Longing (Billionaire Venture Capitalist #7): A Billionaire Romance

by Ainsley St Claire

  She looks down at the napkin in her lap. I see the crease between her brows. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  That’s not the answer I longed to hear, but it isn’t a no. And it was more than I’d had yesterday. At least I know how to find her.

  I can tell she wants to say more, so I wait. Finally, she admits, “I don’t want you to not fund us because we’re involved.”

  “That’s smart, but that’s not a good enough reason.”

  She closes her eyes and sighs. “Christopher, I can’t. I’ve already told you how crazy busy I am right now, and your type is not good for me.”

  “What do you mean, ‘my type’?”

  “You’re a player. You eat girls like me up.”

  “Oh, I’ll eat you up, and you’ll enjoy it. I can guarantee that.”

  She blushes, and I’m sure she’s remembering how amazing I am at that. “You know what I mean.”

  “I don’t know why you think I’m a player. I’m a good guy. I haven’t had anyone serious in my life for a while. I’m not asking to marry you—yet—but I’d like to date you and see how it goes.” It’s embarrassing that I’m begging, but I don’t care. I’m not going to let her studies—which I fully support—or our jobs be the reason we can’t be together.

  I need to remind her of what we have. I know I’m not the only one to feel this; she must feel it too. I lean over and tangle my hands in her hair as I pull her mouth toward me. Those tempting lips crash into mine. My tongue, rough and hot, dips into her mouth when she opens. She reaches for me and grasps my arms at the elbows. Dark flashes of arousal course through me, spreading through every limb and nerve ending, as my cock becomes rock-hard.

  I let her go, and she sits back in her chair. “You don’t take no for an answer, do you?”

  “No. I won’t put any more pressure on you than you already have.” I throw cash on the table and reach for her hand. “But I will do whatever it takes to make it work.”

  “I need to get back to work. Dr. Johnson wasn’t thrilled I was leaving so quickly after you.”

  “Do you think it’s because I kicked him out of our meeting?”

  “Yes. I have no doubt he sat in the next room and listened to every word. It’s just the way he is—he wants to be in control. It’s his name and reputation hanging out there.”

  We walk outside, and she pulls her phone out to schedule a ride. “I can drop you at the end of the block.”

  She looks conflicted but finally agrees.

  When we arrive at the end of the block, I plead, “Can we please have dinner on Saturday night?”

  She nods. “Text me.”

  Chapter eleven

  Isabella

  When I return to the lab, it’s quiet. “Where is everyone?” I ask Mindy.

  “Dr. Johnson left right after you did, and a few people are at lunch or are in the lunch room.”

  I nod. “I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.”

  I sit in my chair and realize how shocked I am that I ran into Christopher. I thought about him almost every day since we were together. I can’t believe our lives intersected. My grandmother would tell me that it is something worth checking out, but maybe I’m only trying to make it be something it isn’t. I’ll need to protect my heart.

  Taking a deep breath, I look at the mounds of research to go through. I’m elbow deep into the numbers when my cell phone pings.

  Christopher: Thanks for lunch today.

  Christopher: I meant it when I said I was hoping to see you on Saturday night. Dinner at Farallon in Union Square?

  I smile to myself. I can’t help but flirt.

  Me: Is there a reason you’ve picked the best raw oyster bar in the city?

  Christopher: Is it working?

  Me: It might. I can meet you there. Only dinner though. No dancing or anything else.

  Christopher: Fine. I just want to spend time with you.

  Me: I have to get back to work. I’m trying to develop a cure you know.

  Christopher: 7, Saturday night at Farallon.

  Me: I look forward to it.

  And I am looking forward to seeing him again. Nothing can dash my mood, even now as I see Dr. Johnson heading my way.

  “Ms. Vargas, where did you go after your meeting with Mr. Reinhardt?”

  “I had lunch plans with a friend.”

  “You don’t have time for lunch.”

  “It couldn’t be avoided.”

