The Billionaire's Assistant (Contemporary BWWM Interracial Romance) (The Billionaire's Proposition Book 1) (17 page)

He pretty much gives me a rundown of the way other organizations or trusts handle it, and I am learning a lot—about both the demands of the job and him.

His confidence and knowledge, his command of methods and direction, and his navigation of possibilities is intoxicating.

We manage to stay focused on the work the whole time—no innuendos or references to our intimate encounters leaking into our day, and as we near the official end of day one, there is no doubt my mind—I’m in. Way in.

For whatever reason, Richard vetted me and pre-approved me for this responsibility, and I don’t care about the details—by George, I’m taking this chance.

Around four, Richard says, “I know it’s a lot to take in, Cherise, but please don’t worry about what you don’t know at this point. As I said, I will get you all the training you need. I just want you by my side as I do this; I want you to be a part of it. Your take on things will be most invaluable.”

He must know by now he doesn’t have to lay it on so thickly.

I smile at him and say, “Okay, you’ve got me, Richard—I am more than intrigued. I feel like I’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this my entire work life.”

His smile is dazzling and does something to my heart. I almost have to put a hand over it in a lame attempt to control whatever looking at him and being near him is doing to it.

“Excellent,” he says. “Now to figure where to go from here. It is Sunday tomorrow, although it’s day two of your trial period, but I suppose since we are both on board…”

“Are you kidding me? I wish I was officially starting already—right now. Contract signed, office hours laid out and everything.”

His smile widens and he says in a slightly lower voice, “Your wish is my command.”

I feel like we should shake hands or something, but considering all we’ve shared, it feels insufficient.

Luckily, Richard knows what to do next and he extends his hand to me with his palm upward, looking at my own hand.

I place my hand in his and he raises my hand to his lips and kisses it.

Now that feels right.

“Welcome aboard, Cherise. I will take care of ironing out details, such as dumping your restaurant job for you. We’ll have your resignation letter in by Monday. Now we must sort out your living arrangements.”

He seems to hesitate before he says, “I would like you to live here with me.”

I shouldn’t be surprised, but somehow, that proposition catches me off guard.

I like my independence; I like having my own space.

I like being able to come home sometimes and have no one to answer to, no one I have to smile at or be there to serve—although it did get lonely a lot.

But wasn’t there a happy middle somewhere? Did you always have to pick between being smothered and isolation?

Sure, casual dating—and even serious dating, as long as you don’t move in together—accomplishes it, but a void is still there.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I don’t think I’d be comfortable moving in here, Richard.”

The joy on his face falls away and I feel sort of bad.

“Why not?” he demands.

I shrug. “I don’t want to be someone’s live-in fuck buddy—no matter the perks.”

I see a rare break in his controlled facial expression—it’s like a shadow passes over his brown eyes.

“You would not be my ‘fuck buddy,’ Cherise.”

“Oh yeah? If I move in here, we won’t fuck?”

“Of course we will—I will fuck you silly at every opportunity. What I’m saying is that you are not just a piece of ass to me, although it is quite a remarkable ass. I want you to be my woman—don’t you get it?”

Despite the warmth and sincerity in his voice, I know what he’s really saying. In his multi-millionaire version of English, he is asking me to be his main squeeze for whatever time period he decides on. Then whenever he’s tired of me, I’ll have to go on my way and probably have to apply to the restaurant again.

God, the thought of that is terrible. No way I could go back there—it would be too embarrassing.

Either way, I’d have to rebuild everything, and maybe he’ll send me off with a tidy sum to get started, but the heartbreak, the loss of so many things I would have gotten used to over the months…

“No, Richard—I can’t move in. I realize this will jeopardize my chances with the job, but while I would love to have it, I want to drive to it every day.”

In what?
some nasty little voice says from within me, but I ignore it. I can easily get my car fixed now.

“And, to be honest, as much as I love being with you, I would ask the terms of the job not include sex on the side.”

