Venture Capitalist:
Temptation
Book 4
by Ainsley St Claire
Contents
Other Books by Ainsley St Claire
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
A few words…
How to find Ainsley
About Ainsley
Copyright 2018 Ainsley St Claire
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a production of the author’s imagination. Locations and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions or locations is completely coincidental.
Venture Capitalist: Temptation/Ainsley St Claire—1st edition
Other Books by Ainsley St Claire
If you loved Venture Capitalist: Temptation, you might enjoy the other sensual, sexy and romantic stories and books she has published.
In a Perfect World
Venture Capitalist: Forbidden Love
Venture Capitalist: Promise
Venture Capitalist: Desire
Venture Capitalist: Temptation
Venture Capitalist: Obsession
(March 1, 2019)
Venture Capitalist: Longing
(June 1, 2019)
This book is dedicated to my soulmate, life partner, father of my children, and my husband. Daniel, I will love you always and forever.
CHAPTER ONE
Greer
Exiting my flight at JFK, I see a placard with my name on it. CeCe, you didn’t have to do this. I’m quite fine taking a ride share into the city. I walk up and introduce myself. “Hello, I’m Greer Ford.”
“Good morning, Ms. Ford. My name is Carleton. Ms. Arnault sent me and asked that I give you a ride to your hotel and be available to you this afternoon for shopping or whatever you may want to do today. May I take your bag?”
Reluctantly, I hand him my bag. I was only expecting to come in for Fashion Week a few days early to see my cousin and support CeCe, one of my best friends. I wasn’t expecting her to be worrying about me instead of preparing for the biggest event in her professional career to date.
For everyone, family dynamics are stressful for a multitude of reasons, but my family is more difficult than most. My cousin Vanessa is my age and understands all the challenges I face. Our mothers are sisters and equally crazy, so we’ve always had one another to lean on in difficult and stressful times. She also works in public relations and owns a small company that caters to designers and companies in the beauty industry here in New York City. Fashion Week is her twice-a-year crazy time.
Carleton opens the passenger door of the Mercedes for me.
“Did CeCe tell you where I’m staying?”
“She mentioned you were at The Whitby Hotel on West 56th Avenue. Is that correct?”
I sit back in my seat and try to relax. “Yes, that’s the place.”
I look through my e-mails, but nothing is happening that I need to deal with, so I fire off a text to CeCe.
Me: You didn’t have to send a driver. I’m quite able to get a car and meet Vanessa later today. You have enough to worry about this week. The girls and I are good and here to help you, not the other way around.
CeCe: I know that. Don’t worry about it. It took two seconds to tell Carleton to get you, and he was grateful not to be here waiting all morning.
Me: Somehow I doubt that. I bet he’d much prefer watching models get ready for Fashion Week.
CeCe: He’d have been stuck in the car downstairs. Go. Have a great time. Love you, and have fun with Vanessa. She’s been amazing to work with this week.
Me: How are things going?
CeCe: Great. A few things to get done, but we’re almost ready.
CeCe: Come by the suite at the Four Seasons when you can and let’s figure something out.
Watching the landscape change as we drive in from the airport to Midtown Manhattan, my excitement grows. This week I’ll have everyone I care about most all together.
The Whitby is close to Central Park and shopping on 5th Avenue. I’ve stayed here for many years and love it. As we arrive at the hotel, Carleton jumps out of the car to open my door, and the doorman greets me. “Good to see you again, Ms. Ford.”
“Thank you, Tom. How are your wife and the twins?”
“Excellent. I have pictures I can show you later, if you’re interested.”
“Without a doubt.”
He ushers me into the lobby, and the front desk clerk looks up. “Why hello, Ms. Ford. Welcome back to The Whitby Hotel. It’s so nice to see you again.”
“Thank you.”
She clicks a few times on her computer, takes my credit card and prepares the keys. “Here is your room key for the suite. May we send up a bottle of champagne?”
I glance at her name tag. “Thank you, Monica. Maybe later. I’m off to meet my cousin shortly, and the champagne will put me to sleep after the red-eye from San Francisco.”
“Please let us know if you need anything. The bellman will bring up your luggage. Would you like a houseman to unpack your bags?”
“No, I can manage that, but thank you.”
I take my room key and head up to my usual suite with a beautiful terrace and two bedrooms. I’m staying alone tonight, but when everyone arrives from San Francisco tomorrow, we’ll add the room next door and it’ll become a three-bedroom suite.
When I was growing up, Vanessa and I would spend days here, just the two of us. Our mothers both have some mental health issues, and we would run away to get a break from our home lives. Our dads would set us up here with unlimited room service, and we’d have a great time eating junk food and watching television all night. We didn’t go to clubs and weren’t very wild; we had wild at home. We came to The Whitby to escape and get some peace and calm.
