We’re standing at the curb when her car service arrives. I give her a hug goodbye and get in a cab to go home.
As I pull up, I see Dillon sitting on my front porch. Walking past him with my key in hand, I say, “Go home, Dillon.”
“Come on, Emerson. You can’t be upset with me.”
“No. You made it abundantly clear on Tuesday that you just want to be friends with benefits.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“I don’t want that. I want more. We work together, and that is it. Goodbye, Dillon. Go home.”
“Please, Emerson. What we have is special. You know I care about you, and I know you care about me.”
He definitely isn’t the right guy for me. Way too smooth. Way too charming. “Go home, Dillon. I’ll see you in the office Monday morning.”
Standing, he tries to bring me into an embrace. “Come on, baby. We have so much fun being horizontal.”
“Call one of your other ‘friends' because we’re not that kind. We’re business associates and friends who don’t see each other naked.”
I push past him and go inside my house alone, leaving him standing there with a look of shock. I guess by his reaction he’s never had a woman tell him no once he’s put the charm on them.
That’s fine. At least I can be a first for him somewhere.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Dillon
I’m careful, sticking to women who just want or need sex with no strings attached. In a city where straight men are a minority, it’s always worked well for me. There are a few women I see semi-regularly, and when I say see, I mean fuck. Elizabeth, who’s always dependable when I need to get laid. Tiffany, who lives close and is a fantastic lay. Then there are the two girls I call at the same time. They’re sometimes more into each other, but it’s fun to participate. San Francisco is incredible if you’re a single straight guy.
I thought I might be able to ask Emerson to join my group of friends with benefits, but I don’t know what I was thinking. Sleeping with her is amazing, but not good for me personally or professionally.
I have enough going on; I don’t need her complication and putting rules in our relationship. Emerson wants more from me than I want to give her. I’m not treating her well, and I don’t care. If she intends to be a good girl, I’ll take it, but I’m going to show all these narcissist attitudes and take and take and push back when she thinks she has the upper hand.
Our workday ended, we’re all sitting around and drinking beer. Sara runs off to take a call from some guy she’s seeing. Cameron and Mason end up with a problem client, leaving Emerson and me.
I want to get drunk tonight. I want to feel numb.
Looking at me, Emerson says, “Don’t you think you should slow down?”
“What the fuck do you care?” I snarl.
She winces at my tone. I hurt her. Good. Maybe she’ll leave me alone.
She’s staring down at her hands when I hear, “Dillon, I care about you. I care a lot about you, and I’m beginning to worry.”
I drain my beer and get up, dropping the bottle in the recycling bin before turning to her. “Stop worrying about me.”
“I can’t help it. You helped me through some dark days, and I only want to help you.”
“Why would you want to help me, anyway? We aren’t a couple. You were clear that we’re business partners who fucked—past tense. Nothing more, Emerson.”
Taking a deep breath and biting back tears, she says, “We no longer fuck, but I care. Because I care for you so much it hurts. Because I want to matter to you as much as you matter to me. Because when you shut me out, it gets cold. I get scared.”
I can’t deal with all this emotion. I walk away, leaving her crying on the couch in the break room.
Why can’t anything be easy?
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Emerson
I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him, but I have. It’s not his fault he doesn’t feel the same way. I can obsess over Dillon, or I can let him go.
Mason sent an email to all of the partners, asking for time this afternoon in his office. Something’s up. I ask Sara if she knows anything, but she’s as concerned as I am and it’s pretty clear she doesn’t.
In Mason’s office, we all look at him expectantly.
Clearing his throat, he says, “Well, I got a call from James over at BingoBongo, and he tells me they’ve sold 35% of their stock to Perkins Klein.”
Dillon jumps up from his chair. “What the hell? James wouldn’t be anywhere without us. Emerson moved him to an even stronger position than any of their competitors, and we’ve been talking to Dell and HP about selling. Perkins Klein’s injection will only complicate that.”
“Yes, they’re taking them to HP. Perkins Klein will manage the negotiations. Emerson, they want you to release your team, and we’ll sit out the remainder of the negotiations,” Mason explains.
Dillon throws his tablet across the room, smashing it against the wall. “Fuck this! I’ve worked hours with James. This is not going to happen.”
“It’s too late. It happened this morning,” Mason states.
We all sit stunned by the news. BingoBongo has been a jewel in our crown. We’ll still do well with our investment, but we should’ve done better. Dillon storms out, and we’re all left to look at each other.
Cameron finally says, “This is Dillon’s fault. His head isn’t in the game.”
“I don’t think that’s it,” I reply. “We have Emily on-site at BingoBongo, and she would’ve told us if she knew. Perkins Klein worked this outside.”
Mason says, “I agree with Cameron. I think Dillon’s eye is not on the ball. We’ve lost six recent acquisitions, and now we’re losing actual clients, all to Perkins Klein. We need to consider that this may no longer be a good home for Dillon.”
Sara looks like she’s going to cry. “How can you hang this on Dillon? We’re getting big, and there are too many balls in the air.”
“BingoBongo is in his portfolio, so it’s his responsibility, Sara,” Mason tells her without condescension in his voice.
