Desire (Venture Capitalist Book 3)

by Ainsley St Claire

  I’m here to support my friend as she has supported me time and time again. It doesn’t require any kind of thank you gift and particularly one so generous. I know it’s useless to refuse the gift. “I will enjoy the candies. Thank you.”

  She links her arm in mine and conspiratorially asks, “Now, tell me what you know about these two guys she’s playing matchmaker with?”

  “Well, Todd is Angus’s number two. He runs the biggest fund for Angus’ company, and Steffen is a German guy who is some kind of numbers wunderkind. I still think they’re players and only looking to get laid.”

  “You’re probably right. I still can’t believe that she tamed Angus.”

  “I don’t know if he’s tame, but she keeps him on a tight leash. No funny business for him. I don’t’ think he cares though. He only has eyes for Vanessa.”

  “That’s something we all deserve.”

  Andy

  CHAPTER TWO

  Looking out my window, I see twelve years of hard work. And it has been hard. California droughts, cold summers, flooding rains, hail damage, parasites and everything that has hit us. It’s been worth it though. We finally started to get out of the red last year, and it’s like a light switched, and we are firmly in the black these days, and it’s really a relief.

  Looking over the day’s receipts, I’m excited by the numbers. Each month our revenues climb. They haven’t gone up the same as months before, so I need to prepare for our eventual plateau. We are making just enough to keep our creditors at bay, but we’ve gone from a well-known winemaker in Europe to expanding across the world over the last twenty years. We are small by many of the big brand's standards but having a presence on almost every continent brings many different flavors and standing within the high-end wine community.

  Taking a deep breath before I enter the tasting room I close my eyes and calm myself. I try to avoid the tasting room these days. It seems I’ve become the man du jour for the wealthy women of Napa Valley. Maybe when I was younger I loved all the attention, but if I’m being honest with myself, even then I hated it. I know the only reason I’m so popular with the ladies because these women see me as a conquest that no one has had. Ever since my divorce became final a few year’s ago, I’ve not felt the need to date or honestly get laid. I’m tired of the game I thought I would never play again.

  I see her across the room, she’s beautiful by most standards. I can’t remember her name, she told me last week when she was here. If I remember correctly, her husband left her for a younger version of her and Napa is her Tuscan get-away. She sees me and lights up and waves me over. She’s sitting with a group of other women of similar age—late fifties and all chasing the younger versions of themselves.

  “Andrew! Please meet my friends, “Jennifer, Eve, and Lisa Marie.”

  I bend slightly and without trying to be obvious that my name isn’t Andrew, but Andreas, “Nice to meet you ladies. Please call me Andy. I hope you are enjoying your wine.”

  They all nod enthusiastically. She continues, “Andrew, can you sit down and join us?” She pats the seat next to her.

  “That’s so kind of you lovely ladies for the invitation. Unfortunately, duty calls. Enjoy your drinks.” Excusing myself, I work my way over to Sophia. “How is it going?”

  “Well, the ladies who flagged you down have been sitting here for over an hour waiting for you.”

  Rolling my eyes, I need to watch myself. I know that if I spurn one of these women it could affect the business. Wine and their fans can be fickle. “Thanks for the heads up.” Despite all the opportunity that comes my way I’m a one-woman-man who prizes genuineness and thoughtful conversation above lipstick and high-heels.

  I hear my name being called. It’s coming from the women. I paint a smile on my face before I turn around. “Yes, ladies? What can I do for you?”

  Eve speaks up, “Marnie thought you might be interested in joining us for dinner tonight.” She raises her brows and puffs large breasts out at me.

  “I certainly wish I could. Unfortunately, I have—"

  She interrupts and holds her hand up as a stop me. “Before you say, no, hear us out. We have a table at French Laundry.” She runs her fingers along the neck of her very low-cut sweater and licks her lips in a seductive way. “And we promise to all entertain you fully.”

