The Billionaire's Assistant (Contemporary BWWM Interracial Romance) (The Billionaire's Proposition Book 1) (5 page)

N
aomi felt conflicted
as she pulled up to her apartment.

On one hand, she was ecstatic to move out sooner than she could have dreamed. On the other, she felt terrible for the huge surprise she was setting Jenna up for.

She packed up fairly quickly, and on her last trip, she scribbled a note to soften the blow.

You did already warn her
, she reminded herself.
She had a heads up about you leaving as soon as you could more than once. Plus, she isn’t looking out for your well-being; you have every right to leave an unsafe environment as soon as possible. As she’d said, her rules; she won’t blame you.

Naomi nodded as if assuring herself she was doing the right thing, then left the note in a prominent place.

Jenna should definitely understand; she’d made herself clear after all.

Naomi thought about texting her too, but figured, why bother? Suppose she saw the text on a break or something and it ruined the rest of her night?

No use upsetting her earlier.

Plus, Naomi planned to follow up with a call, and they’d probably meet up soon so she can return the key and sort out whatever she owed.

No matter how much she tried to soothe herself, she still felt horrible, knowing what a shock it’ll be.

As she headed for the door for the last time, she felt a tumble of disturbance in her stomach, a ball of sadness forming.

The place wasn’t all that grand, but it wasn’t terrible, and it had been her home for over two years.

Her heart sagged a little at the thought of leaving it behind, but soon, the fear and excitement of what lay ahead took over.

“
W
elcome back
,” Kevin Davenport said with a smile so bright that, for a moment, Naomi felt like she never wanted to leave.

Jeffrey started taking her bags away and she resisted the urge to stop him.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get them back,” Kevin said, his eyes twinkling in a way that was becoming familiar to her and tugged at her insides. “I’ll show you to your quarters.”

He turned and it was clear she was to follow him.

As far as she could tell, her boss was going the wrong way—or some sort of roundabout way. Either way, the direction they were headed didn’t make sense.

Why had Jeffrey brought her all the way here with her stuff, and why was Mr. Davenport following the path he took? Why would her stuff be brought to the main residence, only to have to take it to the side quarters soon?

Jeffrey could have just dropped her off then escorted her back into the main house if Mr. Davenport had more to say to her before she settled in for the night.

Mr. Davenport glanced at her.

“Your eyebrows are furrowed. What is it, Naomi?”

“I guess I don’t understand the direction we’re going?”

“I’m showing you to a guest room.”

Naomi still didn’t get it.

Then it occurred to her: obviously, since everything was so new and sudden, they hadn’t quite been prepared to have her, and she’d be in the guest room until everything was ready for her in the servants’ quarters, which probably wouldn’t take long—Kevin was obviously a man who didn’t waste much time.

Before she knew it, she’d be settling into her own unit among the other workers and learning how to fit in there.

She relaxed.

She started wondering what those conditions were like—did the others live like roommates in some six-bed four-bath unit or did they have their own bed-bath units with a shared kitchen and living room or something?

“Here we are,” Mr. Davenport said, extending his arm to the room.

Her bags had already been deposited at the foot of the bed, and Jeffrey was long gone.

The large bedroom made her want to run in and plop onto the welcoming queen-sized bed with the beautiful lavender and white bedding immediately, but she restrained herself.

None of her foster homes had a bedroom like this, and the motel she and Jenna stayed in for a few days before they were able to move into their latest apartment certainly couldn’t come close.

When she toured the mansion earlier that day, all of the bedroom doors had been closed, so she hadn’t gotten a glimpse of any of them to know what to expect.

She’d seen Kevin’s home office, the kitchen, the open areas of the foyer.

Now, it suddenly occurred to her that it had all been deliberate—during the day, the mansion was conducive to work with those doors closed—no suggestion of rest or comfort. But now, with the bedroom doors open, it looked like a home—welcoming and inviting.

Come and sleep on me…
the large bed cooed.

No running out of dresser space here
, the set of white dressers silently bragged.

No worries about hurting your eyes with insufficient lighting!
the lamps and light fixtures whispered.

There was even a makeup table with a dressing mirror, and from what she could see from the door a little further in, her own bathroom.

Naomi unexpectedly felt choked up and fought hard against the emotion building in her.