He is doing a terrible job of hiding his anger now.

I can tell he’s using some degree of restraint, but his chest is rising and falling rapidly, and his eyes are storming. I can feel a fire roaring up in him, and it has spread just enough through the air to reach me.

I witness the moment it finally consumes him and he stands.

He comes toward me and before I know it, he pulls me up from my chair and crushes his mouth against mine.

I am shocked by his fierceness.

I can feel him hard against me and I know I’m going to pay for my words as he squeezes me to him hard, his cock stabbing me while he explores my mouth roughly.

His hands tear over my body before he starts ripping my clothes off, piece by piece until I am naked before him, shocked and extremely horny all at once.

His hand finds my center and starts working it—one finger stroking my bud while another dips inside me.

“Richard,” I moan, feeling his wriggling finger start to call down an orgasm.

I can’t believe he has the power to finger me to completion like this, and so quickly!

Soon, I am ready to beg him to take me to the finish.

“Richard, please make me come…”

His fingers continue to work me, and when I can feel myself getting close, I lean my head back, accepting the incoming flood.

My G-spot erupts in climax, and while I’m still pulsating from it, he quickly brings his head to my cunt and licks my clit until I come hard against his face from the stimulation.

I swear I lost my head to the clouds; I have never had a dual climax before.

He lets me come down a bit before shoving his pants down.

“Turn around,” he says, and I obey.

He guides me to plant my hands on a free block of wall, and soon, I feel the head of his cock at my slick entrance.

He rubs against it a bit, picking up my juices before plunging inside.

He fucks me hard, my ass slapping against him as he thrusts inside of me, his large hands at my waist.

He pulls me to him, plunging deep into me with powerful thrusts until he is on the precipice of climax himself.

Then his pace speeds up until, with one final hard thrust balls-deep in me, he explodes.

I feel his cum shooting in me and remember our previous conversation.

I definitely have to take that pill as soon as I can.

His rough claim of me has weakened me a bit so that somehow, I feel even more vulnerable to him.

I almost want to apologize to him—for hurting his feelings.

Then I feel ridiculous. How could I have hurt his feelings? It’s not like he feels anything deep toward me.

Even if he did, why would I apologize? I wasn’t in the wrong—I was just answering a friggin’ question!

I just happened to give him an answer he didn’t want, and I guess he’s not used to that, so he made me pay.

Basically, he forced me to be honest with myself—there’s no way I could be around him without giving in to the temptation; whenever he wants me, I’ll give it up to him. He squeezed out of me an honest look at what this arrangement would be.

There was no mistake—if I took this job, I would be taking him—probably every day, several times a day.

Still inside me, his pelvis against my ass cheeks, he pulls me back till I’m almost upright and plants a kiss on my neck, making me shudder. It is a tentative, gentle kiss—in stark contrast to the wild, harsh fuck he just gave me.

Everything in me liquifies.

Again, I get the strong impression that this isn’t just about sex, and my voice comes out sounding softer than I would have liked when I say, “Okay, you’ve made your point, Richard—I can’t resist you; I can’t resist this.”

He pulls out of me and I turn toward him. “I accept the job and all that comes with it.”

He gives me a pointed look. “
All
that comes with it? Even living here?”

“I’m still having a hard time with that part. I just don’t like the idea of being cooped up here all the time, no matter how nice it is. I need to roam.”

“Cherise, I will get you a car, and you can have your own space away from me if you’d like. And as you can see, the property is quite extensive. I have unused bedrooms—feel free to use them when you’ve tired of lying next to me.”

I swear I detect hurt in his voice.

“As for office space, that is also easily arranged. We can have one set up for you away from this main house, even. Just as you would in here, I’ll have someone cater to your needs out there—breakfast, lunch, coffee. My goal is to have you take over and direct the project, and when needed, we will hire assistants for you. Are these terms more agreeable to you?”

