Desire (Venture Capitalist Book 3)

by Ainsley St Claire

  “When is the builder telling you he can get you back into your place?”

  “I can’t find anyone to talk to me until the insurance company decides what they’re going to do. I’ve had several offers to buy the land, and they’ll clear it and deal with the city’s building codes nightmare, but they’re giving me less than what I owe on the house, so it’s overwhelming. I still have undergrad and medical school loans.”

  “The paper made it sound like there were several homes affected. I’m sorry yours was one of them. Where are you going to live?”

  “I’m considering a studio in the Tenderloin district.”

  “Are you kidding? You’ll be fighting with the homeless and the drug addicts outside your door, not to mention possibly in your hallways. You can’t live there. It’s not safe.” I’m not sure where my protective side is coming from. If anyone else were to tell me they wanted to live in the slums of the Tenderloin, I would say, “Good for you.” But I can see how vulnerable Hadlee is right now, and I want to protect her.

  She smiles at me and puts her hand on my arm. “I can’t live in CeCe’s guest room forever. I think she’s ready to have her place back to herself.”

  I have a downstairs executive rental in my house which is empty, and my accountant would prefer I not rent it out because it’s more income that negatively impacts my taxes. “Hadlee, my tenant recently moved out of my downstairs apartment. It’s a two-bedroom place on the first floor.”

  “Thank you, but I don’t have any furniture.”

  I can’t let her go to an apartment in the Tenderloin district. It isn’t safe. That isn’t a problem. “It’s an executive rental, so it’s furnished. You can stay as long as you need to. You have your own entrance and plenty of privacy. When you move out, I’ll either rent it as an executive rental again, or maybe make it an Airbnb.” I’m not sure where my offer came from. She looks as shocked as I feel. It would be great to see her more often, but it probably means that I won’t be able to sleep with her. Technically, she’d be living under my roof, and that could make things very awkward.

  “I’d hate to take money out of your pocket by occupying the apartment. I don’t know….”

  Before she can turn me down, I try one more time. “My accountant would prefer I not have any rental income, but the house is too big for just me. You can stay for free, or if it makes you feel better, you can rent it for, say, two hundred dollars. Why don’t you bring CeCe by tomorrow and you can check it out? I’m in Pacific Heights.” I’m trying to be a nice guy, and I feel like I need to talk her into this. Why am I trying so hard? If she doesn’t want to see me again, I need to just let it go, but I can’t seem to.

  CeCe must’ve overheard the end of the conversation, because she chimes in at that point. “We’ll be there. Text me your home address and we’ll stop by around seven, okay?”

  Hadlee

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I can’t believe I agreed to check out Cameron’s place. I want to explore something with him, but I can’t if I’m living as his tenant. Plus, I’m a mess right now.

  At least he’s wonderful to look out for me. CeCe was very clear that she didn’t want me living in the Tenderloin, but it was all I can afford. I still have a mortgage to make and I’ve lost my rental income, plus my school loans are the size of a mortgage payment too. She insists I can stay at her place, but there was no way I’m going to allow her to continue to pay for me, and besides, we don’t live under the same roof well. We tried that when I was struggling with my third stepmother, and it didn’t work out well. Our friendship is much too important to risk. Growing up, she included me on family vacations, and she was the constant source of mental stability for me after my mom died. All of the Arnaults were wonderful when everything was crazy with my father and the rotation of stepmothers. They’re my family.

  As the Lyft drops us in front of Cameron’s home, I note that the house is identical to its neighbors right down to the shade of paint on the iron balconies. But I can tell which one belongs to him right away. Whereas every other dwelling is simply towering red brick, his motorcycle is sitting out front and hard to miss. It’s a badass bike, that’s for sure. All I know is it’s a Harley, and it looks expensive.

