The Billionaire's Assistant (Contemporary BWWM Interracial Romance) (The Billionaire's Proposition Book 1) by Rose Francis Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rose Francis
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
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
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