Forbidden Love (Venture Capitalist Book 1)

by Ainsley St Claire

  I’m the first to moan this time. “Wow. The veal is tender yet moist and juicy.”

  Nodding enthusiastically, Emerson says, “It has an earthy texture and is obviously grass-fed.”

  “You can tell that?”

  She chuckles. “I believe so, yes.”

  “I would bet you can tell all the different scents and tastes with each of the wines, too.”

  “I’m not as good with wines as I am with foods. You have to remember, when I was growing up, there were five kids—and four of them ate enormous amounts of food. We rarely could afford to go out, so my mom made dinner most nights. As the years went on, she became an incredible cook. I loved cooking with her.”

  “I can’t wait for you to make something for me.”

  “I’ve cooked for you, haven’t I?”

  “Not really. But we have plenty of time for that.”

  “I promise a good homemade meal soon.”

  As we enjoy ourselves and the conversation, the seventh course arrives at the table and is absolutely stunning, both visually and in taste. It’s a slice of lamb, the meat aged to perfection, nicely marbled and roasted with golden and buttery pomme frites, paired with a 1996 Colgin Cellars Cabernet Sauvignon.

  When she finishes the last morsel, Emerson says, “This is another amazing course. Each time I think they can’t do better, they do.”

  “I can see why this is thought to be the best restaurant in all of the Americas.”

  “I think I’ve had eight glasses of water, but I can’t be sure because every time I put my glass down, they fill it up again. With that, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find the ladies’ room.”

  I stand up with her as she walks to the bathroom. She’s the most beautiful woman in the entire restaurant tonight.

  The sommelier comes over and asks me about the wine selections.

  “They’ve been the perfect accompaniment. Thank you,” I tell her.

  “Well, you did pick them out yourself. You have excellent taste.”

  “Thank you. I hope others are able to enjoy them, too.”

  “They are, without a doubt.”

  Emerson returns and she looks refreshed. “I see you were talking to the sommelier. Is she happy with your wine pairings?”

  “How did you know I chose them?”

  She laughs. “Because first of all, these are entirely too nice of wines even for this restaurant to go with a tasting menu, and second, I know you.”

  Leaning over, I quickly kiss her nose. “I hate being predictable.”

  She laughs the most melodious sound as they place the eighth and final course in front of us. Paired with a glass of Johnny Walker Blue Label eighteen-year-old blended scotch whiskey, each of us enjoys an order of the profiteroles served with ice cream in a beautiful and intricate design on the plate.

  Sighing, she says, “The shattering, airy crunch of meringue at the edges and the softer one of toasted almonds are just fantastic together.”

  To end our epicurean extravaganza, we enjoy the restaurant’s signature cinnamon-sugared doughnuts, which are thick, gooey, and deliciously warm alongside a hot frothy decaf coffee. “I know I’ve probably been too loud in my appreciation of the food tonight, but I really want to thank you for dinner. It has been amazing to eat, and more importantly share with you.”

  Phillipe arrives at the table. “Monsieur Healy, Mademoiselle Winthrop, Chef Keller is hoping you’d like to join him for a tour of the kitchen.”

  Emerson looks at me expectantly, nodding. “Please?”

  Turning to Phillipe, I chuckle. “I think that’s a yes.”

  It’s after midnight, and the few employees who remain in the kitchen are doing the final wipe-down of all the stainless-steel tables, the dishwashers busy running dishes. “Dillon!”

  “Chef Keller. I’d like to introduce you to my girlfriend, Emerson Winthrop.”

  “So nice to meet you,” Emerson says as she extends her hand.

  Chef Keller reaches out and brings her hand to his mouth for a kiss. “Enchanté, vous avez très belle.

  "Merci, le dîner était incroyable."

  "Vous parlez français magnifique avec un accent de Paris, oui?"

  "Mais oui, j'ai étudié le français à Stanford et à la Sorbonne.

  In a thick French accent, Chef Keller says, “Dillon, you have a very talented woman here. She loves French food and speaks fluent French like a Parisian.”

  Looking at her with surprise, I state, “I’m not letting her out of my sight!”

  “Your kitchen is beautiful, and the food was beyond outstanding. Phillipe, Ramone, and Francesca were all fantastic. I can see how you’ve earned the perfect Michelin star rating,” Emerson gushes.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. Please feel free to extend your dining experience to our courtyard. I’d love to treat you to a rare cognac and pre-embargo Cuban cigar,” he offers.

  We sit quietly in the courtyard. Her eyes grow heavy as we drink a glass of a rare cognac that I didn’t catch the name of when Chef Keller delivered it. I considered one of the cigars but I was afraid it might limit my options later. Leaning in, “I’m ready to get you back to our hotel room and make sweet love to you all night long.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  Dillon

  We make love twice before going to sleep wrapped around each other, the second time far slower. I’ve never made love to a woman like that, but after doing it, I could see why. It’s like I lost a piece of myself with every thrust, every moan, every whimper she let out. She’s impossibly beautiful, a treasure I want to hide away from the world.

