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The Billionaire’s Proposal

Copyrighted Material

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. This work is for adult audiences.

Copyright © 2018 by Olivia Saxton

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without the written permission of the author; except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Smashwords Edition

Table of Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-one

Chapter Forty-two

Chapter Forty-three

Chapter Forty-four

Chapter Forty-five

Chapter Forty-six

Chapter Forty-seven

Chapter Forty-eight

Chapter Forty-nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-one

Chapter Fifty-two

Chapter Fifty-three

Chapter Fifty-four

Chapter Fifty-five

Chapter Fifty-six

Chapter Fifty-seven

Chapter Fifty-eight

Chapter Fifty-nine

Chapter Sixty


Thank You


It was Sunday morning. Yvonne Moore walked off the private elevator and stepped into her boss’s Manhattan penthouse. For the exception of her boss and his maid, she was the only one who had a key to the elevator that allowed it to go to the top floor.

Yvonne surveyed the living room. Everything was white. The view through the large windows was spectacular. The living room wasn’t a mess, but she was sure the bedroom was judging from the message her boss left on her voicemail.

She opened one of the double doors to the master bedroom. She walked into the room like she has every other Sunday morning for the past ten years. Three empty champagne bottles were on the floor. A tray of dried fruit was on the white marble nightstand. The scene wasn’t as bad as she first thought.

Yvonne rounded the bed. A girl with long blonde hair was sound asleep in the round bed. The white silk sheet covered her bottom. Yvonne prayed to herself that this wouldn’t be unpleasant and cleared her throat.

The blonde kept snoring away.

She pushed her thick dark-framed glasses up on her nose. “Good morning, Amanda!” Yvonne yelled.

The blonde’s body jerked. She quickly flipped on her back in the bed. Her pale breasts were exposed. Yvonne refrained from turning her nose up at the blonde’s little boobs.

“What the-? Who are you?” Amanda asked with confusion.

“I’m Mr. Michelson’s assistant, Amanda,” Yvonne answered in a professional tone.

“Where’s Calvin?” Amanda asked with a furrowed brow. She pulled the sheet over her breasts.

Yvonne was grateful that Amanda covered herself. Some of Mr. Michelson’s one night stands didn’t bother covering up at all when she had come in. “He had to fly to London this morning for an early meeting on Monday,” Yvonne answered. “I took the liberty of having your clothes cleaned.” Yvonne laid the laundry bag on the bed.

“Uh, thanks,” Amanda mumbled.

“If you have a hangover, there’s aspirin in the bathroom. You’re also welcome to shower before you get dressed.”

Amanda just stared at her.

“Please be out of the penthouse in one hour. The maid will be here by then,” Yvonne said. She turned around and left the bedroom. She closed the door behind her.

Chapter 1

It was Wednesday morning when Calvin Michelson was riding in the back of his stretch limo through New York traffic. There was an accident two blocks up that was blocking traffic. He was glad that he didn’t have a meeting to get to. He had arrived back from London on Tuesday night. He was still feeling the jet lag, but he had to go in today. The end-of-year reports have been turned in by all the department heads, and he had to review them to make sure they were correct by Friday so the statements could go out to the stockholders.

Calvin had inherited the family’s investment firm after his father died of a heart attack. It’s not like his father had a choice. Calvin’s older brother, David, was killed in 9/11. He was in Tower 6 when it came down. Calvin and David were supposed to inherit the brokerage firm and run it together, but since David was killed Calvin was his father’s only heir.

The thought made Calvin whence because it led him to a problem that he was putting off solving. He was thirty-eight years old, and he had no heirs. Plus, his mother had no grandchildren. She whined about not having grandchildren every time they spoke. Calvin would have gotten married a few years ago if he could have found someone suitable.

Michelson Investments was an eight billion dollar company. Calvin alone was worth two billion dollars. He had to be careful who he let into his life. There were more gold diggers now than there ever were. A costly divorce wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to a wealthy man. One of Calvin’s frat buddies from Harvard was murdered by his wife because she had fallen in love with her trainer. She refused to divorce him outright because she had signed a prenup. They had found the poor sap dead in his pool. He drowned, but not by accident. The trainer had drowned him, and the wife helped cover it up. Luckily, the cops figured it out, and the wife and trainer got sent to prison, but the husband was still dead.

“Traffic is finally moving again, sir,” his driver said.

Calvin breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God for small favors, Bobby.”

“Indeed, sir,” Bobby said with a half a smile.

Bobby had been the family driver since Calvin was sixteen. When Bobby first started driving for the family, his afro and mustache were black as midnight. Now, his hair was white and black. His mustache had some hints of white, but not much. He was a good man and very dependable. Several years ago, Calvin had come out of a restaurant, and his car had been stolen. After he had called the police, he had called Bobby to come to pick him up. Despite the fact that it was his day off, Bobby came without argument.

Calvin’s mind traveled to his single status again. He wouldn’t mind being a father. At least he thought he wouldn’t. He was always indifferent to the idea of marriage and children. He knew it was his duty to continue the family name, but he loved being a free man. If he wanted a woman, hell, he had his pick for the evening or the weekend. No one nagging him about drinking too much or not being home for dinner. But, if he didn’t marry and have children his idiot cousin would inherit the family fortune. He couldn’t let that happen. Everything his grandfather and father worked for would be pissed away on hookers and cocaine. The firm’s 1208 employees would be out on the street because his cousin would run the business into the ground.