  Trying to keep my eyes from bugging out of my head, I try to grasp that she could be inviting me to a sex party with all four of the women. “Wow. That’s very kind of you to think I could keep up with you minks. Really. But I have plans I can’t break.” It may be a microwave meal and a soccer game, but it’s plans.

  The woman named Lisa Marie looks like she may cry. Her hand runs up the inseam of my pants, and I step back both startled and surprised at her audacity.

  “You ladies, have a fantastic time. I’ve never had a bad meal there.” And I quickly walk away.

  Sophie gives me the look at the four young women who have come in and are sitting at a corner table. She doesn’t want to be the bad guy and is going to let me kick them out for being underage. “Welcome ladies.”

  They giggle, and the leader of the pack says, “We each like a flight of the red.” Her eyes look me up and down. Breathlessly she adds, “Please.”

  “Of course. First though, I need to check everyone’s birthdates.”

  All of a sudden, they are nervous. The leader asks as she winks at me, “We are all over the drinking age.”

  “I have no doubt you are over the drinking age in some countries, but I need to be sure you are of age to drink in this country.” They all guffaw and murmuring excuses.

  The leader whines, “It doesn’t matter, really does it?”

  “Unfortunately it does. Because we are in the wine business and we have a liquor license we don’t want to lose, I need to ask.” I then lean in close and point to a strange man sitting at the bar and add, “See that man over there? He’s with the California Alcoholic Beverage Control, and if I serve minors, I will lose my liquor license and my vineyard.”

  The look of panic cross their face, and the leader says, “Well, I guess we should be heading out.”

  I nod. “Enjoy your night girls.” I watch the girls walk out. We get far too many young people who think that they can drink alcohol without being of age and the rules we are held to are much more firm. We got a ticket for serving a minor shortly after we opened. The ID was a close match to the girl and Sophia made an honest mistake, but it was an expensive $10,000 mistake we will never make again. I walk over to the guy I pointed out to the girls. “Hey, Tim.”

  “Did I hear you tell those college co-eds that I was with ABC?” He asks with a giant grin on his face.

  “Yep. I won’t risk my vineyard on a bunch of young girls.”

  “You have too many ethics for this town.”

  “Not at all. How is my favorite bottle salesman?”

  “Doing great. I just met with Sophia, and we walked through your needs for the crush. We should be in good shape.”

  “Great. Care for a glass of wine?”

  “No thanks. No drinking and driving for me. A quick way to become unemployed.”

  “I understand. Let me know if there is anything you need from me.”

  He waves as he leaves. There are a few couples, and I see another table of woman who keeps making googalee eyes at me. Good grief. I’m sure there is something better I can be doing than being treated like a piece of meat.

  At seven we close and lock the outside gates and shut off all the lights in the tasting room. I send my sister Sophia home to her husband, and I head up to the office to go through today’s bills. It never stops. It’s nine, and I can call my mom in Italy for our almost daily call before I give in for the night. It’s 7:00 a.m. in Tuscany, and she’ll be up and busy. She fields calls from my brothers and sisters from all over the world all day long and loves every minute of it. My parents are the only people in the family that really don’t speak any English but this is good for me to keep
up with my Italian. Sophia and I tend to only speak to one another in English unless we are having a heated discussion.

  The phone rings once and my mother answers the phone. “Pronto.”

  “Mama!”

  “My American son has called.” My father joins the call, and we have a quick meeting to update everyone on what’s going on here. I share the daily numbers from the tasting room. We often talk about the differences between winemaking in the States as compared to Italy. Napa is a tourist destination unlike any other country we operate in so we see a decent income from tastings. It helps that Sophia and I have grown up on Bellissima wines and learned long before acquiring a taste for the fermented grape the process and what makes a good wine and she primarily runs the tasting room.

  I’m the tenth of fifteen kids. The oldest of the last five. My siblings and I have spanned the globe starting vineyards trying to make Bellissima Grande the wine of the world. While we are part of the larger company, we are each in

  My father ends the call, “We’d like everyone to come home next month for a group meeting.” We meet every quarter for a week at home. Someone always has something going on that becomes the focus of the meetings which is never a good thing to have eight brothers and our father focused on your vineyard.

