The Venture Capitalist (24 page)

“Busted,” Jarvis James, the tight-end for the same team, says. He’s lean, narrow, and just an inch or so shorter than Nathan and me. “We might even have more rituals than basketball players.”

“You guys should be in the business I’m in. No mojo involved, just numbers. There’s something very reassuring about numbers—unless the risk outweighs the reward. Then you’re fucked.”

They laugh, then Jarvis mutters. “Dime piece at two o’clock.” It takes us all a few moments to orient ourselves in the direction he’s looking, and I realize he’s talking about Keisha who’s making a beeline for me.

In her heels, she’s still a head shorter than me, so she ducks under my arm. When I look down, she kisses me square on the mouth. Jarvis whistles low through his teeth and Marlon catcalls, “Woohoo! You White boys don’t play. Why didn’t I meet her first?” I’m not altogether sure whether he’s referring to our last name or our ethnicity, but who gives a fuck. I’m the man who’s kissing the most beautiful woman in the room.

I’m wearing a shit-eating grin when we come up for air, and I whisper to Keisha. “What was that for?”

She whispers back. “Saving my ass so many times I can’t count them.” She must have had a conversation with Darnelle, who likely believed her little revelation to Keisha would have the opposite effect, but I covered all bases.

I nuzzle her ear on the sly while whispering back to her. “I love your ass, remember?”

“Get a fucking room,” Nathan says good-naturedly.

Keisha pulls me by the tie she bought me for one last kiss, and we really put the heat into this one. “Later,” I say, hoping my eyes convey just how much trouble she’s going to be in when we return to the condo in the wee hours of the morning.

The entertainment between nine and eleven really gets the crowd going. I’m washing down shrimp cocktail with a glass of champagne when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

“Well, if it isn’t Tristan White.”

I turn to find Sara Fielding Nicholas, a former sub looking as if she’s had even more
work
than when we were together. “Hello Sara. I look around, is Mr. Nicholas in tow tonight?” I smile politely and offer her my hand for a shake, but she waves it away and pulls me in for a hug that I don’t return as enthusiastically as she does. In fact, I have to practically peel her off me.

“No,” she says with a dramatic look of distaste. “He’s yesterday’s news.”

I arch a brow.

She grins. “Come on Tristan. Did I ever impress you as the marrying type?”

“Not particularly.” I take another sip of my champagne.

She grabs a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and clinks her glass against mine. “Exactly. That fiasco was doomed from the beginning. His idea of BDSM was smacking my bottom a few times with his hand during sex. Boring!”

I frown, pretending to commiserate with her.

A fan favorite of the acts Keisha selected from their contract auditions is on stage. The band’s lead singer has a voice much like The Weeknd everybody pairs up to slow dance.

“Now, this is a song I would buy. Let’s dance.” Sara grabs my hand and pulls me onto the floor, so I go with her in order to avoid a scene. I look around, unable to find the woman I’d really like to dance with. I spot Nathan and Jada having sex in their clothes on the dance floor, they are grinding so hard. Thankfully, there are no pictures allowed in this venue. We decided to limit the media to the opening festivities in the daytime.

Keisha must be dancing with someone, because I don’t see her anywhere, so I relax and try to make the best of this dance with a former sub who no longer floats my boat.

I am relieved when I hear a familiar and welcome voice say, “Cutting in.”

I pull away from Sara, but she looks down her nose at Keisha and says, “I don’t think Tristan slums with hood rats.”

Keisha’s face contorts with anger and I see her involuntary preparation for fisticuffs. Sara doesn’t realize that this girl has a killer right hook and will use it. Darnelle can attest to its potency. I push Sara behind me and take Keisha into my arms.

“Keisha. Keisha. The party is going exceedingly well. Let’s not let an ex-sub ruin your triumph here, okay.”

She struggles to get to Sara but I hold her fast, while Sara just stands there with her arms folded. “Tristan, that bitch called me a hood rat. I’m going to give her a special piece of this hood rat.”