The limo turned right. He was only a mile away from the firm. Calvin couldn’t stand the empty-headed debutantes that were groomed to be trophy wives. If the subject wasn’t about fashion, food, or travel they didn’t have anything to talk about. They had the phoniest personalities as well. Yet at the same time, Calvin couldn’t court and marry the women he met in bars and from the entertainment service he used. They were definitely gold diggers; he didn’t care how beautiful they were. He couldn’t trust them as far as he could throw them.

His mother had always suggested Catherine Van Dyke as a wife. Catherine wasn’t an empty-headed debutante, and she was a partner at her father’s law firm. Calvin had spoken to her many times at social events and parties. He enjoyed the conversations, but she was so plain in appearance. Her breasts were just - there. They didn’t even move when she breathed. Catherine always wore black to an event. He didn’t know why and he didn’t care enough to ask. Her body didn’t have any shape, and her ass was flat. He could probably screw her if he concentrated hard enough, but he didn’t want to marry someone he wasn’t physically attracted, too. If he had to have children, he wanted to have fun making them at least.

The limo swerved into a space outside of the firm’s building.

“You don’t have to get the door, Bobby,” Calvin said. “I got it. Go home. I’ll see you at five.”

“Yes, sir,” Bobby said. “Have a good day.”

“Thanks,” Calvin said and opened the limo door. The cold wind blew his dark hair as he closed the limo door. He jogged through the revolving door of the building.

“Good morning, Mr. Michelson,” the redhead receptionist said.

“Morning,” he mumbled. She’s been working at the firm for four years, and Calvin still didn’t know her name.

He headed for the elevator. The doors closed. He pushed the button for the twentieth floor. His office was the only one on the twentieth floor along with a conference room and an apartment. He used the apartment when he had to work late and didn’t feel like going to his penthouse or to his home outside of the city. The only person he could stand to share the space with was his assistant. She was intelligent, efficient, dependable, and sexy. Of course, he never crossed the line with her. The only reason he hadn’t was because he didn’t want to screw up his professional relationship with her. Calvin made that mistake with his last secretary ten years ago. When he wouldn’t commit to her, she had sued for sexual harassment. He had his lawyer pay her off to make her go away and for her not to spill her guts to the newspapers and magazines.

The elevator dinged. He was on the nineteenth floor. “Oh, good morning, Mr. Michelson,” the black woman said.

“Good morning,” he said. Calvin didn’t know her name either, but she was cute. He had seen her several times. She was light skinned with a cute button nose and short dark hair that was curled on the ends. “What floor are you going, too?”

“Twenty,” she said with a shy smile.

“Oh,” he said as the elevator doors closed.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “I have some paperwork to give to your assistant.”

“Ah,” he said. “I hope it isn’t something I have to look at later. I got enough paperwork to go through this week as it is,” he said with a small smile.

She grinned. “I don’t think so, sir. They are just spreadsheets for your assistant to look over from last week’s trading.”

Calvin nodded. Those usually were looked over by accounting. He got a copy for research purposes in case the computer system goes down.

The elevator chimed, and the doors opened.

“After you,” Calvin said and waved his hand towards the door.

She bashfully looked down. “Thank you, sir.” She walked out of the elevator.

Calvin followed her. She had a little frame, but she had a cute little ass. He rushed beside her and opened the glass doors for her.

“Thanks again,” she whispered.

“Not a problem,” he said with a small smile.

She walked into his assistant’s large office space. Calvin followed.

“Hi, Yvonne,” the cute girl said. “Here are the hard copies for the trading spreadsheets.”

“Thanks, Toni,” Yvonne said.

Damn it. Yvonne was wearing the purple suit today. The purple suit that hugged her hips and ass. The suit that stopped mid-thigh. The outfit that when she bent over, he could see the top of her stockings. The outfit that when she reached up high, he could see the back of her strong brown thighs. The purple suit that made his dick hard every single time. He couldn’t be distracted by her body today he had work to do.

“You want to have lunch today?” the cute girl asked.

“Sure,” Yvonne said.

“I’ll meet you at one in the cafeteria,” the cute girl said.

“Okay,” Yvonne said.

“Goodbye, Mr. Michelson,” the cute girl said.

“Goodbye,” Calvin said.

The cute girl walked out of the glass doors.

“You finally made it out of traffic,” Yvonne said.

“Yes,” he mumbled. He looked down at her desk. Mistake. He had forgotten how her breasts looked in the suit, too. “Um, do I have any mail I need to look at?”

“Just some invoices you need to sign off on before I send them to accounting, but they can wait until after you review the end-of-year reports,” she said.

“Good.” He turned to go to his office.

“By the way, I reviewed them myself since you only have three days to go over them,” she said. “I placed the ones that I thought looked incorrect on top. I marked the items that I thought were wrong in those reports as well.”

He smiled as he turned to look at her. He should have known she would try to make the end-of-year report’s task easier for him. “Thanks, Yvonne.”

Yvonne pushed her glasses up on her nose. “Yes, sir,” she said with a half-smile.

Chapter 2

It was two o’clock. Thanks to Yvonne, Calvin breezed through half the reports already. She had an eye for detail. What she marked was questionable, and he made notes and sent the reports back to the brokers to be rechecked.

Calvin stood up and stretched. He knew he shouldn’t do it, but what the hell. He deserved a real break. He walked across the office to the bookshelf. He pulled several books off the bottom shelf and placed them on the table. Then, he pulled some more books off the second to last shelf. He pulled three books off the middle shelf so it wouldn’t look obvious. Then, he reached up and pulled a few books off the shelf above.

He strode back to his desk. Calvin was about to pull what he always pulled when Yvonne wore a suit she looked sexy as all hell in. He hit the intercom button on his phone. “Yvonne, can you come here, please?”

