Learning to Trust Part 1

***

I slowly walked down the long cobblestone driveway
, hoping that I'd made a good decision in coming here
.
He
had ordered me to park quite some distance
from the house, probably so I
was forced
to stare at the grandiose, monstrous structure as I walked.
Mr. Starland
was a highly eccentric man and a meticulous planner, one that
most likely had
prepared my fate long in advance
.
He was also very rich—probably the primary thing that had drawn me to him.
Not just his wealth per se, but the ways that he had acquired it.

His mansion sprawled out before me, almost filling the entirety of the horizon, giving me nothing else to look at but his excessive housing arrangement. It was a gorgeous stone
mansion
, one that had an incredible matching awnin
g that wrapped over the front door
and overflowed in all directions
. There was a
subtle darkness right before one entered the house, even
with
the sun
shining brightly.

All around were stone figures of gargoyl
es and other mythical creatures.
I imagined his house would be gre
at during Halloween,
but also figured that he probably didn’
t allow trick-
or
-
treaters—
especially not with the huge gate surrounding the property.
Honestly, i
t
just
didn't
appear
that
he enjoyed visitors.
I walked
between
the creatures to get to the porch, passing through them like gravestones.

So what was I doing at this eccentric billionaire’s
home
, all by myself? I was a reporter, one that was always looking for a hot or controversial story to add to my catalog of work. Mr. Starland had inherited a lot of his wealth, but almost doubled it through his own efforts. His primary business interest was real estate
, a family thing for sure
. Everywhere you looked in the neighboring city, you saw
Starland Realty
signs attached to nearly every property for sale. He also was responsible for a large chemical company, StarChem, one that had fallen under a lot of public scrutiny lately.
As was typical of most billionaire enterprises, the public only knew so much.

Illegal dumping, excess emissions, employee illnesses—the list just went on and on.
In the space of only a few years, StarChem had gone from source of pride for the
country
to a global menace. I was here to talk with
its
shining
owner
, hoping to expose some hidden fact, some remnant that no other news outlet had grasped yet. I wanted to take the next step in my career—no, I wanted to take a leap, a
plunge
.

I had flown from New York City to the west coast for this interview, encouraged by my boss to take the time necessary to do a thorough job. If I got a killer scoop, it would mean huge things for the paper
—and me
.
At
28
, I
already I had
many
big credentials to my name. I actually got paid really well—incredibly well
, actually
—and had received a number of awards for my work.
That wasn't enough, however.

My parents raised me to
believe that I was
never
good enough.
As a woman, I had fought for upward mobility, spending the majority of my twenties single because I just didn’t have time for anything other than work. I missed many holidays with my family while trying to get a story. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it
did not
. It was hard to break that
trance
once I got into it, so sometimes my family became a victim of my lifestyle.

As much as I kept it buried inside of me, I was actually becoming a little tired of never slowing down. I hadn’t taken a vacation in years, instead spending my very few days off working on things at home. If I got a great piece with Mr. Starland, it could actually change my career forever.
I hoped that my endless determination would be put to the best possible use in this case, allowing me to leave with a first-class ticket to a new sort of existence.

People always told me I was
cute
and that my appearance helped with my interviews,
but I wasn’t one to accept compliments. I
knew that
my looks—and the simple fact that I'm a girl
—
might have been the reason I go
t sent s
o far away to do this interview. B
ut that didn’t change my critical eyes when I looked in the mirror.

I was moderate height
,
with dark brown hair and green eyes, my body curvy and shapely. I was a few pounds heavier than I’d like to be, vowing nearly every year that I’d start going to the gym more. Yes, I would
go to the gym
—after I completed the Starland piece. I was serious this time. I could feign confidence
in most situations,
but I wouldn't fake this
.

I approached the door, dressed in a
one
-button black
blazer and skirt, trying to look the part of the professional. I almost tripped after not noticing the sudden rise in the height of the porch. “Great job, Marisa,” I said
aloud
. I stepped on the porch and looked back into the yard—it was huge, sprawling out for what seemed like miles. Was it really that far to the gate? My car looked so small.

