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

by Rose Francis

  There’ll be more than enough time to give sweet Cherise what’s coming to her.

  Even her slap turned me on, and boy is she gonna pay for that.

  Seducing her won’t be the hardest part, but getting her to see my larger plan as beneficial to her will be.

  Still, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my personal and professional life, it’s that no matter how principled or moral someone thinks they are, no matter how much they think they’re above something, everyone has a price.

  Cherise did agree to come with me tonight, after all—one of the hardest parts is over.

  * * *

  It was a happy accident running into Cherise the first time.

  She didn’t see me or have any awareness of my presence, and I suspect it would frighten her to know how long I’ve been watching her since I’ve had my eye on her from that day forward.

  In the days before seeing her for the first time, I had been thinking about various ways I could stick it to my dick of a granduncle.

  Although I made my own millions, I inherited some of his billions upon his death since, according to him, I showed so much promise, and I was on my way to becoming the new him.

  He couldn’t stand his own son, and I guess I ended up his favorite among the Davenport male heirs—probably because I’m the child of his favorite nephew. In any case, he trusts me to keep the line and family traditions going.

  He wanted so badly to impose racist stipulations on the inheritance—to make sure it didn’t fall into ‘wrong hands,’ but unfortunately for him, the law doesn’t let people get away with such terms.

  I was always aware of his nasty views, but I never had to be around him much, so I didn’t bother acknowledging them.

  But in my boredom one day, I did some snooping around and ended digging deep into our family’s history. I spent days researching, uncovered many unsavory parts of it, to say the least.

  I realized my father’s family pretty much got where they are off of the backs of slaves.

  Sure, no big surprise there, and once I discovered that part, I tried to remember how normalized it was back then, how common.

  But then I came across a news article in the archives detailing a particularly vicious incident.

  To see my family’s name attached to a story so bloodcurdling that it made headlines rotted my gut.

  As if the present day backstabbing and cutthroat business practices—not to mention the casualties in their personal lives falling victim to their bloodthirsty ambition—wasn’t enough.

  Most people I know don’t have a conscience about these things, but I have been cursed with one, and I felt tainted. It all weighed heavily on me until all I could do was desperately try to wash my hands of it in some way, try to find some way to pass on my granduncle’s precious blood money to unwitting beneficiaries—especially representatives of the last group on earth he’d share his ill-gotten wealth with.

  I kept my mouth shut about my discoveries—I wasn’t going to risk losing my inheritance when I’d have the chance to do something with it.

  I bided my time, and soon, my granduncle was gone.

  The need to somehow make up for my family’s past never left me, and I went about it rather clumsily at first—dumping wads in hats or buckets of street musicians.

  Then I tried more meaningful gestures—sending flowers to random hospital patients, for example, and although it felt good at the moment, I was left feeling empty by the end of the day.

  I still felt a strong sense of duty, but couldn’t quite figure how to carry it out.

  I realized I needed to be more methodical and that my guilt was making me uncharacteristically sloppy.

  Then I caught sight of Cherise one day, her lovely frame and sunny expression catching my attention long enough for me to see her hand one of the two plastic bags of food in her hand to a homeless man on the sidewalk. She didn’t even just hand it to him and take off—she stood there, in what I can only imagine was air heavy with human stench, and had a brief conversation with him, smiling the whole time, looking engaged. It appeared to be a sort of “How are you today” type deal, and I tore my eyes away from her to look at the beggar left behind, and saw that his face remained lit up with a dingy, gap-toothed smile for a while.

  The generosity she displayed split my heart open, and I kept my eyes on her for days and found myself even more impressed.

  Every single day she brightens this homeless man’s day—she’ll always have food for him, water. Once, she even brought him a book, and he looked so excited to receive it, I can only imagine it was something he had specifically requested, or that he had otherwise brought up in one of their conversations.

  I learned that her generosity went beyond a single individual— that she volunteers at a few places in her spare time—at libraries for children, projects for veterans.

  Watching her gave me an idea, and I suddenly knew how to proceed.

  I realized that she was the answer to all my desires—that she was the one; she would be my beneficiary.

  I didn’t expect the one to be so sensually attractive, so utterly captivating with curves that stirred my imagination and my cock, however. I didn’t expect to find a woman so generous in heart and spirit to have such a generous ass, begging for my touch, my firm grip as I plow her from behind and take in that delicious derriere before me.

  I longed to grab her breasts as I plunge into her, and with my blood stirred and fantasies haunting me, there was no question: I had to have her.

  Everything I was looking for—conscious or not—was encapsulated in Cherise; she would help me realize my ultimate goal.

  Cherise has a big heart, and I want to be inside of it, amongst other things.

  I had to think quickly how to woo her.

  * * *

  Generally, I like going to restaurants alone.

  I’ve discovered some people fear doing so, and they cannot understand why I enjoy time with myself, but it works for me. When I relax, it includes the luxury of not having someone yapping in my direction—I get enough of it from colleagues, lawyers, associates.

