“He grew up with three sisters, so he respects women. Currently he’s between girlfriends. He loves going down on his girlfriends and always makes sure they’re satisfied with two orgasms before he gets his own.”
Laughing in hysterics, we actually attract his attention, and he gives us a megawatt smile.
I point to a short, dark-haired balding man with a small potbelly. “Meet Jacob.”
“Oh I like Jacob. He’s wearing a custom suit. Bring it on,” she giggles.
“He’s a partner at the largest law firm here in The City, practicing business law. He grew up in San Francisco and went to all the finest schools, along with Harvard undergrad and the University of Chicago Law.”
She nudges me with her shoulder and teases, “Aw, I went to business school at the University of Chicago.”
I wink at her. “That was for you.” We snicker, and I continue. “I went to school with dozens like him. Guys weren’t as bad as the girls, but it was competitive.”
“Chicago was the same. Thank God that’s behind us.”
We make up a few more biographies of various men, and even some women. Boy, do I sound catty when I called one woman an easy lay. CeCe doesn’t judge me or criticize, just giggles. “Ouch! Meow!”
As I drain my drink and finish my water, CeCe shares, “The girls are getting together on Friday night at One Market around eight. Can you join us?”
Of course I’d love to hang out with her more. “It’s a Friday night, but I’ll try to tear myself away from the office early. That sounds like a lot of fun.”
Trey had mentioned wanting to get together, but he’s only asked for time during the week, not the weekend. I’ll hold Saturday night for him, and if he can’t make that work, it’s just as well. I’ve been buried at work, so I need to spend most of the weekend working anyway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sara
I stop in the company break room and make myself a double Nespresso, then take a seat in my typical chair in Mason’s office for the partners meeting. Cameron and I are the first to arrive, and he’s obviously anxious, fidgeting and restless as everyone arrives. We all make small talk, and when Mason arrives last, he shuts the door and nods at Cameron, who announces, “It appears Perkins Klein has won one of our projected duds.”
“Wow,” Emerson exclaims. “What should we expect?”
“Well, the technology has a flaw, which they recognize. They were seeking heavy funding to repair and move on. It’s a good concept, but they aren’t technically strong enough to pull it over the finish line, and they aren’t interested in any outside help.”
Dillon explains, “They don’t have the team to let go. They want money to keep doing it their way. And in this case, had we gone in, we’d want to have Cameron and some of his team rework the technology.”
“I’m not even sure I could do that level of math to make it work,” Cameron admits.
Mason asks the group, “Should we have Greer put out a counter public relations campaign to the win, or let it ride itself out?”
Dillon shares, “I like the idea of a counter public relations campaign.”
“Me, too,” Cameron chimes in.
“What do we gain by doing the public relations campaign?” Emerson asks.
“We do get some vindication, but probably not much more than that,” Mason replies.
“It sounds like if we point out that the technology is struggling, and management is lacking, we would be giving them a way to fix it and make a mistake profitable.” Glancing around the room, she adds, “Maybe we should celebrate among ourselves and consider the public relations campaign after it implodes. How much did they invest?”
“Over twenty million,” Dillon tells us.
Cameron whistles, and we all agree that it may not have been a wise investment for Perkins Klein’s portfolio. Cameron asks, “Dillon, in examining their portfolio, how confident are you in their position?”
“Funny you should ask. I’ve been crunching those numbers, and I have to believe if they lose out with the seven companies we’ve planted them with, they’re going to be in bad shape.”
Mason turns to me. “Sara, what do you think?”
“I guess I’m with Emerson on this, and I’m grateful that Dillon is managing our portfolio rather than David Klein. Of course, if the portfolio had a double-D chest and looked amazing in a thong, he might be paying better attention.”
That gets quite a few laughs from the team before our meeting breaks up and we all head back to our respective offices, where I sit down to work on three SEC filings and two intent letters.
Up pings a notification in my e-mail. I don’t usually pay attention to the notices, but this one catches my eye. Catherine is responding to my letter. My nerves are frayed to the quick, unsure if I want to see what she has to say. In my building anxiety, I’ve constructed elaborate rationalizations for why everything would turn out all right, but the nagging voice in the back of my mind speaks of nothing but doom ahead. Her response is swift and cutting.
To: Sara White
From: Catherine Ellington
Subject: Your letter
Sara,
You have nothing to do with me. What I did 30 years ago is my affair, nothing to do with you or anyone else. I’ve started a new life. No one knows about my past, and that’s the way I want it to be. I do not want to see you or hear from you again.
Catherine
I’m devastated. How can she be so callous? What does she mean it has nothing to do with me? It was me she left behind—it absolutely has something to do with me. No words can describe the hurt I feel.
Lonely, starved of warmth, I stare out my window into the Bay and watch the barges and sailboats. I’m drowning in sorrow, yet I reach for a spark of strength from within that pushes me to stay strong for a moment longer. Then the tears fall, along with cries and sobs. What have I done to deserve this rejection?
