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Authors: LaVie EnRose,L.V. Lewis

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BOOK: The Venture Capitalist
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“What?” I roar at my Assistant, the goddamn cockblocker.

Darryl opens the door and stutters. “Moses asked me to tell you that the traffic is worsening by the minute, Mr. White.” Ms. Beale takes this opportunity to exit like a shot, pushing Darryl out of the way.

“Hold on a second,” I tell him, and race after her, but she had to have been an athlete in secondary school or college, because she’s fast.  By the time I make it to the elevator, the door snicks shut on her wide-eyes, bruised lips, and breast heaving like she’s run a marathon.

 

 

I can still taste Ms. Beale’s flavored lip gloss from the one scorching hot kiss we shared in my office as I descend on the elevator with Darryl in tow. I wanted to ask Keisha to dinner in Darnelle’s stead, so I could continue to vett her as a possible submissive, but her unexpected departure disabused me of the opportunity.

As Darryl and I exit the building, we quickly enter the limo, where I extricate Ms. Beale’s wallet from her purse, and slide the handbag over to Darryl who holds it up with his thumb and forefinger like its leprous.

“This is counterfeit,” he announces.

“How do you know?” I ask absentmindedly as I get my first look at a younger, still stunning, Keisha Beale, undoubtedly as a college coed, on her driver's license which is set to expire in a year.

“It isn’t real leather, and the accoutrements are not real gold-plated metal. Feels like hard plastic.” Darryl says with a frown.

This is the first time my assistant has demonstrated just how savvy he is with women’s fashion. I am not homophobic by a long shot, but he has never behaved like a clichéd gay man. He always displays the epitome of professionalism, and his office skills are impeccable.

I Google the address on Ms. Beale’s license on my Smartphone. It’s in a general direction in Chicago I rarely go unless I’m on my way to Midway to fly out of the city on one of the charter planes I own. O’Hare is too damned crowded, so that location was my airport of choice when I bought the fleet.

“We’re taking a detour,” I announce, and give Moses the address.

“We will surely be late if we go there before dinner at your father’s home, Mr. White,” Moses says, nonplussed.

Am I really going on what could be a wild goose chase hoping to convince a young lady I just met to be my dinner date at my father’s home? My lips quirk up into what could be my third smile of the day when I realize that is exactly what I’m doing. When I see Moses eying me warily through the rearview mirror and Darryl staring at me, mouth agape, my smile morphs into a scowl.

“I need to shower and change before dinner. Take me home,” I say to Moses, changing my mind yet again. “Instead, take Darryl to Ms. Beale’s residence to return her handbag. She will need her license and credit cards this weekend, no doubt. Also give her one of my cards and my private cell number and ask her to give me a call.”

“What about a date for dinner tonight?” Darryl doesn’t quail at the thought of me upending whatever plans he may have had for his own Friday night. I must remind myself to give him a bonus.

“Call Danai,” I instruct him. “Ask her to accompany me to dinner at my father’s place tonight.”

Both Darryl’s eyebrows rise. “She owes me a favor, and I need a date who won’t read anything into the request.”

He relaxes when he realizes that I know Danai is a Lesbian, but what he doesn’t know is that I just trained her to be a dominatrix. I am usually not so benevolent, but having her around to paddle, flog, bind and torture took some of the edge off. Otherwise I would never have been able to withstand six months with essentially. . .nothing.

Darnelle and I have been friends since the Academy. Before she came out of the closet and became the icon now known as Princess Danai, I ridded her of her virginity one summer on Martha’s Vineyard at her request. Eventually she realized she didn’t like cock, but we remained friends. She claims to be from Chicago’s West Side for street cred, like another famous rapper we both know, but she actually grew up in Barrington Hills, a place that holds unhappy memories for us both.

For Darnelle’s training, we drew the line at penetration, but it was fun using my implements on her willing body, and the BDSM play got me off enough that I didn’t need to go looking for an accommodating body to penetrate. Now she’s ready to go solo and take her own submissive, but like me, she has been too busy to cultivate a relationship. Unlike me, Danai wants to give valentines and roses, and if Keisha Beale wants the same, I may be well and truly fucked.

 

 

I’ve arrived at Darnelle’s building not far from my own, and parked in her assigned visitor’s spot in the garage when Darryl calls me with an update.

“Mr. White?” He sounds flustered.

“Yes?”

“Ms. Beale wasn’t home. Her neighbor says she hasn’t seen her since earlier this afternoon.”

“I hope she isn’t stranded in the city,” I say, thinking aloud. “There was negligible cash in her wallet, but we have her identification, her debit and what looks to be all her credit cards in there.”

“Maybe she has friends in town who were able to come to her aid.”

