“But you seemed to really enjoy yourself.”
I think about this for a moment chewing my salad. “Actually, I did. There was something about being completely restrained and not being able to move that made the whole thing feel very freeing. It’s almost as if I could finally let myself go.”
“That’s good,” Mr. Black smiles. “Not everyone enjoys it but those who do, really get off on it.”
“Oh, are you talking about me?” I ask, jokingly.
“Yes, I definitely got that impression.”
Taking a sip of wine, I take a moment to think about what he had just said. I’ve never tried anything like that before. It was definitely a new experience. But it was also a very hot and erotic experience. Sensual. Mind blowing. It was hard to think about all the adjectives that would describe it without reliving it. There was something about being restrained that really turned me on. I had to give myself to this man and put a lot of trust in him. But it wasn’t just the trust. Surprisingly, the most freeing thing about being tied up was the fact that you suddenly feel completely free to be yourself. There’s no posing. No pretending. As a woman, you are, a lot of times, the entertainment when it comes to the bedroom. You are the one who is on top or doing a lot of the work. But tonight, I had to be perfectly still. I couldn’t really move. And it forced me to relax and really dive into my pleasure unlike I ever had before. There is no other word for it. It was liberating.
“So, what are you going to do with all that money?” Mr. Black asks, opening another bottle of wine. We’ve had two glasses each and I feel like I’m floating on air.
“I don’t really know,” I shrug. “I haven’t given it much thought.”
“It’s a lot of money.”
“Yes, I know. You want to make sure that I use it wisely?”
“Wisely? Are you kidding?” he laughs, tossing his hair back. I can see the muscles peek out a little bit through his jacket, and I wonder if I’m going to see him fully naked, in the flesh, today.
“What do you mean?”
“You may be surprised to learn this about me, Ellie, but I don't really care about money.”
“Well, that’s because you have a lot of it,” I say.
“Yeah, you’d think that. But I never really cared about money. I grew up in a two bedroom one bath house with my parents and my little brother. My parents weren’t poor, but we were not rich by any standard. And even back then, money never really interested me much.”
“So, how did you end up so rich?”
“I went after what I was interested in. I spent all of my time with computers and I started a company in college. I didn’t start it to make myself rich. I did it because it was what I was genuinely interested in. I’d be doing it if it only grew to $100,000 in revenue or $1 million.”
I don’t really buy it. I’ve met plenty of Mitch’s friends and colleagues who make the same statements while paying mortgages on their three bedroom apartments on Park Avenue and their seven bedroom summer houses in the Hamptons. It’s my experience that rich people like to pretend that they aren't interested in money, when in reality that’s pretty much all that they’re interested in.
“So, what about all this? Why do you have a multi-million dollar yacht if you say you don't care about money?” I ask.
“Oh, I never said that I didn’t enjoy the perks that money affords. That’s the thing about money. I think it’s useless just sitting around in a bank account doing nothing. Life’s short and you never know how long you have on this earth? So, why not live it up?”
I smile. “So, let me get this straight. You don't want me to be wise with the money that I got from the auction?”
“No, I don’t. I want you to be very unwise. I want you to go out there and get something extravagant that you have always wanted but could never afford. I want you to embrace the money for what it is - something that gives you pleasure.”
I shake my head.
“What?” he asks, pushing a strand of hair out of my face. Shivers run up my spine when he touches me and I shudder.
“I don’t think I can do that,” I say. “The main reason why I participated in the auction was that I wanted my student loans to be paid off. I didn’t want to take the money from my stepfather and I wanted to take care of them myself.”
“How much do you owe?”
“One hundred and fifty thousand,” I say. “And I make about thirty thousand and live in lower Manhattan. So, without the auction, I’d be paying off that loan for a very, very long time.”
He thinks about that for a second.
“Okay, but what are you going to do with the money that’s left over?” he asks after a moment. “You’d still have one hundred grand left if you write Yale a big ol’ check for the rest.”
“I don't owe the money to Yale, but to Sallie Mae,” I flash him a smile. “But I see your point. Um, I don't really know what to do with the rest. Probably just put it in savings for a rainy day. It rains a lot in New York.”
“You don't even want to take a trip somewhere exotic? It doesn’t have to be expensive. You could go backpacking in Belize. You can go live for a few months in Barcelona. Or Rome.”
“And what would I do there?” I ask.
“You could write,” he says, without taking a pause. Suddenly, in this moment, I realize that I’ve never had another person see me like Mr. Black sees me. He sees through all my bullshit and posturing down to the core of who I really am.
“But I have my job,” I mumble quietly.
“But then you wouldn’t need it, would you?”
I shrug. I was so lucky to just get this job after graduation that I have a hard time imagining quitting it for no other reason than money. I mean, I want to write, of course. I want to write what I want to write and this money would definitely give me the freedom to do just that. But can I actually just go out there and quit the best job that I could get? I mean, what would I do when the money runs out?
