The Venture Capitalist (2 page)

My own throat was now constricted and my eyes were burning with imminent tears, so I reached for my saxophone case again.

“I’m going to play the solo I played at the concert we had at the Academy before we got out for the holidays.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to be there. I saw the video, but thank you for playing it live for me.”

“No problem.”

Mrs. Naven knocked and entered the room. “Mrs. White, the nurse is here to hook up your I.V. for the night.”

“Thanks, Caroline,” Mom said with a smile that looked more like she was gritting her teeth. “Tristan, please come back when the nurse finishes, unless you’re sleepy. Looks like your Dad and Nathan are going to be really late.”

“It’s okay, Mom. There’s no school tomorrow.”

“You’re still a growing boy, so you need to get to bed at a reasonable hour.”

“But I still have to play for you,” I insisted.

Mrs. Naven looped her arm through mine. “The sooner we let the nurse in here, the sooner you can play. Come on, young man.”

The nurse carried in a large bag filled with an abundance of medical supplies. She retrieved the IV pole from the corner and dragged it close to the bed, at which point Mrs. Naven closed the door behind us, cutting off my view.

My mother was nodding off when I re-entered her room. She waved me over giddily, despite her reaction to the strong drugs being delivered to her intravenously. She was pale and her skin looked clammy. “I can play for you tomorrow if you want to get some sleep,” I said. My father was always admonishing us not to tire her out, so I wanted to respect that directive even though he wasn’t home at the moment.

“No, please play,” she said with a drug-induced, lopsided smile. “I’m not tired, the medicine just makes me kind of sleepy. I want to hear your song.”

I would not deny her request. I pulled a chair close to her bed and took my saxophone from its instrument case. Letting the case rest on the floor this time, I took my saxophone and began playing the solo from my school performance. Mom didn’t stay awake for all of it, but once I stopped playing, she started abruptly. I hated that. Watching helplessly as she tried, but failed to clap her hands in glee. She barely managed to tap them together a couple of times before giving up.

“Bravo! That was beautiful, Tristan. It sounded even better live.” She took shallow breaths between her words.

The way she was breathing was worrying to me, but I made a big show of bowing as our music teacher instructed us to do during the performance. Mom had a smile on her face that was so genuine she looked almost like the mother we had before the disease robbed her of her robust health.

“Thanks, Mom.” Her praise made me puff my chest out in pride.

“When did you get so good? Seems like just yesterday you were playing scales and driving your father insane.” The raspy quality of her breath, got worse as she continued to speak. 

“I practice every day in the basement, because Dad didn’t want the noise to bother you.”

“Your father is so protective. I would’ve loved hearing you.”

“Good, because I have a special song I learned just for you.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really? What is it?”

“It’s called
The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face
. And it’s the other part of my Christmas present to you.”

“Oh Tristan. Thank you.” She held her arms out as she’d done for Nathan earlier, and I went willingly into them. Holding her was like holding a fragile doll in my arms, and I was careful not to squeeze her too tight, because I felt like I might crush her, and her breathing was already labored. “Okay, here goes nothing,” I said, and I began to play the tune made famous by Roberta Flack.

As I played, I remembered the earliest memory I had of Elizabeth Carollton White, singing to Nathan and me in the nursery. We would grin like mirror images at her when she sang, and we’d clap our chubby little hands right along with her. I remember her taking us to pre-school, then grade school where she attended our many school plays, recitals, and sports events. Then I remember her just running out of energy one day at poolside and Nathan ran to get Mrs. Naven while I held her in my arms. We were eleven at the time. As I was nearing the end of the song, she lay back and closed her eyes. I continued to play, convinced that I was soothing her in slumber. I was still playing when my father and Nathan entered the room.

My father took one look at my mother, lying there motionless, and rushed to her bedside, holding a hand up, motioning for me to stop. “Son.” He said simply.

