Forbidden Love (Venture Capitalist Book 1)

by Ainsley St Claire

  “We aren’t dating. I can pay my own way. You know what I make.”

  “I do, but you do know I make more than you do.”

  “So? You take more risk than I do.”

  “Eventually you’ll do the same. But if it’s important to you, you may buy breakfast.” I love the look of triumph she has when she gets her way. Makes me wonder what faces she makes when she comes. I would love to find out.

  As we walk out together, I ask, “Would you be interested in joining me for a walk through the farmer’s market?”

  “Sounds perfect.” It’s down the street, so we walk over.

  We wander the thirty white tent–covered stalls filled with beautiful fresh produce from local farms, fresh seafood caught from off the northern California coast, stunning colorful bouquets of flowers matching every color in a big box of crayons, fragrant smells of freshly baked bread, and artists and craftsmen selling their wares. We enjoy everything the market has to offer, each picking up a few items.

  Emerson buys all sorts of salad fixings and explains with all the eating out and catering at the office, she’s going to eat more salads. “You can’t hold it against me. You guys are trying to fatten all the girls up.” I also love that she buys herself an enormous bouquet of daisies. Nothing ornate but a simple happy flower. “They’re my favorite,” she shares with a giant smile.

  As we walk, we talk a little about work and what our week is going to look like. I’m going into the office this afternoon, and Emerson plans on working from her couch at home with Molly at her feet.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Emerson

  It was a beautiful morning with Dillon. It’s going to be hard for me not to fall for him. He’s my type—confident, athletic, smart, and he’s incredibly good-looking. Of course, the no-fraternization clause in our contracts is pretty strict, so I’m not about to have them claw back over half of the money they paid me for my company because of my hormones. I can keep my distance.

  And may I remind myself, he’s a player. He has an extensive list of girls he screws. Not a smart move to join that club.

  He drops me at home so he can go into the office. As he drives away, I feel a bit of emptiness, though I do take comfort in knowing I’ll see him in the morning.

  Now I have to tackle this call from Adam. I start with a call to CeCe to get her thoughts first.

  She answers the phone sounding half-conscious. “Are you awake yet?”

  “Of course. I’ve even had breakfast and went to the farmer’s market with a friend.” I’m playing tug-o-war with Molly and stop.

  No longer sounding like I’ve woken her, CeCe is alert and acutely aware that I'm a bit cagey. “Really? What friend?”

  “No one worth talking about…yet.”

  I settle on my couch, and Molly crawls into my lap and looks at me with her big brown eyes begging for attention. I subconsciously stroke her soft fur. “I got a call from Dillon’s friend Adam yesterday. I didn’t pick it up until this morning. Can you believe he asked me out for last night?”

  “Really? Is Adam the guy you had breakfast and ‘wandered the farmer’s market’ with?”

  I giggle. “Nope. Someone totally different.”

  “Okay, well, have you called Adam back yet?”

  “No. I thought you could help me psych myself up for it.” Disappointed at the reality of single life in San Francisco, I ask, “Could this be what we girls are doing wrong?”

  “Being too available?”

  “Yes. Or is this city getting so bad that guys think we’ll jump with two hours’ notice?”

  CeCe’s tone is firm. “Absolutely not. We’re not desperate sluts.”

  “No. I’m presently a nun, so I’m definitely not a slut.”

  “Hon, it’s only drinks and maybe dinner. Not sex. Go have a fun night and keep it friendly.”

  “I know. But honestly, I’m not super excited about Adam. He’s tight with Dillon, and when this goes sideways—which it will—I don’t want it to affect my relationship with Dillon.” I give a big sigh. “Okay, fine, I can make it work.”

  “Let me know how it goes.”

  I call him back and he flippantly asks me out for tonight. I patiently explain that I don’t actually go out on school nights and he’s surprised. His attitude changes a bit after that, as if he’s used to getting his own way. We talk a bit more and make tentative plans to meet next Saturday.

