The Venture Capitalist (13 page)

“You surprise me.”

“Why? Because I didn’t use my father’s wealth and influence to make a name for myself?”

“No, because we’re actually having a real conversation and we’re both in bed. The average guy would be trying to have phone sex with me or something.”

“If I were given to such sophomoric behavior, it would be entirely on my terms. What gets me off necessitates that we actually be in each other’s company.”

“Have you ever
had
phone sex?”

“No, and it doesn’t appeal to me in the least.”

“Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it.”

“Is that an invitation, Ms. Beale?”

“Maybe.”

“So, now we’re being coy?”

“I prefer having a conversation. Besides, you haven’t told
me
what makes
you
tick.”

“You are already part of an exclusive minority who’s been introduced to both my passions.”

“At least your passions are dichotomous. Mine is singular.”

“I’ve seen a glimpse of the woman capable of boundless passion. I’d like you to tell me more about her.”

“If I tell you everything at once, there’d be no fun in discovery.”

“That is either very profound or a cop out.”

“I’ll go with profound because I’m going to ignore your attempts to dissuade me from asking any further questions about you.”

“Forgive me.”

“For what?”

“For thoroughly misjudging you.”

She gasps. “You’re surprised I actually have a working brain to go with this banging body? What kind of women have you been dating?”

“None. I don’t date, remember.”

“This is true. So let me rephrase that. What kind of women have you been tying up and beating the crap out of in your role-play room?”

“The kind who have no interest in stimulating conversation, apparently.”

“You said that. I didn’t.”

“Even I am capable of self-deprecation sometimes, Ms. Beale.”

“Imagine that.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

She stifles a yawn. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“You need to get some sleep. Moses and I will be at your duplex promptly at eight twenty-nine.”

“Are you serious?”

“Punctuality is a priority of mine. You would do well to remember that if you’re contemplating accepting my offer.”

“Duly noted.”

My reluctance to say goodnight to her takes me by surprise, but I don’t linger on the phone like a depraved sap.

“Good night, Keisha.”

“Good night, Tristan.”

After such a stimulating conversation, I ponder what a hearty session of phone sex with the delectable Ms. Beale might’ve done for a libido that craves her so much, I am now irrefutably wide awake.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The building Ms. Beale owns has solid bones and the rudimentary refreshing, which I can tell wasn’t a professional paint job, isn’t half-bad. Boxes and fixtures in various stages of assembly are strewn throughout what is to be the showroom, which has plenty of windows letting in natural light into the front of the building. I can see the pride she takes in this project as she takes me on the tour of the soon-to-be-realized Kente Studio Records.

The studio itself is where she and her partner spent a good deal of money. The sound boards and equipment are top-of-the-line and the sound-proofing has been professionally done. Finally, she shows me the office space. Windows are sparse in this area, but partitioning off the space for offices around the perimeter with cubicles in the center will work well for her personnel dynamic. The placement of the offices, at least, seems to be well thought-out and meticulously planned.

When I follow her back up to the showroom area, I take more than a few appreciative glances at her derriere, that is, until my phone rings.

I offer her an apology when I see it is Darryl. “I’m sorry, I have to take this.”

She waves me off. “Go right ahead. I’ll just do some unpacking while you’re on the phone.”

I take the call in the open area near the door to the offices while she attacks the boxes on the showroom floor. “Yes, Darryl?”

“Canton-Phillips has sent us their final contract. They’re asking for a quick turn-around.”

“What’s their definition of quick?”

“Twenty-four hours.”

“Greedy bastards. They can ask for quick, but as long as they’re requesting my backing, I’ll determine the expediency requirement. Have you asked Legal how soon they can look at it?”

“Yes. They can put a rush on it and put it ahead of some of the larger contracts they’re currently working on. They can have it reviewed by closes of business today.”

“Good. Are there significant changes to their scope of work?”

“None that I see from a cursory glance at it.”

“Read me the deliverables, because those were dicey last I checked.”

I fear that I’m going to wear a hole into Ms. Beale’s new industrial carpet after hearing a list of deliverables that takes roughly twelve minutes for Darryl to read with my commentary and revisions. I watch her as she unpacks boxes of fixtures and places them on the countertops where they are to reside. My hunger for her has not waned since Saturday, and I’m struggling to remain civilized in her company.

“How much are they asking for their largest deliverable?”

