by B. B. Roman
Learning to Trust
(Interviewing the Billionaire)
Part 8: Limits
Copyright 2012 B.B. Roman
Published by Bizotica
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
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***
After a restless night of tossing and turning, I awoke with a raging headache, my brain feeling like a transplant that my body was entirely rejecting. Damnit! I had allowed myself to drink far more than I should have. Honestly, I wasn't a very good drunk, so I was always taking a risk when I did such things—especially since I was currently in the professional business of keeping secrets.
Nobody was in the room with me, a fact that startled me. For some reason I thought that Roland had stepped into my room and woke me. I figured he would tell me to get dressed and that it was time to go. I'd reluctantly crawl out of bed and get dressed and—
No, nothing.
I rolled over and checked my phone and saw that while I had slept in later than usual, it was still early in the day. Shower.
The hot water felt especially good and it helped to calm the pounding in my head. I had made a routine out of staring at myself in the mirror before and after I got out of the shower, looking over the details of my transformation from dirty to clean. Today, it seemed more drastic than usual. It went far deeper than just physical cleanliness.
It was always my face in the mirror, always that same Marisa that I'd known forever. However, inevitably I always started to see someone else, someone troubled and conflicted, someone that possessed more evil than old Marisa ever had. No, I hadn't directly done anything bad that I knew of—but just being around it made me feel like I was absorbing a little at a time, like the fluoride that we all consumed via drinking water. Trace amounts could really add up over time, even if it didn't ever seem like much in the moment.
I walked out of the shower in my robe and noticed a hand-scribbled note stuck to the inside of my door. It hadn't been there earlier.
Pet,
Business calls, so wear your sexiest and best business attire. If I can't resist you, I'll know you've chosen right. I'll see you downstairs when you're ready.
-Roland
I immediately knew what route I would take—I went for the same blouse/skirt combo I'd worn early on in my interview with Roland, sealing the deal with the fancy high-heels he had bought for me to wear with the dress he had picked out. The skirt was high and the blouse was low, the perfect amount of sexy. Today, I wouldn't worry about body image or anything else. Per Roland's words, I had a purpose to serve, and in my current state, I would definitely serve it. My cleavage was nice and soft, ample enough to cause a distraction if I needed one. And then there were legs and my butt and—
After applying some subtle make-up—just some eye shadow and blush seemed adequate for today—I headed downstairs to meet Roland. He jumped out from around the corner and hugged me something fierce.
"Roland! Geez, you scared the hell out of me!" His lips met mine and gave me a few quick kisses. I kissed back instinctively, not necessarily because I wanted to.
"I couldn't resist pouncing on you, my pet! I'm the hungry lion and you're my prey!" I understood the visual, but that certainly didn't make it the most comforting choice of words. He was wearing jeans and a black dress shirt; I had expected him to be dressed up as well for some reason. It always made me laugh when I thought about him riding in a limo wearing jeans for some reason.
"Real nice, Roland," I said. "You've got coffee for me? You made me drink way too much last night. I don't get how you're so energetic."
"I've already had coffee," he said, his growing smile affecting the timbre of his voice. "A lot of coffee. Plus, I'm excited about my pet. You're going to do such a good job today!"
"I hope so," I said with reluctance.
"You look positively delicious," he said. He nuzzled the swell of my breasts and planted a deep kiss there.
"Okay, okay," I said, gently pulling him away. "I thought we had business to do."
"Oh, right. I'm glad I've got you here to keep me on track! I get so distracted sometimes." His eyes drifted right back to my cleavage and then he straightened up and led me toward the kitchen.
Roland fed me and gave me coffee—he still didn't trust any of the domestic workers to make the coffee and still insisted that he always do it himself—and then told me that we'd be leaving soon.
"What am I supposed to do again?" I asked.
"I haven't told you yet," he whispered. "It's a secret. I'll tell you in the limo." That familiar smile broke out across his face. He ran a hand through his silky hair and took a deep breath. "I'm just so excited! You'll do so well."
His giddy excitement was a little troubling to me, even though I think he meant for it to be inspiring. I still had no idea what the hell I was going to do, so I just played along. Patience, Marisa. A short while after, we were in the limo, driving toward the heart of the city.
Roland sat across from me, cradling a briefcase in his arms like it was a baby. Oh, a briefcase. It had been sitting in the car, waiting for him.
"You're my delivery girl today," Roland said. "You're meeting a very famous man, a very rich man."
"Oh, so I—" He cut me off.
"Pet, allow me to explain all at once, all right?" A dash of seriousness suddenly entered the mix.
I gave an exaggerated nod.
"You're meeting a Mr. Von Williams. Well, Marcus Von Williams to be exact. He's a very famous oil and gas man, amongst other things. You'll call him mister, however." His fingers scraped along the leather surface of the briefcase as he talked.