My cell phone pings.
Vanessa: Hello, my beautiful cousin. Are you too jet-lagged to meet me for coffee at the Met?
Me: I can’t wait. 20 min.?
Vanessa: I’ll be the one who has giant raccoon eyes and knuckles dragging on the ground.
I know that ma
y be how she feels, but I’ve never seen her look like that—ever. Vanessa loves the crazy pace that Fashion Week provides, and she’s so good at what she does.
Me: That’d be a first. See you soon!
My luggage arrives, and after tipping the bellman, I pull a freshly pressed silk pantsuit from my suitcase. I know there’s snow on the road, but I won’t be walking on the streets for long and can head to the Met to enjoy brunch. Knowing the two of us, it’ll be coffee; this time of year, I swear Vanessa doesn’t sleep and just mainlines caffeine.
I call Carleton to let him know I’ll be right down, then make my way out of the hotel. My blood must be awfully thin, because although the temperatures may be just below freezing, even with the heat roaring I can’t get warm. I’m a San Francisco native to the bone.
Carleton drives me to Flora Cafe. Located at the Met, it’s a perfect place to sit and chat away from the hustle and bustle of New York City.
Taking a seat in the back corner, I can’t help but grin from ear to ear when Vanessa walks in. Wearing a full-length fox fur coat, she’s absolutely beautiful.
“GiGi!” She calls me by my childhood nickname and opens her arms wide for a sisterly hug.
“Vannie, you look well rested and ready for the week.”
“Oh, you have no idea. I have a model who’s working four shows and is on TubeIt saying defamatory things about minorities. What a mess. I wish she’d shut her mouth already. I have a designer who’s so wasted he can’t work. And forget the drama in getting the gift bag people to stay within their contract with Metro Composition Cosmetics.” Her job in public relations is significantly more challenging than mine, since she’s dealing with artists whereas I’m dealing with practical technology people. I don’t envy her job in fashion in the least.
I watch her light up when she talks about her work. She’s made for this.
When she finally takes a breath, I reach for her and say, “You know you love this.”
She looks around to make sure no one is listening. “I do, but don’t tell anyone,” she whispers at me and winks. “How are things going with your corporate espionage at SHN?”
How is it going? I’m so grateful that Vanessa signed SHN’s nondisclosure, as she’s helped me with the New York press and has been great to discuss issues with. She’s someone whom I know will keep it on the downlow.
There’s a mole in our company who’s been sharing our confidential information with clients and the industry. It seemed like they were sharing with just one company at first, though we recently learned that wasn’t the case.
“Well, it’s taken a strange twist. The company that’s been benefitting from the mole has been struggling because we floated bad information, but we learned the mole is also feeding our information to other competitors. It’s a mess, but business is good, and I love my job. No high drama usually.”
“Oh my God! How do you tackle the unknown in PR when you don’t know whom you’re combatting?”
She understands. That’s part of why I love my cousin so much. Not only does she appreciate my mess with my mom, but she works in my field, so she’s a constant source of encouragement. “Exactly. We’re doing the best we can. We’re putting the word out that we’re financially sound and just trying to be more proactive than reactive. I hate this.”
“You’re good at it though,” she sympathizes.
Coming from Vanessa, I know this is a true compliment. She’d call me on it if she thought I was dropping the ball or not doing my job well. “Not as good as you are. I wish you’d leave this drama of models, photographers, and crap and come to San Francisco and work with me. We could start our own company together and rule the town. ” I miss her. We used to talk every day, but now we only manage to catch up when we can.
“You know I’d love to, but you’d never leave SHN, and what would Angus do?”
Angus is Vanessa’s husband, and they’re perfect for one another. They both love their jobs and are very focused on that. “He’s an investment banker. He could run his fund from San Francisco. There’s a large finance community, and he even knows them all.”
Even as I suggest it, I know Vanessa would never consider leaving New York City. She loves the fast pace, great restaurants, and the craziness that comes with living here.
“Speaking of Angus, how are you doing?” The grip on my hand tightens as she implores, “It’s been almost eight months since Mark left. Are you ready to date?”
Trying to hold back the tears, I share, “Not really. He married his assistant a few months ago. He should be announcing his candidacy for Congress before too long.”
“Wow, just like your dad. I’m so sorry.” She stands and moves around the table to sit next to me on the bench, then puts her arm around my shoulders and pulls me in for a tight hug. Mark decimated me, but only CeCe and Vanessa know how deeply it cut.