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Mr. Black says, lifting my chin up with his hand.
I repeat everything that just occurred to me. I tell him every insecurity and trepidation that I have without pausing for a moment.
“Well, by the time the money runs out, you’ll have something written, right?” he asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s not so easy. I mean, I have a lot of doubts. About myself. About my dedication and my ability to write.”
“Let me tell you something, Ellie,” he says. “Let me tell you something that I have learned getting to where I have gotten. There are a lot of entrepreneurs out there with startup companies. We’re a dime a dozen. It’s a cutthroat business, not so unlike the writing business. When I first got started, I had my doubts too. But I also knew that there was nothing else that I wanted to do. Frankly, there was nothing else that I could do. So, I had to believe in myself. I had to give this a shot. And not just a shot. I had to do it until I could tell all of those people who told me that I needed a backup plan, that they’re full of shit. If you have a backup plan then you’ll end up doing your backup plan and not commit yourself fully to what you need to do. To succeed in anything, you have to do it 100%. And to succeed in a creative career, you have to do it until…”
“Until what?” I ask.
“You have to do it until all of your competition falls away. You do it longer than any other people. You do it despite the failures. You do it despite the setbacks. Failures and setbacks are what make other people drop out and that’s good for you. Because you keep doing it until it works out. That’s the only mindset you can have.”
“But what if I’m not good?” I ask.
“That doesn’t matter. If you enjoy writing, you will find your niche. It may be journalism, it may be fiction, it may be short stories, it may be romance or thrillers. And the other important ingredient besides determination is confidence. No one is going to believe you unless you believe in you. So, if you have to start the day with affirmations, telling yourself that you can and will
become a writer, or better yet, that you are already a writer, then that’s what you have to do. Success starts with a mindset and everything else follows from hard work.”
I nod and try to take that all in. I know in my heart that what he is saying is right and true, but my mind is having a hard time processing it. Accepting it.
Suddenly, as if he can read my thoughts, Mr. Black leans over and pokes me in my chest with his index finger.
“You have to believe in yourself right here,” he says. “And everything else will follow.”
15
When Mr. Black becomes less of a mystery…
My feelings for Mr. Black undergo a change. What was just pure physical attraction and arousal suddenly changes and becomes something deeper and stronger. What is this thing that I’m feeling? Without my consent, my thoughts go back to Tom. I don't really know why he pops into my head, except that I’ve been in love with him for a very long time. It was always from a distance and, as a result, there was always a separation between us. But thinking about Tom now, in the presence of Mr. Black, I almost want to laugh. The infatuation that I felt for him was nothing in comparison to what I feel now. I feel actually drawn to Mr. Black. Like I have to have him and I’ll scream if I don’t. But I don't just have to have him sexually. I also want him emotionally. Oh shit. This could be bad.
I watch as he walks over to the bar and pours himself a whiskey. He asks if I want one, but I decline.
This is very, very wrong, Ellie. You can’t let yourself be swept off your feet by him. He’s a man who runs a large multinational company and owns a yacht and who knows what else. Be kind to yourself and protect your heart. He probably just wants you for the night and that’s it.
“Why did you bid on me?” I ask. I don't know what made me ask that question at this moment except that maybe it’ll give me an idea of how he really feels about me.
“I saw you when you first boarded the yacht. And at the cocktail party. You were not like the other girls there. I was drawn to you immediately,” he says without hesitation.
“Is that why you sent me that dress to wear?”
“Yes,” he nods. “I find it intoxicating telling women what to wear.”
I sigh. There it is again. Women. He didn’t just want to dress me. He likes to dress women. No, I can’t get more emotionally involved with him than I already am. And it would be better to get a little bit less involved. This is not the type of man who can ever give me what I want.
“What’s wrong, Ellie?” he asks.
I shrug.
“Nothing. I don’t know,” I say. And then before I have the chance to tape my mouth shut, I blurt out, “I just feel different being here with you. Different than I’ve ever felt.”
Shut the fuck up, Ellie. What the hell are you doing? What’s going to happen next? You’re going to tell him that you think you might be falling in love with him? You just met him!
“Different how?” he asks.
I look away. “Different in a good way. But also kind of a scary way, I guess. I mean, I don’t really know anything about you.”
“What would you like to know?” Mr. Black asks. Your name, for one, I want to say. But I bite my tongue. He already made it clear that he does not want me to know that.
“Have you ever been married?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I’m taken aback by his frankness. I was definitely not expecting that answer. Mr. Black does not put off a married vibe. He definitely seems like a lifelong bachelor, but I guess maybe not.
“What happened?” I ask.
He pauses for a moment and looks down at the table and then back into my eyes.
“I usually don't tell anyone this,” he says. I flash him a smile and wait.
“I got married in college. We dated for two years and one day I just asked her to marry me. It was all very spontaneous and romantic.”
“Sounds like it. So, what happened?”
