive, wondering what it meant. “I know that you’ve got all the time you need with me. Why should we spoil such fun on the first day?”

I didn’t even know what to say. How could he know that I had as much time as I needed, a travel budget that was near limitless (within reason)? Had he call
ed
our office and inquired about my whereabou
ts? This man was a
total expert
,
at the very least. “Well, Roland, I—“

“I’m not comfortable with your business attire. This isn’t a job interview. You really should wear something more comfortable for tomorrow.
Sexy, but too professional.
”

I felt the heat rushing into my cheeks again.
Why was I lettin
g him manipulate me like this
? “Uh, sure, but—“

“Marisa, I know what you’re here for. You want to expose something about me to the world, something hidden, secret. Dark, maybe. I like you, so I think I’d be willing to do that for you—if, and only if you’re willing to expose something about yourself to me. You know, open yourself up. I know what you’re like: cold and determined, a strong woman that won’t give up until she gets what she
wants
. But I know there’s more to you than that. I can just
tell.
”

Already he knew more about me than my parents ever had—and he had only known me for about
twenty
minutes.
Whoa, Marisa
. This was a lot. He sat there with a smile, watching me as the gears cranked in my mind, studying my body language. I shifted awkwardly and resumed eye contact with him. “Okay.” That’s all I could come up with.

“Good,” he said. “Tomorrow I want you to come back at the same time. I’m sorry to make this so short, but I don’t know that you’re ready yet.”

God, I felt so humiliated—
he was right. I came in here, guns blazing, expecting him to just make my c
areer. Just to flip on a switch and
give me
exactly
what I wanted.

“Great. If we’re going to do this, we need to learn to trust each other. It starts tomorrow.” He stood up, his height towering over me. I suddenly felt so small next to him. “I trust you’ve already finished that latte.”

“Yes,” I said. “I
t was delicious. I finished it three
gulps after you gave it to me.”

He laughed heartily. “That’s much better already, Marisa. No need to be so serious.” He took my arm and guided me to the door, bending down to
gently kiss my hand before sending me on my way. “It’s been a pleasure, Marisa. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” I said. It was all I
had left.
I stepped out of the door and star
t
ed to walk the long distance to my car. At least it would be good exercise.

“Casual attire!” he called from the door. “And do park closer tomorrow.”

“Alright,” I said, turning to smile at him.

He crept back into the house and disappeared with the closing door.

I briskly walked to my car and climbed inside, suddenly sobbing after the door closed. “Goddamnit!” I shouted, frustrated and confused. I felt humiliated, weakened, vulnerable—and
actually,
a little aroused. That was the weirdest part of it all.
Stress could cause strange things to happen.

I sat there and cried for a few more minutes, letting my emotions pour forth. I had interviewed people like Roland before and some of them had been total pricks. They wouldn’t respond and toyed with me, insulted me and made me feel stupid. Still, I could defend myself from them. They were like whole armies that could be conquered with a Trojan horse. I took what they gave me and prepared my defense.

Sometimes they gave me what I wante
d. A
nd sometimes they didn’t. Nev
ertheless, I was comfortable at the end of the in
t
erviews. I was used to the
hazards of my job
, used to the abuse that was sometimes directed at me
. Today had not been like that at all.
Roland's calmness made it even worse.

I drove slowly back into town, stopping at a diner to eat something. I figured that it might actually help me feel better. I had a whole booth to myself; it immediately reminded me of how small I felt inside Roland’s house.

I pulled out my laptop, using it to fill up some of the empty space, and looked through my notes about
Mr. Roland Starland
. It was all the same—billionaire heir, owner of StarChem, real estate mogul—and it didn’t mean much of anything. Obviously he had traits that weren’t easily described until you met him, a lesson I had learned
hard
. Still, why was I beating myself up? It had only been day one—and he agreed to open up to me if I opened up to him.
In some way
I had succeeded, right?

What had he meant, really?

I sat there pondering that question for a long time, just s
taring at my laptop. Was he
a wannabe p
sychologist, an amateur
that
wanted to analyze me based on my past? Or did he want something more? The way he touched me—it had been very quick and platonic, I know—had caused my lower belly to heat up and burn, tension like I’d never felt in my life. It was like his grip went beyond my skin, tickling me all the way to my core. That, paired with his good looks, made me very confused.

I left the restaurant not long after that, settling into my hotel room for the night. It was still early, but I didn’t really know what else to do in town. Besides, I still couldn’t figure out how I was feeling. I took a quick shower and settled into the bed, putting on a comfortable silk
bath
robe and again grabbing my laptop. I found myself staring again, drowning in my own thoughts.