“I’ll be right in, Mr. Michelson,” she said and clicked off.

He sat down at his desk and acted like he was making notes on a legal pad.

She opened the door. She was holding a steno pad and pen. Yvonne was always at the ready.

“I know you’re not my maid, but do you mind putting those books away,” he asked as he nodded towards the stack of books.

She smiled. “I don’t mind at all, sir.”

God, she had an intriguing smile. Her teeth were perfectly straight and white.

Calvin watched her hips switch over to the bookcase. He licked his lips as she started bending over to put the books away. His manhood twitched with interest. A smile spread across his lips as he got a peak of the black lace on her thigh highs.

An hour later, Calvin had finished reviewing two more reports, and he needed another break. He loosened his tie and pulled it off. He unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt. Calvin pressed the intercom button. “Yvonne, can you come in here, please?”

“Yes, sir,” Yvonne said and clicked off.

She was in the office in seconds with her little steno pad and pen. She closed the door.

“Yvonne, if you don’t mind, can you give me one of your massages? My neck and back are aching from leaning over these reports,” he said as he stood up.

She smiled. “Of course, I don’t mind, sir.”

Calvin rounded the desk. She put her pad and pen down on the table. Calvin pulled out a chair and sat backward in it, resting his arms on the back of the chair.

Her fingers eased onto his neck.

“Get under my collar,” he said.

Her soft fingers slipped under his collar to the skin of his neck. Yvonne’s thumbs rubbed the back of his neck.

“A little harder,” he said in a low tone.

She pressed deeper.

He groaned. Calvin knew he was a cad for pulling this on her, but he couldn’t help it. He loved seeing her in that purple suit. He loved being around her when she was in it. And she gave the best massages. Calvin would never forget the first one he got from her.

It was during the crash of 2008. His was a senior associated then, and his father was CEO and president. His office was on the nineteenth floor, and Yvonne had only been his secretary for a year. Calvin was about to pull his hair out. His father had gone outside to speak to the press. He was assuring them that Michelson Investments was solid and was not going under. There weren’t going under. They hadn’t overextended themselves in the mortgage market because his father knew that those low-interest loans weren’t going to last forever. His father had also known that those interest-only loans were a bad deal. If a broker or a bank got caught with too many of them, they would be ruined. Nevertheless, Michelson Investments took a hit, and their clients were blowing the phones up all over the building.

Yvonne took pity on Calvin’s stress and offered to give him a massage. He was so stressed out he didn’t even think about saying no. Any other woman would have sued him later for harassment or inappropriate behavior, but not Yvonne. She had rubbed and massaged his neck and back as she spoke words of encouragement and hope. After she was done, he had felt a lot better.

When he had ascended to the top spot after his father died, he wouldn’t have anyone else be his assistant. Calvin had fired, Bonnie, the woman who had assisted his father for twenty years so Yvonne could have her job. Bonnie wasn’t happy about it, and she had let him know it. And Calvin had let her know that was what happened to mistresses after they weren’t needed anymore. Her head had snapped back like she was hit. Bonnie had no idea that he knew. He had said that if she left quietly and not talk to the papers, she would get a generous severance pay; which was more than she deserved since she was the reason why his mother cried at night. Once Bonnie got the check, Calvin never heard from her again.

He let Yvonne rub and massage his back and neck as she softly spoke to him. She expressed how he didn’t have that many more reports to go. She complimented him on how hard he works, and it pays off in his life and the life of his employees. But, it was the last compliment that made his dick throb with want.

“Mr. Michelson, you are the smartest guy I have ever known, and you’ll probably knock those reports out by early Thursday morning,” she whispered.

He fought the urge to growl with hunger. “Mmm, Yvonne...I-.”

“Yes?” she said softly.

I want you to bend over the desk, so I can make you feel as good as you’re making me feel right now.

“I’m good, now, Yvonne. Thank you,” he groaned.

Her hands slowly slid off his back.

Calvin missed her touch already.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Michelson?” she whispered.

Yes, lift your skirt.

He slowly got up. “That’s all, Yvonne,” he said huskily. He turned around to look into her big dark eyes. They were full of wonder and questions. “I’m going to take a shower after that lovely massage you just gave me.” He walked out of the office before he decided to kiss those pouty lips of hers.

Once Calvin was in the hallway, he practically ran down the hall to the apartment before the vision, and the sensation of her touch disappeared. He bolted into the apartment, letting the door close behind him. He unbuttoned and whipped off his shirt. He quickly slammed the shirt on the carpet. He strode to the bathroom as he unbuckled his slacks. Calvin let his pants drop to his ankles as he grabbed a small bottle of body oil. His hands pushed down his silk boxers. They joined his pants. Calvin twisted the top off the oil, put a generous amount of it in his hand, and immediately started stroking this throbbing erection. He leaned back against the bathroom wall as he closed his eyes.

He imagined Yvonne slowly unbuttoning her purple suit. She still had her glasses on. Her milk chocolate skin was exposed to him. She let the suit fall off her body around her feet. Her soft manicured hands rubbed the sides of her large breasts. Calvin kept stroking himself as he imagined her smiling as she reached behind her. She was going to unfasten her lacey black bra. Calvin grinned as he quickened his stroking.

Chapter 3

He had taken a shower after his afternoon self-pleasure and put on a fresh suit. By the time Calvin came out of the apartment, Yvonne had left for the day. Thank goodness. He couldn’t bear to see her in that suit again. If he had, his groin would have exploded.

