The Billionaire's Assistant (Contemporary BWWM Interracial Romance) (The Billionaire's Proposition Book 1) (3 page)

K
evin’s arm
snaked out and grabbed the girl’s arm before she could storm off and leave him.

His fingers felt like they were burning through her, the heat and electricity between them catching him by surprise.

Her body jerked at his grasp, then she stared at him in disbelief, her face morphing into a pinched expression of offense.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” she said, her voice full and sharp, but the lasers of her eyes were softened by the beginning of tears in them.

Still, he dropped her arm like a hot potato, then he held his arms up in defensive surrender, but he knew his stance communicated his intent to keep her there a moment longer.

His eyes took in her polo shirt and khakis and he immediately figured that she had just left work—no chick wore polos and khakis out in public unless she was on a golf course or on a job. And by the look on her face, she was devastated, so she probably just got sent home, or worse, fired.

The details were little to go on, but he was satisfied with his guess; either way, she was clearly having a shitty day, and the main reasons for such distress were usually work and romantic relationships.

He knew where to go from there.

He tried to keep his eyes from her beautifully-shaped luscious lips and ignored the curiosity poking him about what it would be like to kiss them and said, “Listen, I know this is kind of a weird time and place, but I hire a lot of people on gut instinct, and my gut says you might be able to help me out—that we might be able to help each other out, in fact.”

It wasn’t exactly true, but none of what he was about to tell her was.

“I couldn’t help but notice your work clothes,” he continued, energized that she had remained in place and was looking at him with slight interest, “and I could be way off base here, but I suspect you might be on the job market, and I recently got an unexpected opening; I might have a job for you.”

He watched her eyes slowly and deliberately travel over him, from head to toe and back up again.

Luckily, he looked every bit the wealthy man he was, so there had to be no doubt he was a job provider.

“Thanks, but I don’t do that kind of stuff,” she said flatly.

Then she turned as if to leave again.

He almost reached for again, but he let his voice do the grabbing.

“I’m sorry—what kind of stuff? I haven’t told you anything about the position yet,” he said, infusing his tone with authority.

“Escort or whatever it is you think you can use my body for,” she said, turning back to him but not looking at him.

He put on his most formal, all-business voice.

“I assure you—the work I have in mind is less…glamorous than what you’re thinking. Do you have any experience as a domestic worker?”

He watched her entire manner change.

Her body sagged, but along with the relief emanating from her was something else.

Disappointment?

Well, a job offer for domestic work wasn’t exactly thrilling for most people, and he felt kind of bad for deflating her, but he had to ease her somehow and get her off guard; he needed her not to see him as a perv, and if implying all she was good for was to help out in the home, so be it.

Still, she looked hesitant.

She was certainly a ball of negative emotions, and he hoped to see what her smile looked like soon.

The fact that she hadn’t continued to storm off, nor had she denied needing a job gave him hope.

No matter what, he couldn’t let her go; the girl’s eyes had arrested him, the raw pain in her voice as she cussed him out had pierced his chest.

He had to do something to help her; he needed to do something to take her pain away.

He was never one to be moved by women’s tears, but this woman’s sorrow inspired an almost crippling sympathy, and he had to do something to soothe the ache in himself too.

What else was going on with her besides losing her job?

He had no doubt her sorrows went far beyond that.

“In fact…” He made a show of checking his watch. “I can interview you quickly. Ten minutes is all I have time for. If the position sounds good to you, you can start tomorrow. It’s not exactly the kind of job where you need an extensive résumé.”

Her eyes flickered to the coffee shop less than half a block away, but he had long figured that was where she had been let go from.

“I know you can probably make coffee, and I have a feeling you might be open to taking a position to hold you over until you can move on to bigger and better things,” he said, nodding his head in the direction of her wayward glance.

Her beautiful brown eyes held him for what almost felt like a full minute, and he could practically see the gears turning in her head. But he had no idea what was really going on in her mind, especially with the doozy she surprised him with, accusing him of being a John.

Still, he could imagine a few things churning in her mind.

Was he a loon?
she was probably wondering. Should she trust him? How many options did she have? Should she take the chance?

Finally, she nodded.

“Great! We can take a quick walk, grab some coffee—from elsewhere, of course.”

She nodded again.

He indicated they continue walking in the direction she had been headed, and they quickly found another small coffee shop.

He asked her what she would like and she looked startled.

“No thanks,” she said.

There was that wariness again; her skepticism button was strong.

What, did she think he’d want a kiss from her as repayment?

What kind of life had she led that left her so distrusting and suspicious?

“Suit yourself,” he said, putting in his order.

They sat down at a small table; in fact, everything felt rather small and uncomfortable, and he wanted to curse his cousin for encouraging him to do go out and do this, but with the sad beauty sitting in front of him, he couldn’t get too mad.

Mike might be right after all, and maybe he’d end up more than a bit grateful soon.

“So what exactly is the job position?” she asked.

Her body language was still completely closed off—hands gathered in front of her, everything else about her pulled tight.

He produced a small smile and shook his head as if she had just tried to get away with something.

“You know there’s this thing people do—once they know what the job’s for, they tailor their experiences to it, which, obviously, you’re supposed to do. But this position requires more insight into personality. Compatibility beyond whether or not the objective of the current version of your résumé lines up with the job description. Get my drift?”

She nodded but looked unsure.

“Anyway, so just start by telling me about you. Hand me your résumé verbally. Tell me about your job experiences, as far back as you want.”

His coffee was brought to him just as she started to launch into her job history.

He watched her carefully as she spoke, listening to everything she said and everything she didn’t say.