I stood up, dropping my saxophone to the floor. I’d been playing the song in a loop and did not hear the noise being made by the monitor. My mother had flat-lined, and I was still playing that sappy song. My father quickly buzzed the nurse who came rushing in.

“I’m sorry, Mr. White,” Nurse Lawler said. “I was in the powder room and I didn’t hear.”

“Just help her,” my father said helplessly.

The nurse began CPR while my father held my mother’s hand on the opposite side of the bed. The nurse was winded and perspiring an interminable time later when she finally, sadly shook her head.

My father seemed not to comprehend what she was saying at first. He gathered my mother into his arms and held her, speaking softly to her as if she were still alive. Nathan and I stood in stunned silence, watching as he gently stroked her face, kissed her lips and lay her back down on the bed.

He turned to Nathan and me, a look of utter sadness on his face, but even in the midst of that, he tried to smile. For us. He opened his arms to us, but we didn’t move quickly enough. Suddenly my father dropped to his knees. His face crumpled like a piece of paper you might ball up to throw away. Sobs began to wrack his body, each one laden with pain so severe, his whole body trembled.

At first he made no sound, then he gasped, took air into his lungs and bawled like an infant. His eyes were closed as tight as fists, as rivulets of tears streamed down his face. He dug his nails tightly into his trembling palms, hoping this pain might assuage the other. The sounds coming from deep within his gut were so utterly surprising it delayed the reaction from Nathan and me. Never had we seen our father in this state. I was equal parts afraid of what this had done to my father and equal parts sad that I had lost my mother.

Nathan and I, finally able to move descended on my father’s kneeling form, grabbed him and squeezed. I wanted to say something, to comfort my father, but my throat was constricted and my mind was blank. Nathan winced and peered through narrowed eyes at the scene unfolding around us. He couldn't look at our mother. And he couldn't look away. The conflict on his face was clear as tears ran unchecked down his face, as well. Then tears stung my eyes and spilled down my cheeks.

As we mourned together in a huddle in the center of the room, my father’s sobs became short gasping breaths. Suddenly, he grabbed his ribs, bent forward, and the floor met his face with a loud thud. The nurse came to his aide, moving us gently out of the way. It was probably the best thing that he'd fainted, because the body knows exactly how much it can take.

I looked to the bed again in disbelief where our mother, and the love of my father’s life, lay serenely, the hair of the expensive wig she'd finally settled on a blond cloud on the pillow.

CHAPTER ONE

“There is only so much gratification one can receive from one’s work, Tristan.” My father, Charles Xavier White says definitively. “You should come to dinner with Lydia and me tonight, and bring a date so we can celebrate closing this business deal. Bryce is using the vacation house in Telluride this weekend. It would just be the four of us.”

I roll my eyes at the mention of Bryce and Telluride in the same sentence, then angle my head toward the speaker phone as if my father can see me and the rare smile few people provoke. “All work and no play—one of the first things you taught me that business schools don’t spend entirely enough time on.”

“That’s what semi-retired fathers are for,” he says with a hearty chuckle.

“And closing deals with cutting edge technology companies who are going to revolutionize driving,” I add. My father has intimate friendships with businessmen all over the world. He’s been introducing me to many of them through lucrative deals over the past few years since I’ve built White Enterprises to a billion dollar business on my own. No one will ever be able to say I built what I have using my father’s money.

“Once the driverless car goes from prototype to working model, we’ll both, as early investors, own one of the inaugural fleet.”

“Another thing you taught me. Collect first editions.”

“Today’s novelties become tomorrow’s antiques.”

Another thing my father has said for years. He was not soft on my brother and me by a long shot when we were growing up. There was always the expectation that we would work hard to claim our place in the business world. Nothing would be given to us. Now, we are all powerful men who desire control in every aspect of our lives. My maternal grandfather’s distillery under my father’s management is now one of the premier makers of wine and spirits in the Midwest. My brother, Nathan has been in the NBA as point guard for the Chicago Buffaloes for ten years and owns a sportswear franchise that is distributed all over the world. And I took the modest trust fund my mother left me upon her death and turned it into a multi-billion dollar venture capitalist firm.

