The Billionaire's Assistant (BWWM Romance - Excerpt Only)

Chapter 3 - Naomi

Naomi 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 the luxury of finding out just then, and she had few choices: 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.

* * *

Naomi 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 that he was probably among that clientele, and although she looked nothing like a 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.