“Sara, apologize to Keisha,” I say through clenched teeth. “She’s my new sub and you will not disrespect her.”

The snide expression on Sara’s face becomes surprise, but she does as I command her. “Please forgive me for insulting you, Keisha.” She tucks tail and turns disappearing through the crowd on the dance floor.

I release the stronghold on Keisha and pull her into my arms to dance. I smile and try to cajole her into a better mood as I palm her ass, dancing the bachata, pressing her into me so she can feel how she’s affecting me. Finally she relaxes in my arms, but she has questions.

“Is she the one you dumped six months ago?”

“No, actually Sara got married three years ago. I invited her and her spouse to the party, but she tells me they’ve separated.”

“She’s not sniffing around hoping you’ll take her back, is she?”

I smile. “That shade of green you’re wearing is clashing with your beautiful dress, Keisha.”

“Uh, I beg to differ, Sir. I rock green better than Ms. No-ass, Silicone-tits Sara,” she says, trying to deflect me with humor. “As long as you and I are knocking boots, I refuse to share you with any STD ridden skank hos or their mamas.
Capisce?
”

“And I refuse to share you with any STD harboring jocks or their daddies.
Comprende?
”

I have descended to locker room humor like Nathan and his teammates. But better that than entertaining why Ms. Beale was so jealous of Sara just now.

Keisha and I finally get a chance to eat and relax in our seats on the end of the dais closest to the door. The party has been a success. We’ve collected a stack of business cards of potential clients to keep KSR busy for weeks. We are sharing a crème
brûlée
when something gets Keisha’s attention.

“Aw man,” Keisha says, dropping her silverware on her plate.

“What’s the problem?” I say. I follow her line of sight to her cousin Jorge and his boyfriend Thomas, who is wasted if Jorge’s attempts to walk—or better yet—stumble with him out of the ballroom is any indication. Jorge and Thomas are roughly the same weight and height, but a man has to be exceedingly strong to carry such dead weight.

“What’s with that guy? If he isn’t pouting or picking fights, he’s making a spectacle of himself.”

“You saw that display from their car the other day?” She asks.

“How could I not?”

She frowns. “I’d better go help Jorge get him to the car.”

I put a hand on her forearm, stopping her. “I’ll help him. You’re the hostess of the party and it’s winding down. Stay and close the party out properly. I’ll call the car service for us after I get Jorge and Thomas squared away.”

Jorge looks both appreciative and embarrassed when I take Thomas’s other arm and help hoist him out the door. Just before we exit the double doors, Jorge turns back and mouths something to Keisha.

She mimics holding a phone to her ear and mouths back, “Call me.”

While the valet is retrieving the car, we sit Thomas on a bench outside the hotel, and I observe the wannabe rocker. Something about the way Thomas is acting is off. He’s nodding out, not passed out like a drunk.

“Thanks, Tristan,” Jorge says. “Thomas likes to party a little too much sometimes.”

It is then I get a whiff of the alcohol on Jorge’s breath. “Smells as if you’ve partied just as hard as Thomas. And by the way, you’re not welcome.”

Jorge’s grin vanishes. “What’s up with you, man? Just because you’re fucking my cousin it doesn’t give you any right to talk to me like you’re my father or something.”

I get into his face and punch my finger into his chest. “Someone needs to give you and your boyfriend a wakeup call.” I point between him and Thomas. “This doesn’t touch Keisha. You hear me, Jorge? I don’t care if you have to quit your job at KSR. She doesn’t need a lush and a junkie in her life.”

“Yes, I’ve had a few, but I’m not a drunk, and Thomas uses recreationally, but he’s not a junkie.”

“Stay in denial if you like, but if you do anything out of line while I still have money tied up in KSR, you’re gone.”

“I hope Keisha doesn’t plan on keeping your ass, because you’re a control freak and a meddler.”