Calvin sat behind his desk. He leaned back in the large brown leather chair. He was too relaxed to continue reading the last ten reports. He was sure they were fine since Yvonne had already reviewed them. He saw two pink message slips on his desk. Calvin picked them up. One was from his mother. She was currently in the south of France at the family villa with his cousin. The note said to please call his mother when he got the chance. The other message was from his French actress paramour, Arabella Couture. It said that she hoped he could still make it to her Broadway show Saturday and to give her a call when he got a chance.

He hadn’t talked to or seen Arabella for nine days. She was busy with rehearsals, and he was busy with the business deal he had going in London. The end-of-year reports were almost done, and the London deal was complete. All he had to do was wait for the firm’s legal team to go over the contracts so he could sign them. Calvin supposed that he should go to Arabella’s opening night of her new show. He had rented a box for the whole year because of her.

Calvin picked up the phone. He dialed the number on the slip.

“Bonjour,” Arabella answered softly.

“Hi, I got your message,” Calvin said.

“Calvin,” she purred. “Can you come on Saturday?”

“I can,” he confirmed.

“Merveillleux,” she said happily.

“How are you? I’m sorry I haven’t seen much of you lately.”

“I'm fine. I guess we both work too hard,” Arabella said in her thick French accent.

“With that being said, I have to go. I need to call my mother, too.”

“Okay. Give the dear two kisses from me,” Arabella said.

He chuckled. His mother detested Arabella. His mother really didn’t know Arabella that well to despise her. Calvin had chopped it up to jealousy. “I will. See you on Saturday.”

“Au revoir, amant,” she said sweetly.

“Au revoir,” he said and hung up the phone.

He leaned back in his chair. If he married Arabella, his mother would come around as soon as Arabella provide her a grandchild. He had considered Arabella as a wife, but she was so self-involved. Hell, Arabella was so self-involved and conceited that she has admitted that she would make a terrible wife and mother. Nah, Arabella was strictly mistress and secret lover material. Not that Calvin wanted more than that when he first met her eighteen months ago in France. He had enjoyed her company so much in France that he called a Broadway director and said if he put Arabella in one of his shows he would finance it. Of course, the director had jumped at the chance. Arabella had proven to be quite the actress. Another director had approached her to be the star in the next show he was doing. Calvin might have opened a door for Arabella, but she had taken advantage of the opportunity and made a career for herself. Arabella stayed in the penthouse he owned on the Upper East Side. It was actually a rental property, but it was vacant when Arabella came to the states for her Broadway debut. Calvin moved her in it. He pays the utilities for her and gives her a small monthly allowance to buy what she needed.

Calvin snorted. Arabella was a well taken care of paramour that was for damn sure. The girls he kept longer than one night in the past didn’t receive the benefits that she did.

He picked up the phone again. He dialed the number to the family villa.

It rang four times before someone answered. “Bonjuer,” the maid answered.

“Bonjuer, Ines. C’est Calvin. I vous appellee pour ma mere,” he said in French.

“Oui. J’irai a lui,” she said.

Calvin patiently waited for his mother to get on the phone. It was about 9:30 at night over there now. He knew his mother was still awake.

“Calvin,” his mother chimed.

“Hi, Mom,” he said with a smile. “Is everything all right?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “I just wanted to check in. We haven’t spoken in two weeks.”

“I know. I’ve been busy. Oh, Arabella sends kisses. One for each one of your cheeks.”

“I got cheeks she can kiss, all right,” she sneered.

Calvin barked his laughter. “Be nice.”

“Ugh,” she groaned. “I swear if you marry her I will disown you. Only living son or not.”

He chuckled. “She’s sweet.”

“She’s a gold digger,” his mother countered.

“No, she’s not. She’s high maintenance, like you,” he joked.

“Ha,” she said haughtily. “When are you going to get serious about finding a real bride?”

“Believe it or not, Mom, I am planning to start the search after the statements to the stockholders are mailed.”

“Really? You’re not pulling my leg are you?” she asked with a hint of desperation.

“Yes, really,” he assured her.

“Catherine Van Dyke is still available. I just spoke to her mother last week. Call her for a date.”

“No way. I crossed her off the list three months ago. Catherine is smart, but she’s not my type.”

His mother let out an exasperated breath. “Well, I guess there still are plenty of girls in New York.”

“Be patient, Mom. Marriage is serious business, and I want to take my time. I don’t want to make a mistake. It is for life, after all. Plus, it will take time to find a woman who is willing to put up with me.”

His mother laughed. “Don’t I know it. I don’t know how Yvonne has put up with you for all these years. If you’re not motivated by giving me a grandchild, think about how Yvonne’s life will be made easier once you marry. She’s your maid, assistant, therapist, and personal shopper. It’s probably your fault that the poor girl isn’t married herself. She’s too busy taking care of you. Probably soured her on men in general.”

Yvonne? He thought for a moment. His mother was right. Yvonne took care of all the dirty tasks that he didn’t want to deal with. During his years as a senior executive he would have wild parties and get sloppy drunk, and Yvonne was the one that cleaned up after him. She had also covered for him with his dad if Calvin was late or too hung over to be at a meeting. Yvonne would listen patiently when he ranted and raved about something and didn’t judge him for the sudden outburst. She does shop for him most of the time. Hell, she even knew what size underwear he wore. Plus, she had a body that made him want to howl at the moon. Yvonne. The obvious choice was under his nose the whole time.

“Son? Are you still there?” his mother asked tentatively.

His mother’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Oh yeah,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Calvin. I was only joshing. I’m sure you’re not the reason Yvonne is single. “

“Actually, I am,” he said bluntly.

