Keisha nervously prattles on about the break-even figures, and where she expects they will be financially in one, three and five years. She says it tentatively, as if she doesn’t believe them herself, and I know she’s likely been coached by her precocious friend, Jada Jameson. My research on the Senator’s daughter revealed that she graduated in the top ten from DePaul’s business school. Sat for the CPA and aced it shortly afterward and has worked for a firm I know well and have used for projects before.
Now that her friend has shown up in her place, my curiosity about Ms. Jameson no longer exists. The woman before me is much better suited for what I have in mind. She has a body that prompts reflexive thoughts of binding her onto an apparatus in my Grotto, wrapping my hand around that ponytail, and fucking her until neither of us can move. Wait. The hair is off. Looks as if the ponytail is actually a wig, because it doesn’t match the texture of the hair close to her scalp. That will have to go.
I watch Ms. Beale as she checks out the decor in my office. Her inquisitive hazel eyes flit from one area to the next, taking in the space where I spend at least ten hours most days, unless I’m traveling either domestically, or abroad. She takes in the red floral arrangement in a black vase sitting in one corner, the yellow sculpture from a Chicago artist in another, the blue mural from yet another Chicago artist behind the fish tank in another corner, and the green tropical plant hybrid created by a botanist friend from the University of Chicago in the final corner.
Then her eyes take in the windowed wall behind my desk with the astonishing view of the Chicago Skyline. Her eyes fall and remain on the wall immediately behind us taking in my awards, business openings and the like, which I call a “bragging wall,” but Aimee insisted I have one. Even now that she can’t walk in here to make sure it’s all still here, and properly updated, I have Darryl to do it. Even now, I can deny her nothing. But, this could be changing, if my body’s initial reaction to Ms. Beale is any indication. This is all at once unnerving and exhilarating.
When she finally looks at me again, I quickly don my mask of impassivity again.
“Primary colors,” she says simply. “You’re a man of unassuming tastes in a world of extravagance.”
She surprises me with her perception, which is no small feat given how jaded I’ve become. “That I am, Ms. Beale.”
“So, what do you think about our business plan?” she asks.
“You get an A for originality, but I’m afraid you get a D for fiscal viability.” I frown, regretfully. I want to see what she’s made of, so I grade her low intentionally. “If we take the location out of the south side, financial viability goes up to a B plus.”
“That’s a deal-breaker,” she says. “The current location is mortgage-free, and we can’t afford to buy property near Oprah’s business address… or yours.”
She’s cheeky, to say the least. While I like my women submissive, I don’t care for them to be spineless.
“Who owns the building?”
“It was my father’s.”
“Was?”
“Yes, sir. He left it to me when he passed away two years ago.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say, with an empathy I know exceptionally well. I lost a parent young, and it’s something you never get over. “Who’s fronting the other half of the start-up capital?”
“Me, Ms. Jameson and her family.”
As public servants, Ms Jameson’s parents couldn’t afford to fund the entire project. If they did, it would draw unwanted and unnecessary attention to their financial situation. I know Senator Jameson wouldn’t want this given his political aspirations. Hence, the Senator punting his daughter and her gorgeous partner in my direction. And I’m ecstatic that he did now that I’ve met Keisha Beale, but I’m playing my interest close to the vest. I wouldn’t want her to get the wrong idea, because if I were to be able to convince her to be my submissive, it would not be about valentines and roses. Love is not something I have a desire to exploit with anyone. Not even a woman as lovely as herself.
“It’s a terrific idea in principle. The right financial backing, guidance, and mentorship would make it even more viable. This could work.”
“Guidance and mentorship? We’re not in the market for another partner. Ms. Jameson has a dual business degree, complemented by mine in music. The idea and all the intellectual property of Kente Studio Records will be ours and only managed by us.”
I rest my back against the chair. “I’m a silent partner in all the projects I finance. I leave management to their own devices until some foolhardy move compels me to break my silence. Also, location is paramount if you expect any crossover clients, and neither I nor the demographic you want to appeal to will drive into south Chicago on a regular basis to patronize a fledgling business.”
The truth is I’ll want her closer in proximity to me in her work and living arrangement if she’s to become my submissive. It may be a foregone conclusion on my part, because I can tell from the look on her face, she’s not buying what I’m selling right now.
“You can’t tell me there isn’t sufficient clientele on the south side to patronize our business. As we tap into other markets via the internet, it will only serve to increase our customer base.” She is even more beautiful when she’s annoyed, but I don’t relent.
“The talent may be there, but I would require you to be in a thriving business corridor if you’re going to use my money to fund this project.”
“Sounds as if you want to control us, Mr. White.” Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding! Ms. Beale guessed correctly for the win. She stands her ground, though, a trait in her that I find admirable. “Like I said, we’re seeking venture capital only, not a partner.”
But I want to be your partner in more ways than one, beautiful girl. If only she knew. In my head I have her trussed up in my playroom on every apparatus I own. She would be magnificent in my Grotto. I quickly respond to her, so she won’t think I’m giving in so easily.