“Absolutely. My warehouse runneth over. We might become the next reality show.
Billionaire Hoarders: Lifestyles of the Rich and Infamous
.”

My father laughs. “You would never sign up for it.”

“You know me too well.” I guard my privacy like the government guards Fort Knox. Especially since the incident—the painful chapter in my life that my father and brother know not to discuss. I’ve spent a lot of money on therapy to deal with it, and yet, the memory never goes away. Nor will it, as long as the biggest reminder of it still lives in the state of the art rehabilitation center which I gladly pay for.

A father’s intuition knows no bounds. He moves on from the quiet introspection which can only mean thoughts of one thing—the incident. “Dinner with us tonight, and I’m not taking no for an answer. Dust of that little black book of yours and bring a date.”

I cringe at the idea of inviting anyone from my short list of former submissives to dinner with my father and the lovely trophy wife who finally replaced my mother. I don’t hold his choice against him, it’s just that she and her classless spawn have somehow managed to snow my father with their pretentious acts, which Nate and I have seen right through for years. We can only hope that my father will wake up to it someday before they take him for everything he’s worth. Oh, let them try. I would enjoy destroying those two cloying hangers-on.

“There’s no one who comes to mind,” I admit. “Would you be disappointed if it were just me?”

“Neither you nor Nathan could ever disappoint me, Tristan. You know that. I just don’t like the idea of you being alone.”

There it was. My father’s words resonate with me because I’ve been without a submissive for more than a year, which means I haven’t had sex in that same amount of time. Not for lack of offers, but vanilla sex from clueless women who believe they can fuck my brains out, literally leaves much more to be desired than they are aware. Unless sex comes with a healthy dose of BDSM, I’m just not interested, and finding women with these particular tastes has become more difficult, precisely because I work so much.

“It’s not my desired situation, either, but it takes time to find, secure, and train someone to accept the only type of relationship I’m capable of having right now.”

“You don’t have to rush the process on my account. I know how difficult it is to make a connection with a like-minded person who embraces your specific proclivities. Perhaps you could ask Darnelle to dinner? I hadn’t seen her in ages until I saw her on a late night entertainment show the other night. She’s really become a beautiful girl.”

“Darnelle is gay, Dad.”

“Oh, I had no idea. I should stop meddling in your love life, son, because clearly I’m not equipped to do any matchmaking.” He laughs.

I can envision how red his face is right now. “It’s fine,” I say. “Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to ask Darnelle to dinner. I’m meeting with her today at five to discuss funding her new album, videos and such. It’ll be fun to catch up with her. She’s on the road so much, performing a lot and touring overseas, we hardly ever get to see each other socially anymore.”

Truth be told, Darnelle and I’ve been seeing more of each other than I’m able to let on, even with my father. I’ve just spent the last six months training her in the lifestyle.

“That would be perfect if she agrees to come. And, let’s just keep her sexual orientation between us. Shall we? Lydia is an unyielding homophobe.”

Another reason added to the laundry list of reasons why I don’t particularly like my father’s wife. I suppose next I’m going to learn she’s racist against some other people-group.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, because if Lydia says anything offensive to my friend—”

It is beyond me how a man can be married to a gentle soul like my mother and then remarries so poorly after her death. I’m sure my father’s loneliness played a huge part in impairing his judgment this time around.

“She wouldn’t say anything; she just might not extend any further invitations.”

“How can you abide such hypocrisy?”

“When you love someone, you’re able to overlook a multitude of character flaws.”

“Which is why I will never seek a relationship involving feelings that blind you to who someone really is.”

“Never say never, son. Someone will come along who’s perfect for you, and you won’t be able to resist her appeal.” my father says.

Within eight hours I would begin to believe my father might be clairvoyant because of that very statement.

