The Venture Capitalist Read Online Free

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