  My mother adds, “Please bring your American girlfriend so I can meet her.”

  “Mama, there is no American woman in my life.” Ever since I divorced, she’s been after me to meet someone. She worries that I’m alone. I promise her that I’m happy but she doesn’t buy it.

  “You have time. I have a good feeling you will find one and bring her home. One I will like, of course.” My parents are notorious for not liking anyone’s spouse they brought home. My oldest brother married a French woman from an old Champagne producing family and even that was difficult for them.

  It’s hopeless to argue with her. “I’ll try. Talk to you next week.”

  We hang up, and I make my way to my apartment above the tasting room. Exhausted, I strip down and crawl into bed with only my underwear on. I keep rehashing the conversation about my mother pushing for me to bring someone home with me. She is usually a bit more subtle, so it’s surprising she would want ask that I bring someone home. My head hits the pillow, and I’m out.

  Greer

  CHAPTER 3

  Laying in bed, I can’t help but think about our dinner tonight. Steffen was nice. He’s interested and has already texted me Goodnight beautiful. But he didn’t wow me. I don’t know. He was tall and very handsome. I can see why Vanessa would think he’s a good catch for me. But he is a little too attentive, and he didn’t excite me. Not many people seem to wow me anyway. I’m still licking my wounds. Mark was my world, and I used to be his and then one day, I wasn’t.

  Losing him was worse than anything I’ve ever been through. We’d made so many plans for our future. I helped him get elected to San Francisco’s City Council. With my help, we found issues that his constituents and he could be passionate about. He’s popular and well-liked by everyone. Then one day he meets me for lunch and tells me that I’m a liability to his political career. Me? No, it really wasn’t me. My mother is the liability, and because of that, he was cutting me loose. No regrets. He walked away, and I’ve not had one phone call, text, or e-mail since.

  I wake to my cell phone alarm. I’m tired and feel hungover. Too little sleep makes my head pound like a jackhammer chewing up concrete. Emerson, Sara, and Hadlee arrive today. It will be nice to have my friends arrive. They’re staying here at my hotel and tonight is the first of many parties for Fashion Week.

  I glance at my phone, and I see a text from Steffen. Good morning beautiful. Can we meet tonight? I’d love to see you. Ugh. That’s two texts within twenty-four hours, and I’ve not responded. He’s laying it on a little too thick for my taste. It’s too much.

  Instead, I text Vanessa.

  Me: Hey. Thanks for arranging dinner last night. It was great to see you and Angus.

  Vanessa: Steffen seems pretty smitten.

  Crap. I’m so not interested.

  Me: He’s texted me twice. Once to say “Goodnight” and then this morning to ask me out for tonight.

  Vanessa: Uh oh. Do you want me to explain to him, what ‘take it slow’ means?

  As much as I’d like to just ignore him, or let her tell him, I need to own this. I didn’t give him many buy signs last night. I swear, sometimes men are like cats. If you ignore them, they seem to circle.

  Me: No, that’s okay. I’ll try to figure out how to politely let him know.

  Vanessa: When do the girls arrive?

  I roll over and do some quick math.

  Me: Three hours and eighteen minutes. But who’s counting?

  Me: That would be me! All of my favorite females in New York at the same time. Makes me so happy.

  Vanessa: Are we doing a sleepover tonight at the hotel still?

  Me: Yes!!! But I totally understand if work pulls you away.

  Vanessa: I have it all under control. See you girls at the Metro Composition suite in four or so hours.

  Me: Love you!

  Vanessa: Back at ‘cha!

  I get into my running clothes, put a wool hat on and a pair of mittens and head downstairs and towards Central Park. I’ve done this run a thousand times, and I enjoy it no matter the season.