  It won't surprise me if he cancels because something better came along. Wouldn’t that be a relief!

  I call CeCe back and share the odd conversation. We’re both puzzled by it but don’t dwell on it. She does circle back to the Dillon conversation. I share with her that I spent the morning with him, and my surprise that he didn’t spend last night with Elizabeth.

  CeCe reminds me, “It doesn’t mean he didn’t have sex with her.”

  “I know, but he did say he dropped her at home after he left the restaurant.”

  “Honey, Dillon’s very sweet on you.”

  “I don’t know about that. It’s always brotherly with him.”

  “He didn’t go home and sleep with Elizabeth—it’s a huge sign.”

  Wanting to get off the subject, I tell her, “I’m headed down to Hillsboro to have dinner with my parents tonight. Any interest in joining me? They’d love to see you.”

  “So tempting but no. I have work to get done. Rain check?”

  “Rain check. Talk to you later this week.”

  ***

  During our Monday partners meeting, we go over proposals and are surprised to find we’ve recently lost two potential investments. Mason shares with me that we’ve never lost any potential investments in almost five years, which explains why everyone is shocked and the disappointment is evident.

  “How is this possible?” asks Mason.

  “Good question. I wanted those start-ups in our portfolio, and I’ve worked the numbers several times. They were great investments, but not for more than what we were offering. Who got them?” Dillon asks.

  Sara shares, “I understand it was Perkins Klein. They offered ten percent more money and a smaller equity percentage. How is it good business for them?”

  Cameron thoughtfully adds, “They have solid technology, but I don’t think ten percent more is worth it for less than twenty percent equity. This may just be an opportunity for Perkins Klein to pad their portfolio.”

  We discuss it a bit longer to manage our shock, then eventually all agree with Cameron’s assessment and go back to our work.

  ***

  It was a crazy week. My team added six new clients to manage, and I developed an implementation team covering all the operations. We go into each client company and work with their existing teams, providing backup and support. In rare cases, they may be outsourcing their work, and we help to evaluate if work should be transitioned to my team, we should hire someone internally for them, or have everything remain as it is.

  Because we’re investors and our goal is to either sell to larger companies or go public, we’re continuously evaluating. Our clients know we have a team looking at the weaknesses they’ll face that can affect the ability to sell or go public.

  Mason is the best at explaining to entrepreneurs that they will always be the founder, but sometimes their strength is seeing the vision of their technology and not the vision of their company.

  My team’s heaviest dedication is typically in recruiting, and I’m proud to say I have the best recruiters in the Bay Area. I’m lucky to have my team; they work hard and care about the employees while watching the bottom line.

  As the week progresses, I’m so busy that I forget I have a tentative date with Adam.

  He calls me Friday morning to confirm, and we agree on a time and place to meet the next night. I’m actually surprised he hasn’t found someone more apt to sleep with him and canceled our dinner. I must admit, I’m not looking forward to going out with him, disappointed in myself that I agreed to go on this date. I want the excuse to
not go, but nothing is coming to mind that won’t get back to Dillon.

  Saturday morning, Dillon and I play a round of golf at his club, where he puts me through my paces. We get along well and often bicker like siblings.

  I’ve been debating telling Dillon about Adam, because I like Dillon and I learned a long time ago that guys won’t date a girl if she’s gone out with one of their friends. I know I don’t want to date Dillon, but what we’re building is really important to me and I don’t want to ruin it.

  As we hit the sixteenth hole, I finally find the courage, though I wait until he’s ready to putt. We do have a brother-sister relationship, and if I can use a perceived weakness, I’m going to exploit it.

  “I have a date with Adam tonight.”

  He looks up from his putt. “Really? That was fast.” He follows through on his stroke and still makes the putt.

  Drat. Does nothing distract him?

  “He asked me out last Saturday for Saturday night. You boys are getting a little too comfortable being single and straight in San Francisco.”

  With a deep laugh, he says, “We probably are. I’m guilty of that all the time. I can’t count on my schedule going as planned. What are you guys doing tonight?”