Keisha takes the last piece of bubble wrap off a countertop CD display and sets it atop a heavy rounder as Darryl answers. “One point five.”

“They want $1.5 million…? You’ve checked and double-checked the figures?

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, make sure there’s remedy language in the contract.”

“All right.”

“You have my limited power of attorney, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Let’s buy it. Keep me posted.”

“Will do, Mr. White.” He hangs up and I follow.

Keisha is eying me with trepidation, and I’m not surprised at her next question.

“Why do you want me, Tristan? Don’t you have
binders full of women
to choose from?”

“You keep making these veiled references to my political preference. I’m actually more of an independent. I’ve voted both ways. Am I safe to say you’re a staunch democrat?”

She purses lips that I want to devour. “Is the president my homeboy?”

“He’s mine, too. We even have an alma mater in common.”

“Do you ascribe to the Buffett Rule?”

“You mean do I believe I should pay more taxes than Darryl? Yes.”

“Good,” she says. “Then let’s return to my former line of questioning. Why do you want me as your submissive?”

Her question is one I’ve been asking myself all weekend. She is not trained, and will probably present me with more trouble than I should go to regarding the taking on of a new submissive. I remember our first meeting and the overwhelming attraction I had for her at first sight. “You were this timid little kitten behind the lioness façade you present to the world. I’ve never known anyone besides myself passionate enough about a business idea to tell a prospective backer to go fuck himself, in so many words.”

“No, I was polite and respectful until you were all, ‘I need to have control in all things.’” She does an uncanny voice impression of me, but I deny how well she nails it.

“For the record, I don’t talk like that,” I say. “Anyway, that vulnerability you tried so hard to hide came through, plus that kiss rocked my world, so I decided to seek you out to see what we could do with all the passion we’d kindled. Then when you were drugged and about to be taken away from me again, I couldn’t bear the thought of you being with someone else.” I run my hand through my hair.

“So, you want me to be your girlfriend?”

I hated to dash the hope so evident on her face. “I haven’t had a girlfriend in that sense of the word since grade school. I’m more into having sex than making love.”

“Like 50 Cent? I never would’ve thought you two would have anything in common.” She grimaces.

“That would be our sole commonality, I assure you.” I lock eyes with her. “You’re not like any of my former submissives. I have a feeling you’ll be the best I’ve ever had, and I want you long term. I’ll take extraordinary care of you, Keisha.”

She squares her shoulders. “Long term? Listen, you may be into this, but I’m not wired that way. One day I’m going to want the making love, the getting married, the babies and the commitment, so understand this. I’ll agree to the arrangement for now because I need KSR to be on firmer financial footing and I haven’t met anyone who fits the bill. But when I do, we’re history.” She says this with such conviction, I believe her.

“Then we have an understanding,” I say.

She returns to checking inventory. It’s as if she’s retreated into herself and I’m not there. Something turns in my gut from the realization that she’s ignoring me. I don’t like it, but in all fairness, I just shot down her dreams of a fairy-tale romance.

“Are you ready to go?” I ask softly.

When she nods, I open the door and hold it for her.

“After you, Ms. Beale.”

Every hint of sadness disappears as she steps out into the sunshine, locking the door behind us. I place a hand in the small of her back and escort her to the limo. The closer we get to the car, her posture becomes straight, her countenance hopeful again.

Nosy neighboring business owners have stopped and are peering out of their windows, wondering most likely why the Beale girl is riding around in a limousine with a white guy. As Moses opens the door Keisha glances up at me, and I look down at her. She gives me an impish smile that I am compelled to return.

Moses closes the door on us and walks around to the driver’s side. The lust factor goes up so exponentially between Keisha and me, if its magnitude were measured by seismograph oscillations like an earthquake, a Richter scale would be needed. I see in Keisha’s eyes that she wants to kiss me as much as I want to kiss her at that moment, so I go for it.

“Fuck!” I pull her down onto the leather seat and push both her hands above her head, pinning her like I might do so on one of the apparatuses in my Grotto. I trap her slim hips beneath mine and capture her tantalizing mouth like a starved man. She moans as my tongue savages hers without apology.

Keisha brazenly returns the kiss with an eroticism she hasn’t displayed in our short association. I was already sporting a semi-boner just being in her presence, but now I am as hard as granite, and I’m sure she can feel me. I am mystified by the reaction I’m having to this woman. I pepper kisses down her succulent throat.

