Desire (Venture Capitalist Book 3)

by Ainsley St Claire

  “You up for stretching your legs? There are some interesting hikes and a great waterfall not too far from here.”

  She points to her boots, which have a significant heel. “How about I change into something that will lend itself to a hike?”

  “Only if you wear them later with your leather thong and bustier.”

  She chuckles and agrees, then removes her chaps and boots and puts her sneakers on. When she takes off her coat as she unpacks, the bustier shows some movement in her breasts, and my cock becomes rock hard. There’s plenty of time for that later. I have plans for this afternoon.

  We walk hand in hand along the banks of the river.

  Gazing at her, I come to the realization that she’s at home here in the forest, or on the back of my motorcycle, or wearing a lab coat—she fits it everywhere.

  I hum my tune, and she grips my hand tighter. One day she’ll figure out the song, and she’ll know. We come to a clearing overlooking a small river. I wrap my arm around her shoulder and pull her in tight, and she puts her arm around my waist. “You’ve been wonderful with my dad.”

  “He’s a good guy. I’m glad you’ve both found a good place in your relationship.”

  “We have,” I whisper, the beauty of our surroundings too overwhelming for more than that.

  “Sweetheart, I want you to know that you changed my life at Dillon and Emerson’s wedding.”

  “You were my knight in shining armor that night. I thought I was going to have to sleep on the couch in the lobby.”

  I turn to stare into her beautiful blue eyes. I could get lost in those beauties forever. “It was my lucky night.”

  “Mine, too.”

  I begin to hum the song once again. I may not be the greatest singer, but I’m hoping she figures it out soon.

  “What’s that song?”

  I shrug and grin. I lead her to my favorite spot and sit her next to me on a large rock that overlooks a waterfall. “Before I met you, I didn’t think I had any chance at having someone in my life. You were the wake-up call I so desperately needed.”

  She leans into me, and I take her hand in mine. “Hadlee, I’m far from perfect, but I love you with all my heart. You complement me. I’m hard and you’re soft. I’m gruff and you’re thoughtful. You’ve made every day better since we met, and I can’t imagine my life without you. I want to have as many kids with you as you want. You mean everything to me. Would you make me the happiest man on earth and marry me?”

  She seems surprised, and her eyes tear up. “Cameron, you are my world. Nothing would make me happier. Yes, I’ll marry you.” She kisses me tenderly, and it only confirms that she’s the woman for me.

  I remove a beautiful Cartier diamond ring from my pocket and present it to her. “If you don’t like this, we can pick something else. I know it’s too much for work, but the wedding band we could use was my mothers, and it’s much more understated.”

  Her brow creases as she stares at the ring on her finger. “This is absolutely perfect. I love it,” she whispers, then turns to me. “And I love you.”

  We sit by the falls for a short time before walking back to the cottage. I pull up the song that I’ve been humming, Lonestar’s “Amazed,” on my iPhone and hit Play.

  She peers at me with surprise and awe. “That’s the song you’ve been humming since we met.”

  “I’ve known for a long time that I’m amazed by you, and I don’t know how to say it well, but this song nicely sums it up.” We slow dance in the living area as I sing to her.

  “I love you, Cameron. Forever and always.”

  “I love you, too. Now I want to finally enjoy my fiancée.”

  “Hey, did you propose here because we can’t call anyone?”

  “There’s a good possibility that I want to share this with just you for as long as we can.”

  “Well, I was kind of hoping you’d tie me up, then tie me down.”

  I laugh. “You’re insatiable and I love it.” I smack her bottom. “You better meet me in the bedroom.” I remove four silk ties, a fingertip vibrator, and her favorite nipple clamps from my overnight bag. “Make sure all you’re wearing is your engagement ring and your boots—nothing else.”

  Greer

  CHAPTER ONE

  Exiting my flight at JFK, I see a placard with my name on it. CeCe, you didn’t have to do this. I was quite fine taking a ride share into The City. I walk up and introduce myself. “Hello. I’m Greer Fisher.”

