The Venture Capitalist (12 page)

Releasing her so abruptly, my lips pop, I move up over her body and impale the place that I just engorged myself with. Then move in a blistering, unrelenting pace, watching as she unravels beneath me.

I contort so that my mouth finds her nipple, suck hard, and she without delay falls apart, her body jerking spasmodically as the orgasm rolls over her, laying waste to any former modicum of decorum she just recently possessed. When she screams, I silence her with a kiss that mimics how deeply I’m thrusting inside her. I groan into her mouth when I follow shortly thereafter with my own intense release.

I gaze with supreme satisfaction at this woman who bears a blissful grin on her face, in awe that we are so sexually compatible at the outset.

“You’re so passionate,” I say. “It’s going to be such a pleasure teaching you how to control all that passion.” I kiss her again until her body relaxes as if she’s boneless. “Will you give my proposition serious thought and provide me your answer by Wednesday?”

“Okay,” she agrees. “I’ll give it serious thought, but don’t expect any miracles.”

I didn’t expect such a noncommittal response after working my ass off to woo this woman. I roll off the bed and stand to my full height, hoping to convey a bit of intimidation
and
invitation, all at once, if that’s possible. Keisha stands, too, arms akimbo, sending her own message. Why am I not surprised that she didn’t fall for my dog and pony show? But I’m not ready to concede defeat.

“I understand how this,” I say and gesture around the room, “might be off-putting to you, but I sincerely hope you’ll give the arrangement serious thought over the next few days. That being said, I expect you to honor the letter of the NDA, no matter what you decide.” I open the closet, hand her a fresh robe, grab one for myself, and escort her out of my Grotto.

Moses, my limo driver, is surprised by my deviation from type. I smirk when his usual stoic bearing is rocked by the appearance of the feisty biracial goddess I’ve just introduced him to.
Yes. This alluring brunette is the new blonde.

Keisha checks her cellphone after giving Moses her address and scowls.

The look of displeasure agitates me. “What’s wrong?”

“Just calls… from Byron.”

It pisses me off that this scumbag—who, as an attorney would phrase it, allegedly drugged her—is calling now as if he’s so concerned. “I’ll have Carlos take care of that.”

“Carlos who?”

“Carlos Velasquez, my security chief.”

“Take care of it how?” She looks worried, but her anxiety over the rapper is direly misplaced.

“For starters, I think a restraining order might be prudent. Unless you want the rapper to keep bothering you. I’ll warn you again, Ms. Beale, I won’t compete for your time with ex-boyfriends or would-be suitors. If we are to do this, you will be mine, exclusively.”

A gamut of emotion crosses her face as she thinks over my words.

“I haven’t had anything to do with Byron since I was at DePaul, so he wouldn’t be anyone you’d have to compete for my time with.”

“Good,” I say and retrieve my own cellphone and dial Velasquez. “Carlos?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Proceed with the restraining order.”

“Does McCaskill pose a physical threat to her?”

“I’m almost certain he does, but I can’t elaborate on that at the moment.”

“She’s with you?”

“Yes. Put a guy on him until further notice. If he goes anywhere near Ms. Beale, he’s to be reminded, forcefully if necessary, of the restraining order.”

Keisha’s eyes widen when she hears that exchange, but she doesn’t question it. I replace my phone in my inner jacket pocket and concentrate on her.

“What are your plans this week?”

“I’m working my final week at La Perla and receiving more inventory for the studio.”

“What time are you free on Monday? I’d like a tour of this property you own.”

“I work from one ‘til close.”

“May we tour at seven?”

“A. m.?”

“I was going to suggest six. Seven is a concession.” I soften that statement with a slight smile. “You enjoy your sleep, don’t you, Ms. Beale?” A rare rhetorical question. “Let’s say eight thirty, then.”

She responds with eagerness at the compromise. “Eight thirty is good.”

The machinations behind her gorgeous hazel eyes are so apparent, it’s almost comical. I know she’s trying to figure out a way to remove herself from my clutches, but I’m way ahead of her.

“I’m still not sold on your location,” I say. “I’d like to see it in person to ascertain whether it’s sound. If not, we can work on that, too.”

To this she doesn’t respond, but I know she’s not pleased with this suggestion, because she’s indicated before that the location she currently owns has some sentimental value.

Moses pulls up to a modest, duplex in need of a paint job and copious minor repairs. I frown. “Is this the best place you and Ms. Jameson could find to live, Ms. Beale?”

“What do you mean? Jada owns this duplex outright, and our neighbor is her tenant. That’s balling for a young woman two years out of college,” she says.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to make light of her investment—and your home.” I run my hand through my hair and peruse our surroundings. “Are you sure this neighborhood is safe?”

