Forbidden Love (Venture Capitalist Book 1)

by Ainsley St Claire

  “Nights are the hardest when it comes to the loss of your father.”

  I reach for her and bring her in for a big bear hug. “It must get better eventually, right?”

  She looks up at me with a forced smile. “That’s what they tell me.”

  “What are you cooking?”

  Shyly, she admits, “I warmed some milk, but it tastes awful.”

  “Sounds awful. Don’t you have some chocolate we can add to it and make some hot chocolates?”

  “Hot chocolate sounds much better.”

  I sit at the table as she grabs a bottle of chocolate sauce from the pantry and stirs it in. We sit in silence as the smell permeates the air as it warms on the stove top. I pick two random mugs and hand them to her. She pours the drinks, and we sit across from one another at the kitchen table.

  I finally get up the nerve to tell my mom, “I feel like I let Dad down.”

  Putting her mug of hot chocolate down, she looks at me intently. “Why would you think that? I know he didn’t feel that way at all.”

  “I wasn’t here enough. I didn’t call enough. I wasn’t grateful enough for all Dad did for me.”

  “Is that why you’re here? Because I don’t think he expected anything like that. He loved you and your sister so much, and he was incredibly proud of you. You’ve accomplished so much. Please don’t ever think he was disappointed, because I know he wasn’t.

  “Thanks, Mom. I guess I needed to hear that.” I reach across the table and grasp her hand. “I wish I could do more to ease your grief.”

  “You being here with me helps, I promise. I love you, Dillon, and I know your dad did, too.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Emerson

  As we jet down the 101 to Palo Alto in CeCe’s red Mercedes convertible, I’m comforted by the thought that her parents have always been kind to me. I’ve known CeCe since we were assigned as roommates our freshmen year at Stanford. When we attended school, they insisted we come home every Sunday to do our laundry and have one decent home-cooked meal a week.

  My folks are far away just outside Denver in Boulder, Colorado. They were actively involved parents when we were growing up, and are currently living a bohemian lifestyle refurbishing homes. My mom sits on the board of a non-profit which wants to save the prairie dogs and my dad teaches Environmental Studies at the University of Colorado. By all standards, I grew up upper middle class.

  CeCe grew up as a member of the one percent. Her father was one of the original Silicon Valley billionaires, but as an Arnault, he grew up in a family that ran with the Rockefellers and Vanderbilts. You wouldn’t know it though. They have a beautiful home and a full-time cook and housekeeper, but they’re so down to earth. Her parents have such a healthy, loving, and respectful relationship, and are equally close with CeCe and her twin brother, Trey. Her parents' relationship is something CeCe and I both envy.

  As we pull into the driveway, four dogs come running from the backyard and charge to meet us. CeCe gets down on the grass to greet them, and they attack her with licks and nudges for attention. I’m invisible, but mostly because they can smell the hotdogs she’s brought them for a treat. They’re hiding in a plastic bag in her purse and yet they can still smell them.

  “You spoil those dogs,” her dad can be heard saying, but I don’t see him.

  Looking up, I spot him in the tree picking apples. “Hey, Mr. Arnault.”

  “Three weeks in a row? Emerson, you’re spoiling us.”

  The dogs, after eating their hotdog treats, come over to greet me and shower me with kisses, plus nudges for pats and attention. I should’ve brought Molly, but chaos would’ve ensued.

  A male version of CeCe comes out of the house. “Mom, CeCe and Emerson are here. Hey, ugly,” he directs at CeCe.

  Before CeCe can respond, her dad says, “Okay Trey, that’s enough. Leave your sister and Emerson alone.”

  CeCe turns to her brother and, in a motherly voice, retorts, “If I’m ugly, what does that make you?”

  “Off to meet up with the guys. See ya!” He waves as he gets in his black Mercedes convertible.

  We laugh and walk in to be greeted with hugs from CeCe’s mom, the dogs following us.