  Without even checking the number on the door, we rap the brass lion knocker three times and wait. In a brief lull of the San Francisco traffic, I hear his approaching footfalls. The door opens, and I’m momentarily stunned by the wifebeater stretched across his broad chest, the low-hanging faded jeans, and the incredible tattoos. My heart beats faster, and my panties dampen from the memory of what he’s capable of. I want to get on my knees and beg him to take me.

  “Cameron, I had no idea you were sleeved in tattoos,” CeCe exlaims. She reaches out to run her fingers on his arm. “They’re so beautiful.”

  “Thank you. It’s a dragon that wraps around my entire torso and arms. It’s a symbol of how alcoholism destroys everything in its wake. It’s taken a while to finish, but I have a great artist I work with on Folsom Street.”

  “I can tell. It’s stunning. I don’t think there’s anything I like today that I would like five years from now, let alone for the rest of my life. Your artwork is so impressive.”

  “My mother was killed by a drunk driver when I was twelve.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. What a tragedy to lose your mother at such a young age. You and Hadlee have that in common.”

  “Yes, we’ve talked about it.” He steps outside and beckons us to follow him. “The apartment has its own entrance. We do share the laundry room and have access via separate doors, but I promise I’ll never enter your space unless invited.” He hardly looks at me. Seems like there’s no option for round two with him.

  He opens the door and motions us in. We walk along a wide hallway, and it opens to a bright and cheery living area. He shows us the laundry room off in the corner, painted yellow with a high-end front-loading washer and dryer, drying racks, and tables at a perfect height for folding.

  He points to a door on the opposite side. “If you lock your side, I won’t have access.”

  “Great idea.”

  “As I said, the apartment is set up as an executive rental, so it’s fully furnished.”

  I slowly glance around, everything well decorated with a perfect balance of symmetry, color, and fashion in every part of each room. It appears neither masculine nor feminine but a balance of both. Everything seems neat, clean and fresh, including the soft comforter to wrap around my body. The kitchen is full of high-end appliances, and I’m stunned at how beautiful it is. It’s nicer than my own home.

  Cameron presents me with a Nespresso, and we all stand in the backyard garden and take in the view of the Golden Gate Bridge.

  “Wow. This is quite the view,” I exclaim.

  “Thank you. I should use this patio more often. I always seem to want to when I have someone living in the apartment, but I don’t want to intrude.” Staring at me intently, he asks, “What do you think?”

  “It’s beautiful. But I think you’ll be losing too much money to rent it to me at such a low rate.”

  “Actually, you’ll be doing me a favor. I believe I told you my accountant has been after me about not renting it. With it being an executive, it’s paid the entire mortgage on the house for the last nine months. If you live here the next six months or even a year, it helps give me the write-off I need. Plus I know you well enough to know you’ll take good care of the place, and I’m not here alone.”

  This would be so much better than staying in the fleabag studio apartment I visited last week. The apartment manager seemed a little shifty, but I figured I could manage it for a few months. It’s positively beautiful, and I might get an excuse to hang out with him, even if sleeping with the landlord is a bad idea. “I would take very good care of your place. It’s very tempting.”

  “Great. When do you want to move in?”

  “Well, I do have a lot of things. I’ll need to arrange for packers and movers
.” I swear his jaw drops. It’s fun to give him a hard time. “I’m kidding. I don’t even have a suitcase, but I can buy a few big black trash bags and two boxes of stuff they salvaged from my house to move over.”

  “You will not! I have a suitcase, and we can get you a few nicer boxes from work.”

  “All right then, I guess that means I can move in at your convenience.”

  Taking a key from his pocket, he places it in my hand. My heart beats faster as an electric current pulsates through his touch.

  This may be a bad idea.

  Two days later, I’m in the middle of unpacking when I hear a knock at my front door. I wasn’t expecting anyone and haven’t given anyone my new address. Peeking through the peephole, I see it’s Cameron.

  Opening the door, I brush my auburn hair behind my ear and grin widely. He has a large white paper bag, and it smells amazing. “I thought I would bring you some dinner. It’s Greek. I hope you like Greek food.”