  I can feel the relationship we’ve built cooling. This isn’t what I want. Trying to be nonchalant and uncaring, I tell him, “We’re meeting for drinks at the Redwood Room in The Clift Hotel and then dinner at Farallon in Union Square.”

  Stiffly, he says, “A fun vibe at the Redwood Room and good seafood at Farallon.”

  “Farallon is a favorite of mine.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Dillon

  Hearing Emerson has a date with Adam bothers me more than it should. We’re only friends, of course, and Adam’s a good guy. I introduced them, after all, though mostly because when we were in school, he once made a comment about her and I thought he would enjoy meeting her.

  After our round of golf, we grab a beer in the clubhouse. I know this sounds strange, but I feel more at ease with Emerson than I do with anyone else. She isn’t like many of the women I know. Emerson has much more confidence. She isn’t scared to share her opinion if it’s different than mine, and I like that she has a lot of opinions. She doesn’t overwhelm you with them, but she does manage to share, a quality I find most intriguing.

  As I drive home, I realize I don’t have any plans and don’t want to be alone tonight; I guess I thought I would be spending the day and evening with Emerson and never made plans.

  I decide I haven’t seen Bethany, my mortgage broker, in a while. She’s always up for a good time. I call her from my car, and she answers in a seductive and breathless voice. “Hey there, handsome.”

  “Hey. You up for getting together for dinner and… whatever tonight?”

  “You know I’m always up for ‘whatever’ with you. I’ll change my plans. What time are you thinking?”

  I don’t want to be anywhere near where Adam and Emerson are meeting up tonight. I’m thinking going into the Mission district will guarantee I won’t see the couple. “How about I meet you at Foreign Cinema about eight?”

  “See you then, sweetheart.”

  Bethany will be a good distraction from Emerson’s date tonight.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Emerson

  I’m dreading the date but drag myself through getting ready in black palazzo pants with a high-necked pink cashmere sweater, a short pearl necklace, matching pearl stud earrings, and my favorite Jimmy Choo sandals. I look good and yet a little conservative, perfect considering I don’t want to put off any signals that say I want to get laid tonight.

  We meet at The Clift Hotel, off Union Square and a block from Farallon. The Clift has this swanky lounge called the Redwood Room, with a vast selection of bourbons that Adam is looking for. I’m a scotch girl, but I can enjoy a glass of bourbon on occasion.

  Adam arrives and looks quite handsome in black pants and coat with a black dress shirt. I’m the envy of many of the women in the bar looking for a companion for the evening. He knows he looks good, and he’s turning on the charm. He grazes my temple as he pushes the hair out of my face. His hands wander, but I never feel uncomfortable.

  He holds my hand as we walk over to Farallon, but I don’t feel any chemistry with Adam. He’s handsome and funny, but his touch doesn’t send any jolts to my core, and I have no desire to kiss him.

  Farallon is my favorite seafood restaurant in San Francisco. As you walk in, a Dale Chuilly–inspired hand-blown glass sculpture of jellyfish fills the ceiling, giving you the feeling of being underwater. They are famous for their raw oyster bar, but I don’t want to provide Adam with any ideas, so I order the scallops with a salad starter. He orders the most expensive thing on the menu—steak and lobster. I figure he’s trying to impress me.

  The conversation between us is easy, starting with where we’re from. Adam grew up in Southern California with three sisters and had a similar upbringing as me with my brothers, as his sisters wouldn’t let girls near him. Sharing sibling stories is fun, though it seems his sisters were much harder than my brothers.

  He met Dillon playing football while at Stanford. He mentions we met once at Stanford, but I don’t remember. I admit, “I was overwhelmed at school. Playing golf was competitive, and I couldn’t afford to lose my scholarship. Was I a bitch when we met?”

  He laughs. “No, not at all. You were sweet and a bit shy.”