  “So wonderful to see you again this week, Emerson. We love having you. I know we’ve said this for years, but please come even if CeCe wants to forget about us,” she says as she hugs me.

  “Mom! I don’t want to forget about you. I want to cut some of the apron strings,” CeCe exclaims.

  Looking at her with admiration and love, her mom says, “Sunday night dinner is nice family time, with or without apron strings.”

  Standing with her hands on her hips, CeCe challenges, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  CeCe bends to kiss her on the cheek. “Yes, dear. And I love you for it.”

  Trey doesn’t make it back for dinner, but we have a good time anyway. Dinner conversation at the Arnaults’ always reminds me of my family dinners: crazy, fun, and full of a lot of love and laughter. Since Trey was out and about, we managed some fun at his expense.

  When the conversation turns to our dating lives, CeCe groans. “Daddy, you know men are scared of smart and accomplished women.”

  “Just don’t give up,” her mom tells us. “We all meet our soul mates at different times in our lives. You can’t force it.”

  “We aren't giving up. We’re just a little more career-focused right now,” I explain.

  CeCe’s dad looks fondly at her mother and says, “You know it took me a while to get this woman to agree to marry me. I’m aware there is always hope.”

  CeCe rolls her eyes. “Mom was only reluctant because you were too busy to make time for her. As for me, there are only two other last names to have here in Silicon Valley—Jobs and Ellison—that make you a pariah. Guys either want to get to you”—she points to her father—“to invest in one of their adventures, or they’re only interested in any money I might inherit.”

  “You know we want you to be careful, but we don’t want you to build so many walls that they can’t climb them,” her mom says gently.

  “Well, Mom, you know what they say: if we build an eight-foot wall, they’ll make a ten-foot ladder,” CeCe retorts.

  “I think that’s in reference to illegal immigration.”

  “It is, but it works here, too. Plus, I have my eye on someone, but he doesn’t know it yet. I have to be stealth about my approach.” CeCe confides.

  Dripping with sarcasm, I ask, “What is stealth? Ignoring him? That’s a surefire way to get his attention.”

  We’re all laughing at this point.

  As we leave for home, I’m the happiest I’ve been in many weeks. “Thank you for including me tonight. It was a lot of fun.”

  Looking at me with love, CeCe tells me, “Tonight was fun because you were there. I hope you know they expect you to come again next week.”

  “I got the hint from both your parents. I can’t promise anything right now, but I’ll try.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Dillon

  It’s shortly after eight. I’m showered, the sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and I slept for five hours without interruption. I’m ready for a good day.

  As I walk in the kitchen, I see my mom is dressed, reading the paper with a cup of steaming black coffee in her hand. “What’s on the to-do list today?” I ask her.

  “Well, it looks like there’s a sale at English Gardens gardening center, so I thought we’d go over there and pick up a few things.”

  “If you’re planning on planting where the juniper bushes were, we need to talk to the master gardener to find out what we need to do to the soil pH. Nothing will grow there otherwise.”

  She nods in agreement. “Leave in twenty minutes?”

  “I’ll be ready whenever you are.”

  We spend the morning at the garden center. Mom and the master gardener know each other by first names, and together they help to plan her gardens. She wants several a
nnuals, and we’ll do some soil replacement so we can plant some beautiful hydrangea and rhododendron flowering bushes, which will add color in the spring through summer.

  “Wow, Mom, you went all out. This is probably a week's worth of work for the both of us.”

  “It’ll be good for us. We need to keep our bodies busy so our minds can help us heal.”

  As I’m outside, working my hot afternoon away, I’m listening to a mix of Alternative music on my phone with my earbuds in. I’m in the front yard when suddenly there is a tap on my shoulder, and I jump what seems ten feet in the air.

  I turn and look, trying to calm my racing heart. “Celeste! What are you doing here? You scared me.”

  “You left my house in such a panic last time we were together. You aren’t returning my calls or texts. I want to talk.”