  “I want a rundown on your progress today before you leave.” He turns to leave and stops. “And you’d better put in a full day. As far as I can tell, you’ve done nothing today.”

  I look at his back as he strides out of my office. Asshole.

  I throw myself into the data that the team has come up with so far, and I like what I’m seeing. Walking through each data point I’m given, I’m cautiously optimistic. It’s after ten when I look up. I have a vague recollection of people telling me they were leaving for the night, but I didn’t realize how long ago it was that they had left.

  Printing the document, I send a copy to my cloud for use in my dissertation and put a copy on Dr. Johnson’s desk. I’m teaching in the morning, but I’m excited to see his thoughts.

  I call a rideshare home. This time of night, the homeless can overtake some of the buses, and normally, as long as I can keep my distance from the smell, I’m fine, but I’m more interested in getting home quickly tonight and without my senses being assaulted.

  I lie in bed, willing the sandman to come and take me to dreamland, but my mind’s too active. I think about running into Christopher. I’m excited about our flirtation over text. I can’t help myself. It’s after midnight, but I don’t care.

  Me: Good night, Christopher.

  I watch the rotating dots telling me he’s replying, and I’m anxious.

  Christopher: Good night, Bella. Wish you were here.

  Me: I look forward to Saturday night.

  Christopher: Me too.

  I don’t respond, because I want to be more than just a booty call. At some point, I drift off, and my alarm is ringing. It’s 5:00 a.m. Why do I do this to myself?

  I slowly pull the covers off, and the cool air hits me. I’d rather crawl back under the covers and enjoy more of what my warm bed and the insides of my eyes have to offer, but I need to go for a run this morning before I get on the bus to make it for my nine o’clock class at Berkeley.

  It’s dark and cold outside. After pulling on a pair of sweatpants, a ratty old sweatshirt, and an orange safety vest, I’m ready to brave the morning drizzle. Popping my phone and a single house key in an armband, I head out. I used to listen to music as I ran, but after a mugging I read about in the paper, I don’t want to be preoccupied and not pay attention to my surroundings. Plus it really gives me the chance to think without any distractions.

  I run because it helps to center me. With everything I have going on, plus I’m adding Christopher to the mix, running helps me with my stress. Don’t get me wrong, I hate every single minute of it, but it’s how I find the way to get it all taken care of. I only run three miles, but I run up a forty-five-degree incline, and I’m convinced it’s what helps me keep my big butt from getting bigger.

  The streets begin to wake up at this time of the morning. The bakery on 18th Street is always so inviting. I can almost taste the sweet breads they’re baking as the scent wafts through the air as I approach. It’s quiet, except for the occasional car driving by or music playing in various apartments. Watching the lights in the apartments above the shops begin to light as I go reminds me of who might live in many of these homes. Professionals? Artists? Tech?

  I grew up in this area, and what I love most about it is the abundance of color from the beautiful murals on the walls of the buildings on streets and alleys. My favorite is the MaestraPeace Mural, or Woman’s Mural. It was painted on the Women’s Building and honors women’s contributions from around the world. It’s an internationally recognized symbol of woma
n and all their beauty, power, and intellect. It’s painted across two walls and covers the entire side of a building in bright, vivid colors. The mural is the result of a multicultural, multigenerational collaboration between seven women artists—one of which was my aunt. It makes me proud of my heritage and my neighborhood.

  After a quick shower, I make the bus to Union Station on time and then the BART train over to Berkeley. It ends up taking about an hour and a half, but I use my time wisely and work through my notes to prepare for my lecture. Maybe having a car is overrated.

  As I read about today’s topic on cell regeneration, my mind slips to Christopher and what he looked like the morning I left him in bed. How delicious he looked with his curls framing his beautiful face, his chest bare and the sheets wrapped around his waist, hiding my new favorite toy.

  My classes pass quickly, and I make it back to the lab just after noon, where I work until ten—which has become my daily routine—before heading home. Just as I’m settling in for bed, my phone pings.