Why did the stupid bedroom affect her like this?

“Naomi, is something wrong?”

Kevin’s deep, concerned voice jarred her sufficiently out of her sudden emotional whirlwind.

She mentally shook herself and flashed him a wide smile.

“Yeah! I’m just…floored by how nice this place is. It’ll be hard to leave once you guys get my unit together.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My place in the servants’ quarters? I figured I’m here tonight until that’s all sorted out.”

“Oh. No, I’ve decided you’re to retire here in the evenings. Considering what I need from you, it’s best to have you as nearby as possible, easily accessible.”

An unexpected thrill passed through her again.

Was her mind being dirty? Why was she making more of his words than he meant?

Obviously, he meant exactly what he said—as his personal assistant, the way he described it, if he needed a drink of water in the dead of night and didn’t feel like going for it, she needed to be prepared to get up and get for him. Wasn’t she basically his personal slave?

Ugly way to put it
, she scolded herself.
Besides, he made it clear you’re not required to be available to him twenty-four-seven—you get to go off the clock. As you are now.

She got ready to start settling in, but before she took a step into the cozy room, he said, “Do you want something to eat? I don’t think you’ve eaten since lunch; you must be starved.”

Her stomach chose just that moment to grumble.

His eyes twinkled as the corners of his mouth rose, and she couldn’t help smiling in response.

“I wouldn’t mind eating,” she said, nodding slightly.

“Great. You’ll have dinner with me and we’ll discuss everything further.”

She nodded again.

No harm in that, right?

Suddenly, his gaze started making her uncomfortable. What was going on in his head?

Did he ever blink?

“Um, I’d like to freshen up beforehand, if I may? I’ve just been running around all day, and it’s like everything’s settling on my skin now that things have slowed down.”

“Of course! The bathroom’s just there,” he said with a nod of his head toward the slightly open door on the right, deep inside the room. “Feel free to do whatever you have to do, then meet me in the dining room at seven sharp.”

She nodded.

He looked at his watch.

“That gives you half an hour. Is that enough time?”

“Yes, sure.”

“And you remember where the dining room is, of course?”

She nodded again.

“Perfect. I’ll see you soon.”

Not soon enough
, she found herself thinking.

She couldn’t help checking out his firm butt in his slacks as he walked away.

N
aomi tried not
to stare at Kevin as she approached the ten-seat table.

He sat at the head of it, and he looked as if he had freshened up himself, his hair appearing a bit damp from a shower.

He now wore a more casual white dress shirt, slightly open at the chest, and suddenly, her eyes refused to stop going to the hint of tanned, muscled chest winking at her from the opening.

Only when she heard his voice rumble in her direction was she able to look up at his face.

“I’m sorry?” she said, feeling her cheeks flush with heat as embarrassment flooded her.

No doubt he had caught her checking him out, and she had no way to play it off.

He smiled briefly, and she was relieved to see the familiar twinkle in his eyes.

He was surely laughing at her.

“I said, feel free to sit here,” he said, indicating the chair immediately to his right.

She realized in horror that she would be just two feet away from him, and she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to pretend his hard, broad chest wasn’t pulling at her eyes.

Maybe she’d simply get lost in his handsome, chiseled face instead; she didn’t need an explanation for looking into that.

Then again, his piercing gray eyes would probably be her undoing.

And damn him—she could already smell his heady cologne from where she was.

She tried to take a discreet deep breath as she stood to move.

Why had she agreed to this whole thing again?

She shouldn’t be feeling this way about her boss, and she knew he was trouble the moment she realized how attractive he was while she was staring daggers at him for daring to reproach her for a sidewalk slip-up.

And she wasn’t exactly doing the greatest job of hiding her attraction.

What if he decided it was too much?

Despite his amusement at her wayward eyes, would he eventually fire her for being inappropriate, ogling him like she wanted to jump his bones? Or did he get off on it? Had he deliberately exposed himself to her a little just to mess with her head? If so, what kind of game was he playing? Was this some sort of test?

She sat down in the suggested seat, keeping her eyes on the table.

“What is this made of?” she asked as she registered the wood, and she was glad she managed to sound like she was actually interested.

“Cherry, laurel burl veneers, various other hardwood solids.”

She wondered if she was supposed to raise her eyebrows and nod as if she knew anything about furniture materials and the worth of this or that.