“I don’t know. We just went to city hall one afternoon and did it. But then things started to go wrong. She said she felt guilty that we didn’t have a big wedding and didn’t invite all of our friends and family. Then she said she needed time off and went home to Ohio. Not long after that, she called me up and said that she wanted a divorce because she was having a baby with her high school boyfriend.”
I can see the pain on his face as he tell me the story. He can’t meet my gaze and when he finally looks up, he wipes a small teardrop that runs down the outside of his cheekbone.
“That was the most difficult thing I’ve ever experienced,” Mr. Black says. “And I’ve never told anyone about it before. Not even a shrink.”
I lean over and wrap my arms around his strong, powerful shoulders. On the outside he looks like a completely put-together man that nothing fazes. But now I’ve seen a glimpse of the truth. There are so many layers to him and I’ve just started to uncover them all.
“So, why did you tell me?” I ask. He shrugs, shying away again.
“I don’t really know. But there’s something about you Ellie. I just feel like I can tell you anything, my deepest darkest secrets, and it would all be okay.”
“You can,” I whisper into his ear.
I look at his face, examining every angle and pore. I admire the angle of his lips and the strength in his jaw. I brush away the few strands of hair that fall into his eyes.
“So, what about you? Have you ever been married?” he asks.
I laugh and shake my head.
“Have you ever been close?”
“No, not at all. For the last few years, I’ve been in love with a friend of mine, but he is engaged to someone else.”
Oh shit. There’s that word. Love. That may be the truth, but I don't know why I said that out loud. To Mr. Black of all people. It’s not something that another guy wants to hear.
“That can be difficult,” he says after a moment. “Unrequited love.”
“Um, I don’t really know if it was love or not. I mean, maybe it was just some sort of infatuation.”
“Isn’t that the funny thing about love?” Mr. Black asks. “It’s not until you start to feel something stronger that you realize that what you felt before wasn’t love at all.”
I’ve never thought of it that way. But I guess he’s right. You only have the experiences that you have and it’s not until new experiences replace them that you gain the knowledge of what you were truly experiencing.
“So, let me ask you something else, Ellie,” Mr. Black asks. “What’s your biggest fear?”
I don’t really know how to answer that. Does he mean a fear like heights or the fear of never really becoming a writer? Or the fear that I will never really fall in love and have someone love me back?
“It can be anything really,” he says. “We all have fears.”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I have a theory. I believe that what we are afraid of is the thing that we have to pursue in life because our fears give us insight into who we are.”
“So, you think that people who are afraid of public speaking should become public speakers?”
“Yes, probably. They are afraid of it for a reason and once they identify why that is and conquer their fear then they will be so much better as not only human beings, but also as individuals.”
That’s one way of thinking about it, I’ll give him that.
“I’m afraid of a lot of things actually,” I say quietly. “But I don’t like talking about those things.”
He nods as if he understands.
“Why not?” he asks.
“I don’t know…I guess, they make me feel like I’m naked or something.”
A coy smile comes over his face.
“I have an idea,” Mr. Black says. “Why don’t we get into bed and you take off your robe and tell me what you’re afraid of it.”
The thought of that sends shivers up my spine.
“No, I can’t do that.”
“You’ve done a lot mor
e than that already.”
“I know, but this is…private.”
“No, it’s not private. It’s something you’re afraid of. Let’s just try it?”
I look into his eyes. There’s an honesty and truth in them that I’ve never seen before in another human being. A part of me thinks this is a crazy thing to do and is resisting full on. But another parts asking, ‘what if.’ What if I did this? Would it be so horrible? Suddenly, my heart starts to beat faster. The thought of doing it makes me anxious, but in a good way. Excited.
I walk over to the bed and remove my robe. I drop it to the floor and climb in. Mr. Black follows me there and gets in on the other side.
I’m laying completely nude before him, while he is still dressed in his perfectly tailored suit and tie. He’s even still wearing shoes and his jacket. And yet, something about laying here before him, puts me at ease. There is no judgement. His eyes are full of adoration and love.
He runs his fingers over the outside of my arm, around my collarbone and down my left breast, pausing briefly to admire my nipple.
I take a deep sigh and let it out.
“What are you afraid of Ellie?” Mr. Black whispers.
I close my eyes.
“I’m afraid of everything. I’m afraid of making mistakes so I live my life without taking any chances. I want to be a writer, but I’m afraid that I’ll fail so I spend my days writing quizzes instead of something that really interests me.”
“And what interests you?” he asks, making his way down to my navel.
“Well, right now, sex.”
“And what about writing about sex?” he asks, teasing me.
“I’ve never thought about it before. But it seems like a scary thing to do. I mean, what if people I knew read my books?”
“And what if writing about this fulfilled your every desire and quenched every fear? What if it made you a writer? Would you take that chance?”
I nod without opening my eyes.
“Tell me how you would’ve wanted to lose your virginity, Ellie,” Mr. Black says.
“What do you mean?” I open my eyes.
Acquired: A Billionaire Auction Romance Page 17