Trying to reason with Mason and Cameron, I implore, “He helped found this company. His behavior seems off because he’s taking his dad’s death hard.”
“You’re making excuses for him, Emerson. I think we need to have a serious conversation about the possibility of change,” Cameron replies.
Mason says, “Over the past year, we’ve missed six companies in our sweet spot that should’ve been sure things. We’re now seeing an exit of our current client base, which erodes at our initial investments.”
“I want to think about all this information tonight. I’d like all of us to meet for breakfast tomorrow morning at Benny’s in Capitol Hill. I know this goes without saying, but Sara and Emerson, please don’t say anything to Dillon,” Cameron states.
I slowly walk back to my office, stunned by this turn of events. I know I’m not happy with Dillon, but this is his company. How can we do this to him?
I can’t sleep with my brain going a thousand different directions. I have a missed call from Dillon, but he didn’t leave a message, so I’m not calling him back. This whole situation brings me so much anxiety that I get up early and hit four buckets of golf balls at the driving range to work out some of my frustrations, then shower at home before meeting the team for breakfast.
After everyone’s seated, Sara asks, “Well, after a night of rest—if you were able to get any rest because I sure wasn’t—what are everyone’s thoughts?”
“Well, I ran through the numbers,” Cameron starts. “Dillon’s mistakes have cost the company over a billion dollars in missed revenue. It means we limit our growth and our bonuses are looking to be thirty-six percent less. I think it may be time to look at someone else.”
“No one in Silicon Valley understands the numbers like Dillon does,” I retort. “I’ll go with whatever we decide as a group. However, I have to believe we need to push him for a l
eave of absence and insist that when he comes back, he needs to be fully back. It means he needs to be sober, and we won’t tolerate any kind of outbursts we’ve witnessed these past few weeks.”
“I agree for a forced leave of absence with a meeting in three or six months with us,” Sara says. “It’ll give him the time he needs to figure out what he wants to do and if he wants to return, he needs to make his case to us on why he wants to stay. Then we make the decision on our next step. It’ll allow us to save his reputation but also gives us the opportunity to casually look for a new numbers guy.”
Before Mason makes his decision known, our breakfast arrives and we’re all sitting and eating quietly. Mason finally says, “I agree with Cameron that it may be time for Dillon to leave our ranks, but I do like Emerson and Sara’s suggestion of the forced leave and then a meeting on what we all want and need. Cameron, can you buy off on a leave of absence?”
“How long are you thinking? Three months or six?” Cameron asks.
“I’d like six. What do you all think?” Mason asks.
We all agree. None of us has much of an appetite to eat our breakfasts. Sara will reach out to the attorneys and get it all set up with them. They’ll be in tomorrow morning to meet with Dillon and us.
As we’re walking out the door, I can’t help but think the gray skies of San Francisco weigh down on us and our decision.
Mason asks, “Emerson, do you have a minute?”
“Of course.”
“I know you and Dillon have become rather close in the year and a half you’ve been with us. Please try not to say anything to him.”
I stop and turn to him. “Mason, I love all of you as my family. It’s hard for me to see this happening, but I know he’s hurting, and it’s what is best for him and for the company. It’ll be good for him to spend some time considering his options. I’m comfortable with our decision, and I promise not to tell him anything.”
The next morning, the four of us and two of our outside counsel are in the conference room waiting for Dillon to arrive. He’s over an hour late. As soon as he walks in, I can smell the whiskey and know he’s ready for a fight.
Looking at the people gathered around the conference room table, he demands, “What the fuck is this?”
Our lead counsel sits and says, “Dillon, the partners are concerned about you and your decision-making abilities.”
Dillon’s eyes are bloodshot and puffy. “You can’t touch me. I’m a founder of this company, and I’m an owner,” he roars as he pounds the table with his fist.
Mason steps in and pushes a copy of his contract across the table toward him. “Under paragraph 22, section C, we have the ability to exercise a six-month notice when there’s cause. Dillon, the loss of six of your clients from your portfolio, your sobriety, and your anger all meet the definition of cause.”
“Dillon, the partners feel that with all that’s happened in your life, you need a break,” the lawyer explains. “The preference is for you to figure out if you want to remain here at SHN. We’ll pay your base salary for the next six months, and you’re not eligible for any bonuses during your leave. We’ll agree to a date to meet again after the six months are up, and we can see where things are at.”
“No fucking way!” Dillon yells.
As was discussed before the meeting, Sarah and I get up and walk out, leaving it up to the lawyers, Cameron, and Mason.
Dillon looks at me as I stand, and I can see the hurt this is causing him. He knows he’s hurt me, but I don’t hold it against him here. This is business, not personal.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Dillon
I’m in complete shock. I thought these people were my friends. I can’t believe they blame me for the loss of business this year. My numbers are solid, I know it. There’s something wrong here. I don’t know how Perkins Klein is doing it, but they’re undercutting our numbers to take business and money from us.
This is the company I helped found, and damn it, I’m angry. Rather than make a scene, I chose to sit here and look through the documents that were given to me. I have six months to figure out what my next steps are going to be.
