“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 wa
s 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.”
I stop speaking to allow her to reply, because she’s searching my eyes as if she’s hoping I didn’t literally mean every word I just said.
“That is so foreign to me. It goes against everything I’ve ever observed or been taught about relationships between a man and woman.”
“I know it does, but if you let go and let me teach you, you will come to appreciate the lifestyle as much as I do or maybe more so. Submissives get the lion’s share of the benefit from this type of relationship, hands down.”
Her expressive eyes make the trek from our first meeting up until now, and I can see when she finally resigns herself to accept what is between us. There is a powerful, heady connection that we share. Romance can be part and parcel of the Dominant/submissive relationship if she’s able to let go of the societal image of romance and embrace my kinky world. I can tell she’s not ready to give up what I’ve introduced her to just yet.
“I’ll try to think more like a submissive and not so much like a girl looking for her knight in shining armor.”
“Good, because my armor was tarnished so long ago it will likely never shine again.”
She brandishes a naughty smile. “There may be hope for you yet, Sir.”
“That will have to be a debate for another day. You have a business to open up first thing tomorrow morning, as do I.” I stand and pick up the bag I brought in with me. “But, before I go, I have something for you.”
“What more could I need that you haven’t already provided?”
“I like that you feel that way, but there is something of mine you covet, which you deserve to have a supply of your own.” I reach into the bag and pull out a bottle of the European mousse I use. She looks genuinely please by this gift. Usually she fights tooth and nail not to accept gifts from me.
“Aw, thanks, Tristan.” She leans in to give me a quick one-armed hug. “My hair always looks so much better after I’ve spent the weekend at your place.”
“I noticed you liked it and my supply was dwindling faster than normal, so I asked Mrs. Naven to double the order. This came Saturday, but I forgot to give them to you before you left today.”
She hugs the bottle to herself as if it is precious. It is then I realize this gift is something a boyfriend in a conventional relationship would get for his girlfriend, and I sincerely hope Ms. Beale isn’t receiving my mixed signals as loud and clear as I’m sending them.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
They were moving toward being in the black within a year, but then I noticed they began hemorrhaging profits when the tentative first quarter numbers were sent to me.
I call Keisha on the morning I receive the financial statements. Mind you, their capital outlay is a drop in the bucket compared to projects I usually fund, but I don’t like to lose. Ever. It’s more about the business failing than the money lost at this juncture.
“Keisha, you want to tell me what the fuck’s going on over there?” I say without even saying hello.
“We aren’t sure right now, but Jada and I have our two best financial people going over the numbers as we speak. I’m hoping we’ll have more information in a day or two.”
“Not good enough. You’ve got until close of business tomorrow to sort this shit out.”
“Hey, we’re just as anxious to fix this as you are. You don’t have to be so damned snippy.”
“I don’t do snippy,” I say using her terminology. “This is me being the pissed off head of the company that doesn’t want you running my investment into the fucking ground.”
She sighs. “Okay, Jorge and I will jump in and see what we can dig up.”
“Keisha, if we can figure out the source of the shortfall, we can brainstorm some measures to fix it.” I am extending myself in ways that I don’t normally do for clients, but then I don’t sleep with my other clients. As her Dominant, Keisha’s well-being falls firmly within my purview, and this snafu is threatening that right now.
“We’re going to stay on past closing until this is figured out, which means I can’t attend your charity function tonight.”
“I’ll see if Darnelle is available to go. She cleans up pretty nicely when she’s not wearing cargo pants and basketball jerseys with copious gaudy jewelry.”
The Venture Capitalist Page 20