She gave no reaction, only nodding a little as if she’d processed his words, still staring at it.

“Naomi, are you sure you’re comfortable here?”

His voice seemed deeper, more penetrating somehow.

It had the quality of a finger lifting a downcast chin and made her eyes snap to his.

“Yes, very much so. I’m truly grateful for this opportunity, Mr. Davenport, and I appreciate how…humanely your workers are treated.”

He burst into laughter then.

“Did you expect a sweat shop of some sort?”

“No, I just mean—they have a lot of benefits I didn’t expect; I don’t think it’s normal for all their needs to be taken care of so thoroughly. Like, I know someone who works for a rich family, but she doesn’t get to live with them, much less have them feed her breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Your workers are well-taken care of, it seems, in every possible way.”

He nodded. “Everything you’ve seen extends to you, Naomi. Anything you need, let me know and I’ll take care of it.”

She had to look away again; she swore she heard something in his tone.

Was it her suddenly-filthy mind again?

Why had her thoughts rapidly plunged into the gutter? What was wrong with her?

But she already knew—the clean, masculine smell of him on top of the way he was sculpted like some god and spoke to her in such rich, almost caring tones was unraveling her.

It wasn’t fair that a guy of his means got to look and smell that good, that his eyes were such whirlpools of silver electricity, that his voice seemed to physically caress her.

How did anyone work around him without wanting to…?

She stopped herself.

Thank goodness she didn’t have to work too closely with him—bringing him coffee every now and then she could handle.

She momentarily wondered if what was happening now was routine—did all new workers have a one-on-one with him after their first day?

“So tell me about your ultimate goals, Naomi. I know this job is a temporary position for you. A stepping stone, if you will. Where do you see yourself eventually?”

Naomi felt jarred back to reality.

“Excuse me?”

“What is it you dream of in life? What are your ambitions?”

She had to stop and think; she had never really thought about anything like that in detail before.

And what was it he expected of her exactly? To say that she planned to run a multi-million-dollar corporation one day? To establish a line of bakeries?

“I’m afraid I don’t really know how to answer that,” she said truthfully.

“It’s a simple question, Naomi,” he said somewhat curtly.

“Simple for you, I’m sure,” she bit back before she could stop the words.

She regretted it immediately, even though she had to fight hard not to say the rest of what she wanted to say.

But she’d seen enough on her tour—it didn’t look like he had to work to get where he was; his family had clearly always been rich.

What would he know of having to fight for anything? About having to work hard for the most basic necessities? Had he ever had to choose between a week of groceries and a car repair?

His eyes burned briefly at her outburst but remained on her, unblinking, while he remained silent, still waiting for her answer.

What the hell was she supposed to say to him?

She didn’t want to look unambitious, but she never quite had the luxury of dreaming beyond the next minute.

For the most part, her goals had always been simple: get a job, find a place to live both she and Jenna were fairly happy with, get a better job, convince Jenna not to sell her soul, find her sister…

But surely there was an old dream she could pull out from somewhere?

To her dismay, she couldn’t find one.

“Please don’t think any less of me, Mr. Davenport…”

“I told you to call me Kevin.”

“If you don’t mind, the formal address is more comfortable for me.”

He nodded his agreement and waited for her to continue.

“My goals have always been pretty basic: keep a roof over my head. Food in my stomach. Stay alive. I just want to keep myself afloat.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t want anything, Naomi.”

“It’s not that. It’s just that my deepest needs are all kind of interpersonal. Relationships are most important to me, I guess, and it’s because of the way I grew up. I never had parents or anything—some foster parents, sure, but I’ve never had any constants my whole life. My roommate, Jenna, is the closest thing. So I’d like to maintain that friendship, if I can, for example. That’s one of my goals.”

Was it really? Hadn’t she sort of written Jenna off already?

“And I want to find my sister. She and I got separated as kids, and I’d like to reconnect with her.”

When she looked at him, she saw the remnants of compassion, then watched it slowly turn into skepticism.

“So you’re saying you don’t want anything more material out of life? No fantasy to fulfill?”