The valet pulls up with Jorge’s car. I have half a mind to let him get in and drive, drunk though he may be, but I don’t wish to cause Keisha any more pain than she has to endure. My inability to commit to her is already weighing on her, and I’m too much of a selfish jackass to let her go before she gets in too deep. I can’t let her cousin get behind the wheel with a considerable blood-alcohol level. If he’s hurt or he dies, it would all be on me.

“Go check on your boyfriend,” I say. “Looks like he’s about to keel over.”

While Jorge is preoccupied with Thomas, I lean into the window on the passenger side and tell the valet driver to take the car back. Then I ask the concierge to call a cab. Jorge staggers back over to me, looking around.

“Hey! Where’s my car?” he says.

“I sent it back to the garage. You’re not driving in this condition.”

“What con-condition? I’m good to drive.”

“No you’re not,” I say.

“Yes, I am.”

“No. You’re not.” I point to the bench. “Now, go sit your ass on that bench with Nodding Thomas and shut the fuck up.”

While we’re waiting on the cab, the concierge brings Jorge a cup of coffee, and as he drinks it, his belligerence level goes down a few notches.

As I’m loading them into the cab, Jorge stops before he ducks into the back seat. “Tristan, please don’t tell Keisha about this. I got carried away and drank a little too much tonight celebrating. This is not who I am.”

I nod once and close the door as Jorge settles back into the seat, resting his arm around Thomas. I hand the cabbie a bill and send them on their way.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Keisha gets a call from Jorge on Sunday morning, and makes plans to go to dinner at her mother’s after her weekend with me at the condo. Her cousin has agreed to pick her up in front of my building. When she prepares to leave, I follow her.

“Where are you going?” she asks when I grab her bag and start toward the elevator.

“Going down to wait with you.”

“You don’t have to, Jorge will be here soon.”

“I insist,” I say as I enter the code and the elevator begins its descent.

“Okay, suit yourself,” she says.

When we get to the ground floor, she starts up again. “You live in a gated community.” She walks through the door I hold open for her. “It’s unlikely I’ll be mugged out here waiting for Jorge.”

“Be that as it may, Ms. Beale, it wouldn’t be gentlemanly of me to leave you out here alone.” And what I don’t tell her is I need to see whether her cousin is sober before I allow him to drive her away from my building.

“Ooh, chivalry is not dead. I’m impressed.”

I wait until the door is completely closed and there’s no chance the doorman will overhear us. “What happens from Friday to Sunday in The Grotto might be a bit unorthodox, but I’m not uncivilized. I’m a Dom, not a barbarian.”

She purses her lips. “As long as I live I’ll never get used to being vanilla in your world.”

My lips betray me by twitching but I manage not to smile. “If you embrace the lifestyle beyond our association, there still might be hope for you.”

I feel compelled to remind her that what we have will eventually end. It is my sincere hope that she won’t do anything foolish like fall in love with me, because I can’t return those feelings. Who am I kidding, though if that were to happen, I have absolutely no control over that.

“Speaking of our association, how long are we talking here?”

I lean against the building near the double door, fold my arms casually, and prop a leg behind me. “You anxious to get rid of me, Ms. Beale?”

She folds her arms, not allowing me to stare her down. “I asked my question first.”

“If I were to answer based on past associations: a year. Two max.”

Even as I say it, I’m not sure I ever want to let her go.
What the fuck?

“And just how do your, er, associations usually end?”

“I or my submissive will allow it to come to a conclusion organically.”

“Meaning, you or she will indicate it’s not working and exercise your right to dump or be dumped?”

“Yes, but it’s usually very amicable.”

She tries hard to be nonchalant about it, but she chews on her bottom lip. “You’d better be glad you didn’t meet the twenty-one-year-old version of me.”

“Why is that?”

“That
Keisha
didn’t take forced endings too well. She was fond of super gluing sensitive body parts of ex-boyfriends.”

She hopes to get a rise out of me with this revelation, but I don’t react. I am an excellent poker player.