  “I love anything I don’t have to cook.”

  He helps me set the table and says, “It’ll be great to have a woman living here for a change.”

  “You don’t rent to women?”

  “Not on purpose. I use an agency, and they seem to rent to high-powered men. Maybe only men rent executive rentals? I don’t know.”

  We enjoy our dinner, and it’s comfortable and fun. As the evening comes to a close, he says, “Oh, I almost forgot.” Standing, he takes out a pair of lacey panties from his pocket. “I thought you might like these back.”

  Blushing from head to toe, I tell him, “Thanks. I searched everywhere for these that morning but couldn’t find them. Where were they?”

  “I put them in my coat pocket when I removed them. I think, at least subconsciously, I wanted a repeat of our evening.”

  “But you don’t anymore?”

  I can’t tell if he’s looking at with me pity or disappointment. “Hadlee, I do, but right now you’re too vulnerable, and if we choose to go along that path again, we need to have a good conversation about it first.”

  “A conversation? Well I’m disease free. Not only do I get checked annually for work, but I have an IUD, and I haven’t been with anyone for almost year before we were together.”

  He seems shocked by my revelation. “Okay, but you’re still homeless, and I don’t want you to ever feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

  We sit in silence, and I come to realize that he wants it as bad as I do. It’s a start.

  Getting up from the table, he kisses me on the forehead. “Sleep well, and if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call.”

  As I lie in bed a little while later, I relive our conversation over and over.

  What did he mean by saying he wants a conversation before he’ll sleep with me again? Why do guys talk in code?

  Cameron

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I’m sitting in my office when my admin comes in. “Mason has asked the partners to meet in his office in ten minutes.”

  I’m completely immersed in these lines of code to find a mistake—unsuccessfully, of course. I didn’t hear exactly what she said, so I just stare at her. “What?”

  Frustrated by my not paying attention, she speaks louder. “Mason wants you in his office in ten minutes.”

  “Did he say why?” I have a lot to get done, and I’ve been a bit distracted knowing I have a beautiful woman at my house.

  She has a look of annoyance that says, “Just go to the meeting and leave me to my job.”

  “Never mind. Ten minutes. I’ll be there,” I tell her.

  I can’t find the mistake. It’s so frustrating. E-mailing the code to a member of my team, I request, Something’s off. Can you find it? I then get up with my coffee cup in hand and head over to the kitchen where I run into Dillon.

  “Do you have any idea what’s going on?” I ask.

  “No, man. Do you?”

  I shake my head and pour myself a large cup of coffee, doctoring it with cream and sugar. We talk about the 49ers’ football expectations. The company has season tickets, and these last few years it’s been tough to get people to go to games. “We need to upgrade to a box.”

  “I agree, but that’s a pretty hefty chunk of change, and these days we can’t always give tickets away if they can’t at least win 50 percent of their games.”

  Sitting in Mason’s office, we wait for him to join us. It’s Cynthia Hathaway’s first day of work, and we’re taking her to lunch. She’s a new partner and head of Business Development. We stole her from a smaller competitor who recently went under, and she has an amazing reputation in The Valley with many of the who’s who.

  When we hired Cynthia, she was put through a much deeper background check than any other partner had been through. She was two years behind me at Stanford and has a firm grasp on technology. She’ll be a nice counterpoint to Dillon when it comes to convincing people with great ideas to only take our money.

  Emerson has Cynthia’s first week of work planned already. I spend time with her tomorrow, or maybe it’s Thursday. When she walks into the room, I’m impressed. Cynthia’s wearing a pair of tight jeans, boots to her knees with a huge platform heel that makes her close in height to Sara and Emerson, a floral print blouse, and a suede chocolate-colored coat. Her dark brown hair has subtle auburn highlights, and the color reminds me of Hadlee.

  I wonder what she’s doing right now.