“I haven’t achieved the success I have without exercising control in every aspect of business and life, Ms. Beale.” I smile, because what I’m about to say next is utterly ridiculous given my means. “One doesn’t just hand over a quarter of a million dollars to a couple of female upstarts without as much as a serious gut check,”
She bristles before responding to my push-back. I am going to fund this project, if for no other reason than to get to know Ms. Beale better. I am utterly intrigued by the submissive underneath the spitfire.
“We may be female but we’re not upstarts. We’ve been out of college more than two years, and we’ve made all the capital improvements to the building and done the due diligence to get this business up and running.” Her nostrils flair, and she’s resplendent in anger. I have to see how far I can push her.
“Regular audits of your books and site visits will be part and parcel of this deal. Take it or leave it.”
Her response is as cold and calculating as mine. “Do you make personal visits to every project you fund? Or just the ones managed by African Americans?”
I remain calm despite her antagonistic tirade that borders on the offensive. “Yes. But only annually to the ones that have been in operation for a while. I have my hands in over forty-five ventures, not to mention employing a large number of people in the companies I hold personally.”
She reigns in her ire briefly, and asks a less incendiary question. “Is that level of control necessary?”
“If I don’t keep my finger on the pulse of all my investments, they could spiral out of control, which would put the livelihoods of my employees in jeopardy.”
“You have an extremely high opinion of yourself and the power you wield,” she says with barely concealed disgust. Her hazel eyes would be shooting poison darts at me if it were possible.
“You have no idea. I was being groomed for what I do before you were born.”
She doesn’t speak again for a few moments, but I see the war being waged inside her head. Likely telling me
off with a vengeance. However, she’s too smart to voice her true opinion of me at the moment.
Of all the Venture Capital firms, in all the towns, in all the world she walks into mine. She’s not a blue blooded socialite, but she’s got more intelligence and class than many of the ones I grew up with. Also, she’s the first woman to stir any activity in me below the belt without a healthy round of BDSM play in a very long time. Keisha Beale would make a spectacular submissive. Now to figure out how to broach the subject to her. I flash her my winningest smile.
“You need to take a chill pill,” she finally says.
I know I’ve got her now, but I have to give her a glimpse of who I am, so she won’t be entirely surprised when I reveal my hand.
“Whether I’m working or playing, you may be sure I’m always relaxed, so I don’t need any chill pills. In fact, I’m even more relaxed when I’m in control.”
There’s a knock and Darryl leans into my office door. Piss poor timing. I show him with the look of annoyance on my face.
“Your car is here, Mr. White.” I almost forgot. I’m having dinner at my father’s house tonight and was rather looking forward to it since my stepmother’s idiot son is out of town. I have wiggle room since it’s family and not a business dinner, so I exploit it.
“Please have Moses wait.”
Darryl doesn’t seem to know what to do with what I’ve suggested, because he knows I am never purposely late. We have, since he came to work for me shortly after my first submissive’s catastrophic accident, developed a spectacular working relationship now that he’s gotten over his schoolboy crush early one.
Even though he and all my personal staff are gay men, it doesn’t stop some of them from having crushes. Unlike females, they never act on their attraction, largely because they know it’s highly unlikely a straight man would return their affection. Also, human resources has warned them and every new hire during orientation, that it is grounds for immediate dismissal. This is the best scenario for me because I’m not attracted to any of them, which solves the problem I suffered when I first began to build my business. It turned into a tragically untenable situation that I still have trouble digesting.
Darryl’s face makes the rounds of a whole range of expressions and then exits.
“Actually, I was just leaving,” Keisha says and attempts to move past me.
Thank fuck for daily workouts in varying routines that lend themselves to quick reflexes. I move into her space and block her path to the door.
“I have another matter I’d like to discuss with you, Ms. Beale. Another offer, if you will.” As our hands touch, static electricity zips through my fingers, but I ignore it and charge forward with my proposal. “Something that might be more appealing to a woman with your personal… assets.” Now that she’s standing again, my eyes are drawn to her curvaceous figure with the toned legs of a dancer or an athlete. Her chest is much smaller than I usually like, but the rest of the package is stunning.
She drags her eyes from the door where Darryl just exited, and looks like the cat that ate the canary as she asks me, “Do you even like women, Mr. White?”
I raise an eyebrow. Did this woman just question my sexual orientation?
“I can assure you I do, Keisha.” I pull her into my arms against the erection straining in my tailored suit pants. She has got to feel the engorged nine inches now pulsing against her flat tummy.
Smirking, she looks down to where our hips are joined. “How do I know this isn’t a reaction to your assistant?”
Instinctively, I wrap my arms around her diminutive frame and kiss her hard enough to both answer her question and punish her for even deigning to question my manhood. As I coil my tongue around hers, I note how sweet she tastes. My hips move of their own volition against her tight body, and she responds, just like I knew she would. The verbal sparring we’ve engaged in over the last half hour was just foreplay. She jerks briefly as if she’s about to push me away, but then she drops her purse winds her arms around my neck, kissing me back with a desperation that is so endearing, my hunger for her grows exponentially.
