Promise (Venture Capitalist Book 2)

by Ainsley St Claire

  I wake to the sun streaming in my window, hitting me in the face. I’m not even sure if it’s the next day or if it’s been two weeks.

  Rolling over to check the time, I see a large glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen. Sitting up slowly, I think I need to throw up. I prop myself up with a few pillows and lean against my headboard.

  Once my stomach settles a minute, I turn to swing my legs to the floor and attempt to sit up. Please send the jackhammer away! I finally adjust to the change in equilibrium and stand. I’m dizzy, and my mouth feels like a cat walked over it and shit inside. Ugh.

  I find my pants on the floor in my bedroom and attempt to put them on while standing, but moving my head makes it feel as if it’s going to explode. I struggle to sit on the bed, but it’s the only way for me to get my pants on without falling over.

  Somewhat dressed, I hear a noise from the living room, so I stand and walk slowly to follow it, finding my sister.

  “Hey,” I mutter.

  “Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?”

  “Like I was hit by a bus.”

  “I bet. When you’re ready, we need to talk about last night.”

  “What happened?”

  “We’ve got a problem.”

  “Do I have a problem or do you and I have a problem?”

  She picks up her iPad. “Here, let me show you.”

  I cringe. YouTube? I’m in trouble. The first of two videos titled “Trey Arnault’s Sexcapades” begins to play. It’s extremely explicit.

  As I watch the video, I notice there’s no camera movement, meaning it was stationary. There’s also some infrared camera work, so there’s a weird green glow to the couple on the screen. It takes a few seconds for me to remember that it’s the one-night stand from a few years ago. In the first video, you can see me go down on her and her porn star orgasm, and then she goes down on me with some weird grunts and groans. I know I don’t make those sounds. I’m sure of it. There’s more weird grunting and groaning during the sex act, and he calls her Elly. Her name was not Elly, it was… Michelle.

  The second video is a repeat of the first.

  I run my hands through my hair. Fuck!

  Unfortunately, CeCe shows me they’re all highlighted by TMZ. They’ve clearly been voiced over, because I know I don’t say the things that are being said in the videos. They’re graphic and ugly.

  My emotions overwhelm me: disappointment, sadness, regret, anguish and grief. Crazy Jill told me if I didn’t impregnate her, she was going to release a bunch of pictures and videos. I know it was her, and she’s going to pay for this. I have a lot of very expensive lawyers, and I wasn’t the only one to hear her threats. But the immediate will have a ripple effect well beyond a YouTube video.

  Turning to CeCe, my eyes wide, I ask, “Has Dad seen this?”

  She glances at me with sadness, and before she tells me, I know. “Unfortunately, so has the rest of the board.”

  “Un-fucking-believable!” I take a deep breath and drag my hands down my face. “You know it was that bitch Jill.”

  “I think so, too. That isn’t even your voice. I’ve explained it to Dad, but he and the board are still upset.”

  “I’ll call him in a bit. I need the Advil to kick in, and then I need a solution. Fuck! Just when it seems like I might’ve been able to swing Sara back into my corner, too.”

  A few hours later, I’ve figured out what I’m going to do. I’ve called my lawyer and explained what happened and share everything I wrote down from my night with Jill. We put his firm's investigator on to find her. I then sit down and call my dad. My mom answers first, telling me she loves me but is disappointed in my behavior. She asks me to come home, and I explain I’ll try in a few days.

  My dad gets on the phone, and I’ve rarely heard him so angry. “Dammit, Trey! We raised you better than this. What made you think you could record these kinds of videos and not think they would eventually be broadcast? This is completely unacceptable for the CEO of our company.”

  “Dad, first, I did not record these videos. These were recorded by the girl—”

  “Why would any girl risk her reputation by releasing a video?”

  “For the notoriety, obviously,” my mom interjects. At least someone’s on my side in this fiasco.

  “Please, Mom, Dad, let me finish. These are years old, I promise. Second, that’s not my voice in those videos. A woman approached me a few weeks ago in a bar. We hit it off, and I thought we had a lot in common. Then she flips a switch and is talking about her being fertile and me making a baby with her that night. She said she had video and was going to share it. Dad, I’ve already contacted my attorney, and we’re working with an investigator.”

  “Jesus! She came right out and said she was fertile and wanted to make a baby with you?” my dad asks, surprise evident in his tone.

  “It was worse than that. She admitted to following me for weeks and for selling the last photo to TMZ. I figured because we hadn’t heard from her since that day that she was all talk.”

  “Your mother wants to know if you used protection when you had sex with these women.”

  “Really? Of course I did. I may not have known that I was being recorded, but I do know that I don’t want to be a parent with some strange woman who’s only interested in me for a monthly check. Dad, talk to the board and let me know what they want. I know this doesn’t seem worthy of a CEO, and whatever the board deems as an appropriate punishment, I’ll take it. If they feel I should step down, then I’ll resign.

  “I’m meeting Greer at the house before the SHN meeting tonight and will ask who she recommends I contact to counter all this. Normally I’d ask her to do it, but she seems a bit busy fighting this mess with SHN.”