I didn’t understand what would happen when he tired of me. In three months or so (if I’m lucky), was I just supposed to stay here and silently take it when he brings home his next squeeze? Try to ignore them at the pool while at my computer in whatever space he carved out for me?

“I just don’t understand why you want me to move in; I don’t get why I have to actually be in your house.”

“Because I want you to be. I already told you, Cherise—I want you to be my woman.”

“I get that. What I mean is, when I am no longer your woman—why do that to me? What am I supposed to do after you sever my rent contract and I have to go apartment-hunting again? That whole idea is like a nightmare to me. I get it—pros should outweigh cons and there are far more pros to your proposal than cons, but I can’t help but think what the hell I’m supposed to do after you?”

Why the hell does it feel like tears are stinging my eyes?

His voice softens tremendously, taking me by surprise, “The point is, Cherise, that I don’t want there to be an after you—I wish for you to stay with me.”

His words and tone devastate me, shattering my last defense.

Why did he sound like he meant it?

My god, this guy is a player extraordinaire.

That silver tongue—no wonder he has all this money.

“I sure wish I could believe you.”

“Then
do
, Cherise. I’m not just humoring you when I say I want you to be mine, that I want you to stay here. And no, I’m not slowly building some kind of harem. You, Cherise—I only want you. Not my main squeeze, my only squeeze.”

“But what if I’m not whatever you think I am? What if I disappoint you?”

He wraps his arms around me and holds me against him in a firm embrace.

I relax my head against his chest, feeling safe and treasured.

“You will never disappoint me, Cherise—not in the way you think. I pretty much knew what I was getting when I picked you, and I want…” He stops, and I long to hear the words it seems he decides not to say. “Let’s pick this up, tomorrow, shall we? After all, this is still officially your trial period; no final decisions need to be made. Let us revisit everything at six p.m. tomorrow, at dinner.”

A night of making love leaves me even more vulnerable than before. I can’t imagine any of this ending—in so short a time, I have gotten so used to everything Richard has given me. I have gotten used to
him.

How can I leave now, especially when he has offered me access to him practically twenty-four-seven?

Maybe I should just go with whatever this is, however long it lasts and damn the potential heart-shattering aftermath. Why throw away all the potential beauty because of the potential devastation? One would be lucky to have a chance to reach such an emotional high. Life is made up of all these various periods, of precious moments.

Shit—period—baby—morning-after pill.

I forgot all about it yesterday, but I must remember to bring it up today.

I am eager to learn more about the job, but since it’s Sunday, and we stayed up very late last night, we get a late start.

He says we won’t do much today since we begin the real deal tomorrow, and we head to his office around noon.

When Richard gets called away from the office by a phone call, I flip through those sheets of paper representing youngsters who will possibly be at the receiving end of Richard’s generosity—people I feel like I already know a bit and can’t abandon.

I am curious about the rest of the room and must squash a desire to snoop, but soon, one of the folders on the shelf calls to me—a maroon binder.

Richard is still away and the desire to satisfy my curiosity is far too strong.

I pull the folder down and open it, and my mouth drops open in my horror, I’m sure.

There I am—various photos of me and a shit-load of pages of text.

I keep flipping through and find page after page of information about me—intimate details of my life on display in this cold, maroon binder: my résumé beyond my work résumé, my academic records. All the organizations I volunteered my time to. And if I’m not tripping, what looks like an analysis of my health—some sort of medical report.

“Nosy Nancy,” I suddenly hear from the threshold of the room in low masculine tones.

I turn to Richard, my anger spilling over.

“You’re one to talk,” I say furiously.

How dare he hint at my violation of his privacy when I am holding an entire folder of violations against mine?

I hold the folder up. “What the hell is this?” I ask, so furious that my voice comes out sounding almost calm.

“I think you already know the answer.”

“How dare you? How long have you been watching me? Where do you draw the fucking line?”

“Cherise, darling, do you think I would have offered you this job if I hadn’t done my homework first?”

“This job was probably just a way to get in my pants.”