“What? What do mean?” she asked with confusion.

He grinned. “Mom, have I ever told you how brilliant you are?”

“No,” she said with surprise.

“You’re brilliant, Mom. You’re an absolute genius!”

“Um, thank you, but what did I-?”

“I’m not sure, yet. I need to think about some more, but I love the idea,” he said with excitement.

“What idea-?”

“Mom, I have to plan this out, so I have to go. Tell that no good nephew of yours that he needs to start looking for a job,” Calvin said and hung. “Because I’m going to have a wife and heir soon and his sorry ass won’t be needed anymore,” he said with excitement.

Chapter 4

Calvin had stayed at the office late to finish reviewing the reports. He wanted the task done so he could get to the next order of business on Thursday. Yvonne had Friday off, and he wanted to speak to her before the weekend. If she agreed, which he couldn’t imagine why she wouldn’t, he could get his lawyer to draw up an agreement by Monday and get Yvonne an engagement ring over the weekend.

He walked through the glass doors with a purpose on Thursday morning. He stopped dead in his tracks. She stood in front of her desk making notes on her steno pad. Yvonne had on a short and tight red skirt. The matching top had long sleeves that showed off her cleavage. She was wearing red stilettos. She had never worn it before. Yvonne had on her signature dark-framed glasses, and her hair was in a bun with long bangs in the front as usual.

She looked up at him. “Good morning, Mr. Michelson,” she said in a light, yet profession tone.

“Morning,” he mumbled and slowly started walking towards her. “Is that a new outfit?”

Her dark eyebrows arched. “Well, yes it is. My sister gave it to me for Christmas.”

“You look….lovely in it,” he stumbled. He almost said she looked sexy in it.

“I do?”

“Yes, it’s very becoming,” he admitted.

She swayed her head to the side. “Oh, thank you,” she said with a shy smile.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “And here is my thank you for your help yesterday.” He gave her one of the coffee cups he was holding.

She slowly took it from him. Her fingers grazed the back of his. Calvin’s skin tingled with delight at her touch.

“Hazelnut cappuccino with a splash of vanilla, right?” he said.

“Yes,” she said with surprise. “I can’t believe you remembered.”

“I didn't,” he admitted without shame. “I described you to the clerk, and he said that’s what you usually got.”

She laughed. She had a nice laugh. He wouldn’t mind hearing it all the time. “It’s the thought that counts. I appreciate it. By the way, I saw that you laid the reports on my desk this morning with your note. I took them down to the data entry personnel. They’ll have the statements done by the end of the day to be mailed out Friday afternoon.”

“I have no doubt they’ll go out on time. Since you’re off tomorrow-.”

“And next week,” she said.

“Next week?” he repeated.

“Yes. Remember, I put in the time three months ago? Since I had so much vacation time that rolled over to this year I would like to use them so I won’t lose them at the end of this year,” she said softly.

He smiled. She didn’t know that she won’t need to worry about that, but he didn’t want to spring it on her, yet. “Of course.”

“Unless you need me to-.”

“No, you deserve the time off,” he said.

And yes, I need you, he thought.

“I take it that you got someone from the temp pool for tomorrow and next week?”

“Yes, sir. I trained the temp while you were away in London.”

He smiled. “Good. Before you leave today, I would like to speak to you.”

Her face went blank. “I’m not in trouble, am I?”

Calvin smiled at her again. “Of course, not. I just need to discuss something important with you.”

“Okay,” she said.


It was 4:45 and Calvin hadn’t been this nervous since his first dance in prep-school. He had practiced his speech several times in his head, and he still wasn’t sure if it was right. He took off his suit jacket and placed it in his chair.

“Geez, Calvin, pull yourself together,” he said out loud. “She’s a woman. No different than any other woman.” He took two deep breaths. He was calm again.

He couldn’t understand why he was so nervous. This was a business deal that they would both benefit from. Calvin shook his head at his stupid behavior and pressed the intercom button. “Yvonne, if you have a moment, I would like to have that talk, now,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” she said softly and clicked off.

He walked around to the front of his desk. He sat down on the front edge of the desk.

The door slowly opened. Yvonne quietly entered with her steno pad and ballpoint pen.

He gave her a small smile. He gestured to the chair in front of him. “Sit down, Yvonne.”

She quietly sat down in the chair.

Calvin couldn’t help, but notice how her skirt rode up her thigh as she positioned herself in her chair. She crossed her legs. He cleared his throat. He had to sound serious if she was to take his proposal seriously.

“What is it?” she asked softly.

“I wanted to talk to you about your future, Yvonne. Our future,” he said.

“Our future?” she repeated.

“Yes. You’re intelligent, practical, efficient, and dependable,” he said. “Taking those things into account, you deserve more than being the hired help. Considering that and…. my current dilemma…. there is only one solution to our problem.” Hell, he was getting winded.

“Are you firing me?” she asked with a horrified expression.

“No,” he said quickly. “I’m…I’m trying to ask you to marry me.”

Her eyes widened. “What did you say?” she asked in a high-pitched voice.

“Yvonne, will you marry me?”

She was flabbergasted. Absolutely stunned. She stared at Calvin like he told her he was closing up shop and moving to Bolivia.

Then, Yvonne did something. He had expected shock, surprise, possibly her feeling insulted, but what she actually did at that moment shocked him. The last reaction he had expected was her doubling over in the chair with laughter.

Chapter 5

Yvonne had tears in her eyes as she tried to get a hold of herself. Hell, she thought he was transferring her to another department so he could hire some trap that was willing to screw him in the office. She had no idea that he was making such a big deal out of “a talk” to prank her. She sucked air in her lungs as she looked up at him.