  “Relax. We’re not happy, but we need to address this in the press. Greer’s already given me a name. I sent it over to your e-mail a few minutes ago. Reach out to them, and don’t worry about the SHN meeting tonight.”

  Part of me is relieved that I’m not expected at tonight’s meeting. I don’t think I could stand Sara’s disappointment. No wonder she doesn’t want to date me.

  My life is a fucking mess. Fuck!

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Trey

  I’m angry that my privacy has yet again been violated. This kind of crap has happened to me my entire life, but this time seems the most intrusive.

  Videos? Is nothing sacred? Who thinks making a sex tape is going to make them famous?

  I’m positive Jill is behind this. She’s totally crazy. I’m not sure I’ll ever understand why she would talk any woman into making a video, let alone why she posted them and what she expects to accomplish. If we find her and can help her understand what she did and how it has adversely affected so many, maybe she’ll be truly sorry and take steps to apologize. I mean, does she think this will make me say, “Wow! You’ve really scared me. Now I want to make babies with you”? I don’t see any upside to this. What the fuck was she thinking?

  My mind drifts from Jill to Sara. What do I do about her? How can I convince her that these videos are years old and not who I am anymore?

  My phone rings and breaks my train of thought. Seeing it’s my sister, I answer with “Hey, ugly.”

  “Old man, what’s up?”

  “Just sittin’ here and hangin’ out.”

  “Are you medicating with alcohol?”

  “Not really. I’ve had one beer. I figure if I don’t stop now, I may never stop.”

  “I hear ya. We’re getting too old to deal with hangovers anyway.”

  “I keep thinking about what it would be like to move far away, change my name and find a nice girl who doesn’t care about money or notoriety and is just looking for a nice guy.”

  “I suppose you can do that. Yeah. Sure. I’d miss you.”

  “You might be the only one.”

  “I doubt that. Have you thought about using an online dating app?”

  “I used to use Tinder all the time.”


  “Okay, dumbass, that’s a hookup site, not a dating app. Maybe you need to get to know them before you sleep with them? How about something like matchme.com? The girls and I are all doing it. None of us has met anyone decent yet, but you might actually meet a nice girl.”

  “I’m not sure I’m ready. Plus I don’t want to meet Hadlee or Greer. I know them already.”

  “Whatever. You’re still hung up on the skank who broke your heart.”

  “She isn’t a skank.” Taking a deep breath, I say wistfully, “She’s actually awesome. This crap and having TMZ follow us everywhere we go just sucks.”

  “I know. Trey, I love you. I always have despite the mullet in eighth grade and the fact that you’re now a porn star.” Her voice turns endearing. “You deserve an amazing woman, and I hope you find her soon.”

  “Me, too.” There are a few seconds of silence, and then I say, “I love you, too. Have a good night. I have meetings with the PR firm tomorrow morning. They have a long list of things for me, and probably you. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Whatever you need.”

  I turn my music up. I’m listening to AC/DC’s “Back in Black” loud, and it makes me feel a little better. I have a meeting with the PR firm in the morning, and from the e-mails, I see they’ll be keeping me busy. I sure hope they’re able to help save our acquisition.

  The PR firm is putting me through my paces. They were successful in getting me on a few women-centric talk shows, and they set up a People Magazine cover. I guess they’ll have an extensive article that discusses my notoriety, but also highlights all the work CeCe and I do for our community and for women in general, including women charities. Hopefully it’ll also cover the shock of having women secretly record my sex life and having it dubbed over. But I’ll leave all that to the PR professionals to sort out.

  I need to get out of town and hide somewhere. I have paparazzi hanging out near my home and work, and CeCe has them, too. This will pass once someone else does something stupid, but until it does, I’m the flavor of the month.

  I’m embarrassed that everyone around me is affected by this shit. Banging my hand on the table, I yell, “Dammit!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Sara

  Whenever I see a tease on TMZ about Trey, I’ll read it or watch it. They’ve captured him riding his bike, out to dinner with friends, occasionally with a famous actress or musician but never the same woman twice. I’m stunned when they tease a sex video of him.

  I admit, I find it and watch it on the internet. I’m certain he didn’t know he was being recorded. It makes me miss him even more than usual.

  He can’t seem to walk out of his place or do anything without a horde of photographers capturing his every move. It’s been three days since the announcement and yet he’s still the daily tease.

  I debate reaching out to him and finally give in, texting: Hey. I know I’ve been out of touch for a while, but I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for all the publicity. I’ve been thinking of you. If you want to talk, please know I’m here, and if you don’t, I understand. XXOO Sara.

  He almost immediately texts me back.

  Trey: Thank you. I didn’t know they were recording. But I assure you, they’re several years old, and they do a voice-over in several instances.

  Me: I can tell. You never look directly at the camera, yet she does. I’m truly sorry.

  Trey: I didn’t catch that I never look at the camera. Wow. Thanks. I’m sorry you had to see the videos, but I’m glad we’re still friends.

  Me: Of course we are! I’d offer meeting up for a drink, but I have a feeling it would make it worse.

  Trey: It would—not for me but for you.

  Trey: Would it upset you to know that I miss you?

  Me: I miss you, too.

