Private Disclosures

  Private Disclosures

  Raleigh Davis

  A heart-wrenching stand-alone about a mysterious billionaire and the woman he’s done waiting for…

  * * *

  Anjie: Dev drew me irresistibly from the moment I saw him. But after five years of working with him, I still don’t understand what drives him. When he breaks with the rest of Bastard Capital, I realize that no one knows him—not even the men he should be closest to.

  * * *

  When the chance comes for us to finally act on our simmering attraction, I have to say no. A man that closed off will only break my heart. No matter how badly I want to break into his…

  * * *

  Dev: There’re only two things to know about me: my past is a complete mystery to me, and Anjie’s the only woman I’ve ever wanted. I’ve cut away everything in pursuit of my past. I’ve even made deals with my greatest enemy. And to win Anjie, I’ll make a deal with the devil himself if I have to.

  * * *

  Everything I’ve ever wanted is almost in reach. Once I’ve got the truth about my family and her, I’ll never let go. No matter who threatens them…

  * * *

  Enter the world of Bastard Capital: Unrivaled men. Unimaginable wealth. Unlimited power.

  * * *

  Books in the Bastard Capital Series

  * * *

  Secret Acquisitions (Book One, Mark’s story)

  * * *

  Unfinished Seductions (Book Two, Logan’s story)

  * * *

  Competitive Instincts (Book Three, Finn’s story)

  * * *

  Intimate Mergers (Book Four, Paul’s story)

  * * *

  Hostile Attractions (Book Five, Elliot’s story)

  * * *

  Private Disclosures (Book Six, Dev’s story)

  Copyright © 2019 by Raleigh Davis

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Chapter 1

  I should be feeling more than just this.

  Achieving a lifelong dream ought to be amazing, wonderful. My heart should be racing with pleasure, my head exploding with unrestrained happiness. I shouldn’t be able to stop smiling.

  My hands are definitely shaking as I press them into the desk surface, steadying me as I sit in the expensive, ergonomic chair that’s now mine. Everything in this office is mine, down to the art on the walls and the sculpture in place of a coffee table in the sitting area.

  My office has a sitting area. That alone should make me as giddy as a hit of helium.

  I’ve come so far from being Hell Boss’s assistant. I took a risk, a huge gamble, on six guys I’d only just met. And it’s paying off in full today.

  But the bubbles in my stomach aren’t only from happiness. The quivers in my pulse aren’t from exhilaration.

  I’m scared.

  I’m excited, yes, but also terrified. Is there a word for happy-scared? Because that’s what I am.

  I’ve done it, made it to partner in one of the hottest venture capital firms in Silicon Valley. I’ve only been dreaming about this, working toward it, for years.

  And now I have to actually do it. Find companies to invest in, make them successful beyond anyone’s expectations. I’ve earned this partnership, but now I have to keep it.

  “Just breathe,” I whisper to myself. “One foot in front of the other.”

  I’m not what you’d expect as a venture capitalist, even by notoriously lax tech-world standards. My style is decidedly retro—my hair curled and set every day, my makeup heavy but perfect, my clothes straight out of the forties or fifties. Sometimes even the sixties if I’m feeling extra sultry.

  I save my flapper dresses for when I’m feeling like the bee’s knees.

  Today my ink-black hair is done in loose Marilyn Monroe waves, my eyeliner is Elizabeth Taylor-thick, and my dress has a crinoline under the skirt and tiny pirate kitties printed on it. Everyone else in the office is in jeans and a T-shirt. Maybe a cardigan or a hoodie tossed on and the outfit finished off with nerd-cool sneakers.

  I don’t fit in when it comes to clothes, but then I don’t want to. And I don’t want the companies I invest in to be the usual either. I can make dreams come true, and I’m going to find the dreams that no one else will take a chance on.

  I don’t think much about my own dreams, not anymore. This exact position was one of them, and now I’ve done it. As for the others… well, it’s best not to dwell on things that can never happen.

  There’s a soft knock at the door, and then Mark Taylor, another partner in Bastard Capital, pokes his head in.

  Mark used to be my boss, but now I’m his equal. That thought makes butterflies of delight take flight in my veins. I love Mark, love all the Bastards, but I love my new job just as much. Even if it does scare me.

  “How is it?” he asks.

  “Good.” Here comes the smile I can’t control. “Amazing. I love it.”

  Mark steps inside. “It looks much better than when Elliot had the place.”

  That wouldn’t be hard to achieve. Elliot preferred law books as decoration, which works when you’re Elliot—he’s very type A, no frills—but I’m glad he didn’t leave any of those books behind.

  The art I’ve put up is close-up pictures of tattoos, the kind of photos where you can’t tell at first if you’re looking at a painting on canvas or on someone’s skin.

  Mark is studying the prints with a frown. “Are any of these your tattoos?”

  I laugh. “No. I’m not going to hang those on the wall for just anyone to see.”

  Mark sizes me up, but of course he can’t see anything. All my tattoos are carefully placed so they’re under my clothes.

  “Finn’s not so stingy with his,” Mark says.