  When I take a woman for company, I also require that she shut her mouth most of the time—the most beautiful woman can easily turn you off by speaking.

  I haven’t been interested in extended companionship until recently—boredom usually hits anywhere between two hours and a week.

  I accepted what a woman is to be to me: a pretty thing that smells good and warms my dick for a bit, and who gracefully—and silently—exits. Our arrangement is mutually beneficial since the woman gets a moment of feeling like royalty—maybe even a nice trip or designer shoes straight off the runway, or whatever makes them feel like they aren’t outright prostitutes.

  This type of relationship has always suited me, and I have found most women to be empty vessels simply wanting to find a way to latch her claws into my money.

  But this time was different.

  I felt more than just a burning curiosity about Cherise and went about my plan to introduce myself to her, to find a way to bring her home to me.

  I didn’t completely make up having something for her to do—I have decided on setting up scholarship funds for underprivileged kids; I want her to administer it.

  Running into Cherise produced another unexpected result—not only do I want her working with me on my pet project, not only do I want to bury myself in her soft, warm body, I want Cherise to carry my child.

  CHAPTER FOUR: CHERISE

  “He asked for you again,” Maggie says, giving me a pointed look.

  I’ve been trying to act cool the whole time since arriving for my next shift, and I had to try much harder once Richard showed up at the restaurant again.

  The whole night, I couldn’t stop thinking about him—the way he looked at me, the storm in his eyes, the suggestion of firm, broad shoulders and muscles underneath his white dress shirt, his immaculately cut hair.

  Don’t even get me started on the way his lips
felt on my ass cheeks, the way he worshipped my pussy.

  When I got in bed last night, I couldn’t help rubbing myself, fingering my still-tingling folds to thoughts of him and the delicious memories of our intimate encounter.

  I tried to tell myself that was all there was to it—that I was satisfied for now and can search for a more long-term cock to satisfy me later.

  But tell that to my body.

  I want Richard to be the one to fill me; I need him to plunge my depths.

  I won’t be satisfied until I know what it feels like to have Richard’s cock push inside me, his pelvis thrusting against mine.

  Still, I roll my eyes dramatically at Maggie’s words.

  “Oh, boy,” I say, hoping I pulled off looking slightly annoyed.

  “Don’t roll your eyes like that! You know any of us would take him in a heartbeat. Christ, how much of a tip did he leave you last time? Almost a grand?”

  “I know. And I’m grateful. But he makes it so clear he thinks he can just buy me.”

  She gives me a slightly disgusted look.

  “Get over yourself, girl. He likes you, and he has made no secret of wanting you for whatever reason.”

  I try not to get offended by her phrasing; after all, I’ve thought the same thing.

  “I mean, he leaves you a butt-load of money any of us would kill for—some of us, literally—and you don’t like the way he flirts with you? You don’t think you could go out with him once?”

  “See that’s just it—I don’t owe him anything!”

  “Girl, I would blow him—right now, in front of everybody—for less.”

  I giggle, despite the unexpected flash of jealousy and possessiveness surging through me.

  “No, you wouldn’t,” I say with a smile.

  She smiles back and the tension is finally released.

  “I’m only exaggerating a little,” she says. “The only reason I wouldn’t is because someone would probably make a Vine of it or something.”

  I slap her arm playfully as I laugh, then take a breath before going to him.

  “Welcome back, Richard,” I say with a plastered-on smile as I reach his table.

  “Hello, my sweet Cherise,” he says. “Wonderful to see you again. I’d like to try something different tonight.”

  Why did I get the feeling he wasn’t talking about food?

  “Do you want me to pick again?”

  “You did a fabulous job the last time, but this time, I will choose.”

  Again I sense some double talk.

  He rattles off his picks for the evening.

  “But like last night, I’d like you to bring dessert out with the check.”

  “You’ve got it!” I say in my usual chipper server voice.

  Does he want me to have dessert in his car with him again? Is he planning to take me all the way this time?

  He is definitely up to something, and again, I am powerless to resist. Damn this friggin’ curiosity! Damn these hormones, this dry spell, his cologne, those hypnotizing eyes!

  I go about getting his drinks.

  When I’ve returned from giving him his appetizers, Maggie accosts me.

  “So, has he made a move on you yet?” she asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Has he asked you out directly?”

  I am bursting with excitement, my body alive and pulsing, and sharing a bit of the excitement might help me calm down a bit. Or would it?

  I can’t tell her everything, of course, but maybe I can share a little—after all, she and I have been friends for over two years.

  But could I really trust her? Should I?

  I look into her brown eyes and decide to go with it.

  “Okay, you can’t breathe a word of this to anyone, but…”

  I give her a quick rundown, skipping the cunnilingus part.

  “…And when I got inside, I realized I never told him where I lived!”

  “Okay, now that’s kind of creepy, even for a hot guy. I guess he’s been stalking you?”

  I shove her lightly. “Don’t joke like that.”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know what else to say. I mean, he seems to know more about you than you think. Why and how, who knows? Maybe that’s how gazillionaires roll—background checks on everybody, including pieces of tail.”