I no longer listen to what anyone is saying. The lawyers ask for a signature, and I sign. I ask them to send a copy to my home along with my personal items, and then I get up and leave, out the front door and across the street into a bar. It’s early, but they should be open.
As I look around, the morning drinkers are being held up by the bar and not the other way around. An older woman stares down at her light golden drink. Her hair is platinum blonde, her breasts barely held back by the buttons of her white blouse. Her brown wool skirt is tight. She might’ve been considered beautiful once.
She looks at me and nods. I nod back. I notice she doesn’t have a wedding ring on her left hand, but she has plenty of jewelry. I ask, “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Sure. Whatever you’re having.” She leans in and I can smell her perfume. It’s sweet, fruity with a hint of lavender. “My name’s Noreen. What’s your name?”
“Nice to meet you, Noreen. My name is Dillon.” Our drinks arrive and we finish quickly, then order a second and third round. Noreen is progressively friendlier as the booze keeps coming. I excuse myself for the bathroom, and when I come out, she’s leaning against the wall with her ankles crossed in front of her.
I lean forward and she puts her arms around my neck. Sliding my hand over the curve of her ass, I squeeze tightly as I explore her mouth fully. She takes every bit of what I’m giving and meets me with a hot passion that leaves me hard and wanting.
She gets down on her knees and opens my pants. I’m leaning against the wood-paneled wall as she takes my engorged cock into her mouth. I groan and look down at her as she continues to suck me, licking my lips. Watching me intensely, she lets moans roll out of her mouth and sucks me harder. I hold the sides of her head while I push deeper and deeper, hitting the back of her throat. She moves one hand to stroke my sack, and my eyes roll back in my head as my mouth drops open.
“I’m going to come.”
But she doesn’t stop. The image of Emerson with her pretty pink lips around my cock races through my mind and I steel my resolve. I don’t need to relive her pleasuring me with Noreen on her knees in front of me. I send my seed deep down her throat.
Standing, Noreen wipes her chin and tells me, “My turn next.”
I watch her leave, then pull my pants up and walk out the front door of the bar.
I meet up with a bunch of friends from Stanford at another bar and get blackout drunk. I wake up in some girl’s apartment with no idea who she is or any memory of our night.
I’m becoming a vampire. I sleep all day and am up all night, drinking and sleeping with various women I meet. I don’t care if they’re young, old, black, white, thin, or fat; I pound the shit out of them and get my rocks off. I’ve become a Class-A jackass.
I see six missed calls from Emerson. I can’t talk to her. I need a break, and I feel completely betrayed by the partners—her in particular.
When I wake up, I can hear someone in my place moving around. I see a large glass of water next to my bed and a bottle of ibuprofen. I don’t remember putting it there.
Pulling on a pair of pants, I wander into the living room to see who’s here and am surprised and pissed to find it’s Emerson. She looks surprised to see me conscious.
“Who the fuck let you in?” I growl.
Standing defiantly in black yoga pants and a Star Wars T-shirt, a black garbage bag half-full of pizza boxes and bottles in one hand, she wipes a wisp of hair from her eyes with the other and then puts it on her hips. “I did. I still have your key. You haven’t responded to any of my voice mails or texts.”
“Well, obviously I didn’t want to talk to you.”
“Your house is a wreck, and it smells of sex, stale pizza, and Irish whiskey.”
“Just leave, Emerson. You fucked me over, and I have absolutely nothing to say to you.”
“I was not behind your departure from SHN.” She drops the trash bag and puts both hands on her hips. “Use this sabbatical. Take this time to figure out if you want to be with us at SHN. We want and need you back, but we need you sober and without crazy outbursts. And I want my friend back. I don’t want to sleep with you ever again, but I want the kind man back who pulled me out of the darkest hole I’ve ever been in.”
Exasperated, I tell her, “Just leave, Emerson.”
I can see tears forming as she nods. She hands me my house key and walks out the door.
Good riddance. I don’t need Emerson in my life. She’s a complication and a distraction.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Emerson
I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him. I wasn’t supposed to need him. I wasn’t supposed to want him. But I did fall in love with him, I do need him, and I most certainly want him.
I’ve gone from angry to hurt and back to angry. I know I shouldn’t be in love with Dillon, but I am. Work is improving, but we all agree it isn’t the same without him.
CeCe talks me into joining her and friends for a night out. Clubbing isn’t typically my thing, but I relent.
I decide on a short black leather dress with black leather high-heeled boots to my knees, and I’ve flat-ironed my hair so it’s straight. My makeup is dark, and my lips are bloodred. I may not want to be at the club, but I look like I belong.
Dillon spots me before I see him. When I notice him staring at me, my stomach drops. I’m not sure if I can speak with him. I don’t know what to do. Do I go up to him and talk to him, or ignore him?
My internal debate continues, and I watch him cross to the bar. CeCe sees him and beelines it over to him. I follow, but I’m not fast enough. “How fucking dare you! Emerson has been nothing but supportive of you and all your shit. It’s because of you that she met Adam, and now you’re blaming her for your inabilities?”
Forbidden Love (Venture Capitalist Book 1) Page 11