“You should see where I lived before I moved here. Now that would be considered unsafe. Mostly working-class people live here.”

I can’t fathom how such an exquisite human being has been forced to live in such common accommodations. I abandon that train of thought, looking toward the future, rather than the past. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Going to church.”

“May I pick you up after?”

I’ve unleashed a fair amount of charm on Ms. Beale, and I’m not going to play fair. I’ll woo her every day if I have to, just to get the response that I need from her. I can tell from the expression she levels me with that she’s not ready to be exposed to my full-on assault again quite so soon after today.

“I’ll be going to my mother’s house for dinner.”

“Can’t you get out of it?”

“Have you seen
Soul Food
, Mr. White? Sunday dinner is sacrosanct in African American homes.”

Confounded, I press on, “I’ll come there. You could introduce me to her.”

She holds up the binder I gave her. “I have to read this and become educated if I’m going to make an informed decision.”

I resign myself to her decision, because I refuse to be reduced to anything that resembles begging. “You’re right. Do some internet research and read the entire contract. I’ll see you Monday morning.”

Worn out from a Sunday that has consisted of many activities designed to keep me from showing up on Keisha Beale’s door, I shower and climb into bed around ten thirty. I’m on the threshold of REM sleep, when my cell phone vibrates on the nightstand.

“White,” I answer, irritated that anyone would be bold enough to call me at this hour.

“This is Keisha,” A voice I’d longed to hear all day announces.

I am no longer irritated. In fact, I smile before I address her with mock sternness. “Ms. Beale. If you’re calling to change our plans tomorrow, I’ll have to insist we keep that appointment. My schedule is more unmanageable than you can imagine.”

“Our appointment tomorrow is firm, Mr. White. I wouldn’t dream of changing it at this hour.”

“Good. So, if this call isn’t concerning our appointment in the morning…”

“I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh?”

I wonder if this is the obligatory after-sex call? If it is, I’ll need to                      remind her that this isn’t a romance. Her tentative answer tumbles out quickly enough to change my course of thought, because oddly, I am beyond pleased to hear from her.

“Um, I wanted to ask you a few more questions.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Do you always secure submissives for such inordinate sums of money?”

I hope she isn’t worried that I’m trying to
buy
her. While I do always take extraordinary care of my submissives, what I provide for them materially or financially in no way should be construed as payment for their services, or them as a person.

“No. Usually I recruit willing submissives who’ve already been in the lifestyle a while. They choose to do this because they want to. You took a bit more incentivizing since there was no indication that you’d ever had a predilection for kink.”

“What if I don’t pan out to be whatever it is you’re looking for?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Saturday’s activities assured me you’re responsive and teachable—chief among my requirements.”

“Oh.”

“You sound disappointed. Were you fishing for something else… say, a compliment?”

“No,” she scoffs. “I don’t even own a complimentary fishing pole—or rod and reel, for that matter. I just don’t like the idea of our livelihood riding on my sexual performance, as it were.”

There it is.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Ms. Beale. I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” Her voice wavers as it would in movement.

“Your voice changed. Are you in bed?”

“Why?” There goes that coyness again.

“Because I asked you.”

“That’s not a good reason.”

“If I’m going to be your Dom, I need to know everything about you. Even things you don’t necessarily want me to know.”

“Will that be reciprocated?”

“In a fashion.”

“So, that means no.”

“Not exactly.”

“You’re insufferable.”

I lie down again and get comfortable on my bed. “I’ve been told this on more than one occasion.”

“Are
you
in bed?”

“Yes, and unlike you, I don’t mind admitting it.” I stifle a yawn.

“I should let you go so you can turn in.”

“I’ve turned in, but you don’t have to let me go. Talk to me, Ms. Beale. Tell me what makes you tick.”

“That’s easy. Seeing KSR on the precipice of becoming a dream realized. It’s all I’ve eaten, slept, and dreamt since college.”

“I remember seeing White Enterprises on paper as an idea before I ever had my first client and feeling the same way.”

“Was it as momentous for you, given your background?”

“Yes. Like you, I built my company with capital left to me from my mother’s estate. Admittedly, it was a bit more than your father left you, and I almost lost it all several times before my business became the success it is today.”

“Even in the short time I’ve known you, I can’t imagine you losing at anything.”

“Losing is a humbling experience. I believe that’s why I’m able to pick projects that thrive—because I see objectively if they’re willing to put in the work that will counteract the risk.”

“You never once went to your father for help when your business was in trouble?”

“No. Our relationship wasn’t such that I could go to him at that time.”