  Her phrasing twists me.

  Was that really all I would be to him? A piece of tail?

  Hearing her say it somehow makes it seem worse.

  “Anyway, don’t sweat it,” she continues. “Sounds like you’d have a hard time fighting him, and since you’re not really trying to fight him since you went in his car and let him drive you home and everything, just go with it. See where it goes. Hell, I know the hostesses and busboys don’t mind if you string him along a bit longer, and he comes in here dropping stacks till he gets you to go out with him.”

  Which I’m definitely going to do tonight, but I try to think of how I can take control of the situation again; I can’t let him have this kind of power over me—it’s far too dangerous.

  I have little experience with relationships, in general, but I’ve had friends who were in them, and I’ve witnessed all kinds of dynamics. The one where the guy has all the power—one way or the other—is usually the saddest one.

  I never had a boyfriend in high school, and I’ve only had one boyfriend, in fact—I met him at my first job and we were together for years. Like my brother, I had to jump right into the adult world, but while he went off to join the Army, I started work in minimum-wage data entry job, then left when a friend convinced me to get into restaurant gigs where, on top of minimum wage, we’d get tips.

  I’m not sure I regret the decision—especially when it has led me to Richard.

  I am under no delusion that our chemistry is a unique thing; this guy has money and steamy good looks—a heady combination—and I can see that he has the same power he has over me over lots of other women.

  I might not be that experienced, but I don’t judge my friends for having casual relationships—everyone needs to scratch an itch sometime, and it seems my time has finally arrived.

  I think I’ll go with him tonight and let us finally quench this fire between us, then go on my merry way, as he’s sure to do. We part ways satisfied.

  I’m pretty much terrified as I bring out the dessert and the check.

  My heart is pounding so hard, I’m actually afraid it might give out, or that I’ll black out from the pressure.

  “I want you to meet me outside again,” Richard says as he drops a stack of hundreds again. “You know where.”

  As I head back to the station to clock out, I notice the lead hostess sending me a different kind of look—not the usual “I’m going to pretend I don’t see you” or “God, will you lose some weight!” look.

  I get a sinking feeling in my stomach.

  I pull Maggie aside at the first opportunity.

  “Please tell me you didn’t tell her,” I say, still holding her by the arm.

  “Of course I didn’t!” She pulls away. “You told me not to tell anyone and I definitely wouldn’t tell her.”

  “Then why is she looking at me so weirdly? Like she knows something?”

  Maggie’s silence gets heavy.

  “I mean, I mentioned you and Mr. HotPants would probably be getting better acquainted soon when Brenda said she was thinking of slipping him her number.”

  Oh boy.

  Brenda is the other pleasantly plump server with the huge boobs.

  I guess she noticed he liked what he saw on me and figured he was into big girls so she had a chance too.

  “I didn’t give any specifics!” Maggie insists. “I just said you guys had a chance to talk after your shift, that’s all—I was trying to discourage her.”

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

  No doubt Brenda has already passed that tidbit on to more than one person, and in no time, it hit the hostess stand.

  Why is it so hard
for people to understand that one leak is all it takes to flood a ship?

  “Girl, I’m so sorry. Look, I even told her you didn’t go home with him when she asked.”

  “But did you tell her he dropped me home?”

  Why, why, why did I mention that part?

  Maggie’s guilty look tells me all.

  My emotions take a turn for the worst, and I am sad and angry at once.

  “Maggie, you know as far as these guys are concerned now, I simply didn’t tell you the rest and in their minds, he banged me five ways from Sunday!”

  What is wrong with people? How do you pretend Please don’t tell anyone doesn’t mean exactly that? For these very obvious reasons?

  But I should have known better—never trust anyone with anything sensitive.

  One person is all it takes to turn a secret into public knowledge. Or public speculation—which is sometimes worse. Mean-spirited or not, people will always find an opportunity to betray you and let some juicy morsel slip.

  I know that hostess is going to twist things now that she’s gotten a whiff of scandal, and who knows what the story will look like once she’s done with it.

  Great. I haven’t even had sex with the guy yet and now everyone will probably think I’m a slut. That my skanky, desperate, rotund ass went home with a complete stranger.

  Everyone knows he left me a lot of money the last time, and now some of them will probably see his generosity as payment for other services rendered.

  My emotions are all over the place and hanging over them all is a sense of dread.

  Am I ruined here now?

  I’ve always been proud of my rep—never even had an opportunity to get a bad one—and now this. Reputation is the easiest thing to destroy, and one of the hardest things to rebuild.

  “I’m sorry!” Maggie says again, looking like she means it.

  Thing is, you can’t take back things like this, and I know for sure not to trust Maggie now.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trashing our friendship over this; I just know how to proceed.

  I like hanging out with her and going to the movies and whatnot, but I can’t tell her anything real—not unless I expect her to slip at some point.

  Guess I’ll have to seriously consider Richard’s job offer now—I might need a backup plan.