  Trey: I’d like to see you, but right now the paparazzi are camped on my doorstep. I need to get away, and you do not want this mess.

  I’m crazy about him. I can tell he’s hurting. A good friend would help when their friend is in need. And Trey is in need of a good friend.

  Me: Do you want to try to escape the frenzy and meet up in Stinson? We can use Jim and Carol’s place. Very proper but private. Promise.

  Trey: I’d love that. Are you sure? It’s a perfect hideout.

  Me: Then let’s go.

  I quickly call Jim and Carol and ask if I can go up with a friend to the beach house for a week. They tell me to have a great time.

  Me: I checked with Jim and Carol. It’s yours for the week if you’d like.

  Trey: Thank you. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.

  Trey: You’re going to meet me in Stinson, right?

  That’s a positive sign.

  Me: I can’t wait. I’ll call the front gate and give them a fake name for you. What do we call you?

  Trey: My personal favorite is John McClane.

  Me: As in Die Hard?

  Trey: Yep. You’re good.

  Me: Then John McClane it is. The code to get in the front door is 9753#. Go when you’re ready.

  Trey: I’ll head out in the morning, and when you’re done with your day tomorrow, come on up.

  Me: There are a few things in the morning for me to take care of. I’ll try to head out of The City by noon.

  Trey: That means 3. I’ll stop and get food and will bring wine with me.

  Me: OK. Let me know if I can bring anything.

  Trey: Make sure you make it over before dark.

  Me: Promise.

  Trey: Sara, thank you for this.

  I’m glad I can be a good friend and offer him a chance to breathe a minute outside of the cameras. Even if they follow him into Stinson, they’d have a really tough time getting beyond the gate. This will be good for him.

  And I’m kidding myself if I think I’m not excited to spend time with him.

  I take a deep breath, remembering his sandalwood smell, and my heart races.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Trey

  Heading up to Stinson is a perfect getaway. My friends, the board of directors at our company, our stockholders and my family—particularly my parents—are all upset.

  I know I’ve not always been super careful, but recently I’ve wanted to stay below the radar. I’m ready to settle down, and no woman wants the mess that comes with me and a sex tape.

  These days, with everyone having a cell phone, there are cameras everywhere. I get my picture taken almost everywhere I go. As I leave San Francisco, the motorcycle that was following me seems to have dropped off, but I’ve picked up a dark car that’s staying close.

  I hope they’re up for a long ride.

  To check their determination, I might even make a few stops. It’s sad, really, that I find fun in irritating them. I know some people throw food and things like rocks at them; for the most part, I ignore and find more passive-aggressive ways to annoy them.

  Stopping by Whole Foods, I buy enough food for a week so we have a lot of options. I packed a case of my favorite pinot noir from the Willamette Valley in Oregon. I talked to my parents and told them I was heading to a friend’s out of town to work and get away, and they’ve been supportive.

  Checking the rearview mirror once I’m back on the road, I still see the dark car following me. The car’s occupant didn’t come into Whole Foods, but I was stopped by a housewife asking me for a photograph. As I start the trek over the mountain that will take me to the seaside town, a level of anxiety starts to weigh on me and what it means to have the press at every turn.

  A week ago, these vultures were nowhere to be seen. As the rain pitter-patters on my windshield, I feel as if I should be running somewhere that doesn’t affect Sara. What was I thinking to agree to this? Still, I drive onward, over winding roads amid the green pines that scrape the clouds.

  As I enter Stinson and drive through town, those following me will be challenged to find a place to stay here. There’s a small hotel, but it’s closed until summer. Most homes are either seas
onal rentals or occupied by the owners. I drive up to the gate and give the guard my name, then explain that I think there’s a car following me, stressing, “They’re not with me. Do not let them convince you otherwise.”

  “I know who you are, Mr. Arnault,” the guard assures me. “I understand. If I might suggest, at the split in the road, you should take the right side. It leads you to the inlet and may put them off from trolling the waterfront and the beach.”

  “That’s great advice. Thank you.”

  “Enjoy your stay,” he tells me with a smile, and the gates roll open.

  “I sure hope to.” I drive off and follow his advice, taking the right side of the split. It’s a long oval, but it does mislead them a little bit, so maybe they’ll lose interest. One can only hope.

  I pull into the garage and begin to unload the car as my cell phone pings.

  Sara: I’m on my way. See, I could leave before 3.

  My stomach flutters and I’m excited to see her. I rib her a little bit because it’s 2:59.

  Me: Just barely before 3.

  Me: It’s crazy getting through Mount Tamalpais. Be careful. I’ll have dinner ready for you when you arrive. I hope you like seared ahi.

  Sara: Sounds perfect. See you soon.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Sara

  As I raise my arm to move back the crepe drape of my blouse, my bangles cascade further down my arm than they would have only a week ago. In the muted evening light, I feel like I should be on my way home, not heading to the beach house. What was I thinking, reaching out to Trey?

  As I descend and drive past the throng of gift shops and a small market that make up Stinson Beach, my anxiety increases. I grip the steering wheel tighter. I don’t know how I’ll explain why I pulled back. Why I need to protect myself.