“As I’ve said before, you’re not a woman who should ever have to play host to the green-eyed monster. Never let anyone usurp your confidence. Not even me.”

Ms. Beale will learn if she hasn’t already that I’m not one to wear my emotions on my sleeve.

“Thanks for the . . . advice.”

“You’re welcome.” I study her gorgeous face, that is utterly stunning without makeup. The freckles sprinkled across her nose gives her character that the makeup takes away.

“What?”

“Your beauty is quite arresting, Ms. Beale. A man could get lost in it.”

“But not you,” she says under her breath.

I narrow my eyes, wondering if she actually said those words, or if I thought them. She continues, speaking clearly and succinctly.

“It’s that fine mixture of ethnicities at play that the politically correct call bi or multi-racial. I’m a potpourri, not a blue blood.”

“Which makes you infinitely more interesting.” I look at my watch. “Your cousin is late.”

She defends him, as I suspected she would. “He’s usually not like this. In fact, he’s more like you when it comes to work.”

“Meaning?”

“He’s conscientious, exacting, and very . . . prompt.”

“Necessary virtues in my line of business.”

“In Jorge’s, as well. He’s in love for the first time ever, which is probably why he seems so unhinged.”

“Your IT man can’t afford not to have his head in the game. One wrong glitch in code could fuck KSR up. I don’t begrudge his right to a personal life, but if he’s not careful, he could throw all your hard work and our capital out the window on a flight of fancy.”

I can see by her countenance that something I’ve said has ticked her off, so her next words are no surprise.

“I’m sure you have a lot to do, and you really don’t have to wait with me,” she says and moves back toward the door. “I’ll sit in the lobby with Mr. Dunleavy until Jorge comes.”

I grab her arm before she reaches the door. She pulls her arm away. I won’t be thwarted so easily. I take her hand anyway. My persistence is one of the qualities that helped me build my business to where it is today. I also don’t possess a flair for the dramatic, nor do I care for it in my submissives.

“I’ve said something to offend you, haven’t I?”

She drags her eyes up to mine, prepared to deny it, when Jorge pulls up to the curb. She moves to pull away again, but I don’t let her go. I gather her into my arms and kiss her thoroughly, stealing every thought of resistance from her.

Jorge gets out of the car and walks toward us, and I am satisfied that his eyes are clear and he isn’t inebriated.

I place my lips close to her ear, just before I let her go, “This conversation isn’t over, Ms. Beale.”

It is rare that I do business on Sunday afternoons, but I’m contacted by a broker about a fleet of planes for sale at Midway. I’ve been hoping to expand into the luxury aircraft market for some time and I thought this might be just the opportunity, but the fleet was disappointing.

Now anytime I’m in the area, I think of Ms. Beale, and it’s difficult to be so close without calling on her. Rather than berate myself for even thinking of calling her, I just pick up my cell phone and call her.

She doesn’t answer right away, and I wonder if she’s considering not answering. What will most assuredly happen is I will show up on her doorstep if she doesn’t answer.

When she does answer, she sounds rather cheerful. “Hello, Sir.”

“Hello, Ms. Beale. I trust you had a fine dinner at your mother’s earlier today.”

“Yes, it was great. I’m sure Mrs. Naven prepared you something equally as great.”

“In fact, she did.”

“Good.”

“What are you doing right now?”

“Sitting on my sofa waiting for Jada to come back with a bottle of wine. So, nightcap and then bed. Why?”

“I’m in your neighborhood.”

“Get out!” she says, really exaggerating the disbelief factor.

I ignore her subtle sarcasm. “I’m just leaving Midway. I was looking at a small fleet of luxury planes as an investment.”

“Oh. Well, what was the verdict?”

“On the planes?”

“Yes, the planes.”

“Not luxurious enough for what I have in mind. I’m looking at another fleet at International tomorrow.”

