The Billionaire's Assistant (Contemporary BWWM Interracial Romance) (The Billionaire's Proposition Book 1)

by Rose Francis

  He knew he shouldn’t keep Naomi, either.

  Even if he hadn’t been her boss, he was not in the habit of taking advantage of vulnerable women.

  He had so many who melted for him willingly, how could he? He got daily offerings of carnal pleasure, and he could afford to be as picky as he wanted—and he was. Not just any pretty young thing or sexy mature thing could worm herself into his bed.

  In any case, there was never a question of whether or not a woman wanted it—no hesitation.

  Once in a while, a woman proposed a challenge he wanted to take on, but not this girl—Naomi was in far too powerless a position in too many ways for him to go that route.

  She was desperate for a job, poor, alone.

  It sounded like she had no one but her old roommate, and now she was trapped in his home, surrounded by people who worked for him.

  She had no one on her side.

  Well, he was determined to put his libido in check and be on her side. Be at her side in as many ways as he could conjure.

  He wasn’t going to seduce her, but he wanted to get to know her better, and somehow let her know that she wasn’t alone.

  He knew he shouldn’t be doing it, but he was going to keep her with him as much as he could.

  If he knew what was good for himself, he’d forget everything he felt and set her up somewhere where she could have a steady income—some job away from him and his burning needs—but the ache in his chest at the thought of not having her near him let him know right away he wouldn’t do that.

  Why torture himself by not seeing her again?

  He grinned to himself.

  Michael, if you could only see me now.

  His cousin would probably say some junk about fate; in fact, he’d proudly try to take credit.

  He wouldn’t blame his cousin; after all, their paths might not have crossed had he not left the building yesterday. Or were they doomed to meet, one way or another?

  In any case, whatever he was falling into with her now, he was going with it.

  CHAPTER 9

  NAOMI

  N aomi awoke to her blaring phone alarm, and fear took over her as she registered the unfamiliar room.

  Then when she remembered where she was, a number of emotions assaulted her.

  She tried to pick through them as she turned her alarm off, but she noticed a text message that suddenly grabbed her entire focus.

  Seriously? the text from Jenna read.

  A ball of dread formed in her stomach as Naomi imagined Jenna’s face once she found the note she’d left her.

  She knew she had to touch base with her best friend and ex-roommate soon, and that they probably had a little more to deal with than a returned key, but she certainly had no time for Jenna today considering her busy schedule.

  She made a mental note to try to arrange a meet-up with her on one of her breaks.

  Though it was Naomi’s second day on the job, it was her first day starting from inside the home, and Kevin had her on a tight schedule so she started to get ready immediately.

  She was filled with apprehension as she showered, unsure how her interactions with her boss would go.

  She thought he might start to hit on her, and kept imagining various scenarios—plotting out how to respond, how to turn him down and discourage him without getting herself fired.

  Was he going to invite her to lunch? Dinner?

  Breakfast was served seven to seven thirty a.m., and she found herself eating alone in the time allotted, then she had to help with cleanup before reporting to Kevin’s office to see if he needed anything.

  But Jeffrey intercepted her, letting her know she’d be working closely with the chef that day.

  Before she knew it, she was helping to prepare lunch, and her day was almost halfway over.

  Luckily, lunch was not a solitary affair—since they were also going about various tasks in the main house, Naomi was able to sit and mingle with the other workers.

  All the while she couldn’t help wondering about Kevin—had he asked for his food to be delivered to his office? Why hadn’t he required her to bring it?

  Was he deliberately avoiding her?

  Had he remembered he was dealing with gum that got stuck to his shoe?

  She started to feel silly about her earlier fears.

  When Jeffrey asked her to take coffee up to the office, her heart leapt with excitement, and she realized how much she’d been longing to see Kevin.

  But to her dismay, he wasn’t in the office when she arrived, and she placed the coffee down, her shoulders drooping in disappointment.

  To her utter relief, he crossed her path as her official shift ended, and she was floored by the joy she felt seeing his face and his familiar tall, strong frame.

  But the interaction was quick, and he didn’t even stop walking when he said,

  “I’d like to hear about today. Meet me for dinner at seven.”

  “Yes, Mr. Davenport,” she said, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop the huge grin from taking over her face.

  She noticed no reaction from him, though his mouth twitched a little and light seemed to pass across his eyes as he continued on his way.

  Her anxiety was now a happy anticipation.

  She was officially off for the day, and she now had a good chunk of time to call and talk to Jenna, but the dread she felt at the thought of doing so stopped her cold.

  She didn’t want to ruin her mood—she was looking forward to communing with Mr. Davenport once again and she didn’t want to show up with heavy energy.

  She went to her room to wait the time out, and again she thought about the various possibilities for reactions should he go too far.

  She had already figured out how to stop him from walking her to her bedroom after dinner again—not because she was afraid of him, but because she was afraid of herself.