I cup her delicious round ass, with the intention of hoisting her up around my waist, but that skirt is so tight, doing so would rip it to shreds. I wonder briefly what Darryl would think if Ms. Beale left my office with her suit jacket firmly tied around her waist, and my own clothing disheveled from a quick session of afternoon delight. It’s as if my thought conjures the fucker, because a knock on the door comes, and Keisha and I quickly break the kiss and jump away from each other.
“What?” I roar at my Assistant, the goddamn cockblocker.
Darryl opens the door and stutters. “Moses asked me to tell you that the traffic is worsening by the minute, Mr. White.” Ms. Beale takes this opportunity to exit like a shot, pushing Darryl out of the way.
“Hold on a second,” I tell him, and race after her, but she had to have been an athlete in secondary school or college, because she’s fast. By the time I make it to the elevator, the door snicks shut on her wide-eyes, bruised lips, and breast heaving like she’s run a marathon.
I can still taste Ms. Beale’s flavored lip gloss from the one scorching hot kiss we shared in my office as I descend on the elevator with Darryl in tow. I wanted to ask Keisha to dinner in Darnelle’s stead, so I could continue to vett her as a possible submissive, but her unexpected departure disabused me of the opportunity.
As Darryl and I exit the building, we quickly enter the limo, where I extricate Ms. Beale’s wallet from her purse, and slide the handbag over to Darryl who holds it up with his thumb and forefinger like its leprous.
“This is counterfeit,” he announces.
“How do you know?” I ask absentmindedly as I get my first look at a younger, still stunning, Keisha Beale, undoubtedly as a college coed, on her driver's license which is set to expire in a year.
“It isn’t real leather, and the accoutrements are not real gold-plated metal. Feels like hard plastic.” Darryl says with a frown.
This is the first time my assistant has demonstrated just how savvy he is with women’s fashion. I am not homophobic by a long shot, but he has never behaved like a clichéd gay man. He always displays the epitome of professionalism, and his office skills are impeccable.
I Google the address on Ms. Beale’s license on my Smartphone. It’s in a general direction in Chicago I rarely go unless I’m on my way to Midway to fly out of the city on one of the charter planes I own. O’Hare is too damned crowded, so that location was my airport of choice when I bought the fleet.
“We’re taking a detour,” I announce, and give Moses the address.
“We will surely be late if we go there before dinner at your father’s home, Mr. White,” Moses says, nonplussed.
Am I really going on what could be a wild goose chase hoping to convince a young lady I just met to be my dinner date at my father’s home? My lips quirk up into what could be my third smile of the day when I realize that is exactly what I’m doing. When I see Moses eying me warily through the rearview mirror and Darryl staring at me, mouth agape, my smile morphs into a scowl.
“I need to shower and change before dinner. Take me home,” I say to Moses, changing my mind yet again. “Instead, take Darryl to Ms. Beale’s residence to return her handbag. She will need her license and credit cards this weekend, no doubt. Also give her one of my cards and my private cell number and ask her to give me a call.”
“What about a date for dinner tonight?” Darryl doesn’t quail at the thought of me upending whatever plans he may have had for his own Friday night. I must remind myself to give him a bonus.
“Call Danai,” I instruct him. “Ask her to accompany me to dinner at my father’s place tonight.”
Both Darryl’s eyebrows rise. “She owes me a favor, and I need a date who won’t read anything into the request.”
He relaxes when he realizes that I know Danai is a Lesbian, but what he doesn’t know is that I just trained her to be a dominatrix.
I am usually not so benevolent, but having her around to paddle, flog, bind and torture took some of the edge off. Otherwise I would never have been able to withstand six months with essentially. . .nothing.
Darnelle and I have been friends since the Academy. Before she came out of the closet and became the icon now known as Princess Danai, I ridded her of her virginity one summer on Martha’s Vineyard at her request. Eventually she realized she didn’t like cock, but we remained friends. She claims to be from Chicago’s West Side for street cred, like another famous rapper we both know, but she actually grew up in Barrington Hills, a place that holds unhappy memories for us both.
For Darnelle’s training, we drew the line at penetration, but it was fun using my implements on her willing body, and the BDSM play got me off enough that I didn’t need to go looking for an accommodating body to penetrate. Now she’s ready to go solo and take her own submissive, but like me, she has been too busy to cultivate a relationship. Unlike me, Danai wants to give valentines and roses, and if Keisha Beale wants the same, I may be well and truly fucked.
I’ve arrived at Darnelle’s building not far from my own, and parked in her assigned visitor’s spot in the garage when Darryl calls me with an update.
“Mr. White?” He sounds flustered.
“Yes?”
“Ms. Beale wasn’t home. Her neighbor says she hasn’t seen her since earlier this afternoon.”
“I hope she isn’t stranded in the city,” I say, thinking aloud. “There was negligible cash in her wallet, but we have her identification, her debit and what looks to be all her credit cards in there.”
“Maybe she has friends in town who were able to come to her aid.”
“She works at a Lingerie shop on the mile, so that’s a possibility. Thanks for trying. We’ll touch base with her again early next week.” I turn off the ignition and get out of the car, and I hear the automatic locks engage as I stride toward the elevator. “Listen, you and Moses have cut into your weekend significantly for me. Remind me to give you both a bonus next week.”
The Venture Capitalist Page 3