  “Good morning, Miss. Fisher. My name is Carleton, and Ms. Arnault sent me and asked that I give you a ride to your hotel and be available to you this afternoon for shopping or whatever you may want to do today. May I take your bag?”

  I reluctantly hand him my bag. It isn’t as if I haven’t been chauffeured around my whole life, I was just expecting to come in for Fashion Week a few days early to see my cousin and support CeCe one of my best friends.

  For everyone, family dynamics is stressful for a multitude of reasons, my family is more difficult than most. My cousin Vanessa is my age and understands all the challenges I face because our mothers are sisters and equally crazy. She also works in public relations and owns a small company that caters to designers and companies in the beauty industry. Fashion Week is her twice a year crazy time.

  Carleton opens the passenger side door of the Mercedes for me. “Did CeCe tell you where I’m staying?”

  “She mentioned that you were at The Whitby Hotel on West 56th Avenue. Is that correct?”

  I sit back in my seat and try to relax. “Yes, that’s the place.”

  I look through my e-mails, and nothing is happening that I need to deal with, so I fire off a text to CeCe.

  Me: You didn’t have to send a driver. I’m quite able to get a car and meet Vanessa later today. You have enough to worry about this week. The girls and I are good and here to help you. Not the other way around.

  CeCe: I know that. Don’t worry about it. It took two seconds to tell Carleton to go get you, and he was grateful to not be here waiting all morning.

  Me: Somehow, I doubt that. I would bet he’d much prefer watching models get ready for fashion week.

  CeCe: He’d have been stuck in the car downstairs. Go. Have a great time. Love you and have fun with Vanessa. She’s been amazing to work with this week.

  Me: How are things going?

  CeCe: Great. A few things to get done, but we are almost ready.

  CeCe: Come by the Suite at the Four Seasons when you can and let’s figure something out.

  I watch the landscape change from the drive in from the airport to Midtown Manhattan. The Whitby is close to Central Park and shopping on 5th Avenue. I’ve stayed here for many years and love it. We pull up to the hotel, Carleton jumps out of the car to open my door, and the doorman greets me. “Good to see you again, Ms. Fisher.”

  “Thank you, Tom. How is your wife and the twins?”

  “Excellent. I have pictures I can show you later if you’re interested.”

  “Without a doubt.” He shows me into the lobby and the front desk clerk looks up and says, “Why hello, Ms. Fisher. Welcome back to The Whitby Hotel. It’s so nice to see you again.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Here is your room key for the suite. May we send up a bottle of champagne?”

  I glance at her name tag. “Thank you, Monica. Maybe later. I’m off to meet my cousin shortly and the champagne will put me to sleep after the red eye from San Francisco.”

  “Please let us know if you need anything. The bellman will bring up your luggage. Would you like a houseman to unpack your bags?”

  “No. I can manage that. Thank you.”

  I take my room key and head up to my usual suite. It has two bedrooms and tomorrow we’ll add the room next door and it will become a three-bedroom suite. I’m alone tonight every arrives tomorrow afternoon. When I was growing up, Vanessa and I would spend days here, just the two of us. Our mother’s both have some mental health issues and we would run away to g
et a break and our dad’s would set us up here with unlimited room service and we’d have a great time. We didn’t go to clubs and weren’t very wild, we had wild at home. We came to The Whitby to escape and get some peace and calm. My cell phone pings.

  Vanessa: Hello, my beautiful cousin. Are you too jet lagged to meet me for coffee at the Met?

  Me: I can’t wait. 20 min.?

  Vanessa: I’ll be the one who has giant raccoon eyes and knuckles dragging on the ground.

  I know that may be how she feels; Fashion Week is her peak time. She loves this, and she is so good at what she does.

  Me: That’d be a first. See you soon!

  My luggage arrives, I tip the bellman and grab a freshly pressed silk pantsuit. I know there’s snow on the road, but I won’t be walking on the streets for long and can head to the Met to enjoy brunch. Knowing the two of us, it will be coffee. This time of year, I swear Vanessa doesn’t sleep and mainlines caffeine.