  “I think I said everything I need to say, Celeste.” I run my hands through my hair out of nervousness. “I’m sorry if you feel I’ve led you on, but I don’t care about you in that way.”

  She’s wearing white short shorts and a red halter top with her nipples on high beams. When we were younger, that was all it took to get me going, and I know that’s what she’s trying to do now.

  Shimmying up to me, she coos, “Oh, baby, I’ll make you feel so good. We’ve known each other for so long. It would be a shame to throw it all away. I’m patient, and I won’t tell her if you won’t.”

  I take a deep breath. “Celeste, I know this is difficult for you to understand, but I don’t have those kinds of feelings for you. I can only be your friend, nothing more. And I need you to leave me be and give me some space.”

  She pulls her halter top down, exposing her taut nipples, pulling and twisting them as she stares at me. In a raspy voice, she tells me, “You always make me wet.”

  I hear my mother say, “Celeste, I think Dillon asked you to leave. Please do as he asks.”

  Celeste turns ashen, and without looking at my mom or me, she spins around and murmurs, “Yes, ma’am.”

  We watch her go, and then my mom turns to me. “I think you’ve dodged a bullet with that one.”

  I smile down at her. “All because of you.” And I kiss her on the forehead.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Emerson

  I’m meeting with my team over a video conference. “Ladies, we were elected to organize the fall company picnic this year.”

  There’s a lot of mumbling among the team, several not happy given how busy they already are. The picnic is truthfully a thankless job and too much work. I hear “How do we get ourselves unelected?” over the line.

  Our newest team member, Wendy, says, “Obviously I’ve never been, but these parties are legendary in The Valley. What are they wanting, and what is our budget?”

  I’m proud of my new employee for jumping in. “We’ve got a budget of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The partners would like it done in essentially four months, at the beginning of October, and they want it fun. Should we meet for lunch and brainstorm?”

  Wendy asks, “What if I were to secure a party planner who would do it for free as long as she could use us as a reference?”

  There is a lot of enthusiasm from the girls on the call, and I sigh in relief. “I would love the idea if we can get someone who’s done these kinds of events before and can put it together quickly.”

  Wendy is a little hesitant, but finally shares, “My sister was doing the wedding of some Saudi princess, a five-million-dollar event with over a thousand people, but they decided to elope. It leaves her with a big hole in her calendar. I can ask her to put together some ideas and meet back with us next week, maybe over lunch down toward Palo Alto or Fremont?”

  I can’t believe our good fortune. “Wendy, are you sure she’d be interested?”

  “She’d be thrilled. I’ll confirm with her in case something came in for her this morning that I don’t know about, but I know this is right up her alley.”

  “Great. We’ll plan lunch for next Friday, and if your sister can do it, she can join us. If not, we’re back to brainstorming. Moving on with our agenda…”

  This is the first time we’re all meeting as a team face-to-face in some time. Wendy and her sister reserved a Vietnamese restaurant close to the university with a private room, and I’m the last to arrive.

  Wendy walks up with a woman who could be her twin, dressed in a beautiful orange pastel floral print dress with long dark hair, big brown eyes, and flawless olive-colored skin. “Emerson, I’d like to introduce you to my sister, Tina.”

  Tina gives me a broad smile and extends her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Wendy has many great things to say about you. Thank you for giving me this opportunity.”

  “We’re thrilled that you might be willing to take this on.”

  She smiles and says, “When you’re ready, you can have a seat at the head of the table.”

  I thank her, and I greet each team member as I work my way to my assigned place. I make a point to ask each of them a personal detail. When I finally sit, I notice five easels covered and a projector set up. I’m stunned at how elaborate this may become.

  Lunch is brought in by the staff of the restaurant, and we eat family-style while Tina presents her ideas. She’s five feet tall in three-inch heels, but don’t let that fool you—as soon as she opens her mouth, she’s a true dynamo. So much energy, enthusiasm, and determination. I’d hate to be a vendor who crossed her.