“Thanks. Her father has money, and he made the papers recently for donating a bunch of money to Mark’s campaign. Plus, there’s no Eve in her life.” I don’t want to dwell on this; I’ve already spent too much time rehashing it in my mind and with my friends. Shifting the conversation away from me, I say, “I’ve missed you so much. How’s Gillian doing?” Eve and Gillian are our mothers. We started calling them by their first names when we were in our early teens as a way to separate the extreme behavior that comes with their issues.
“Crazy as ever. And Eve?”
I’ve been taking a break from Eve recently. As an only child, I’m often the one who’s called in to manage her erratic behavior. She lives north of me up in Napa Valley, and I check in on her every few days, but she rarely answers my phone calls or texts. “Still crazy. She tries.”
“I hear you. Gillian has her moments. How are you doing?”
“I’m trying. I worry every day that I’m going to turn into my mother. But I have a job that keeps me busy and out of trouble and amazing friends who help keep me sane.”
She grins. “You do have amazing friends.”
“CeCe has been a beacon. She’s so happy with all you’ve done to help get her here this week.” Vanessa’s the one who spearheaded the push for CeCe’s company, Metro Composition, to be part of Fashion Week. It’s really hard for an independent makeup company to get noticed and participate in the event, so if it goes well, Metro Composition may see many more Fashion Weeks. And because of Vanessa and her guidance, I have all the confidence they will.
Vanessa looks at me and holds my hand. “Caroline absolutely adores you.”
“Why do you call her Caroline and not CeCe?”
“Because professionally she’s Caroline. CeCe is reserved for friends and family, and we have a business relationship.”
I look down at my empty cup and debate a fourth round of coffee, but I may never sleep if I do.
Vanessa’s phone keeps lighting up, but she isn’t paying attention to it as I begin to gather my things. Together we stand to walk out.
“Well without you, CeCe wouldn’t be here this week. Thanks for helping to make it happen,” I tell her sincerely.
“We’ve been working on this for a while. This year we had success, and we’re participating in three different designers’ shows. Metro Composition’s going to be a hit. I need to get over to the suite and check to see how it’s coming along. Do you want to join Angus and me for dinner tonight? We’ll eat about eight. I know we can squeeze you and Caroline in if you’d like to join.”
“I’ll check with her, but I bet she won’t have time.”
To sweeten the idea of joining her for dinner, Vanessa shares, “Well, there are a few men who work for Angus who would trip over themselves to meet you both. Very casual. Promise.”
I release a deep laugh. Everyone is ready for me to move on, but I’m not there yet. “You and CeCe are always the matchmakers.”
“We need to move Mark firmly to your rearview mirror.”
I know she’s right, but I’ll get myself there in my own time. “Come on. Let’s get over to the s
uite.”
I tighten the coat’s tie at my waist, and push through the door. The cold winter air hits me square in the face, and it’s miserable. I can’t stand this weather, and I don’t know how anyone does.
As we take our seats in the car, Vanessa turns her phone’s ringer back on and it immediately rings. It’s nonstop calls all the way to the Four Seasons. I listen as she directs one call and then another, counting eight different ones in less than five minutes.
Walking in, she gives her coat to the hotel coat check and we head upstairs, where CeCe spots me before I see her.
“Greer! You made it.” She gives me a sisterly hug and I return it just as enthusiastically, so happy to be here. Not just because I love clothes and all things fashion, but also because Fashion Week has been on my bucket list for years.
I put my arm around CeCe. “Well, having Carleton at my beck and call makes a difference.” Looking around the suite, I see boxes and, truly, a controlled chaos. People are actively setting up what looks like high-end beauty chairs facing large mirrors around cabinets that an electrician is trying to light. There’s a team of eight people dressed in black stretch pants and black T-shirts, standing over what must be twenty rows with easily fifty gift bags in each one. Every team member has an armful of Metro Composition products they’re dropping into the bags. I see a few of the new spring colors that haven’t hit the market. I wouldn’t mind one of the gift bags.
Beginning Thursday in the hotel’s penthouse lounge, the makeup artists from Metro Composition will host a nightly “beauty therapy bar,” where guests can sample products and have their brows shaped for free. Looking around, I see all sorts of makeup samples scattered everywhere. I know they sent samples for each Fashion Week ticket holder’s goodie bag, but those who come to the suite will be very lucky. There’s some pretty impressive stuff here.
CeCe is perfectly coiffed in black palazzo pants and a beautiful blue silk blouse. She’s calm and not crazy, but everyone around her looks like they’ve had six cups of coffee too many. She doesn’t seem frazzled, but I know that over the years in the public eye, CeCe has learned to hide it well.
Temptation (Billionaire Venture Capitalist #4): A Second Chance Billionaire Romance Page 1