“She works at a Lingerie shop on the mile, so that’s a possibility. Thanks for trying. We’ll touch base with her again early next week.” I turn off the ignition and get out of the car, and I hear the automatic locks engage as I stride toward the elevator. “Listen, you and Moses have cut into your weekend significantly for me. Remind me to give you both a bonus next week.”

“Oh, Mr. White, Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, and please tell Moses he’s free once he drops you off. I’m driving myself tonight.”

“Have a great weekend, Sir.”

“Thanks. You, too.”

Darnelle’s Assistant answers the door. She offers me a drink, which I decline and make a beeline for Darnelle’s bedroom. She’s wearing a dress as we discussed and frowning at herself in the mirror. Her signature hairstyle that she jokingly refers to as her ethnic hairdo has been curled on the ends and looks decidedly less ethnic. Her fair complexion rivals Mariah Carey’s before the work and the transformation to a fuller-figured diva.

I belt out a wolf whistle.

She sucks her teeth and huffs a huge sigh, then speaks to me in her normal tone of voice, when she’s not “on” for her fans. “You know, I can’t remember the last time I wore a dress for anyone. You should really be thankful.”

I buss her gently on the cheek then hold her hands, stepping back to get a better look. “You know, if you weren’t so adverse to penises, we could go full-service on each other and forget all this nonsense,” I tease.

“You’re a very dear friend, Tristan, but that’s not happening,” she says. “Besides, I ran into a sweet little number coming out of your office today. I have half a mind to try and convert her.”

My blood runs slightly cold when I realized she’s referring to Ms. Beale, my current mini-obsession. “She’s not gay, and as vanilla as they come. I thought you were looking for a seasoned submissive to balance your inexperience?”

“Well, who says I have to right now? Keisha is hot, and I just want to see if she’s looking for a sugar mama with a little BDSM on the side.”

“Is that a thing?”

“There’s a whole culture of submissives who call their Doms Daddy, you know this, and there are
sugar daddies
. Not sure what the term is for women like me.”

“Lesbo-philanthropist?”

She stops fiddling with her hair and looks me square in the eye. “If that’s your idea of a joke, it’s not funny.”

I never make homophobic remarks like that. I chide myself for hurting her feelings and offer a rare apology. “I’m sorry, Dar.”

She faces me, arms akimbo, her eyes locking with mine, then smiling as if she she’s figured life and it’s many facets out in a single moment. “You want her for yourself, don’t you?”

I attempt to play it cool. “I’d have to be a eunuch not to find Ms. Beale attractive, and if I were to want her, it would be purely as a submissive.”

“I thought you said she was vanilla.”

“She is, and if I were to make a move in her direction, it would only be to train her as my submissive.”

“If anyone wants valentines and roses, it would certainly be a girl like her. Despite her sketchy background, she strikes me as a girl who would want more than just an arrangement with a guy for sex.”

“I can give her more than the average guy ever could,” I protest.

“No. You don’t understand. This girl comes from a working-class family, no doubt, and with her kind of upbringing, there are some things money just can’t buy. The only way I see her taking you up on your offer is desperation.”

I strike a similar akimbo pose, the competitive spirit emerging as her words hit home. “I think she’s attracted to me, and quite likely a born submissive, and that goes a long way in luring her into the lifestyle. I just need to discover the right incentive.”

“So, you’ve already given this thought?”

“Fleetingly.” Which is such a lie, but Darnelle doesn’t have to know this.

“Well, I’m much further along with getting some romantic traction with her, because I had the forethought to give her a ticket and invite her to my next set.” Darnelle flashes me a smug smile. “Didn’t you ever hear of striking while the iron is hot?”

“As if you know anything about metallurgy.”

“I don’t know anything about metallurgy, but I do know metaphors.”

I offer her my arm. “Come on, we’re late.”

She takes it graciously. “Score one for Darnelle Anderson.”

This has become some kind of game for her, but she doesn’t know how invested I already am in pursuing Keisha Beale for my own purposes. The game has barely begun, and I have many tricks up my sleeve. I will be successful in my quest, and my ace in the hole is possession of a certain ingénue’s personal belongings. While Darnelle is waiting to see her again next Friday, I will make contact and capitalize on the attraction that exists between us, or my name isn’t Tristan Xavier White.

 

 

The look on my stepmother’s face is priceless when I enter my father’s home with a Hip-Hop celebrity on my arm. She’s decidedly chilly toward Darnelle until my father lets her in on the family history.

“Darnelle is Garrett and Nadine Anderson’s daughter. You know them as the empty-nesters they are, but this is the daughter  you hear them talking about all the time.”

BOOK: The Venture Capitalist
10.61Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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