The Billionaire's Assistant (Contemporary BWWM Interracial Romance) (The Billionaire's Proposition Book 1) (2 page)

K
evin leaned back
in his large, black executive chair and smiled wide as his cousin entered his office.

“To what do I owe the honor?” he said as he put his pen down, getting up to greet him with a hug.

They embraced quickly, and Kevin returned to his chair while his cousin grabbed a seat from the side to sit in front of him.

Michael looked healthy and handsome as usual, his easy smile in place, blue eyes sparkling with good humor, dark hair immaculate. He looked every bit the billion-dollar tycoon he was.

The two of them were often mistaken for brothers—they had similar builds and thick, dark hair, though Kevin’s eyes were gray instead of blue like his cousin’s.

“Just had to see you, Kev. You’re telling me you never get the urge to pick up the phone and call me sometimes? Thought I was like a brother to you?”

Kevin knew he was just teasing. His cousin knew just how much he meant to him.

As an only child, Kevin had no idea what having a brother was actually like, but he figured his relationship with his cousin, Michael, and their other cousin, Richard, had to be fairly close to it.

Their fathers were brothers who’d had each other growing up, and Kevin was grateful to have had his cousins.

“Actually, I do; in fact, just yesterday I got the strongest urge to dial you up and say hi.”

“See? Now where’s that call in my phone log?”

“Well, I didn’t actually follow up; something came up I needed to take care of, and I figured I’d just catch you later.”

“Ouch. I’m low priority—I get it. Well, lucky for you, I heard you mentally cry out to me, hence, here I am. Just got in around nine last night.”

Kevin smiled. “That was about the time I got that urge. What a coincidence!”

Shit
. Why the hell had he said that? No need to get Michael started on his mumbo-jumbo crap.

No one knew where Michael got it from since they’d all been raised by practical, logical folks with no interest at all in the spiritual or metaphysical, yet somehow Michael ended up leaning in that direction. He talked about signs and messages from the universe like it was a real thing, when sometimes, things just lined up—broken clocks correct twice a day and all that. With the millions of events happening every second,
of course
every now and then it appears as if some kind of synchronicity is taking place. But Michael knew everything was pretty random; there was no greater force pulling strings. One could bend things to one’s will and walk a certain path for certain results, but sometimes, shit just happened.

“The healthiest person in the world can still get taken out in their prime by a semi truck,” he’d told Michael once.

Although things sometimes happened beyond one’s control, planning and execution were the tools to their family’s success. Research, logic, calculation.

“Anyway, I’m going to the islands in a few weeks,” Michael said. “Something tells me I’ll find my bride there.”

“Wow, you’re really serious about getting married, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s definitely time. What’s the point of all this if I can’t share it with someone? I want to live beyond being pieces in various people’s memories; I want to exist as a whole to someone else, make a lifetime of memories with them. I want a family—get settled, watch my kids grow—all that junk. Groom yet another Davenport heir. I mean, come on—you, me, and Richard are in our primes and none of us have settled yet. Our fathers all produced healthy, strapping sons long before this age, and here we are in our thirties, still childless. Everyone before us did their duty, and now it’s our turn. My sister doesn’t even want kids, so it’s up to me to keep our particular branch going.”

Michael suddenly let out a dry chortle. “Watch—just because I want it the most, I’ll probably be the last to find it. Either way, I’ll find that girl, Kev. And when I do, I’ll know. You’ll see.”

“Well, I’m happy you’re pretty clear about that stuff and I wish you all the best. I’m definitely not there yet, and I’m certainly in no rush; I still have a lot of work to do.”

Michael’s face softened into sympathy and Kevin felt anger build in defense—he knew exactly what was coming next.

“Still trying to get his attention, huh? I suspect no matter what, your dad’s not gonna give a fuck, Kev. He’s stealing your life making you dedicate so much energy to pleasing him—an impossible task, it seems. Protect your energy, bud. And, look—you’ve been so distracted by wondering when I’ll finally take off so you can get back to work that you didn’t even notice this sweet watch I got myself.”

Kevin examined his cousin’s wrist and felt his eyebrows raise and his frustration start to abate as he took in the titanium timepiece.

“Jesus, man. How much is that one worth? Half a mil?”

“All this goddamn money we have, every now and then, gotta splurge.”

They both laughed.

Kevin wasn’t sure either of them knew the difference anymore. Money was never a concern when it came to buying what they wanted—whether necessity or toy. None of them were particularly indulgent for it to matter—they all spent fairly conservatively.

Kevin continued to examine the watch.