The boss’s eyebrow was cocked up. He looked confused like he didn’t know what was so amusing.

Yvonne loudly cleared her throat. “That was good, sir,” she said as she struggled to gather her composure. “Now, that we have the…joke out of the way, perhaps you should tell me what you need to speak to me about.”

“That…is what I need to speak to you about,” he said slowly. “This is not a joke, Yvonne. I want you to be my wife.”

Her mouth dropped open as she released her pen and pad. The items hit the carpet as she gripped the arms of the brown leather chair. “You want…what?”

The corner of his mouth kicked up as he slid off his desk. He knelt down in the floor and picked up her pen and pad. He tossed them on his desk without looking back. The boss was next to her crossed legs. He gently placed his hand over one of hers that was gripping the arms of the chair. “I'm serious, Yvonne. I want you to be my wife. I know this is a shock. Let me explain. You see I’ve been on a semi-quest for the past few months for a wife,” he said smoothly. “I need a woman who is attractive, smart, who knows how to handle New York society, who is willing to have a child, and has the characteristics to be a good mother. After months of racking my brain about who that woman could be….I realized last night…thanks to a conversation with my mother….that woman is you.”

Her mouth was still open, but she could hardly breathe. “I…I see. Your mother recommended me?” she asked with a shaky voice.

“Not exactly. She had mentioned her concern about your welfare last night to me over the phone. That’s when I realized that you were the perfect….woman to be my wife.”

“I…why me..I….you can have any woman you want….and do,” she stuttered.

He glanced down as he chuckled. “That’s my Yvonne. Always honest. Why not you? You obviously know me better than anyone else. You’re strong, healthy, trustworthy, and you’re the only woman that has stuck by me long term. Hell, you’re the only woman I have let stick with me for long-term. We’ve been together for ten years already. What do you say?”

“That was under a professional capacity,” she said breathlessly. “There’s a big difference in being your assistant and being your wife.”

“Just two small differences. We’ll live together, and …you will bear my child,” he said softly.

“Child? You want a baby?” she asked with shock. This man wasn’t marriage or father material. As much as she adored his boyish nature and sexy voice he was not marriage material.

“That is the reason I need to marry. Yvonne, I need a family. If I don’t have children, my jack ass cousin will inherit our grandfather’s legacy. Charles has no appreciation for what our grandfather or my father had worked for. He’ll just waste the family fortune on coke, booze, and women. He knows about stocks and bonds, but he knows nothing about running a business in general. Michelson Investments will cease to exist under Charles’s thumb. My mother is desperate for grandchildren, and I admit that I’m desperate to carry-on my grandfather and father's legacy.”

Yvonne realized at that moment that he was being more real than he had ever been with her in the past. She looked into his brown eyes. He didn’t look desperate, but he did look vulnerable. However, Yvonne had to be honest with him. “Mr. Michelson-.”

“Considering what we are talking about, you should call me Calvin,” he said.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

She couldn’t. If she did, it would make it real. It would make the feelings that she has hidden in her heart for five years real. “No, I cannot,” she whispered.

“It’s an order, Yvonne,” he said softly as he pried her hand from the arm of the chair.

“I….I understand your dilemma,” she choked out. “You speak of carrying on your family legacy. I suppose that is natural for a man to do. But-.” She looked down at her lap and shook her head.

“But?” he inquired as he placed her hand in his.

Oh God, he really is making this difficult.

“But, I’m an African American woman. I…I don’t belong in your world,” she spat out. “We’re different. Too different. Not only in color, but in class. I’m part of the middle working black class. That is different than the middle working white glass even. Your child will be half-black. I can trace my lineage back to the last generation of the Trans-Atlantic slave trade.”

“Look at me, Yvonne,” he said sternly.

She didn’t want too because he sounded pissed.

“Look at me,” he said a tad more softly.

She glanced over at him. The boss’s brown eyes were serious and intense. “Let me tell you something about the one percent. The true one percent. The billionaires, not the self-important millionaires. Deep down, they don’t care what color you are as long as you have the character and the money to be around them. I should know. I grew up around them.”

“Even if that’s true-.”

“I have too much respect for you to lie to you. You know that. If I didn’t respect and admire you I would have fucked you a couple of years ago and trust me you wouldn’t have said no while you were in my arms,” he said in a deep tone and with conviction. His eyes were serious, and his jaw was tight. He meant it. He wasn’t jiving her.

Her breath caught.

“And to make sure I am making myself crystal clear, I love how you look. You’re very pretty, and I think you will produce a beautiful child for us.”

“I…I…I…,” she stuttered. Hell, she couldn’t think. My god! Marriage! Him! Her! Her ears were ringing. “You don’t know me,” she whispered and looked away.

“I want, too,” he said huskily. He squeezed her hand.

“No….no you don’t,” she said. “After a year, you will be bored with me.”

“I’m a creative man, Yvonne. I’m sure I can keep both of us amused,” he said. His thumb started to stroke the back of her hand.

This was the first time he had touched her in five years. When she had given him massages in the past, her pussy always got wet with want. Yesterday, after she had given him a rub down, she had to run to the ladies’ room and take off her panties because they were soaking wet. She had never seen him without a shirt, but she could feel the taught and defined muscles on his back. Yvonne enjoyed doing it for him. Him groaning with pleasure because of her infused her with confidence and power. In those moments, she had imagined him wanting her as much as she wanted him. Like now, him caressing the back of her hand made her womanhood hot. “What about Arabella?” she asked too softly. She hated the weakness in her voice at that moment. It could reveal too much.