Cast out by my mother again, feeling three years old once more with nowhere to call home, yet the Bay and the barges are steady as they move goods from port to port. Somehow it gives me comfort, allowing me to see myself and recognize the hurt for what it is.
I can hear the sounds of an active office—everyone going about their duties and lives—tickling the tip of my ear, keeping me company.
Chastened but not deterred, I e-mail her back in an attempt to “sell” her on meeting me.
To: Catherine Ellington
From: Sara White
Subject: Your letter
Dear Catherine,
I certainly understand your reluctance to meet with me. I’m not trying to upset your home life. I’m hoping for information on my biological father and some history about my family. I’m happy to come to you and we meet over coffee, or if you prefer, we can talk via e-mail. Please?
Sara
I press Send before I talk myself out of it. I’m hoping she’s still online and will reconsider meeting me.
It takes a few minutes of stalling, but I finally go back to work. Each time my e-mail notification sounds, I jump, desperate for a reply, but it’s never from her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Trey
Ever since our weekend, I’ve been thinking a lot about Sara. I know I’ll see her each Sunday, but I’d love to see her again before that. I text her with a simple Hey.
She doesn’t respond, though there could be a thousand reasons why. I didn’t reach out to her, waiting all week to hear from her instead. I try to put it out of my mind that she’s been silent all week, but it’s hard; I want to see her, or at least talk to her. I haven’t spoken to my sister this week either, so I figure I might be able to talk to someone who at least replies.
I call CeCe. “Hey, baby sister. What’s up?”
“Not too much, busy with Emerson’s wedding,” she says, stifling a yawn.
Trying to not give away my feelings for Sara, I ask, “It’s mostly people from SHN and family in the wedding, isn’t it?” I cringe. T
alk about being desperate to get information from my sister.
“You’re in the wedding party,” she explains, as if I’m slow and don’t realize I don’t work for SHN.
“True, but I cross a little of both.”
“In your dreams,” she snarks.
I’m stung by her directness. “Be nice.”
A hint of tenderness appears when her tone changes from light-hearted banter to caring and compassionate. “What’s wrong?”
I decide to tell her enough that she can help me rationalize what I might’ve done wrong and maybe help me fix it. “I’ve met someone who’s rocked my world, but I have a feeling she doesn’t feel the same.”
“How is that possible?”
I love that CeCe always sees the best in me. “You do know that we have a bit of notoriety, don’t you?”
“Sure, but it isn’t like that’s a secret when you date someone. Don’t the idiots on motorcycles carrying cameras give you away?”
I run my fingers through my hair. “Thankfully, she never experienced that.”
“Then how did she find out?
“She was in the TMZ photo, but I think she would rather not deal with it.”
CeCe, with her typical directness, says, “Then dump her. You’re amazing. We can’t control the chaos that surrounds us.”
Frustrated that CeCe thinks I should walk away from this amazing woman, I need to tell her how much I like this girl. “It’s not that easy. I think she may be the one.”
“You? You’re thinking of settling down? You aren’t even serious about her.” She’s quiet a few moments before she finally says, “Are you?”
“Yep. I think I want to settle down with this one.”
“You think? Why don’t you know?”
“We had a great weekend away, and I really feel that we connected on a level I’ve never connected with anyone before. But when we got back, she essentially ghosted me. She won’t talk to me. I’ve called, e-mailed and texted, but all I get are crickets.”
“I love you, big brother. You’re perfect in every way.” With a playful push, she urges, “Go after her!”
I knew CeCe would know what to say to encourage me and make me feel better.
After hanging up, I pour myself a gin and tonic from the bar in my office, then sit back in my chair and watch the hundreds of cars crossing the double-decker Bay Bridge. I’m lucky to have a great relationship with my sister. So often it seemed it was us against the world. I also wish I knew a decent guy for her to date. CeCe deserves a great guy who will allow her to be strong and confident on the outside, while understanding that she’s insecure and fragile on the inside.
Sara’s much like my sister. I know I can’t make her like me, but certainly I’m going to try.
I wish I knew how to fix this, how to make my life less interesting for the tabloids. If I were less interesting, maybe they’d leave me alone. Maybe Sara would want to spend time with me.
I text her again. Any interest in a quick drink after work?
Nothing.
I don’t want to go home, nor do I want to work late, so I send out a group text to a bunch of my buddies. Anyone up for meeting tonight?
In seconds I get a round of yeses, and we agree on a place and a time.
I run home to change out of my suit and into something more appropriate—jeans, a black T-shirt and a pair of Cole Hahn black leather ankle boots.
I’m the first to arrive and find a booth in the corner, ordering a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black for the table and six glasses.
While I wait, I watch all the activity in the bar. It’s a bit of a pickup joint, but it’s dark and I enjoy watching my friends try to score girls.
A young Asian woman smiles at me and I smile back as she walks over. “Hi! I’m Tanya.” She has long black hair and barely comes to my chest she’s so petite. She’s a bit bubblier than I normally date, but she’s the opposite of Sara and an excellent diversion.
