Trillion(24)

A narrow man-made stream runs parallel to three of the four walls, the gentle water trickling over smooth river rocks. A soft breeze kisses my face, though I have no idea where it’s coming from.

It’s almost as if we’re on a tranquil island, away from the rest of the world.

“I mean … it’s certainly unique … not everyone has a meditation room in their house,” I say, glancing around to spot what other minor details I might have overlooked. I find a Buddha statue in the corner. A collection of unlit white candles. A cocktail of scented oils fill my lungs.

He has all the elements—earth, wind, fire, water.

“Most people expect to walk into my home and find lingerie dangling from light fixtures, tipped-over bottles of vodka …” he says.

“I didn’t expect that,” I say. “But I didn’t expect this either.”

He laughs under his breath. “You told me about your poetry, which I understand is a part of you that you don’t typically share with others. I thought I could do the same. No one knows what’s inside this room, not even my staff.”

I press my lips together, cheeks heated. “I feel like now would be a good time to tell you I was joking about writing poetry.”

He studies me.

I lift a palm. “I’m really sorry for lying, but in my defense I’d had a lot to drink and at the time, I thought it was hilarious.”

I manage a half-laugh out of him. “Then you got me.”

Head tilted, I erase the amusement from my expression. “Thank you for sharing this space with me though … I’m sure it wasn’t easy to do.”

“You said you had a difficult day last Friday,” he changes the subject. “This is where I go when I have days like that. These walls are soundproof. There’s no WiFi. The entire outside world does not exist the second I walk through that door. This is the only place I can come to escape, to feel grounded, to eliminate all that noise and just … merely exist.”

I don’t remind him that when you’re the richest man in the world, you can have rooms like this. Most of us buy a meditation app and count ourselves lucky if we remember to use it five minutes a day. Personally, I tend to buy a bottle of cheap wine from the drugstore and call it a night.

“My mother told me something once that I’ll never forget—she said if you’re ever struggling to ground yourself in the present moment, count to three,” he says. “But before you get to three … stop.” Trey gathers a breath, pausing. “That space between two and three? That’s where you need to be. That’s where you’ll find peace. That’s where you can just be.”

I bask in the profundity of his mother’s wisdom. And I’m speechless at the words coming from this brilliant titan’s lips while simultaneously filing them away in case I ever need them someday.

“I realize this isn’t the sexiest thing in the world and probably not the kind of thing people think about when they try to imagine who I am in my own home, but this is me.” He studies me, maybe waiting for a reaction.

But I don’t know how to react.

I’m still taking it all in.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, at a loss for better words. “And it makes sense why you’d need a space like this … you must feel the weight of the world on your shoulders sometimes with all your … endeavors.”

“This is true. Although one could argue I bear that weight by choice.”

“Do you?”

Our eyes connect. The tiniest spark of something hits my chest until I bury it deep. I don’t want to feel it. I’ve been down this road before. I know where it leads.

I know how it ends.

I’m taking the proverbial exit on the left.

“I enjoy staying busy,” he says. “And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a thing for control. It works. For me.”

I make my way to the silk cushions and take a seat, bringing my knees against my chest and peering around. It’s not like we’ll be going back to the office anytime soon, so I settle in.

Water trickles and the air has an earthy, fresh quality.

I could stay here forever, in this unadulterated serenity.

Trey takes the cushion beside me.

In this room, we’re just a couple of people having a conversation. I’m not the random girl from Payroll and he’s not the richest man in the world.

“A lot of people are intimidated by you,” I say.

“I know,” he says. “Are you?”

I was. Once. But the more time I’ve spent with him, the more I see him for what he really is—a man used to getting everything he wants.

I bite my lip. “You have a … presence.”

“I’d worry if I didn’t,” he says, “but you didn’t answer my question. I’m more interested in whether or not I intimidate you.”

“I try not to let anyone under my skin.” I don’t mention that day outside the break room, when I found myself at a loss for words the second he bumped into me. I also opt not to tell him that my heart was beating outside my chest the whole walk to his office the day he called me in. Fear is a powerful thing. Almost as powerful as him …

I always told myself if I ever ran into Trey Westcott, I’d be calm and collected. But until the day it happened, I hadn’t the slightest clue how hard that would be.