  Christopher: I hope you had a good day. Reservations are made for tomorrow night at 7. Good night, my angel.

  Me: One more sleep. Good night.

  I know I must fall asleep with a smile on my face. I must.

  My cell phone pings again and a smile spreads across my face. I’m so lucky to have so many wonderful people in my life.

  Ellie: Ferry Plaza farmers market this morning?

  Me: If I can get coffee.

  Ellie: Great. See you in an hour outside the coffee stand. Last one there buys.

  Me: See you then.

  I quickly put on yoga pants and a wool sweater and head out the door with my reusable bags and wallet. Ellie is always late. I’ll have already bought the coffee for both of us by the time she gets there, but I don’t care. She does so much for me.

  Ellie arrives out of breath but looking perfectly coifed for something other than wandering the farmers market. I raise my eyebrow at her.

  “What? You never know who you may meet.” She shrugs and smiles broadly.

  I roll my eyes.

  “Any word on the meeting with the investor?” Ellie asks in an attempt to distract me.

  “If you can believe it, the asshole met with him without telling me.”

  “Are you fucking joking? What are you going to do?”

  “Believe it or not, the investor showed up on Wednesday to meet with me, and Dr. Johnson was none too happy. But—”

  “I’ll bet. That weasel! Bella, you need to watch that man like a hawk. There is something totally not right with him. This is your idea, and he’s only secondary to the medication you’re developing.”

  “I know that, but you’ll never guess who the investor is."

  “You know the investor?”

  I nod. “It’s Christopher from the night of your birthday party.”

  She stops and pulls my arm so we are facing one another. “You mean the god that took your chastity belt and threw it away?”

  “Shh! Could you please try to be a bit discreet?” I beg as I see smirks from people walking by. “Yes, he’s the one.”

  “I think that means that karma is telling you that you are not done with that boy yet.”

  I shrug. “We’re going to dinner tonight.”

  She grabs me in a tight embrace. “That’s awesome.”

  “Don’t go planning any weddings. I’m nervous to get involved with him because I don’t want that to be a reason he doesn’t fund us.”

  “I get that. Just promise me you’ll have fun.”

  “Promise. Now, I want to see what Jordana’s Flowers has today. I’m in the mood for flowers in my apartment.”

  We pick a few items up as we walk and catch up. Jordana’s is my favorite stall in the entire market. It’s overflowing with flowers of every color and kind and smells divine.

  I see plush clusters of white, pink, purple, and blue, and I bury my nose in the blooms, loving the heavenly scent.

  Two women are standing and doing the same. One points and says, “Look, Emerson, white hydrangeas. They’d look perfect in the foyer at my mother’s. What do you think?”

  Her friend takes a big sniff. “I think she’d love them.”

  I’ve already picked up a stack of pink clusters and start collecting white forget-me-nots and some greens, putting my bouquet together.

  The dark-haired woman turns to me and asks, “How did you do that?”

  “Do what?” I’m perplexed by her question.

  “How did you know that those little white flowers would go so well with the pink hydrangeas?”

  I shrug. “I love the smell of the hydrangeas, and I love the look of the pink and the sprinkle of white.”

  “What would you put with the white flowers?”

  Stepping back and surveying what Jordana has today, and I spot some small purple flowers. “What about these with these green leaves?”

  “I love them.”

  Jordana comes over. “I see my favorite customers are finally meeting.”

  I smile and hand the woman the bouquet I just put together for her. “Hello, I’m Bella.”

  She takes the flowers. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Caroline.”

  It hits me who she is, and I feel beyond stupid. She’s Caroline Arnault, a San Francisco celebrity. I feel an elbow in my side and quickly say, “Oh, and this is my best friend, Ellie.”

  Caroline motions to the woman beside her and says, “And this is my best friend, Emerson.”

  “You both have great eyes for flowers,” Jordana chimes in.

  “Well, given you have the most beautiful and unique selection each week, it’s hard to not have a good eye,” I tell her.