  I’ve been with lots of girls, but no one makes me feel the way Emerson does. She makes love to me with passion like nothing I’ve ever experienced. It isn’t about getting off or seeing who could make the other person scream more, but about taking her time to show me the depths of her heart with her body.

  “Emerson, I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Reaching into the nightstand, I pull out my grandmother’s ring, then sit her up and drop to one knee. “Emerson, you’re the center of my universe. I love you more than words can express. You’ve helped me through my darkest moments, and you still love me. It would make me the happiest man in the world if you would be my wife.”

  “I love you, too. Only you. Forever.”

  Wiping tears from her eyes, I press my lips to hers.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  Emerson

  It’s a mildly warm fall day, the sky dotted with a few pillow clouds—perfect for a carnival. For those arriving, the entrance can be seen in the distance, and the long lines of clients, employees and their families edge forward slowly as they work their way in. Faint music can be heard from beyond the tall gates, with the occasional happy scream suddenly piercing the air. Closer to the entrance, the massive structures of the rides can be seen: a rollercoaster, a Ferris wheel, and helter-skelter. The sounds of elephants trumpeting and a lion’s roar add to the excitement.

  Entering the event, young children stand watching, eating their sweets and snacks. Ice creams wobbling perilously over the cones and dripping down their small fingers as they melt. Some munch on brightly colored soft sugar strands of cotton candy which dissolve on the tongue—sweeter than sweet and sticking to the teeth better than glue. Others enjoy white puffs of buttery popcorn.

  Our fall carnival is a place of unrestrained joy for everyone of all ages. Tina completely outdid herself. The costumes of the carnival staff light up the fall day. Dressed as clowns, they are a mixture of color to rival any gardener's paradise. Music fills the air, festive beats to lift the spirits and make the people want to move, jump, and sing. It’s a time to celebrate being alive, enjoy the wonders of creation, and be one with the community our company has created. The air tastes heavenly with the chefs of the dozens of colorful food trucks alongside the edge of our event. Every delicious thing ready to be shared with friends and conversations to be had with families. />
  The clowns sport crazy-colored wigs, flawless porcelain-white faces, and mouths made three times their original size in red. Their eyes are lined with black as smoothly as if painted by an artist, and each has different decoration on their cheeks, such as a glittered star, a colorful rainbow, and big red hearts. Dressed in oversized clothes and shoes, they smile into the crowds, and the crowds smile back. Some hand out large vibrantly colored balloons filled with helium, others make balloon animals and hats, and still others lead small animals to be pet by young children.

  Most people wander from food truck to food truck, sampling street tacos, hot dogs, hamburgers, funnel cakes, fried Twinkies, and skewered meats. Mason, Dillon, and Cameron greet our clients, employees, and their family members as they wander through the throngs of people.

  This party has far outdone anything we’ve ever managed before. Our fall picnic is the only time of the year where the day is long but the night is even longer. There’s a stage where six bands play live music, rotating through the day and into the evening as people of all ages dance to the mesmerizing beats.

  Mason sees me and walks over. “Emerson, you and your team outdid yourselves. This is an incredible fall picnic.”

  I smile from ear to ear. “Thank you, Mason. Wendy’s sister did all this under budget and at no cost to us. She did it only in return for a reference from us.”

  “Make sure we give her a top-notch reference. Everyone is having a great time, the food is fantastic, and the rides are the cherry on an ice cream sundae.”

  “I’d like to offer her a generous tip. We can discuss it at the partners meeting next week.”

  “If it all continues this well, I don’t think you’ll have any problem convincing us.”

  Over the roar of music, a distant, hazy chatter can be heard. I can’t make out any words, but laughter rings in my ears and won’t seem to stop. The song gets louder, pulling me in, and won’t let go. I have no choice but to join the crowd dancing to a nineties hair band, jumping in a huddled group like Tic-Tacs being shaken in a box.

  Reaching for my hand, Dillon kisses me. “I love you.”

  Turning to him, I murmur, “I love you, forever and always.”

  Read an excerpt from:

  Venture Capitalist

  Promise

  by Ainsley St Claire

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Sara

  I talk to several clients as I wander our fall picnic, ‘Carnival’ the theme this year. It’s a fun day—until I see him. I knew in the back of my mind that he might be here, but I was hoping that after our break-up Henry would want to stay as far away from me as I want to stay away from him.

  Henry’s almost otherworldly in his chiseled strength, and from a distance, I can truly see how gorgeous he is. His light brown hair with natural blond highlights has grown since the last time I saw him. His blue eyes still look as if they see right through me. Sometimes with Henry, I used to feel so connected to him and so familiar that I was able to forget how absolutely devastating he is in the looks department.

  All the color must drain from my face when he sees me and walks over. “Hey, Sara.”

  “Why are you here, Henry?”

  Staring me up and down like he’s buying a dress for his wife, he says, “I’m here to see you, princess.” He grasps me by the arm and leads me behind a tent, where we’re out of sight.

  No one plays my body as well as Henry, and I hate the way it responds to him—my breathing quickens, my nipples pebble and my panties quickly become wet. That is until my brain fully engages, and I remember why we’re no longer together. “Henry, where’s Claudia?”

