The Venture Capitalist Read Online Free Page A

partners. I really want to partner with her in an entirely different way, but she doesn’t need to know that. Yet.
     

 
    CHAPTER TWO
     
    “Would you like to sit, Ms. Beale? Are you sure you’re all right?”
    I offer her a seat because she looks like she’s about to keel over.
    “I’m fine,” she says, with a slight huff and takes a seat in one of the chairs facing my desk before I can be the gentleman my mother raised me to be and hold it for her. Rather than occupy my usual chair behind my desk, I shift the matching chair next to her, so I can really determine whether Keisha Beale would fit the bill as a submissive. I unbutton my jacket before sitting down to peruse her business plan. It’s very simple. Rudimentary even. Not at all like the ones I receive on a regular basis that boast budgets in the millions.
    Keisha nervously prattles on about the break-even figures, and where she expects they will be financially in one, three and five years. She says it tentatively, as if she doesn’t believe them herself, and I know she’s likely been coached by her precocious friend, Jada Jameson. My research on the Senator’s daughter revealed that she graduated in the top ten from DePaul’s business school. Sat for the CPA and aced it shortly afterward and has worked for a firm I know well and have used for projects before.
    Now that her friend has shown up in her place, my curiosity about Ms. Jameson no longer exists. The woman before me is much better suited for what I have in mind. She has a body that prompts reflexive thoughts of binding her onto an apparatus in my Grotto, wrapping my hand around that ponytail, and fucking her until neither of us can move. Wait. The hair is off. Looks as if the ponytail is actually a wig, because it doesn’t match the texture of the hair close to her scalp. That will have to go.
    I watch Ms. Beale as she checks out the decor in my office. Her inquisitive hazel eyes flit from one area to the next, taking in the space where I spend at least ten hours most days, unless I’m traveling either domestically, or abroad. She takes in the red floral arrangement in a black vase sitting in one corner, the yellow sculpture from a Chicago artist in another, the blue mural from yet another Chicago artist behind the fish tank in another corner, and the green tropical plant hybrid created by a botanist friend from the University of Chicago in the final corner.
    Then her eyes take in the windowed wall behind my desk with the astonishing view of the Chicago Skyline. Her eyes fall and remain on the wall immediately behind us taking in my awards, business openings and the like, which I call a “bragging wall,” but Aimee insisted I have one. Even now that she can’t walk in here to make sure it’s all still here, and properly updated, I have Darryl to do it. Even now, I can deny her nothing. But, this could be changing, if my body’s initial reaction to Ms. Beale is any indication. This is all at once unnerving and exhilarating.
    When she finally looks at me again, I quickly don my mask of impassivity again.
    “Primary colors,” she says simply. “You’re a man of unassuming tastes in a world of extravagance.”
    She surprises me with her perception, which is no small feat given how jaded I’ve become. “That I am, Ms. Beale.”
    “So, what do you think about our business plan?” she asks.
    “You get an A for originality, but I’m afraid you get a D for fiscal viability.” I frown, regretfully. I want to see what she’s made of, so I grade her low intentionally. “If we take the location out of the south side, financial viability goes up to a B plus.”
    “That’s a deal-breaker,” she says. “The current location is mortgage-free, and we can’t afford to buy property near Oprah’s business address… or yours.”
    She’s cheeky, to say the least. While I like my women submissive, I don’t care for them to be spineless.
    “Who owns the building?”
    “It was my