“What. Are. You. Doing. To. Me?” I ask, in a staccato fashion.

I right myself on the seat as Moses gets in and starts the car, and I leave Ms. Beale looking as if she’s just been kissed and wants to be kissed more. Three of her nosy business neighbors, now outside, blatantly eye the limo, but the tinting does its job admirably. All they can see is Moses in the driver’s seat.

Keisha glares at me. Although I may look unscathed by the kiss we just shared, it is all I can do not to fuck her on the bench seats in this car like a goddamn adolescent. I return her look out the corner of my eye, then take her hand, release the breath I was unaware I was holding until it became necessary to breathe again. She looks inordinately pleased that I have a reaction.

“Making out in limos. What am I, sixteen?” I mutter to myself, but I’m sure Keisha can hear me since the limo is practically soundproof and no music is playing yet.

We don’t speak until Moses has maneuvered us onto the Dan Ryan, which has all the movement of a parking lot at this time of morning. As we inch our way downtown, I hold Keisha’s soft hand in my own and engage her in conversation.

“So you grew up in the general area surrounding your business location, right?”

“Yes. South side girl all the way.”

“What is it about the south side that’s so appealing, anyway? Princess Danai wears that as some type of street credential, or something.”

“Street cred is important to rappers. They like their music to resonate with the common people, so if you’re born in an area like Chicago’s south side, you’ve been through some things, ergo your fan base identifies with your upbringing. And now that the POTUS also hails from the general area, it’s of even more consequence.”

“Sort of like how business credit scores at Dun & Bradstreet are the calling card for a small business?”

“Exactly. Great analogy, White.”

“I pay attention sometimes when Danai is talking.”

“So, do you two just have a business relationship?”

She asks nonchalantly, but I know beautiful women worry about other beautiful women, regardless of sexual orientation. This question is tricky, nonetheless. I lead with truth and answer right away to avoid sounding like I’m lying. “Yes, we’ve had a business relationship since she began her career.”

“What made you interested in backing a rapper?”

“I keep up with popular culture, somewhat, and I knew it could be a lucrative investment.”

“One word: Jay-Z.”

“Is that a word, or a name?”

“Well you know what I mean.”

“Yes, and would you be surprised if I told you I’ve met him and his beautiful wife several times.”

“Get out!” she cries playfully.

“One of the perks of being me,” I tease.

“I might have to remain friends with you, because you’re very well-connected.”

“Then it might behoove you to accept my offer. As your Dom, everyone I know and everything I have would be at your disposal.”

“That wouldn’t be the basis for my decision,” she says with a frown. “Please don’t make this about your money.”

“I apologize. I’d see it more as you having access to my vast network of connections. The only money to be spent would be what I lavish on you as my submissive, if that’s the way you want it.”

“Why does there have to be any money spent?”

“I would expect you to be on my arm to attend various events, and I wouldn’t want you to be embarrassed by having to wear a dress off the rack when the other women have access to designer fashions, as do I.”

“Well, when you put it like that, I guess that wouldn’t be so bad. Although, I could possibly faint if I were to see the price tag on such fashions.”

“Then I would instruct my personal shopper not to let you see the price tags.”

“You have an answer for everything don’t you?”

I shrug. “Most things.”

“Let’s talk about something else, like your favorites.”

“My favorite what?”

“Color for starters.”

“Right now it happens to be the color of your skin when it’s next to mine. Your eyes. Your hair.  You’ve bewitched me, Ms. Beale.”

“You’re so full of it, Tristan. Stop saying stuff like that, when you know you don’t mean it.”

“Who says?”

“I do, Mr.-I-haven’t-had-a-girlfriend-in-that-sense-of-the-word since-elementary-school. If all we’re going to have is a business arrangement, I don’t want the flowery words or compliments.”

“You don’t believe there can be romance between two people without a label of commitment?”

“No.”

“Then you’re more jaded than I am.”

“No, I’m not. It’s just a way of avoiding having my heart broken.”

“Fair enough. I won’t use those words then…unless I mean them.”

“Which means what? You didn’t mean what you just said?”

“I didn’t say that. I meant what I said to you, but you asked me not to use the words. However, I’ve only agreed not to use them, unless I don’t mean them. And for the record, I meant what I said.”

She groans. “You’re incorrigible.”

The smile I begin fades from my face.

“What is it?” she asks, anxious to discover why I froze mid-banter.