“
Of course
you’d pick something with phases of the moon on it.”

“
Audemars Piguet Royal Oak Grande Complication.
This is my gift to myself after closing that McConnell deal. Worth more than twenty times the cost of this watch. Plus, I like to look at it. Reminds me the clock’s always ticking. For most people, watches remind them to hurry up, but this thing reminds me to slow the fuck down and take in the tiny moments.” Michael stared at him pointedly.

“Here we go again,” Kevin said, rolling his eyes playfully in response.

“I’m just saying, man—don’t be so hard on yourself. Take it easy once in a while. And for god’s sake, live life for you, not him.”

“Hey, I play just as hard as I work,” Kevin said, ignoring part of what his cousin had said. “I recently had this wonderful two-week tryst with a gorgeous redhead in …”

“You know what I mean. I’m sure you had work at the back of your mind the whole time, and you probably picked that particular girl thinking that somewhere, your dad’s giving you a nod of approval for the women you choose to sow your wild oats with.”

They both held it together for a moment, then burst into laughter again.

Michael had used a general idiom, but they both knew where the other’s mind went at that moment—the three cousins had watched
Coming to America
countless times and connected back to it at every possible opportunity.

Michael had even once had a crush on the leading lady.

“Live life untethered to his opinion, Kevin,” Michael said as he stood up, straightening his jacket. “There’s no harm in living life for you, and while you’re at it, stop and smell the roses.”

“You did not just say that.”

Just then, Kevin’s assistant came in with his coffee.

When she left, Michael said, “Like maybe get your own coffee for once.”

“I fucking hate lines, Mike. Forget it.”

“Waiting every now and then isn’t a bad thing—you’ll be surprised what you’re forced to see upon being made to slow down.”

Kevin was really starting to get irritated.

“Christ. Is this about Luke?”

Their grand-uncle had died of a heart attack a little while ago, and as far as Kevin knew, he had no fans in the family—not even his own children—but had his cousin been affected by his death after all? Was Michael all of a sudden concerned with mortality because their old, evil granduncle died a just death not a moment too soon?

“It was probably stress that killed him,” Michael said flatly.

“Nah. Most likely all that hate he carried around. That man was pure evil.”

“Evil people tend to live long though, as do the men in our family. Yeah, he was old, but my bet was his
relentless
pursuit of evil. If he had only taken a break to recharge his hate batteries, he could have lived to cause more chaos.”

Kevin smiled grimly. “Well, good thing for all of us he didn’t
stop and smell the roses
,” he said mockingly.

Michael smiled at him, but the smile melted to seriousness once again.

“I’m serious, Kev. Break out of your comfort zone. Slide out of cruise control. I bet you’ll end up thanking me.”

“God, get out of here,” he said, shooing him with his hands, but he and his cousin shot the breeze for a few more minutes before Michael checked his watch and said he had to go.

They hugged once more before he took off, making promises to meet up again before he left town, and Kevin forgot all about Michael’s advice until the urge for more coffee hit him again.

He was about to buzz his personal assistant, but Michael’s words suddenly came back to him.

He stared at the stack of paperwork in front of him.

If he powered through the next few hours, he’d stay on top of it, no problem.

But could a forty-five-minute break really set him back that much?

He usually never left his desk unless entertaining a woman, and it had been a while since he’d done that. He usually powered through ten to twelve-hour work days while nourishment was brought to him.

He took a deep breath.

Maybe it was time for a short solo break, and if he was going to do that, he might as well “break out of his comfort zone” as his cousin had urged and try somewhere new.

He had a few places to choose from in his own building for coffee, but he felt a need to go outside.

He had no doubt that after a short walk, he’d come across a coffee shop; you couldn’t throw a rock without hitting one in this city.

N
aomi knew
she should have stuck with buses.

Sure, they could be unreliable every once in a while and make her late, but not as unpredictable as her stupid old car.

She tried the ignition again.

What the hell was wrong this time?

She didn’t have much time to find out—either she could wait for AAA or she could call Uber or grab a taxi and just try to get to her shift on time, even if it meant spending half the day’s pay.

Why had she even bothered getting a car again?

Then she remembered—at the time, she’d had two jobs, and the end time of one was too close to the start time of the other, which made her late sometimes. Plus, taking a bus home at night freaked her out.

She no longer had that second job, but she still had the stupid car, and though her good sense told her to park it now that she didn’t really need it, she figured she might as well just keep on using it since it still worked.

She sighed as the car refused to start again.

The car was definitely more trouble than it was worth and she’d have to get rid of it if she wanted any hope of moving out of the apartment sooner than later.