  “Agreed.” Turning to me, Caroline gushes, “I get so many compliments on her flowers each week. I love them. While you don’t need her to put the bouquets together, she’s also great at that too.”

  We chat a few moments longer before breaking away. “Did you recognize her?” Ellie asks once we’re out of earshot.

  “Of course I did. She’s as close as you get to royalty here in the U.S.”

  “I read in a gossip website that she’s dating the prince of Lichtenstein.”

  “She’s beautiful and gracious. I’m sure she’d make a great queen one day.”

  “He’s a playboy. His brother is the king. But she could be a princess,” Ellie informs me.

  Not one for gossip, I change the subject. “Oh, look at the size of that zucchini.”

  Ellie takes the hint, and we shop for another half hour before going our separate ways. I need to get some work done before I see Christopher tonight.

  Several hours later, I’m buried in my data when my cell phone pings.

  Christopher: Don’t get so wrapped up in your work that you forget me tonight.

  I laugh. How does he know me so well?

  Me: Are you stalking me?

  Christopher: No. I just understand how busy you are. I can pick you up, so you don’t have to drive or pay for a ride tonight.

  Me: I can meet you. It isn’t a problem.

  Christopher: I’ll be there early in the bar. Let me know if you change your mind.

  I look at the time and decide, since it’s after five, I should begin to get ready. I race home and fill the bath with hot water and add jasmine and orange oils. I don’t typically wear perfume, but these oils are my favorite.

  I relax into the bath and fight off the stress. I’m becoming anxious about my date. I contemplate taking care of myself to help me relax, since I don’t want to sleep with him tonight, but I decide against it. I shave my legs, pluck at my brows, moisturize my entire body, and play with my hair, making my unruly curls soft and cascading down.

  I’ve been debating all week what I should wear. I decide to go with a lace dress that offers the illusion of skin-baring allure and ladylike and conservative refinement in a tea-length silhouette, pairing it with a cute strappy sandal.

  For makeup, I go with a smoky eye and dark red lipsti
ck. Carefully examining myself in the mirror, I decide I look as good as it’s going to get—and I think I look pretty good.

  When the rideshare drops me off in front of the restaurant at a quarter to seven, I stride into the crowded entry and enjoy the handblown glass sculptures on the ceiling, giving the illusion you are swimming beneath the jellyfish in the ocean. I spot him at the bar and walk over. He literally takes my breath away. Aesthetically, he is so damn perfect. His blond hair and striking hazel eyes, which seem to change from moment to moment, mesmerize me. His perfectly ripped body fills out the custom suit he is wearing beautifully. His broad shoulders and massive chest make me wish we were alone. I’m not sure I’ll be able to control myself if he pushes too hard.

  He opens his arms wide, and he embraces me. “You look stunning.”

  I blush from head to toe. “Thank you. Have you been waiting long?”

  “No, I just got here and ordered our drinks.”

  “You did?”

  “A white wine for you and scotch for me.”

  I must have a surprised look on my face, because he adds, “The first time we met, you were drinking white wine. If you don’t want it, we can order you something else.”

  “No, that’s exactly what I would have ordered. You’re going to make this hard to separate business and pleasure, aren’t you?”

  He leans in, and his breath is warm on my ear. “Tonight is all about pleasure—not work.”

  My nipples pebble, and my core clenches. I’m a goner. Whatever he wants, I won’t be able to resist. I’ve never felt this kind of pull with anyone before.

  The bartender delivers our drinks, and after handing me mine, Christopher raises his glass. “To new adventures.”

  I smile and clink his glass. Taking a sip of wine, I’m stunned by the flavor. This is no ordinary two-buck chuck, which is what I usually drink. “This is an excellent wine.”

  “It’s a Bellisima. One of the partners in my firm is married to a family member who runs the U.S. group of Bellisima wines. I’ve learned a lot from Andy about wine, so if I see it on a menu, I get it, and I’m never disappointed. It’s really a fascinating story.”