  She wanted him, and no matter how many ways she tried to reason herself out of the almost-crippling need she felt for him, her body wanted no part of her brain’s logic.

  Dinnertime arrived quickly once she’d showered and gotten ready, and her heart pounded the whole way to the dining room.

  She smiled wide when she saw him, and when he indicated the seat next to him again, she happily went to it, hoping he wouldn’t be able to hear the thumping organ in her chest.

  He didn’t say anything until the first course was brought to them, but his eyes never left her, even as he took a sip of his drink, and she wriggled under it, averting her eyes and thankful for the distraction of the food before them.

  Had she not worked with the chef today, she would have had no idea what she was about to eat, but she looked forward to trying the seared Foie Gras with Soup Dumplings.

  As he picked up his fork, Kevin opened his mouth to speak, and her heart picked up rhythm.

  Luckily, he kept the conversation neutral and let her do most of the talking.

  She found herself telling him a little more about her life growing up, sharing a few stories from her time with foster parents.

  He seemed to listen intently to everything she had to say, and his follow-up questions almost always guaranteed that she ended up telling him a little more than she had intended.

  She was relieved to see that he never looked disgusted by what she was—a balled up piece of paper left behind in an old, abandoned warehouse.

  He never seemed uneasy with someone so far beneath his class at all, and for that, she didn’t mind when she told him a little too much; he didn’t make her feel exposed.

  * * *

  “SO WHAT DO you like to do? When you’re not working?” he asked, his face neutral as their dessert arrived, this time a chocolate soufflé.

  She shrugged and gave the only answer she could give.

  “Read,” she said.

  He nodded in understanding, his face relaxing into a hint of a smile.

  “I figured,” he said.

  She paused her next scoop. “What do you mean?�
�

  “The way you speak—it’s not usual for your generation.”

  Her generation? Sheesh, it’s not like he was decades older than her—he was in his early thirties at most.

  “My usual personal assistant—she’s about your age, and as competent and delightful as she is at her job, she doesn’t speak like you. Then again, I suppose she hasn’t had much opportunity to show me her conversational skills as it is strictly business,” he said, almost as if to himself as he looked away, seeming lost in thought for a moment. “We have curt, to-the-point interactions.” Then he brought his eyes back up to her. “Anyway, I’ve heard other eighteen to twenty-four-year-olds—they don’t tend to use words like ‘gumption,’ and phrases like ‘it’s not all that taxing.’ The way you speak is sort of formal, which caught me off guard, as I’m aware of your background, and I know your schooling stopped after twelfth grade, yet your analytic skills and vocabulary, and even the way you phrase things is not usual.”

  “Well, I may not have grown up with much, but libraries are always free.”

  “Did you want to go to college?”

  “Yes, and I have tried to go and applied for scholarships and even won a few before, but the funds were never enough. My plan was to work for a while and squirrel away funds while I applied to as many as I could, in hopes of enrolling as soon as possible. Well, when I first ‘graduated’ from the group home, I didn’t know what I didn’t know and didn’t have much guidance. I did check out some reference books in the library, but soon, other needs became far more pressing, and I found myself in a demanding routine of working to pay the basics. I kept trying to save, but things always came up, and time flew by.”

  She shrugged her shoulders as if it didn’t matter, going back to her food.

  “So how close are you? Do you think you’ll be ready to attend this fall or next?”

  She noticed his face had sort of flattened into something she couldn’t read.

  She knew it was too late for the upcoming fall, but it was certainly her goal to try to get in by the next. It was over a year away—surely she could get everything together by then.

  “Well, it’s June now, and enrollment periods have long closed. I suppose I could still try to slip in and hope the waiting list isn’t long since people do drop out, but I’m still not ready in any way. I know it’s not too late, and I haven’t given up on it, and the opportunity you’ve given me here will help me get there with no worries. So yes—definitely next fall. I’ll be twenty-two by then, but it should still be easy enough to blend in—to some degree.”

  “Do you have any preferences for where you want to go?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet.”

  He looked thoughtful, and she wanted so badly to ask what was on his mind.

  “Small campus or large?”

  “I feel like I would be more comfortable on a smaller campus—I’m usually more comfortable with fewer people are around.”

  His eyebrows raised, but he said nothing.

  “I don’t mean anything by that—it’s just…I’m an introvert. I’m not into parties and social gatherings—they take way too much out of me. Some people get energized by such interactions, and others get drained by it, like me. I prefer one-on-one interactions, and I don’t enjoy small talk with people I’m not likely to see again or develop any sort of relationship with. People can’t seem to help taking it personally when I turn down outings, and it’s totally not personal. It’s just extremely awkward and uncomfortable, and why torture myself?”

  He seemed to be holding in a laugh.

  “Glad I amused you,” she said softly, flashing him a smile.

  “I will assume this evening was not torture for you since it has been one-on-one, and we’ve avoided talks of ‘who wore it best.’”

  Naomi giggled.