  “Thank you, ladies, for agreeing to meet with me. As you know, Wendy is my sister, so I’ve picked her brain on some options, and we’ve come up with ideas that I believe you’re bound to like and share with the partners.”

  She spends the next hour going through the five ideas she has, each one better than the last. Her easels have drawings, locations, samples, and goodie bag ideas for each attendee. She has thought of everything—food, drinks, entertainment, and something for all ages. We’re all hugely impressed.

  We discuss and narrow it down to our favorite idea, and I’m prepared to pass it along to the partners. It’s a fun afternoon, and not only do we get a lot of work accomplished, but we also get to have fun and eat well.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Dillon

  Celeste has called so many times and texted nonstop that I put her home, cell, and work phone numbers on Do Not Disturb and block her. When the doorbell rings at 3:00 a.m., I’m concerned until I look through the peephole and see Celeste standing there. It angers me because I’ve told her I’m not interested, resorted to ignoring her, and yet she thinks her persistence will wear me down.

  “What do you want, Celeste?” I growl as I answer the door.

  Dressed in a see-through red baby doll negligee and curling her finger in her hair, she attempts to run another finger down my chest. “You, honey,” she says seductively.

  I push her finger aside, ignoring her provocative attire. “Celeste, I’ve told you many times that I don’t feel that way about you. It’s time you listen and leave my mother and me alone.”

  Not one to give up, she persists, “I can get beyond your cheating on me with that girl in San Francisco.”

  I’ve been clear. Now I’m angry. “Celeste. Go. Away.”

  Clearly determined, she steps forward and reaches for my crotch. “You know how to make me feel good. I promise I’ll make you feel good, too.”

  My mom speaks up from behind me, “Celeste, it’s after three o’clock in the morning. Please go home.”

  Turning to my mom, Celeste says, “Mrs. Healy, your son proposed to me when we were fourteen years old. I gave myself to him. I’ve devoted my life to him. I’ve waited for him while he made money to support the future family we want to have.”

  Taking a deep breath, Mom puts her delicate hand on my back and stands close to me. “Celeste, I remember the day Dillon left for Stanford. I specifically remember he told you to move on, to find another boyfriend. You cried on the same front porch you’re standing on right now. He broke up with you a long time
ago. You need to go home. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to call the police.”

  Celeste, seemingly surprised by this, stands straight and becomes indignant. “Fine! Call the police. I bet they’d love to know how he’s treated me,” she screams as she backs away from the door and begins pulling at her hair. She’s screaming over and over, something unidentifiable. I can’t be sure exactly what she’s saying, but I hear “No” repeated as she continues to pull at her hair and pace in the front yard, waving her arms.

  She slips in the wet dirt and falls. Tears stain her face as she begins picking up wet dirt and throwing it at anything that catches her eye.

  I don’t realize my mom has stepped away until I hear her on the phone, talking to who I assume is the police, giving them our address. I’m stunned to see Celeste meltdown. It’s like a train wreck you can’t take your eyes off as you pass. Time moves slowly, yet the police seem to arrive quickly.

  Various porch lights are coming on, and our neighbors are walking outside in bathrobes wanting to hear the commotion happening in our front yard. My mom and I are still standing at the door while Celeste is ranting and raving in our front yard, pulling up many of the new plants we planted earlier this week.

  When the police officers arrive, they attempt to calm her with no luck. They call for the paramedics, who allow her tantrum to continue for several minutes while talking calmly to her. Celeste is covered from head to toe in mud, her face is tear-stained, her hair is a matted mess, and she keeps pacing. Eventually they soothe her and are able to get her in the ambulance and drive her away.

  After the ambulance leaves, a policeman interviews both my mom and me. We explain what happened and her increasingly odd behavior. I share what happened after drinks at Harry’s Bar, at her home when I went to join her for pizza, and her constant harassing phone calls. I’m embarrassed that my mother is hearing this, but it’s essential they know.