  Finn, another partner, isn’t stingy with anything. He’s got a massive beard, massive muscles, and tattoos over every inch of him.

  “Maybe some of those tattoos up there are Finn’s.” I wiggle my eyebrows.

  Taking the bait, Mark leans in, peering at each of them. “These are all too classy,” he mutters. His attention swings toward the sculpture in the middle of the room. “I see you stuck with that theme.”

  “One of Callie’s friends made it,” I say. “I’ve loved her work for a while, but I didn’t have a place to display it.”

  “I have to say, you’ve really made this office your own. I can hardly remember what it used to look like.” A gleam comes into his eyes. “So, what companies do you think you’ll invest in first?”

  Ah, Mark, always the dealmaker. If his girlfriend, January, didn’t drag him away for dates and couple’s trips occasionally, he might never talk anything but business.

  Mark and January are my doing. Along with Logan reuniting with his wife, Callie; Finn falling for Doc; and Paul getting engaged to Grace. Elliot falling for and running away with Minerva has nothing to do with me, and I’m still somewhat suspicious of her. For good reason.

  When it comes to the Bastards of Bastard Capital, I’ve been their fairy godmother in both business and romance. I get whatever they want at work and whatever they need in their personal lives. Turns out what they all needed were kick-ass women who would stand up to them and stand beside them.

  But with all of them paired off, there’s no more matchmaking for me to do.

  I don’t let myself think of Dev, not even the briefest flash. I shiver anyway, my body acting independently of my mind.

  “I’m going after underserved markets,” I tell Mark.

  Back
when I worked for Hell Boss, I tried to steer her toward those kinds of things, apps and projects the rest of the tech world was overlooking. She smacked me down quick when I did though. Now I can do whatever I please. A smile tickles my lips at the thought.

  “Are you going to tell me now, or do I have to wait until the Monday-morning partners’ meeting?”

  “Oh, I’m going to make you wait.”

  “Good. Show us who’s in charge.” He’s laughing as he says it. “We’re going to throw a party for you too.”

  “I don’t—”

  He shakes his head. “Don’t pull that fake-humility crap. You’re a partner now; you get a party. Where would you most like to throw the biggest party of the year?”

  Oh boy. These guys take their parties seriously. They rented out Alcatraz for Logan’s last birthday—yes, that Alcatraz—and Paul’s family throws the charity event to see and be seen at for all of San Francisco society. I could say I wanted to have it in the Louvre, and they’d find a way to make it happen.

  Maybe a hotel? San Francisco has its share of luxury hotels. Or the Marines’ Memorial Club?

  “What about the Presidio Officers’ Club?” It’s in a charming building, and the Presidio itself is simply lovely.

  Mark pulls a face. “It’s kind of small. We could only fit, what, two hundred people in there?”

  “Two fifty,” I say. “But smaller is better. It’ll be exclusive, and everyone will be dying to get an invite.”

  The thought of the most powerful people in Silicon Valley fighting to get into my party makes me happier than it should. But I’ve never claimed to be perfect or even above some pettiness.

  “Genius,” Mark says. “I’ll get Yancy to work on it.”

  “Oh, I can do it.”

  Yancy is my replacement as office manager. She’s doing a fine job of it, but sometimes there are things I’d do differently, and it… itches at me.

  “No.” Mark is firm. “I’ll do it, because it’s not your job anymore. Remember?”

  I take a deep inhale. “Okay. I’ll leave it to you.”

  “I promise we won’t screw it up.” He heads for the door. “Enjoy your new office.”

  When he’s gone, I shake out my hands. All the happy feelings are leaving, and the anxiety is rushing back in. This isn’t my first day here, but I’m as wound up as if it were.

  I force myself to open a folder filled with prospectuses. I couldn’t give Mark any details about the companies I’m going to invest in because I haven’t settled on any one start-up yet. I’ve been too busy moving my office, training my replacement, and signing paperwork to have time to actually look into what I’ll be doing from now on.

  The first is from a company that looks like every other start-up in the Valley. A group of men—it’s almost always men—bragging about something “paradigm shattering.” Lately AI has been all the rage, and these guys of course are using AI. They’re also promising way more than they can deliver. I know for a fact the technology they’re proposing is at least ten years in the future. And nothing I see makes me believe they’ve got the talent to make that leap before anyone else.

  I set it aside, reach for another one. As I do, I glance at my atrium. I call it mine because I’m the one who planted everything in there, designed where the paths and benches would go, and I’m the one who tends to the plants.

  I had an ulterior motive when I set up the atrium. I’m obsessed with orchids. Plain ones, common ones, rare ones, ugly ones, heart-stopping ones. I love them all. They’re finicky and tricky and need constant care. Push them even a little bit out of their preferred environment and they punish you by dying. They’re also carnivores; beautiful carnivores that consume the very trees they live on.

  So I made those beautiful carnivores a perfect environment to live in. The lush greenery, the massive tree trunks, the state-of-the-art climate control is all for them. People come to our offices and ooh and aah over the flashier plants in the atrium but often miss the orchids hiding in the hollows.