  The only torture was having him so close to her, looking that handsome, smelling that heavenly, and not being able to touch him to know for sure how his body feels against hers.

  “This…” she said, indicating the dinner table then the two of them, “is perfect.”

  Her cheeks flushed when she realized what she’d said—pretty much exactly what she meant, but when she glanced up at him, he didn’t seem to read too deeply into her words.

  She let out a small breath of relief.

  CHAPTER 10

  NAOMI

  T he days flew by and Naomi soon felt silly about her initial apprehension about Kevin crossing the line between them.

  Every night so far, he asked her to join him for dinner, and as suspicious as she had been after their first night, he only asked her about her day and she told him about her errands, what new vegetable she’d been enlightened her about—the various ways it could be used and how it was going to be used in their dinner that night.

  She started to think she had made things up about the way he had looked at her the first night, about how many seconds he had stood at her threshold watching her.

  It must’ve been just a second of making sure everything was all right with her before he took off—not like he was aching to cross that threshold and take her in his arms at all.

  Though it had only been a few days since she started, and she enjoyed their dinners immensely, she still couldn’t help wondering, Was this daily evaluation usually required? If so, for how long? A week?

  She wasn’t all that experienced or knowledgeable in the ways of the filthy rich, and she knew she was Kevin’s personal assistant of sorts, but weren’t they getting a bit too up close and personal? Was this normal?

  She wanted to ask him, but she didn’t want to upset him and risk losing the perk—the food was amazing, and she enjoyed spending time with him.

  But she was getting more and more uncomfortable with how she felt about him, and the intimacy of talking to him about her life made it all worse.

  She trusted him more than she should, and she sometimes overshared.

  Today, like every other day so far, she excitedly went about her day in tingling anticipation of dinner with him that evening and she couldn’t help it.

  “Is something bothering you?” he suddenly asked as the main course was set before them.

  Once again, she found herself unable to hide or lie to him.

  “Sort of,” she said to her horror.

  “What is it?”

  “I just…is it normal for your personal assistants to have dinner with you every night?”

  His mouth quirked with a tiny smile.

  “No,” he said. “I must admit, I find myself enjoying your company very much, and I’ve grown sort of used to you already; your presence is a comfort to me. But if you’re uncomfortable with it, we can stop, of course. I will make arrangements for you to join the others in the servants’ quarters for dinner instead.”

  “You know that’s not fair; your food is better, I’m sure,” she said lightly, her heart dropping at his suggestion, and not because of the slight inconvenience of having to walk a little further for dinner.

  The other pros and cons were obvious: she had the boss’s ear directly for a long period of time, and she enjoyed his company as well.

  There was only one con to eating with him: her ever-growing attraction to him; she enjoyed his company a little too much.

  But there was no way she could tell him that.

  He smiled a brief, social smile.

  “The food is good over there as well, and the company. The other women like you, and you perhaps have more in common and more to talk about. I understand completely if you’d rather spend time with them.”

  He was toying with her, right?

  Was he actually trying to make her say out loud how much more she preferred his company over anyone’s?

  Did he wanted her to admit how much his presence made her feel fulfilled?

  And was she really considering giving up her perks just so she didn’t have to feel her heart beating relentlessly against her chest at his nearness?

  She tried to ignore h
er emotions and focus on the facts to come to a sensible conclusion.

  “You don’t have to decide this second, Naomi, but let me know soon—I must give the chef a heads-up. And forgive me, but I must put in a word for myself—I do prefer having company for dinner—preferably yours. I find you interesting, so it’s completely selfish on my part wanting to have you with me. But please—don’t feel bad if it makes you too uncomfortable; I won’t hold it against you. I really do understand.”

  What was it he understood? The inappropriate intimacy of it? How much every moment spent with him only made her want more?

  She held her tongue.

  She thought again about spending at least one dinner with the older ladies, and as much as she figured it was the right thing to do, and that it could also serve to make sure they continued to have good rapport and not resent her if they hadn’t started to already—she couldn’t bear the thought of not being near Kevin and seeing his handsome face.

  Maybe in a day or two.

  * * *

  NAOMI FOUGHT the urge to call Jenna again as she settled into her bedroom for the night.

  She wasn’t sure if Jenna was working a shift or not, though she had used that as an excuse for her not calling any of the past few nights, even though she knew Jenna didn’t work every night.

  Her hand reached for her phone but poised midair.

  She missed having someone to talk to about everything, and boy did she need someone to talk to now. Her mind was reeling.

  She wanted to tell someone so badly how confused she was—how it didn’t seem like she was hired because she was needed at all.

  Her hand redirected itself to the book on her nightstand instead; she had a feeling she knew what Jenna would say.

  “It’s ‘cause he wants to fuck you,” she imagined Jenna saying with a straight face, totally serious.

  To Jenna, that’s all every guy ever wanted. Anytime they spoke a word to you outside of giving work orders, it was to get one step closer to manipulating you into the horizontal tango—or however they wanted to position you.