“I didn’t hear you, darling,” he mumbled as his thumb continued to stroke the back of her hand.

Darling? That was the first time he used a cutesy name with her. She had overheard him talk sensually to his girls in the past. But, he had never called them darling. Not as far as she knew. She cleared her throat and gently pulled her hand out of his. If she didn’t, she would do anything he wanted at that moment. This wasn’t the time to lose her mind. She had to gather her wits. “What about Arabella?” she asked more clearly. “She’s pretty, too. And talented. She speaks French, and so do you. God knows, she loves lavish living. She’s exotic enough for high society to take a positive interest in her, yet they won’t be intimidated by her.”

“I know, but the problem is she knows that, too. You’ve talked to her,” he said as he rested his wrist on the arm of the chair.

She gave him a slight smile. “I know she’s a little vain, but-.”

“A little? Ha,” he scoffed. “I like a woman with confidence, but not one that is full of herself. Not all the time anyway.”

“However, you keep her around, and I expect you would keep her around after we’re married – if I agree to this arrangement,” she said.

“All right,” he said. “I probably would keep her around for a little while longer. Would that bother you?”

Yvonne shrugged. Of course, it would bother her, but she knew him. The only time he kept a woman longer than a month was when said woman kept him entertained and amused. “No, you could do worse,” she said with a smirk.

He chuckled. “That’s another thing. Your wit. I really don’t think I’ll be bored with you. I think we can make it for the long haul.”

“Arabella is twenty-five. I’m thirty-five. The only reason you’re considering marriage is because you …need a child,” Yvonne stated.

“So? I’m thirty-eight. Nowadays women have babies in their forties. Sometimes fifties,” he stated.

“Fifties? Hell, not this woman,” she said without thinking.

He laughed. “No. Once we’re married, I’m hoping to conceive as soon as possible.”

“I see. So, you want to…do it yourself. Personally,” she said, hoping she wasn’t revealing her breathlessness.

He tilted his head at her. “Can you be clearer about your statement? What do you mean by doing it myself - personally?”

She bit her bottom lip from refraining to say what she wanted to say, and that was, you know good and damn well what I meant. She cleared her throat. “I meant….that you would want to….impregnate me yourself without us going to a clinic.”

He smiled. It was damn near devilish. “Yes,” he said without embarrassment. “I hate to sound cheap, but I’m not paying some egotistical doctor to plant my seed in you when I can damn well do it myself.”

Yvonne leaned back in the chair at his statement. Good Lord, could she handle him making love to her?

“Of course, you know I wouldn’t force you to have sex with me.”

“Oh, I know that,” she said quickly. He was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a monster. “But, I’m not a spring chicken either.”

“You’re healthy as far as I know,” he stated.

“For the exception of my lower back pain from time to time I am medically sound as far as I know,” she said.

He nodded.

The boss was aware of her lower back problems. Four years ago, her back gave out right in the office. She was doubled over in pain as she struggled to get out of the building to go to the hospital. Back pain ran in her family. Yvonne had hoped it wouldn’t hit her until she was in her fifties like it had with her mother. No such luck.

“I’ll take care of you and our child. I’ll provide for both of you without complaint,” he stated.

Judging from how he took care of Arabella’s expenses, Yvonne had no doubt she wouldn’t want for anything. Hell, he let Yvonne live in the company apartment building rent-free, he paid half the utilities and paid Yvonne a salary that made her one of the highest paid assistants in New York.

“What makes you think I’ll be a good mother?” she asked bluntly.

“Because you have practiced on me,” he said with a grin. “The first three years you worked for me, you nursed me through hangovers and cleaned up after me. After I finally matured, you helped me with the paperwork and stuck by me during the transition after my father died. You pick up and drop off my dry cleaning at the Hull Building. You take care of my bills. You have keys to my estate outside of the city, to the penthouse on the Upper East Side, and to my penthouse in the Hull Building. You have access to my personal and business checkbook. You charge things to my account. You shop for me. Hell, woman, you know what size clothes I wear. Truth is we’re married in every way, but name,” he said bluntly. “We both know that love is a useless and painful emotion. But, we do have mutual respect for each other, we get along, and we have good and insightful conversations outside of business.”

Yvonne had never thought of it that way before. “I guess in a way….I’m some sort of an unofficial wife to you.”

“That’s right,” he said quickly.

She recognized the eagerness in his eyes. She had seen it in the past when he was trying to close a deal. He was about to go in for the kill.

“I know I’m a cad, but I know how to be discrete. I would never embarrass you or our child. I also know that you deserve better than me, but we both know you could do worse. And like I said, I will provide for both of you without complaint and happily. As my wife, you’ll have use of the family jet, homes, and yacht. You won’t have to work anymore, but I insist that you train your replacement well,” he said with a mischievous smirk.

She couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“And my mother would be elated about having a grandchild so what do you say, Yvonne? Will you marry me?”

Her mouth opened. Instead of saying yes, she asked a question. “What if I want more than one child?” She wasn’t sure why she asked it. When she had turned thirty-two, she had lost hope on getting married and dismissed the idea of ever having children.

“How many do you want?” he asked.

“If…I agree to this,” she began.

“Uh huh,” he urged.

“We should have two. It won’t be fair to have one child and not give him a sibling. I don’t know what would have become of me if I didn’t have my sister when I was growing up,” she admitted.

He nodded. He looked like he understood. “I know what you mean. I don’t know how I would have survived without David during those first twenty-nine years of my life. I miss him, but I am grateful for the time we had together. You’ve convinced me. Two it is.”