I chuckle inwardly as I think of what my stepmother’s reaction is going to be when I enter her home with Princess Danai on my arm, and collide with a petite powerhouse of a woman in an electric blue suit that hugs her curves so well, it looks like she’s been poured into it. The matching high heels display a considerable length of caramel toned legs despite the vertical deficit she’d maintain against my formidable height without them.

Hair smoothed away from a gorgeous exotic face, spills down her back in a ponytail which hovers over a firm round ass that makes my cock twitch for the first time in—I actually don’t recall how long it’s been since I’ve had this reaction to a woman.

“Excuse me, sir. I’m so sorry. I should’ve knocked first.” She’s so sincere and apologetic, I find myself treating her kindly, which usually isn’t my forte. I usually take a firm, hard-nosed stance with the people I’m doing business with.

“No problem, Ms. Beale.” I circle her tiny biceps, which I can feel are also toned through her suit. I help to steady her and then step back. I have no desire for this one to confuse me with my brother. All of sudden, it’s important that she knows my name. “I’m Tristan White.”

Her hazel gaze travels up my body until it reaches my face, where it lingers for a few moments—then down again as if she’s recording the memory. Full, delectable lips part and her eyes register the appreciation I often get from women, but I have to admit, I’m not annoyed with this one.

She doesn’t respond, so I do to help her get over the shock of seeing a face that looks like one she undoubtedly sees on Sportscenter regularly.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Yes. I’m fine, sir.”

Sir
! My dick goes from semi-hard to granite from just that word alone. Tailored suits are great at hiding potentially embarrassing situations, and I’m now patting myself on the back for the decision to go commando today. Otherwise, the nice little compartment within my pants that my world-class tailor created to house my considerable package would be compromised.

“I grew up kicking it with four brothers who played sports. It would take more than that to put me down for the count.” She nervously falls into the vernacular that is undoubtedly a remnant of her pre-college, pre-professional woman days. Then her eyes narrow as if she’s trying to place where she’s seen me before.

I squint at her questioningly. Then when she clutches imaginary pearls, I know she’s placed me. My twin is the point guard of the Chicago Buffaloes, with slightly longer hair and more body art.

“Are you Nathan White’s brother?”

“Yes, we’re twins.”

“Oh, that explains it.” She takes a breath. “Um, Ms. Jameson is out of town,” she says by way of an explanation for her being here rather than the domineering Ms. Jameson. “I’m Keisha Beale.”

“Yes, I was informed. And your role in the business would be?” Having learned that Ms. Jameson was the daughter of Senator Jameson of Springfield, I’d been very interested to meet her. But her friend from first impression is infinitely more interesting. A born submissive. I wonder if she’d be willing to play with me.

“Chief Operating Officer, sir. Well, Jada—I mean, Ms. Jameson—gave us those distinguished titles. We’re partners.”

There she goes with that sir again.
Cool your jets, White
. “Are you normally so polite, Ms. Beale?”

“Pardon?”

“You keep calling me, sir.”

“Yes, sir. My mother’s family is from the South. She drilled the habit into us.”

This project is small potatoes, one I would normally hand over to someone else. While the investment is hardly worth my time, I can see it growing into something spectacular with a well-managed investment. There is growth potential in publicly trading once they’ve taken on a couple of dozen acts. I don’t share any of this with Ms. Beale because I can tell she’s more of an artsy type. The kind of growth I foresee for them would make her eyes glaze over.

I tilt my head to one side and take in the view of the biracial beauty before me, then gesture toward the binder in her hand. “Your business plan, I presume?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” she says and hands it to me. I lean over her shoulder to close the door, and my chin is inches from lips I’d divest myself of a considerable portion of my fortune to taste. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. I want to fuck Keisha Beale until she can’t stand for a week.

Control yourself, White. This is a business meeting.

I need to take my libido firmly out of this equation, or I’m going to scare Ms. Beale off and incite a possible lawsuit for sexual harassment before we can even become business partners. I really want to partner with her in an entirely different way, but she doesn’t need to know that. Yet.