She looked sort of embarrassed by some of her jobs—the fast food places, in particular—and her eyes darted to his suit as if realizing those jobs were silly to mention in the face of his apparent wealth.

Her slightly elevated energy as she first began to speak started to come down, as if she started losing hope of being good enough for whatever he was looking for.

“So you’ve been working a while. Keep going,” he encouraged her.

She continued to talk about her jobs and he found himself distracted by her lips again.

What he would give to pull them between his…

“Hm. Well, that sounds great. I mean, what I’m looking for doesn’t require all that much experience and training like I said. Sort of an on-the-job kind of deal; no degrees needed.”

“Um, what kind of terms are we talking? Is it part-time or full-time? And what’s the salary range?”

She looked embarrassed to have asked, and he wasn’t sure how to answer her since everything was on the fly.

“It depends,” he began. “It’s a pretty fluid position. You can start off part-time but go to full-time, for example, depending on how things work out with the workload.”

He watched her eyes light up.

“As for salary range, pretty standard.”

She nodded as if she knew and he was glad he didn’t have to throw out a figure in case he was way off.

Did she really just need a job that badly that she wouldn’t even press for how much it paid? What the heck had she been making?

“What was your previous salary?” he asked.

When she hesitated, her eyes wary, he said shortly, “It’s a standard question.”

He tried to keep his face neutral when she answered, then did some math in his head.

Even if she had been working forty-hour weeks, at the rate she gave…holy cow—he made more than her annual salary in less than an hour. Pretty much anything he threw out would be a vast improvement.

“If things work out, you could be making upwards of fifty grand a year,” he said. It was the price he’d paid for his current watch.

Her eyes looked like they might pop right off her face; the figure was almost three times what she made recently.

He fished around in his pocket.

“Here’s my card. Call that number at nine p.m. tonight, and I’ll have more info for you.”

She took the card, still looking dazed.

He knew he had her.

He checked his watch again, reconsidering the time. No need to keep them both waiting too long—four hours was far more than enough time to make something up for her and iron out the details.

“Make that six o’clock,” he said, trying to keep himself from smiling at his own cunning.

He had done exactly what potential employees did in their interviews with potential employers, twisting it for his own needs. Instead of having her tailor her answers and résumé to the prospective job, he could now tailor the job to her, forming the position based off of her answers.

Retail, she’d said? Food and Beverage? Some babysitting? Done.

K
evin briefly considered having
her work in one of his buildings, but he had a strong desire to bring her home and have her in his space.

He already had a full staff of housekeepers, but surely they won’t mind another pair of helping hands?

He wondered why he felt such a pull toward that particular girl—he wasn’t usually so moved by other people’s plights; she wasn’t the first strange female on the verge of tears he’d seen.

So why did he feel a need to help her?

And beyond that, why didn’t he just pull some strings and get her started filing things away or some other unskilled administrative work away from him? Why did he feel a need to have her in his mansion?

Sure, she was an attractive girl but there was certainly no shortage of those; he had access to more refined versions of her in droves.

He pushed his thoughts away.

For now, he’d just go with it—it felt great to do a good deed every now and then, something that wasn’t just a tax write-off.

He stared at the pile of paperwork on his desk again.

Maybe Michael was right and it was time for him to take a mini-vacation and stop and smell the roses.

Instead of coming to the office, maybe he’d just work from home for the next week or two now that he had a reason to hang out there.

His office assistant might appreciate the break—or maybe she’d be a little miffed he wasn’t bringing her home instead, since she knew pretty much all of his preferences—down to how he liked his sandwiches.

Either way, his needs would be slightly different at home since he already had a full staff of people who knew what he liked and how he liked it.

Damn it, where could he really slot the girl in then?

He talked to his house manager, Jeffrey, and according to his assessment, they were, in fact, overstaffed; there was only so much dusting and dry-cleaning and laundering their current staff of six could do daily.

Kevin knew he kept more workers than needed, but he certainly didn’t have the heart to let anyone go.

He didn’t want Naomi to work in a cleaning capacity anyway.

Maybe she could work with his personal shopper as a sort of nod to her past retail experience.

He finally decided to confine her to Food and Beverage needs.

She’d bring him his coffee, and maybe he’d arrange for her to work with Chef Manny—have her sent on runs for groceries or whatever he needed.

And if that wasn’t enough, he’d eventually figure out more ways to fill up her time.

She looked pretty desperate; she’d do almost anything, probably.

W
hen his phone
rang at six p.m., Kevin’s heart sped up unexpectedly and he felt on edge.

What the hell was that about?
he wondered.

He never got nervous about calls unless he thought his father was on the other end.

“Great news!” he said when he heard Naomi’s voice. “I’d like to offer you the position. As I mentioned, it’s in a domestic capacity so it’s for my estate, and it’s a rather fluid position—you’d be acting as a sort of general household assistant mainly to the cooks and my other personal assistants.”

“What should I wear? Or is there a uniform provided?”

Kevin thought of the plain blue and white uniform his domestic staff wore and scowled.

“Well, you won’t be getting your hands dirty exactly—especially since it’s your first day—so feel free to wear what you’d wear if going to the mall or something. Jeans, long, dark pants. T-shirts. No sleeveless tops. I’ll send over a wardrobe guide. Also, you already have the job, but I’ll need you to fill out a formal application. We can do this all electronically—send me your email, I’ll send you the secure application. Then look out for more details later tonight.”

Once her details came in, he started to research her.

Unlike his crazy cousin, he still had to use reason and logic when about to invite a stranger into his home.

He proceeded with a background check, and his heart softened once he discovered her residence at a group home in her teens and realized she was a child of the system. One of those kids who never got adopted.