A weighty silence hangs between us for a few seconds long enough to be awkward. “I’d hoped not to have to invite myself over,” I say.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says. “Would you like to stop by since you’re in the neighborhood, Sir?”

“I would be delighted. See you in fifteen minutes.”

When I ascend the steps to Keisha’s home, I hear what sounds like a Carrie Underwood song playing. When I ring the doorbell, the music goes off and in a few seconds the locks are disengaged.

I have a chilled bottle of wine in one hand and a bag containing a gift for Keisha in the other. She smiles when she opens the door, her face flushed.

I smile a greeting in return. “Was that country music I heard just a second ago?”

“That would be correct, Sir.” She waves me an invitation. “Do come in.”

I enter, close the door and greet her roommate. “Ms. Jameson.”

“Mr. White.” Jada responds in-kind.

The extent of my interaction with Ms. Jameson is a great working relationship. However, we are not friends by any stretch of the imagination.

“I see you’ve brought the good stuff, but I won’t waste my good enough stuff,” Jada says. She takes the bottle of Malbec and her glass in one hand, grabs the handle of her luggage with the other, and heads toward the hallway. “I’m taking this party into my room.”

“Goodnight,” Keisha and I both call after her.

I set the bag on the end of the table, shift the bottle from one hand to the other and deposit it onto the tray. “If you have a corkscrew, I’ll do the honors,” I say, taking in her quaint living room in my gaze. I didn’t spend much time in this room the last time I was here, and this time I’m eager to see how Keisha lives.

I stroll over to the mantel where Jada and Keisha’s family photos are on display. They have created the obligatory family photo collages. I hone in on the photos of Keisha over the years.

“Of course. If you’d like to have a seat I’ll be right back.” She retreats into the kitchen to get the corkscrew and returns to the living room. I meet her at the coffee table when she returns. Our fingers touch and we’re both zapped.

“Static electricity,” I say. “Or maybe it’s what you do to me.”

She turns away and goes to sit on the sofa. I open the wine with a pop and pour us both a glass. I take a seat next to her on the sofa before I reach for the glasses, hand her one, and claim one for myself.

“To us.” I clink my glass against hers. We both take a sip and deposit our glasses on the coffee table.

I gesture toward the mantel. “You’re the adorable little girl with the missing front teeth?”

“Yeah, that was me.”

“The beautiful child is now a beautiful woman.”

She hesitates, but then says, “Thank you?”

“Are you doubtful of your beauty, Ms. Beale?”

“Just skeptical a man like you would feel the need to say so.”

“A man like me?”

“Yes, one who’s been linked with beauty queens, fashion models, and socialites who’ve shelled out half their net worth to buy their beauty.”

“Don’t believe everything you read on the internet.”

“I don’t. I just read the profile Jada collected on you.”

I raise a hand and cup her cheek. My thumb ghosts over the apple of it. “You have natural, unsullied beauty. Maybe that’s why you appeal to me.”

There is no sexual intent in my touch, but I can’t prevent being aroused. We just shared a weekend together and had sex so many times I lost count. Wanting her again so soon is disconcerting. I believe she shares in that sentiment, because she moves away from my touch trying not to fidget under my gaze.

Keisha reaches for her wine glass and takes a huge drink, likely to hasten the mellowing after effects of the liquid. I take a sip of my own, not allowing my eyes to leave her beautiful face. She gives in and fidgets when my eyes don’t leave her no matter what she does. I continue to look at her as I construct exactly what I need to say to her. She looks wary, as if she fears what I’m about to say.

“I don’t make it a habit of apologizing for who I am, but I feel as if I owe you one, if only because I coerced you into a world you had no knowledge of or desire to participate in a mere month ago.”

The fear leaves, but there is still a modicum of discomfort in her comportment. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I’m sleeping with someone who has no desire to have anything other than a physical relationship with me.”

“The Dominant/submissive relationship is so much more than physical. I want to own you right down to your very soul, Keisha. That is much more intimate than this notion of romantic love most people cling to.”