  I love running. The first half mile is always miserable, and I want to stop but once I push beyond I start to get that runners high. I started running this route when I was in high school to manage the stress of school and everything going on at home. Now I run because my job is very stressful. In my brain, the endorphins kick in, and I figure out how to fix problems plaguing me at work or at home and start to feel like I can do anything. It’s really helped me manage the break up with Mark. It kept me from falling into a bottle, sleeping with anyone with a pulse, or taking a long walk off a short pier.

  It’s a three-mile run, and I do it in seventeen minutes. It isn’t super-fast, but it does work for me. I cool down quickly in this weather, and I wander to the bathroom and start the shower. Jet lag kills me. A nice hot shower and a carafe of coffee after my run will make me human again. As I prepare to step into the shower, I hear my cell phone ping. I’m sure it’s Vanessa again or maybe the girls who are on today’s red-eye from San Francisco.

  Steffen: I got reservations at The Gilded Lily—hardest place in town to get into for us tonight at 10. I’ll have a car pick you up at your hotel.

  I never told this guy I was available. Do women in New York jump like this? I want to text him back, but instead, I dial the phone. He answers before it even rings.

  “Hey, beautiful. You haven’t left my mind since we met last night. You were even in my dreams. You have no idea how much fun we had. I may have even taken care of myself last night and again this morning.”

  Wow. That is a bit too much information from I guy I only met less than twelve hours ago. “Steffen, I appreciate the offer of heading out with you tonight, but I can’t go. I have friends coming into town.”

  “They can’t get along without you?” he begs.

  “No. I’m not that kind of friend. When I commit. I commit. It was very nice meeting you last night.”

  “I know if Vanessa knew you were passing up The Gilded Lily, she’d be pretty upset.”

  “She might be, but she also knows I’m here to visit her and support one of my best friends this week at Fashion Week.” I can almost hear him thinking of a comeback over the phone, but before he can dig himself further into the hole, I tell him, “I’m sure a man as handsome and accomplished as you are, will be able to find someone to accompany you to The Gilded Lily tonight. Thank you so much for thinking of me.”

  “Promise me you’ll call me the next time you’re in New York.”

  Not a chance in hell but it isn’t worth being rude. “Of course. Goodbye, Steffen.”

  “Goodbye, Greer.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. I’ve never had anyone
pursue me this aggressively before. It’s not a turn-on at all. It must be a Vanessa thing. I’m pretty sure I dodged a stalker with that one.

  Emerson: We’re in the car and on our way. The driver tells us we should see you in less than an hour.

  I bounce like a school girl in my seat and silently clap my hands together as my excitement bubbles to the surface. Yeah! My friends are here. May the girls weekend begin.

  Me: I’ll alert the media and let them know we are complete and to look out!

  Emerson: Sara just snorted her water. See you soon.

  I text CeCe.

  Me: The girls are on their way. Should be here at my hotel in about an hour. Would you like us to come to the suite to meet you?

  CeCe doesn’t immediately text me back. It’s crazy busy for her this week, so I’m fine with that. If I don’t hear from her, we can decide as a group what to do.

  As I’m putting the finishing touches on my lip gloss, I hear the ping from my cell phone.

  CeCe: Come here when they’re ready. I have dinner reservations tonight, and my plan is to relax tonight.

  Me: Great. You’re ready for tomorrow?

  CeCe: We just finished. Vanessa is a godsend. She’s joining is us tonight, right?

  Me: Of course, but she must stop calling you Caroline. I keep thinking she’s Sister Catherine at Convent of the Sacred Heart.

  Sister Catherine was our only teacher who would insist on calling her Caroline. We know that when people approach CeCe, and they use her given name, they don’t know her.

  CeCe: I’ve asked a dozen times. We’ll work on her.

  Me: See you in a few.

  Moments later the doorbell to my suite rings and I’m thrilled to see my other three best friends in the whole world. There is a lot of screaming laughing and hugging. To strangers, you’d think we didn’t live in the same city and see each other regularly, but we do. It’s more a celebration of being together, and of course we’re here at Fashion Week.

  “Hadlee! I thought you couldn’t get out of hospital stuff?”