“Nice to meet you, Tanya. Call me Charlie.”
Cocking her head to the side, she glances up at me, one eyebrow quirked. “You seem familiar.”
Not wanting to have a deep conversation with her, I say, “I do? I get that a lot.”
She giggles and keeps touching her hair. “So, tell me about yourself.”
“I’m not that interesting. Why don’t you tell me about yourself instead.”
She smiles and laughs. “I work for a venture capital company.”
That piques my interest. “Really? Which one?”
“Perkins Klein.”
I need to be careful. She doesn’t know I advise SHN, so maybe I can collect some insider information if she’s in the mood to share. “Really? What do you do for them?”
“Research mostly,” she says with confidence.
“I think I’ve heard of Perkins Klein. What does someone in research do for a venture capital company?”
“I evaluate prospective companies and determine if they’d be a wise investment for our funds. I work on the financial side and assess companies, checking their expenses and projecting their profitability.”
“Wow. That’s huge.” Trying to charm her, I say softly, “You’re obviously very important.”
Holding up her finger and thumb to show about an inch, she says, “Maybe a little.”
“Well, come closer and tell me all about it.”
The waitress’s timing is perfect, arriving with my bottle of scotch and six glasses. I offer Tanya one, then, trying not to be too obvious, say, “Tell me about what your company does.”
She lights up. “We’re the best venture capital company in The Valley. We invest in small and mid-sized companies.” She continues talking for almost ten minutes straight, sharing with me the size of her team and their names and backgrounds. I nod in the appropriate places, and she breaks down her role in the company very specifically. While probably not inner circle, she most likely knows all about every deal.
Curious, I ask, “How do you decide who to invest in?”
“Our founders are super connected. We get better than a thousand requests a day.”
“A day?” Well, color me surprised.
She nods. “It’s crazy. Somehow Terry and Bob pick these winners. It’s their money and they’ve been doing this for many years. They have the cars, houses all over the world and jets to prove they know what they’re doing.”
She mentions a few companies Perkins Klein is targeting. I recognize some that we’ve discussed in our Sunday night meetings, but also a few I’m fairly certain are existing clients of SHN. I’m going to need to e-mail my dad and Mason when I get home and share what I learn.
She’s really a nice girl. As I start to talk about leaving, I thank her for a nice evening. “You’re a wonderful listener,” she gushes.
“You’re very kind.”
“I hope whoever broke your heart realizes she’s made a mistake before some other girl steals it out from under her.”
Wow. I didn’t realize I was so transparent. “You’re incredibly astute, has anyone ever told you that?”
She smiles, gives me a hug and says, “Good night.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Sara
I’m wrapped up in the covers, my insomnia at an all-time high, when I hear a ping from my cell phone in the other room. Glancing at the clock, I see it’s after eleven. Who is texting me this late? I debate if I’m going to find out, but finally my curiosity wins.
Shuffling in my sweatpants, sweatshirt and big wool socks, I walk into my home office as it pings a second time. It’s Trey: How are you? and then I miss you.
Truthfully, I miss him, too. The sex was amazing, and he’s a great guy, but I have chaos at work and the mess with Catherine. I do feel a pang of guilt for ghosting him, but how could he ever love me if my own mother doesn’t?
When I get home from work, Henry’s sitting outside my apartment.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
“Because I need to see you.”<
br />
Exasperated, I implore, “What can I do to help?”
He appears dejected and actually nervous. “I need time with Mason and Dillon.”
With a big sigh, I push my key into the door lock. “You could’ve made those arrangements yourself. Why do you need me to set up a meeting?”
“Because I wanted to tell you first.” I turn to stare at him and wait, until finally he tells me, “Jennifer has resigned.”
“Your executive vice president?” I clarify, confused as to why it matters.
“Yes,” he squeaks out.
“Why?”
Then it hits me why I need to know.
“She feels that she’s ready for a new adventure.”
“Is that all?” I push knowing there has to be more.
He stares at me, then quietly shares, “Well, we may have been involved.”
“So that’s the reason you wanted to tell me, because you were having another affair?” In that moment, I realize I don’t care. I might have a few months ago, maybe even a few weeks ago, but we never had a real relationship, at least in my mind. I finally understand that now.
“No!” he exclaims. “You know I’m in love with you. It wasn’t always working the late nights. It’s you. It’s always been you.”
“Don’t worry, Henry. I’m not going to rat you out with SHN. You’re fine. Go home.”
“I can stay if you’d like,” he growls, winking.
“No, thanks. I’ll reach out to Mason and Dillon and let them know about Jennifer.”
He kisses me on the cheek and walks away—whistling, no less.
How could I ever have liked that asshole?
It’s another late night and I’m still in the office. Hearing a noise, I walk out just as Annabel stops by my office. We both jump at the sight of the other.
“Hey,” I greet her, surprised she’s still in the office.
“You’re still here?” she asks, seeming equally surprised—and possibly a bit tipsy.
Promise (Venture Capitalist Book 2) Page 10