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reason I approached you the way I did was because I wanted one last night of youthful recklessness before beginning my career. I worked so hard throughout college to graduate early. What a mistake. My career was tainted before I even stepped through the doors on my first day.” If I wasn’t so indignant, I would have cried in frustration.
                  “Your job isn’t at risk,” he assured me.
                  He sounded convincing, but I didn’t believe him. There was no way Mr. Jackman had the same respect for me that he would have had if I never asked him—a perfect stranger—to fuck me in the woods. In the silence that followed, I sipped my drink—another white chocolate mocha that Adam had given me as soon as we reached altitude.
                  “Ask me something…anything,” Mr. Jackman prompted, setting a hand on my knee. It was an innocent gesture, meant to comfort me, but it caused a heat to rise through me, enough that I felt my panties soak slightly. “Let me earn your trust back.”
                  “Mr. Jackman…” I began, my voice hoarse.
                  He interrupted me. “Rawn, please. When we’re outside the office, I prefer you call me Rawn.”
                  “Doesn’t the jet count as the office?” I asked, unable to take my eyes off his hand. The pressure of it against my white dress pants reminded me of the way he’d touched me before, edging my legs further apart before he drove his cock into me. Having had the blindfold on, his touch was the only memory I had of the night. That and the authority in his voice.
                  “No,” he said. “Not tonight. Not in Italy. Ask me anything you’d like to know.”
                  Why didn’t you stay?
                  Such a question would be impossible for me to ask. I didn’t want to know the answer. If there was something about fucking me that made him go, I wouldn’t recover.
                  “How did you become President of Product Development? You’re so young. Well, youngish.”
                  “Nepotism.”
                  It sounded dirty. “What the hell is that?”
                  “My father was a technician at Cepheus Scientific. When I was a boy, I used to come to the lab and visit him. It was fascinating for me, all the beakers and robots, much better than the arcades my friends would go to after school. Entering my teens, I began pointing out flaws in the blueprints my father was working from, enough that he had me meet with the engineers to tell them my observations, which led to a meeting with the CEO. I was labelled a boy genius, and the company signed me after I graduated high school. I got the job because my father worked for the company.”
                  “You were the President of Product Development when you were only eighteen?”
                  “Seventeen, yes.”
                  “Did you want to be?” I asked. It was a lot of responsibility for someone almost still a child, and he didn’t seem particularly proud or happy speaking about his past.
                  My question took him aback. “No,” he said truthfully, “but I’ve never admitted that to anyone before. Not even myself.”
                  “Why now?”
                  “Because I want to earn your trust. And because you’re simply too mesmerizing to deceive.”
                  I was touched, but I wouldn’t tell him so. I still wasn’t sure what his intentions were—if I was merely a moment of insanity to him, one where he wanted to speak the truth, or if he was using honesty layered with poetry to get me back in bed…a conquest. Something to take away the dissatisfaction of his job.
                  “Does your father still work at the