Free Learning to Trust Part 1 by B. B. Roman Page A

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