I nodded again. I had heard his named tossed around when I originally did research for my interview with Roland. Unfortunately, I couldn't remember much in that moment and it bothered me.
"I'm providing him with a peace offering." He clicked open the briefcase and lifted the lid. It was filled to the top with perfectly sorted stacks of one-hundred dollar bills, the kind you always saw people dealing with in movies.
"Holy shi—"
"It's ten million," Roland said. I wasn't about to count it, so once again, I nodded. "He controls some territory that I'd like to do business in. Hopefully this will put us on good terms again."
To say I wasn't suspicious would be a total understatement. I was about to deliver a briefcase with ten million dollars in it to some presumably sketchy guy that Roland wanted to do business with. However, it looked like just money in that briefcase. The bills looked freshly printed and were wrapped in those labels that declared the value of each pile. I had never seen so much money before in my life.
Roland hadn't said anything in a minute, so I spoke up. "So I just need to give this to him?"
"There's something to add." He closed the briefcase and flipped the latch back into place. "Mr. Von Williams love
s woman. He's also kind of a womanizer."
"What?" I asked. The news seemed troubling, obviously. He was already prepared for my response.
"I told you you'd have to be brave. You don't have to do anything except resist him. Drop off the briefcase, be polite, and leave. I know you're strong enough."
"He's not going to hurt me, is he?"
"He will probably make you uncomfortable. I'm sorry about him in advance. He's kind of a sleaze." Roland hung his head down, trying not to make eye contact with me. "Men with money are like that, sometimes. They think that with money, they can do absolutely anything they want. In some cases, that's true."
I felt both numb and excited. It made it difficult for me to sensibly convey my thoughts. "Yeah," I said.
"You'll be fine, okay?" Roland smiled again. "I can't show up there, not now. I'd go myself if I could. I'm just not sexy enough."
"So I'm just part of the offering then, huh?" It was a little insulting to learn why I had dressed up so well. For a moment, I put my hands across my chest, shielding my cleavage from his eyes.
"This is business, pet. It takes guts to do this, especially after I've already given you so much information. I'm positive that you'll do just wonderful. Believe me, please."
Despite my internal conflicts—the last time Roland had paraded me around sleazy rich folks it obviously hadn't gone well—I realized that this was exactly what I needed to do. I was certain that some element of this was highly criminal; I just needed to keep the gears of the organization turning one way or another. I knew Ramón was encouraging it, and that helped me with my decision to cooperate. This was just a transaction, right? Money changing hands. Simple, effective. I was just acting undercover, and sometimes people undercover had to get their hands dirty.
Roland saw me thinking. I was thankful that he couldn't entirely read my mind. "Pet, you'll be fine. Just be you. Be bold."
I took a deep breath. It was literally now or never. "I can do it, Roland. I can. I dealt with you at the beginning, right?"
He smiled with sincerity. "That's right. I knew I could count on you."
"So where is this taking place?" I decided that it might be nice to forward the information to Ramón.
"A restaurant," Roland said. "We'll drop you off down the street and then pick you up once you come out. You'll tell them that you're there to see Mr. Von Williams on behalf of Roland Starland. Very basic."
Obviously, he was keeping it vague enough to keep me guessing. So much for that plan. There would be no backup if something went wrong, a thought that simultaneously empowered and horrified me. I had to be ready for this, to roll with the punches, to improvise.
The city passed by us now, the high rises surrounding us with their ominous perfect rows of windows that climbed toward the sky. Traffic was always heavier around these parts, so the progress seemed to slow. And then we turned down a block and the car pulled to the side. Roland leaned forward and put the briefcase in my hands.
"We're here," he said. "Take this and do a good job for me, okay?" I gripped the handle and almost dropped it after being surprised by the weight. He kissed me firmly, a kiss that actually provided some calm inside of me.
"I will," I said. I grabbed at my purse.
"Leave it," Roland said.
"What about my phone and—"
"You'll be fine. Just leave it. I'll be waiting for you."
I didn't argue anymore. "Yeah." His patience seemed to be wearing thin. I left my purse on the seat.
"It's the building with the white arches, okay? Start walking and you can't miss it."
"Okay," I said. I fought to ensure that my heart didn't race out of control. After straightening out my clothes, I opened the door and stepped onto the pavement. Oh yes, we were in the nice part of town. Fancy cars were parked up and down the block—the limo didn't actually look that much out of place after I saw everything else around it.
"Damnit," I said to myself as I saw the limo away from me. I realized my mistake—my purse had contained the pen with the GPS tracker in it from Ramón. Calling him had been impossible, but the pen would have been perfect. Now it was going off in some random direction, following Roland on his joyride while I did all of the hard work. There was nothing I could do about it now.
The white arches stood before me. Unless I had been entirely blind, there would have been no way to miss them. I walked onward and felt a pang of nervousness as I saw the limo turn around the corner and out of view. It was gone, vanished just like that. Roland said they'd be back, but now I was truly alone. For one fleeting moment, I thought about just sneaking away with the briefcase. There was more money in there than I'd need the rest of my life. I could just escape from everything and—
No, I had to stick to the plan.