  I call Carleton to let him know I’ll be right down, and I make my way out of the hotel. My blood must be awfully thin because the temperatures may be just below freezing but I can’t get warm. I’m a San Francisco native to the bone.

  As we arrive, Carleton brings me to Flora Coffee. Located at the Met, it’s a perfect place to sit and chat away from the hustle and bustle of New York City.

  Taking a seat in the back corner, I can’t help but grin from ear to ear when Vanessa walks in. Wearing a full-length fox coat, she is beautiful. “GiGi!” she says as she calls me by my childhood nickname and opens her arms wide for a sisterly hug.

  “Vannie, you look well rested and ready for the week.”

  “Oh, you have no idea. I have a model who is working four shows and is on TubeIt saying defamatory things about minorities. What a mess. I wish she’d shut her mouth already. I have a designer who is so wasted he can’t work. And, forget the drama in getting the gift bag people to stay within their contract with Metro Composition Cosmetics.” Her job in public relations is significantly more challenging dealing with artists than mine is dealing with practical technology people. I don’t envy her job in fashion in the least.

  I watch her light up when she talks about her work. She’s made for this. When she finally takes a breath, I reach for her and say, “You know you love this.”

  She looks around to make sure no one is listening. “I do, but don’t tell anyone,” she whispers at me and winks. “How are things going with your corporate espionage at SHN?”

  How is it going? I’m so grateful that Vanessa has signed SHN’s nondisclosure as she’s helped me with the New York press. We’ve had a mole in our company who has been sharing our confidential information with clients and the industry. It seemed like they were sharing with just one company and we recently learned that wasn’t the case. “Well, it’s taken a strange twist. The company who has been benefitting from the mole has been struggling, but we learned that it wasn’t the only company that the mole is feeding our information to other companies. It’s a mess, but business is good, and I love my job. No high drama usually.”

  “Oh my god! How do you tackle the unknown in PR when you don’t know who you’re combatting?”

  She understands. That is part of why I love my cousin so much. Not only does she ‘get’ my mess with my mom but she works in my industry, so she’s a constant source of encouragement. “Exactly. We are doing the best we can. We are putting the word out that we are financially sound and just being more reactive than proactive. I hate this.”

  She sympathizes with me. “You are good at it though.”

  Coming from Vanessa, I know this is a true compliment. She would call me on it if she thought I was dropping the ball or not doing my job well. “Not as good as you are. I wish you’d leave this drama of models, photographers, and crap and come to San Francisco and work with me.” I miss her. We used to talk every day, and now we try to catch up when we can.

  “You know I’d love to, but what would Angus do?”

  Angus is Vanessa’s husband. They are perfect for one another. They both love their jobs and are very focused on that. “He’s an Investment Banker. He could run his fund from San Francisco. There’s a large finance community—which he knows them all.”

  I know that Vanessa would never consider leaving New York City. She loves the high pace, great restaurants and the craziness that comes with living here. “Speaking of Angus, how are you doing?” The grip on my hand gets tighter, and she implores, “It’s been almost eight months since Mark left. Are you ready to date?”

  Trying to hold back the tears, I share, “Not really. He married his assistant recently.”

  “Wow, just like your dad. I’m so sorry.” She gets up and sits next to me on the bench I’m sitting on and puts her arm around me and pulls me in for a tight hug. Mark decimated me, and only CeCe and Vanessa know how deeply he cut me.

  “Thanks. Her father has money, and there is no Eve in her life.” I don’t want to dwell on this. I’ve spent too much time rehashing this in my mind and with my friends. I want to shift the conversation away from me. “I’ve missed you so much. How is Gillian doing?” Eve and Gillian are sisters and they are our mother’s. We started calling them by their first names when we were in our early teens as a way to deal with the extreme behavior that comes with their issues.

  “Crazy as ever. And Eve?”

  I’ve been taking a break from Eve recently. As an only child, I’m often the one who is called in to manage her erratic behavior. She lives north of me up in the Napa Valley and I check in on her every few days, but she rarely answers my phone calls or texts. “Still crazy. She tries.”