It had been so long since I’d been with a man, my career taking first priority over any romance. I felt like having a companion would require me to be vulnerable at times, to be open, to relax and care about others as much as I cared about my career. No, I
hadn’t
want
ed
that. Sure, sex would hav
e been nice from time to time—b
ut rarely were sane relationships just about sex
and nothing else.

My workaholic mentality began halfway through college. Prior to that, I hadn’t taken school or work very seriously, instead doing the bare minimum to get by. I took a required writing course that happened to be taught by a female professor, one with a background in reporting. I immediately warmed to her and loved going to her class, finding that it was one of the highlights of my week. The only problem was, I rarely ever did any of the homework. I just couldn’t motivate myself to care.

She had pulled me aside one day, taking me to her office to talk. I still remember that conversation so well. She told me that my writing was great and that I was talented—
and
that I was about to fail her class. That conversation changed everything for me. She cared about me and wanted to see me succeed, doing her best to divert me from my current course of laziness and inactivity. Instead of doing her homework, she asked me to join the college paper, instead choosing to treat my reports as
my
coursework.

I accepted her challenge and that’s how it all started.
I quickly found that I loved reporting; uncovering a story could be a beautiful thing.
I changed that paper forever, despite the fact that very few people
ever
read it. I got my first job based on my
work with
that paper and just climbed the ladder from there.
I was obsessed with journalism.

Suddenly, I
felt very alone—and I was. I was alone on a number of levels, but I had to scold myself because I should have planned for this. It was my idea to do this story and I had arranged my itinerary for the trip. I thought about Roland again and how his hands had felt through my blazer, that beautiful
hot sensation that spilled right through me
.

I imagined myself sitting there with him, his eyes gazing into mine with that intensity. I felt
my
inhibitions lowering as I melted into him, lost in that powerful glare. I started to feel wetness pooling between my thighs and actually welcomed it,
my fingers parting my robe to provide access to that growing ache.
I finally realized how much tension I had bottled up that day and how it was affecting me.

I imagined Roland taking my arms and pressing them against
the
couch, holding me there and staring until his cock hardened. He pulled up my skirt and slid into me forcefully, his thickness pressing against the tightness of my walls. I grimaced as my muscles hugged him, lovingly stretching to accommodate his width. My fingers had reached my clit by this point, gently pulling back that tiny hood and circling against my tender flesh. I gasped as my touch sent shocks of pleasure all through my body, causing my nipples to harden and goose bumps
to form in quick patches. Even imagining Roland had incredible power, power that
I was helpless to fight
.

I touched myself rapidly, imagining his cock pounding into me, his arms holding me in place like he was performing a very specific
, practiced
maneuver. He wouldn’t let me move as he took me, ensuring that he was in control
, owning me in that moment
. I pressed my fingers against my moist lips, easing them through my slit to feel the origin of my
wetness
. I
brought them back to
my clit and pressed even harder, causing my legs to close tightly around my hand like a bear trap
, my nerves awakening in a way I hadn’t felt in years
.

Roland continued to stare into my eyes with such power, his gaze like direct sunlight, scorching me with glorious inten
t
. His cock continued to slam into me and suddenly I came. It happened fast, washing through me like a powerful wave, a tide of pleasure. My fingers were locked down and moving under my legs and I groaned loudly, my back arching as I twisted and turned against the bed.
I felt my cream pour onto my fingers, covering them in juices of satisfaction, juices of release.

Roland was with me the whole time, staring at me with those eyes, rocking his hips to send his hardness into me
repeatedly
,
like a relentless machine.
My tension grew and released suddenly—an
d I was again alone in that bed, haunted by the images of my fantasy.

“Damnit,” I said
aloud
, my chest heaving as I fought to catch my breath.
I didn’t masturbate a lot, but when I actually did, it was
never
like that.
What had I gotten myself into? I just met this guy earlier today and already I was having fantasies about him, fantasies that I couldn’t seem to suppress at all.

I talked myself down, doing my best to convince my very weary self that I just hadn’t had any male attention in years—and just having this guy touch me was enough to send me into a frenzy. Yeah, that was it. And he was hot, so it wasn’t that crazy was it?
I was mentally and physically exhausted. I still was suffering from jet lag.

I decided not to over
think it and instead prepare myse
lf mentally for our
meeting tomorrow.
I would do my best to keep an open mind and stay calm, digesting his words slowly and precisely.
I took deep, comforting breaths until I
started to get
sleepy
, realizing that
I really just couldn’t know a thing until
we
met again. Assumptions never got me anywhere—and that was a fact.