I stepped up to the beautiful wooden door and gripped the steel knocker, taking a deep breath before I slammed it into the door.

Bam!
The sound echoed wildly through the house, bouncing
off
the walls. It sounded like a cathedral from the outside. I guess that was why he didn’t have a
doorbell
. I stood there and waited, time crawling. I waited for several minutes, but still nothing. I was about to turn away when the door suddenly swung open.

“Ah, Marisa,” Mr. Starland said. “So glad that you could come.”
His eyes burned into me, quickly looking me from my head to my feet. I immediately sensed
power
in his demeanor.

I wasn’t even sure what to say—he was handsome as hell, muscular and tall, silky black hair, strong jaw and facial features.
He was close to 50—and he was
gorgeous.
“Uh, Mr. Starland, hi,” I blurted out. “Sorry, you surprised me.”

“Yes,” he said, big smile across his face. “The premises are kind of extensive—sometimes I get lost and it takes me a few minutes to get to the door. Please, do come in.” He was wearing a pair of jeans and a tight black t-shirt, one that hugged his
taut physique
.

I stepped up into
the house
with far more caution
than I had exercis
ed when stepping onto the porch—
and immediately lost my breath as I saw the high ceilings and many rooms laid out before me. It
was
like a cathedral in this main room. The décor inside was just as gothic as the outside, something that I felt like I would need to ask him about at some point.
“Wow,” I said. “This is really impressive.”

“This is the result of hard work, Marisa. Well, hard work and
luck
. I can’t deny the good fortune of being born into a rich family. My parents had me late in life, probably just because they needed an heir. And now I’m the only true Starland left.” He looked up lovingly at a photo of his parents, admiring it, despite the fact that he’s probably seen it literally thousands of times before. He showed a twinkle of
emotion
that suddenly departed when he turned his glance back to me. “You’re especially pretty in person, Marisa.”

I blushed, trying to keep my emotions under control. “Well, thank you. You’ve seen me
before...
not in person?”

“I studied your work. I would never let someone into my home that I didn’t know something about.” He smiled, his eyes once again burning into me. There was so much intensity in him, so much drive, so much focus. “You’re a good reporter. Very thorough. I was impressed.”

I blushed again.
Why hadn’t I
better prepared for this
? I felt like a
schoolgirl
talking to a boy for the first time. “Thanks. It’s really nothing.”

“I don’t think it is, Marisa. I’ve read that you go…great lengths to get a story. I admire that. Don’t talk yourself down. You definitely shouldn’t do that.” He gripped my arm gently, squeezing it with affection
, saying so much with his gesture
.
I felt vulnerable around him—and it had only been a couple of minutes. He knew exactly how to talk to me for some reason.

“Okay, okay. I mean, you probably know why I’m here.”

“Surely I do. Take a seat on the couch over here. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Water? Whiskey?
I have it all.
”

“Uh, coffee,” I said.

“Right, give me a moment then.”

I heard him rattling around in the kitchen, moving pots and pans. I sat there staring at the inside of the house, fascinated by the size.
What could he possibly need all of this space for?
I guess this might have been his parents’ home, so maybe he wasn’t even responsible for the excess. But—

“Alright, here you are.” He handed me a drink with beautiful latte art resting on the top, a leaf. “That’s the only object I can make. I do hope it’s acceptable.”

I laughed. “Yes, it’s beautiful.” I s
ipped it—
sweet, but not too sweet. The coffee was sensational. “Wow, this is great!” It warmed me as it went down my throat—just as his hand had earlier.

“
I'm better at the drinks than the art.
I’ve become quite the e
xpert in coffee-related things. I know you
asked for
just
coffee, but for some reason I thought a latte would be more appropriate.
” He sat down in big leather chair across from where I was on the couch. “So let’s talk business. I’m sure you’ve got some questions for me.”