N
aomi tried
to make up for her tardiness with an extra cheery attitude, but pretending to be extra-bubbly while distracted only ended up with her causing a massive spill.

Shit
, she thought as she hurried to clean up the mess.

She tried to ignore the eyes of her manager burning into her once he had hurried out to hear what the commotion was about.

“Shall we switch you to the register?” he asked kindly, and she gratefully accepted.

Unfortunately, by the time she messed up her third order, she knew she was in big trouble.

She just couldn’t get it together; she still felt frazzled.

Dread filled her stomach once her break arrived and the manager called her into the office instead.

“Naomi, I’m really sorry to have to do this,” he began, his eyes looking like he meant his words. “I mean, we all like you here…”

“No, please don’t, Brad—I’m just having a bad day after a
terrible
night…”

“We all have bad days, Naomi, and I’m not saying whatever happened to you isn’t a valid reason for you being late today and causing a mess out there, but this isn’t exactly the first time we’ve had trouble with you.”

“Yeah, but last night, my roommate…”

“I can’t, Naomi—if I let you stay it sets a bad precedent. Others would have let you go earlier, but I figured you’d get it together and you’re so pleasant to have around. But you’ve had one too many chances, and I have to do my job. I’m really sorry to have to let you go, Naomi.”

Don’t cry
, she told herself.
Whatever you do, don’t look pathetic, no matter how much the tears are building up
…

“Just one more chance, Brad,” she said, horrified to hear the break in her voice.

“I’ll take your apron now. I’m sorry, Naomi, and I wish you the best of luck. I’m sure you can find a better gig than this place anyway,” he said, softening his face into a tiny smile. “Please don’t take this personally. All the best to you.”

Naomi held her head high as she stood and began untying her apron.

She handed it to him and headed for the exit, unable to look in the direction of any of the folks she had worked with for the past eight months, and whose eyes she could feel on her as she made a beeline for the glass double doors.

Her mind was buzzing.

She had to find a new job fast—she couldn’t afford to be set back for much longer.

She thought about Jenna—the smug look that’ll probably crawl across her face once she hears about the firing, the offer she’ll give to put in a good word for her at her night club.

“I’ll let ‘em know you have nice tits,” she imagined her saying.

Naomi maneuvered the sidewalk just fine in her distracted distress until a miscalculation put her into the path of a man who dodged to the left the same time she tried to dodge him by stepping to the right without slowing down, causing him to grab her by the shoulders to avoid them smashing into each other in their dance of avoidance.

“Hey, watch where you’re going,” he said as he let her go, successfully sidestepping her.

The casual annoyance in his voice set her off and made her look up at him, just as everything she’d been holding back bubbled to the surface.

Seeing him look like some entitled prick in his expensive-looking suit only made everything worse.

“Go fuck yourself, asshole!” she spat at him before turning to take off, but not before registering how good-looking he was.

His gray eyes had seemed to soften as their eyes met, and he seemed startled, yet not like the asshole she initially took him for once her gaze went from his suit to his chiseled face.

And was it her imagination or did his eyes momentarily drop to her lips?

Her own eyes had lingered on his beautiful masculine features until she had to force herself to tear them away.

Still, she didn’t regret cursing him one bit—that suit, that hair…no matter how kind his eyes had looked, she had no doubt a douche lurked beneath those fine threads, and entitled douchebags like him needed to be treated like normal people every now and then and get an earful of profanity directed at them.

Now that she was thinking about it, he looked just like one of the types of guys Jenna talked about—wealthy men who regularly bought women’s company.

Jenna had told her all sorts of stories about those kind of guys, and she had even tried to become a high-class escort for guys like them herself, but she had never been able to meet the base requirements for agencies she applied to.

She had been brought in for an interview once, and she had been so excited when she left for it but came home all dejected saying she had a feeling she had only been called in for laughs.

“The bitch said she was just curious after seeing my résumé and had to see what I really looked like after my phone interview. Then she went on to list all the ways I lacked what it took for the job—from a college degree to a solid grasp on English,” Jenna said of her “stuck-up looking” interviewer. “She said she’s sure there’s a market somewhere for no-class trashy hicks, but
her
clientele has no ‘inclination’ in that direction.”

As Naomi turned to walk away from the man, she decided he was probably among
that
clientele, and although she wasn’t some high-class hooker, the way the guy had looked at her, there was no doubt what had crossed his mind.

Humph. Men.

Well,
she
wasn’t for sale, and she sure as hell wasn’t about to be some rich guy’s fetish purchase.

She was not the one.