  Mason arrives with Sara on his heels. “Sorry, I was talking to Jim on the encrypted phone—” He stops when he sees Cynthia. “Cynthia, welcome. Things aren’t always this crazy.”

  Emerson leans over to her and says, “That’s what they told me. Don’t believe him. I’ve been here almost three years, and it’s always this crazy.” She gives Cynthia a reassuring smile.

  “Well okay, it’s always like this, but I’d like to move to a point where we’re less reactive and more proactive.” Glancing carefully around the group, Mason continues, “Jim called to tell me that Tom Perkins had a heart attack last night and is in critical condition at Palo Alto Memorial.”

  We all stop talking, and the few of us who were distracted by our cell phones are now listening with rapt attention. Tom is one of the founding partners of Perkins Klein, one of our biggest competitors. They’ve been winning a lot of the business we’ve been losing, which we’ve been attributing to the mole.

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Dillon says.

  “No, it doesn’t,” I agree.

  Sara turns to Dillon and asks, “Do we have any financial models that speak to how this is going to affect them?”

  “Honestly, no. I’m not one to go morbid in my models. I have one for if he were to leave, but that would mean he takes some of the investments, so they wouldn’t apply.” Dillon looks over at Sara. “How about legally?”

  “Mason only told me a few minutes ago, but I think they’ll lose a few deals that they may be close to closing that might be worth picking up. But I’m not sure of the financial repercussions. He’s the main advisor to many of the companies they’ve invested in, and I can’t imagine Terry Klein being able to cover all those companies. I think we need to reach out to Charles and get his thoughts. And of course, we need to know how things are internally from Quinn.”

  “I have calls in to Trey, CeCe, and Charles. Really, I think we need to get Cynthia and Dillon out and talking to people who were in their pipeline like they did to us when Dillon took his leave. Anyone else disagree?”

  “No, I think that’s wise,” Emerson shares. “I’ll also have my team put their ears to the ground. We might be able to make up some of the position we lost recently.” Almost as an afterthought, she asks, “Could this mean our mole goes dormant?”

  Sitting back, I add, “One can only hope.”

  Mason dismisses the team, and I walk back to my office. What would it mean if Perkins Klein were to fail? They’re a huge organization. I’ve ridden my motorcycle with Tom, and he’s young. We may be competitors, but
outside of work, we’re buddies. The idea that he could have a heart attack at such a young age is a little disconcerting. I could always eat better and work out more. They also say married men live longer, but that isn’t in the cards for me, just like it isn’t in the cards for him.

  Women aren’t crazy about my work schedule, and if I’m being honest, I don’t know how to do relationships. With my last girlfriend, I was always in trouble for spending too much time at work. One day she’d complain I wasn’t calling enough and the next I was calling too much. Really, she wanted someone who would open up and tell her their deepest, darkest secrets. I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know how to be vulnerable, she’d tell me. Truthfully, I’m not even vulnerable in the sex that I prefer. I’m sure I should spend time on a therapist’s couch, but right now I don’t have the time to spare.

  My mind wanders back to Tom. We’ve been friends for a long time. I could always show up at his house unannounced. If something was bothering me, but I wasn’t ready to talk about it, he'd offer me a beer and a spot on his couch, and then we'd hang out watching Sports Center. When I was ready, we'd talk about it. He always listened without judgment and never commented until I'd spun my heart out. Then he would put his beer aside, look me in the eyes, and give me advice like the brother I never had. He never mocked unless I needed a good kick in the butt, and he never told a soul even a hint of what we discussed. He’s a black hole for gossip, a true friend, one of a kind.

  Knowing Tom is less than ten years older than me and in decent shape puts me in a bit of a funk. As I get off my bike in my driveway, I watch Hadlee approach. She’s a vision in jeans, sexy-as-hell sandals, and a green floral print blouse that sets off her eyes and hides her beautiful breasts behind a black leather jacket.