  “Oh, that’s good. I was awkward at that point. Because of my brothers, boys never looked at me twice growing up. Suddenly they were interested, and I was socially immature, so I often didn’t know how to respond but to be every guy's friend.”

  “You were the girl who moves the guy into the ‘friend zone,'” he says in a knowing tone.

  “Guilty as charged. But then I never knew how to move them out. So, tell me about what you’ve done since school.”

  I hear some bitterness as he shares the struggles of finding the right start-up that will make it big.

  I reach across the table and touch his hand. “Most people aren’t as lucky as Dillon to hit it big. Don’t measure your success against his luck.”

  “That’s what I tell myself. I know Dillon’s a great guy, and we enjoy the occasional pickup basketball game.” Changing subjects, he asks, “Are you enjoying yourself tonight? Do you want to go back to the Redwood Room at The Clift for a last drink before we call it a night?”

  “Sure. I have a full workday tomorrow, but I can manage one more drink.”

  We walk the two blocks and he’s a complete gentleman, offering me his coat. The fog has rolled in and the temperature seems to drop significantly.

  We walk into the crowded Redwood Room lounge, the golden glow cast by the Art Deco pendant lamps hung from the ceiling making it dark and mysterious. Behind the bar, seven glass shelves covered in exotic liquors add to the ambiance of a fashionable place to be seen. It’s a combination of tourists, locals, MILFs, and I’m sure a few who are barely eighteen. More women than men, but that’s par for a straight bar in San Francisco.

  Adam grabs a spot at one of the tables, the high-back red leather banquette offering a level of privacy and romance. We watch the people around us and are surprised when we see an eighties rock star and heartthrob.

  “I wonder if he’s here to play a show?” I ask.

  “I think I read he’s in a local musical preparing to go to Broadway. Look at the girls throwing themselves at him.” We laugh and watch as a beautiful Asian woman hands him something. Adam leans in and whispers, “Did she just give him her panties?”

  In shock, I nod. “I think she did.”

  “Lucky guy,” Adams says with a lot of envy.

  The bartender takes our order, and I excuse myself and head to the ladies’ room. And that’s the last thing I remember.

  As I wake from a haze-filled sleep, I’m not sure where I am. All I know is I’m in a strange bed, I’m naked, and I hurt all over.

  Trying to get
my bearings, I figure out I’m in a hotel room, and I think it’s Sunday morning. I have a splitting headache.

  “Oh, you’re awake. Good morning, sunshine.” Adam leans over and kisses me.

  I’m shocked, scared, and bewildered. “Wh-wh-where are we?”

  “In a room at The Clift.”

  Trying to keep the panic at bay, I search my memory for what happened after going to the bathroom. “How did I get here?”

  “You begged me to get a room and fuck you.”

  I’m appalled that I would ever beg Adam for anything like that. “What? That can’t be possible.”

  He runs his finger up my arm. “Emerson, you’re a fantastic lay. Last night you were truly amazing. Probably the best I’ve ever had.”

  I slowly sit up and look around the room. The light is too bright, and my head feels like someone is using a jackhammer inside my skull. I have no memory of last night, though I can taste semen in my throat, and from the feel of it, I have no doubt we had anal and vaginal sex. My brain isn’t working fast enough. The panic is beginning to rise.

  “I’ve got to get home.” He kisses me again and I want to vomit. “Let’s do this again.”

  I am utterly speechless. I don’t remember anything past going to the bathroom at the bar. I’m having a vision of myself being fucked from behind in the mirror across from the bed, but the memories are only fragments—something that seems more like short vignettes or photos. My stomach falls as I realize Adam put something in my drink and I’ve been date-raped.

  My lack of memory of the night has me terrified as I lie in the bed with my head pounding. I’m thirsty but every limb hurts, and I can’t summon the energy to get a glass of water. It takes time, but I curl into a fetal position in the bed and begin to weep, which eventually turns into a deep cry. I’m mad at myself for doing the one thing every single girl is taught never to do.

  Never leave your drink unattended. I was so stupid! I brought this on myself.