  I like that. Like that I’ve made this beautiful thing where the true beauty is difficult and consuming and hidden in plain sight.

  And then Dev steps out from behind a fern.

  I immediately look away without even thinking about it, as if we’re two repelling magnets.

  It’s been like this since I became partner. Dev not looking at me, me not looking at him. We’ve been very careful to keep our relationship professional, distant, from the moment I was hired, but it’s gone into overdrive the past few weeks.

  We could at least look at one another before. Not for very long—I’d get too warm, shaky all over if I held his gaze for more than a moment—but we did it. Now… now there’s a wall between us.

  His takeover of Corvus, which he did without telling anyone, hasn’t helped matters. Dev has always been the one who didn’t quite fit in, at least not as well as the others. Things are decidedly strained now.

  I don’t think he’s watching me, but I still feel exposed. Pinned like a squirming butterfly. It’s those gold eyes of his. He can wield them like a hammer or like a set of forceps, striking or delicate, however he pleases.

  But they never give anything away, those eyes, and that’s how it pleases him too.

  I wonder what he’s doing in the atrium. He never goes in there. The others do, from the partners to the interns, either enjoying lunch or a stroll or simply some quiet time. But not Dev.

  I’m unaccountably angry. He avoids the place for years, and now—now he decides to invade it? The fucking gall.

  I’m also imagining him touching the orchids. His long, strong fingers tracing the delicate petals, fingering the velvet of them. Maybe his hand would trail down a stem, the backs of his fingers slipping over the cool, slick greenery. He might even cup a bloom in his hands, protecting it, shielding it.

  I’m not looking at him, but my body is reacting like we’ve locked gazes for hours. My pulse is out of control, my breasts heavy, my thighs aching. If he meant me to notice him, it’s working.

  But… I have no idea what point he’s trying to make or if he’s even trying to make one at all. Perhaps with the Corvus thing and everyone being cool toward him, he needs the warmth of the atrium. Needs the peaceful solitude.

  I always thought he had more than enough peaceful solitude within him—he’s the most alone man I’ve ever met—but maybe he doesn’t. Not anymore.

  With a rustle of paper, I take another prospectus. I also ignore the sensations warring inside my body—it’s only instinct, and I’m better than that. Whatever Dev might be feeling, he brought it on himself. He chose to be apart from the Bastards, to be the mysterious one even among his friends. He also chose to go after Corvus entirely on his own. Corvus hurt and attacked people the Bastards love, the people closest to them. But Dev somehow thought only he could take them on.

  I’ve managed to give everyone else at Bastard Capital exactly what they need. But I have no idea what Dev needs.

  I don’t think he knows either.

  Chapter 2

  The ocean is never quiet here.

  It’s always sullen, gray, the wind whipping up the sand and driving it across the dunes, the highway, and against the windows of my living room. The picture windows frame Ocean Beach, but it’s never a pretty picture. Even when it’s sunny—which it almost never is—there’s something cold about this beach. Unwelcoming. It doesn’t want you to sun yourself here.

  I take a sip of wine, cozy inside my living room as the ocean crashes outside. This part of town is sometimes called Lands End, and looking out at this view, it fits. Land, civilization, human habitation should all end here. The sea owns the rest.

  Oceanfront property in San Francisco isn’t the coveted stuff it is elsewhere in California. My house still cost a pretty penny though. But the Bastards have always been generous with my salary, and my house is proof of that. I’ve got three bedrooms, a living room with an entire wall of picture windows, a modern kitchen, a garage,
and a backyard, all just for me. This much space for one person in the City is the ultimate extravagance.

  Now that I’m a partner, I can afford something even bigger, more luxurious. Somewhere in a more popular neighborhood—there isn’t much happening in Lands End beyond a few coffee shops and some restaurants. Oh, and one bar. People don’t want to travel this far out, all the way to the end of the N-Judah. Not when there’s only the sullen Pacific waiting for them.

  I’m going to stay here though. This house suits me. I’ve spent a lot of time making it into exactly what I want. And the park is only ten blocks away. I fill my weeknights with social events and classes and volunteering. But my weekend days are spent alone, walking through the park.

  I swirl the last few sips of wine in my glass. The liquid clings to the sides, running down sluggishly. I know the feeling—I went out with the Bastards tonight to celebrate, ate way too much rich food, then had dessert, washing it down with champagne and wine. It’s almost midnight and I’m going to be hurting tomorrow, especially if I don’t get to bed soon.

  Dev didn’t come out with us. When Logan went to ask him, he wasn’t in his office. Didn’t answer his phone.

  I’d say he haunted us with his absence at dinner—which everyone very carefully avoided talking about—but we’re missing more than Dev. Elliot left the firm recently, partly because he was ready to do something else and partly because Minerva, the woman he fell in love with, is on the run from the law.

  Paul is gone too, moved back to Taipei to run the family business. He and Grace are happy there, but we miss him.

  There’s still Mark and January, Logan and Callie, and Finn and Doc, but I think all of us noticed something missing tonight. I definitely did. My neck ached from forcing myself not to look at the door every few minutes to see if Dev would come.