The Billionaire's Assistant (Contemporary BWWM Interracial Romance) (The Billionaire's Proposition Book 1) (13 page)

I start feeling offended again. “Okay, Richard—
this
is a perfectly good job with lots of smart, talented people…”

“Again, I’m not insulting you or the job or those who do your job—I happen to respect honest work in all its forms, regardless of what you might have assumed about me. I just strongly suspect you’re ready to move on from this type of work, and I’m simply offering you a new opportunity. I’m willing to pay you more than double what you earn now—at minimum. I don’t know what you actually make—my sources have put you guys at about fifty grand a year, including tips.”

Okay, so say I happened to be one of those pulling fifty grand a year—this guy’s willing to shove me into the six-figure club just like that? For what, making copies and data entry or something? Talk about being overpaid.

I’m tempted, but I don’t know this guy, and I don’t quite trust him, despite him eating my pussy with perfection, and making me come to the point that I actually saw stars.

This whole thing wigs me out, and it’s too much for me to process all at once.

For now, I just need to get out of his car—it’s way too hard to say no to him when he’s so close to me, looking at me with those eyes.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, “Now, if you please.” I indicate the door with a tip of my head.

“Of course,” he says, then gets his driver to unlock the doors.

I flood with embarrassment again as I remember the man at the helm.

Oh god, did his driver hear me? With all those moans?

I guess it’s far too late for modesty.

As I’m exiting, I say, “Thanks for the ride,” and mumble “and the other stuff,” and with my glance back, I notice Richard’s chiseled face break into a panty-melting smile.

“If you think that’s all there is, Cherise, you are severely mistaken. I’ll see you very soon.”

The door closes right away, but the car stays in place until I’ve opened my door and I’m about to enter my apartment.

I am only faintly aware of the sitting limo as I process Richard’s words, and I conclude with certainty I’ll see him on my next shift, given his obstinacy so far, and I look forward to it.

As I lock my door behind me, it hits me far too late that I never gave Richard my address or directions to my apartment.

M
y god, that Cherise is delectable.

The scent of her is still on my lips, and it is not doing my raging dick any favors.

I am still sitting outside of her apartment, fighting myself, urging myself not to follow her up those stairs to the inside of her apartment where I can plunge my hungry cock into her warm, slick, welcoming depths.

I had no plans to take her tonight—I want to seduce her slowly, wrap her tightly in my web.

She is more than willing to satisfy both of our carnal needs, but she is not quite ready for all I have to offer, and I need her to be on board with my ultimate plan.

She is not like the others I run into day-to-day, and not even like some of those who work around her—those other servers sending me very clear “I’m available and willing” looks.

Sure, she was more than willing tonight, but that is not all I want from her, and for what I want, I can tell she’ll be a harder nut to crack.

After a few agonizing moments of deliberation, I give my driver the command to take off, blood still rushing through my body and with a raging hard-on, but I am a patient man.

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.

I
t 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.

G
enerally
, 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.

“
H
e 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?