  Not taking his eyes off me, he points to the throng of people. “She’s over there somewhere with the kids. I had to see you.”

  I glance around frantically. “Henry, this isn’t the time or the place.”

  “But you aren’t returning my calls or texts. I miss you, and I need you,” he tells me as he rubs his hard cock against my core.

  Trying hard to keep my concentration, I say with more confidence than I feel, “I haven’t returned your calls because there’s nothing more to say. You have a beautiful family, and I don’t want to be a mistress.” I turn to walk away.

  Grabbing me by the arm, he pulls me to his chest. “I love kissing these lips,” he says quietly.

  He kisses me, taking my mouth as if it belongs to him. My body deceives me, throbbing to feel every inch of him. He distracts me from my fortitude and the haze lifts. Finally, my senses come to me and I push him away to break the kiss.

  He smiles at me. “I’ll call you later.” And he walks away.

  I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, mad at myself for allowing him to get to me. I watch him leave, secretly wanting to reach for him and tell him to stay, but I know that isn’t fair to his family or to me. If he isn’t going to think of them, at least I will.

  Glancing around the carnival, I’m in awe. Everywhere I look it’s wall-to-wall employees, clients and their families, here for the annual Sullivan Healy & Newhouse, or SHN, fall picnic. We’re the most sought-after venture capital firm in the Bay Area.

  To show our strength in the market, our chief operations officer and fellow partner at SHN, Emerson Winthrop, and her team organized this spectacular event for over five thousand people. And what an event it is.

  I see Emerson and walk up to her. “Are you hiding?”

  She laughs. “Is it obvious?”

  “No. I was only teasing.”

  She puts her arm around my shoulder. “I can’t believe so many people are here.”

  Turning to stare at her, I tell her, “Your team did an incredible job. I know Mason wanted to show the technology community that, despite the recent rough spots, we’re strong, and you’ve done it. Did you see the line of people working their way in?”

  With so much excitement, she exclaims, “I know! I hope the food trucks have enough food for everyone.”

  We begin walking and greet people as we wander through the crowd. I’m awestruck at all the fun people are having. It’s wonderful to see so many we work with outside of their offices or boardrooms with their families as they interact, network and enjoy the warm fall day.

  A short, dark-haired woman approaches me. “Sara?”

  I recognize her but can’t remember her name or her start-up we funded and helped to sell. How embarrassing. “Why, hello!”

  “You guys have done an incredible job with this event. I can definitely see why these events are legendary. How are Mason, Dillon and Cameron?”

  Mason, Dillon and Cameron are the three founding partners at SHN. They began funding start-ups together as a hobby and a way to share some of our luck, giving seed money to projects we liked as a side gig to their regular jobs. When four of their investments were bought for millions of dollars each, they were addicted to the gamble and the high of identifying a winner when investing in an exciting idea.

  “They’re doing great. Have you seen them? They should be around here somewhere.”

  “I’m trying to talk to each of you this afternoon. I’m so grateful to all of you. Without your support in my little fashion app, I’d still be working as an accountant, for a big firm dreaming of fashion and hoping to make my rent.”

  Of course! Cindy Chou. I remember her. Her company was an early investment SHN made, having developed an app during an elective class at Stanford. I remember Cameron being amazed at how simple it was, but it would give all the fashion houses multiple ways to get their clothes out to potential buyers. We helped her sell to each of the fashion houses, then worked our way to the cosmetic companies and finally to the department stores. She’s more than a billionaire now.

  “Cindy, I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. You were the one with the great idea. We were just able to help you get it to market.”

  Glowing, she coos, “I can’t thank
you all enough. And thank you for inviting me to this party. So many cute single guys.”

  Really? How is it that I see only married men with their families? “Well, good luck. Let me know if there’s anyone I can introduce you to. We single girls have to stick together,” I share with her in a conspiratorial tone.

  As I walk away, I catch glimpses of our employees and the four other partners.

  Cameron is standing with a short, bald man I don’t recognize, and it appears as if he needs rescuing. I walk over. “Hey, Cameron.”

  With a look of relief, he gestures to the man he’s talking to and says, “Sara, I’d like you to meet Gary Barns. He has a clever idea for us to consider. Very technical.”

  I extend my hand. “Gary, so nice to meet you. I’m SHN’s in-house attorney. We’d love to see your proposal. You can forward it to our office, and I’ll get it to the right people to review.” Removing a business card from my pocket, I hand it to him. “My contact information is right there. Feel free to e-mail that off.”

  “Thank you. I don’t have it down on paper yet,” he sputters.

  Of course you don’t.

  “No problem. Send it when you do. We get about a thousand requests a week. This allows us to catalog them into our offices and track them so no one can accuse us of stealing an idea. It protects you as well as us. Feel free to check out our website for what we’ll need to see from you with your proposal.” And before he can say anything else, I turn and lead Cameron away.

  “I need to carry my business cards around with me so I can do and say the same thing,” Cameron mumbles under his breath. “Gary had me cornered”—he looks down at his watch—“almost forty minutes.”

  “You were looking rather stranded. Glad I could help. We should know almost everyone here. Hopefully he wasn’t a party-crasher.”