Up ahead was a stocky, muscular gentleman, one wearing a leather jacket and jeans. Security.
There was something really exciting about carrying a briefcase full of ten million dollars. The walk toward the restaurant reminded me of fourth grade when I had been in the spelling bee. Every time I got up to approach the lectern for my word, giddiness flooded through me like a drug. That day, I never got used to the spotlight. Ultimately, I blamed my second place victory on being too excited.
No, Marisa. The word "artistic" doesn't contain the letter k.
Had I calmed down and tried to relax, I probably would have won the whole thing. I knew how to spell the word that the first place guy beat me with. Just another regret from the past. Stupid, yet relevant.
God, my throat was so dry. There was a lump that kept returning there, no matter how many times I swallowed.
Despite its immense weight, I ensured that the briefcase remained airborne. I half expected to run into Al Capone once I got inside—and I wished very badly that I had pepper spray or a tazer in my purse. Just something I could use to defend myself. Never in my life had I ever carried either; now they were all I seemed to care about. I can do this. I just have to...
The guard pulled off his fancy sunglasses and looked down at my briefcase—and then crawled up my body with his eyes, obviously taking the time to undress me as far as his imagination desired. "Can I help you, miss?" he asked. His voice was gravelly and unappealing, his hair buzzed short. He had the build of a marine.
I started to speak, but coughed as the scratchiness tickled my throat. Get yourself together, Marisa. "I'm here to see Mr. Von Williams," I said matter-of-factly.
"And what is the nature of this visit?" he asked.
"I'm here on Roland Starland's behalf." Good job!
The security guy stared forward, unfazed by my words. He pressed a button on a headset and spoke. "Girl here from Roland Starland. Do I let her in?"
I wanted very badly to hear what the other end was saying, but I couldn't. What if he didn't let me in? I hadn't even considered that possibility.
"Mr. Von Williams is busy. Can it wait?" he said.
Damnit! I looked up and down the block and then down at my feet. After that brief pause, I stared right back into the guard's eyes, intensity flaring up inside of me like a furnace. I had to succeed.
"This isn't a goddamn joke," I said. I lifted the briefcase up until it was resting on the bend of my elbow and clicked it open just an inch or two so that this obstacle of a man could see what was inside. "Happy now? Again, I'd like to see Mr. Von Williams." I slammed it shut and brought it back to my side.
The guard's face lit up, even more than it had when he was staring at my body. My heart was pounding, a combination of rage and uncertainty. Would it work? He pressed the button to activate the microphone. "She's got something nice for you."
We stood there in silence as I waited for a response that might never come. He suddenly smiled, revealing multiple chipped teeth. Souvenirs from fights, most likely. "Mr. Von Williams says he'll see you now. Walk all the way to the back and then turn left. Private room sixteen." He turned and slid a key card into a slot. There was a green confirmation light and a click.
&n
bsp; "Thank you," I said. I pulled open the freshly unlocked door and walked inside.
The interior was that of a gorgeous, upscale restaurant. I needed to try to get the name before I left. There were chandeliers and impeccably set tables. It was also entirely empty. A ghost restaurant. That struck me as being kind of weird. A fancy place like this empty during lunch time? Maybe it was closed on certain days of the week. I didn't see any waiters either.
My hardwood floor creaked under my heels I walked toward the back. When I got there, I took a left and immediately saw the private rooms. After a short jog, I saw sixteen. I stepped up and swallowed another lump in my throat as I knocked lightly on the door.
"Come in," I heard from inside.
I gripped the small, cold knob, turned it, and walked inside. I didn't want to pause; I needed to just go for it all at once.
"Close the door behind you, please," came that same voice from before. I pulled it shut, my face pointed at the floor.
"Are you Mr. Von Williams?" I asked, lifting my head up and following the voice until I found the face.
"Yes, dear. Call me Marcus, please."
My eyes immediately traced across the room. Marcus sat in the middle, surrounded by two layers of others. To his immediate left and right were two girls, scantily clad in flashy, revealing dresses. One blonde, and one with black hair. Around them were two more guards, men that looked incredibly similar to the one I'd seen out front. Were they brothers or something? There was a gun sitting on the table near the guard closest to me.
As far as I could tell, Marcus Von Williams was older than Roland. He had short, messy brown hair and was balding. His eyes were a bold shade of blue, less serious than Roland's but still compelling. Stubble covered his cheeks and masked some of the lines of age along his face. He was wearing a brown suit jacket, an unbuttoned dress shirt peeking out beneath it.
"What's your name, sweetheart?" he asked.
"Marisa," I said.
"Well, you don't have to just stand there, Marisa. Please, put the briefcase on the table and take a seat. Would you like a drink?"