  “I hear you. Gillian has her moments. How are you doing?

  “I’m trying. I worry every day that I’m going to turn into my mother. But I have amazing friends who help keep me sane.”

  She grins. “You do have amazing friends.”

  “CeCe has been a beacon. She’s so happy with all that you’ve done to help her get her here this week.” Vanessa is the one who spearheaded this push for CeCe’s company Metro Composition to be part of Fashion Week. It’s really hard for an independent makeup company to get noticed and participate in this twice a year event. If it goes well, Metro Composition may see many more fashion weeks, and because of Vanessa and her guidance, I have all the confidence they will.

  “Caroline absolutely adores you.” Vanessa looks at me and holds my hand.

  “Why do you call her Caroline and not CeCe?”

  “Because professionally she’s Caroline. CeCe is reserved for friends and family, and we have a business relationship.”

  I look down at my empty cup and debate a fourth cup, but I may never sleep if I do. Vanessa’s phone keeps lighting up, but she isn’t paying attention to it. I begin to gather my things, and together we stand to walk out. “Well, without you CeCe wouldn’t be here this week. Thanks for helping to make it happen.”

  “We’ve been working on this for a while, this year we had success, and we are participating in three different designers shows. Metro Composition is going to be a hit. I need to get over to the suite and check to see how it’s coming along. Do you want to join Charles and me for dinner tonight? We’ll eat about eight. I know we can squeeze you and Caroline in, if you’d like into our reservation.”

  “I’ll check with her, but I would bet that she won’t have time.

  To sweeten the idea of joining her for dinner, Vanessa shares, “Well, there are a few men who work for Angus that would trip over themselves to meet you both. Very casual. Promise.”

  I laugh a deep laugh. Everyone is ready for me to move on, but I’m not there yet. “You and CeCe are always the matchmakers.”

  “We need to move Mark firmly to your rearview mirror.”

  I know she’s right, but I’ll get myself there eventually. “Come on. Let’s get over to the suite.”

  I tighten the tie at my waist on my coat, and I push through the door. The cold winter air hits me in the face, and it’s
miserable. I can’t stand this weather.

  As we take our seats in the car, Vanessa turns the ringer on her phone on. Immediately it rings. It’s non-stop calls all the way to the Four Seasons. I listen as she directs one call and then another. I count eight different calls in less than five minutes. Walking in she gives her coat to the hotel coat check, and we head upstairs. CeCe spots me before I see her. “Greer! You made it.” She gives me a sisterly hug. I’m so happy to be here. Not just because I love clothes and all things fashion, but also because Fashion Week has been on my bucket list for years.

  I put my arm around CeCe. “Well, having Jim at my beck and call makes a difference.” Looking around the suite, I see boxes and truly a controlled chaos. People are actively setting up what looks like high-end beauty chairs facing large mirrors about cabinets that an electrician is actively trying to light. There is a team of probably eight people all dressed in black stretch pants, black T-shirts standing over what must be twenty rows each with easily fifty gift bags and they each have Metro Composition products they are dropping in. I see a few of the new Spring Colors that haven’t hit the market. I wouldn’t mind one of the gift bags.

  Beginning Thursday in the hotel’s penthouse lounge, the makeup artists from Metro Composition will host a nightly “beauty therapy bar” where guests can sample products and have their brows shaped for free. Looking around I see all sorts of samples. I know they sent samples for each Fashion Week ticket holder goodie bag, but those that come to the suite will be very lucky. Some pretty impressive stuff.

  I see CeCe, and she is perfectly coiffed in black palazzo pants and a beautiful blue silk blouse. She is calm and not crazy, but people around her look like they’ve had six cups of coffee too many. “You don’t look stressed at all. In fact, you look amazing.”

  She hugs me again and kisses me on my cheek. “Aren’t you sweet. I’m not stressed. I pay all these people to be stressed and get it done for me. They’ll make in on time. I know they will.” Looking over my shoulder she spots, Vanessa. “Hey, Vanessa. You just missed the reporter from Women’s Wear Daily.”