“Look, I know there are all sorts of talented people born under various conditions, and how you begin doesn’t necessarily determine how you’ll end up. Right now, one of the world’s greatest pop stars of the future is probably being born in a slum somewhere. But I’m not a painter, can’t sing to save my life, and I certainly don’t have any inclination for sports…”

“It’s not always about talent, Naomi—some of the most talented folks in any of those fields you mentioned are not nearly as successful as their less talented, but more ambitious counterparts.”

“I know that, and I’m not saying being born talentless means I’m doomed to a boring, unambitious life. I know it’s usually the most driven ones who are left standing, regardless of how little talent they might have for the thing they’re actually pursuing. But even that relentless drive, that…gumption is a sort of talent. I’d argue that it’s something people are born with, even if some only get it activated later in life after external events force them to. But there’s a reason so many people are happy living simply; we all might have one—or even a few—things we can do pretty well, but most people aren’t spectacularly talented one way or the other, and generally, you don’t need to be to get by. And that’s what most people are okay with—just getting by. As lame as it sounds, that’s all I’m trying to do: get by. I’ve pretty much only had me to look out for me, Mr. Davenport, and if I don’t do it, no one else will. Therefore, I’m not striving for anything but to survive.”

He shook his head.

“I don’t believe you, Naomi; I don’t believe that’s all you want at all.”

What the hell was he getting at? And who did he think he was to tell her who she was or what she did or didn’t want?

“I believe you’re just afraid to want more because you don’t think you’ll actually get it. You don’t want to set yourself up for disappointment. And boy, you must have had plenty to bring you to this point—to the point where you can no longer even dare to hope.”

She almost stormed from the table right then, but remembered her rudeness earlier and didn’t want to push her luck.

“I know it’s probably hard to imagine, but I prefer to live simply: little drama, daily routine, predictability.”

Finally, she thought of something that might get him off her back.

“I guess outside of the basics, I imagine living as most other people—settling down into a family life eventually.”

His face finally relaxed a bit again.

“So you want to be a wife and mom. See now, that’s something.”

Was he being sarcastic?

“Don’t say it like that, and I certainly don’t mean anytime soon. My life, as it is right now, is nowhere near appropriate for introducing another person into it.”

He stared at her for a few more silent, uncomfortable moments, and she was glad when the eye contact was broken by dessert being set down before them.

“You’re a caretaker,” he said finally, just as she took a bite of the chocolate mint bar.

“What do you mean?”

“You said you like to nurture relationships.”

She shrugged. “I guess so.”

She hoped her sudden agreeability made him drop it because he was getting to close to her deepest yearning, simple as it was.

I just really want a home
, she hadn’t told him. More than anything, she wanted somewhere to belong.

But there was no way she’d say that out loud.

Thankfully, he let the matter drop.

She took two more bites of the dessert, then put down her fork.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to get settled in my new quarters now.”

He raised his eyebrows and she fully expected him to tell her she can leave when he gave her permission to.

Instead, he said, “Of course! I appreciate you spending some of your off time with me. I look forward to getting to know you better, Naomi. I’ll try not to pry too much, but we’ll be working so closely together, you’ll have to forgive me if I overstep.”

Confusion filled her.

Why was he being so nice to her?

He was in the position to scold her, exert his authority over her, leave her vulnerable by firing her on the spot and shipping her back home. He didn’t have to deal with her issues and snappy mouth at all!

She was one hundred percent replaceable in an instant—no doubt there were tens of thousands of young girls more qualified and certainly more agreeable who could take her place.

But he was letting her get away with all sorts of insolence. Why?

Why was he being so tolerant?

He had to be up to something.

She softened her tone.

“I appreciate you inviting me to dinner tonight, Mr. Davenport. The food was better than anything I’ve ever had, and I look forward to working with you more.”

He smiled, and everything in her instantly melted.

She looked away and stood quickly, ready to take off like a bat out of hell.

She started walking away, and she was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn’t realize his footsteps had been behind her until she arrived at the threshold of her new bedroom’s door.

She expected his steps to continue past her room, but instead, as she started unzipping her luggage to unpack and settle in, she felt a pair of eyes burning into her back.

She turned and saw Mr. Davenport’s tall, muscular frame filling her doorway and paused what she was doing, the energy emanating from him and the directness of his gaze unsettling her.

She couldn’t put her finger on what she saw, but he looked intense.

Then, before she could even think of what to say to him, the corner of his mouth turned up, softening his look, then he was gone.