She smiled as she looked down.

“So, do we have an agreement?” he asked with expectation on his face.

This was all happening so fast. She wasn’t even aware that he was thinking about marriage- to anybody. “I would like to have some time to think about it. Marriage – it’s a big step. I always said if I considered marriage I would never want to be divorced. That I would be sure.”

“I don’t want to be divorced either. That’s why I’ve been taking my time; considering every woman with a keen eye. And for the record, you are the first and only woman I have asked,” he said with conviction.

Her heart skipped a beat. “And you are the only man that has ever asked me to marry him – for the record,” she said in a low tone.

He smiled. “Wow. Men as a species really are fools.”

She bashfully turned her head. “What I’m saying is that I just want to think about it. Let it set in sort of speak. It is a big step.”

“The biggest. I know I hit you in the face with this. I understand, but I’m only willing to wait for so long,” he said with a mischievous smirk. “As you know, I’m not always patient, but I can make an exception for you, but only for so long.”

“A week,” she squeaked out. “Since I’ll be off, that will give me time to decompress and think about my life, my future.”

His upper lip turned up. “Uh, a week is a long time in my book. Is the thought of being married to me that hard to let set in?”

“No, but as you said….you can…be….you’re unique,” she said quickly.

He laughed. “How PC of you. All right, Yvonne. I’ll give a week. Exactly one week starting today. So I’ll expect a yes by next Thursday.”

“What if I say no?” she asked quickly.

He grinned. “You’re a lot of things, darling, but stupid isn’t one of them.”

Chapter 6

Five years earlier…

Yvonne was running on her foldable treadmill in her apartment that was located in one of the shittiest sections of the Bronx. She had to relieve her stress. Her Ford Taurus had broken down for the third time in three months. Luckily for her that this time it was in the Michelson Building’s parking garage. She had told the parking attendant. He was understanding and had said that no one would bother it until she came back with a tow truck. Unfortunately, she couldn’t afford to get it fixed again for some time. Until she was able to save a few hundred bucks, she had to leave it there and take the bus to work.

She hated taking the bus. All kinds of winos were on the bus. The mornings were fine. It was after five o’clock when the winos decided to ride the bus to leer at you or worse, tried to talk to you. But, what choice did she have?

Tonight, however, she had refused to take the bus. Yvonne had tried to hail a cab outside of the building. It was dark already, and she was wearing dark clothes. Either the cab drivers didn’t see her, or they had refused to pick her up. After two minutes of desperately trying to get a cab, Bobby, her boss’s limo driver, called out to her. He had asked why she was trying to get a cab. She had explained that her car had broken down. Bobby had offered to take her home in the boss’s limo. She had refused at first. Bobby had said it was no big deal because the boss had just called him on the car phone and said he would be another two hours before he came down. Bobby had plenty of time to take her home. She had reluctantly agreed because it was Friday night, she was tired, pissed off, and hungry.

Bobby was a sweet old guy. He offered to walk her to her door, but she had insisted she would be fine. She was too embarrassed to let him see the inside of the building. Besides, Yvonne had made friends with a couple of the guys in the building the first year she had moved in, they looked after her. After she had eaten a pack of Oodles of Noodles, she got a second wind. She had decided to workout.

Someone banged on her door like they were the damn cops. She stopped running on her non-electric treadmill. She grabbed the white hand towel off of her coffee table that was littered with scratches. Yvonne dabbed the sweat off her neck as she strode to the door. She was breathing heavy because she was jogging.

Whoever it was banged on the door again like they couldn’t wait.

“All right, I’m coming!” she yelled. It was probably the crabby old bitch that lived downstairs. That hag complained about the slightest nose after eight o’clock. She did it to everybody. No matter, how much or how badly they cussed her out she always came back. Well, tonight the bitch was two inches away from an ass kicking because Yvonne wasn’t in the mood for her shit. Yvonne snatched the chain off the door and unlocked the two deadbolts. She swung the door open as she said, “Not tonight you old-! Shit!” she screamed. Her eyes bugged out as she stared into the cold gaze of her boss, Calvin Michelson. Bobby was standing behind him with a serious expression on his face. Yvonne slammed the door closed quicker than she had opened it. She pressed her back against the door, wishing she could drop dead.

Mr. Michelson banged, and then kicked the bottom half of the door. “Open the door, Yvonne! Right now!” he yelled sternly.

“No,” she squeaked like a mouse. My god, how could Bobby bring him here? How did they know which apartment she was in? What the hell was he doing here?

“Open it, now, or I’ll kick the damn thing in!” Mr. Michelson yelled. “Don’t think I can’t do it!”

Hell, she knew he could. God knows he was in shape. She exhaled. Yvonne fought back tears as she turned around and slowly cracked the door open. She looked at his cool brown eyes and flushed cheeks. “What are you doing here?” she asked as calmly as she could.

“Bobby told me he drove you home tonight because your car broke down in the parking garage,” he said in a deep voice. “The gentleman that he is, he was obliged to tell me where you lived.”

She closed her eyes in shame. “Bobby, how could you?”

“I’m sorry, Yvonne, but I know this neighborhood. It’s not safe,” he said.

“I’m fine,” she said. “People in this building are cool. The guys here look after me.”

“Oh?” Mr. Michelson inquired. “And how much do you have to pay them to do that? Or do you pay them in some other way,” he sneered.

“How dare you imply I -. I don’t give them anything. Besides, it’s none of your business how I live my life outside of the office. I’m your assistant, not your baby sister,” she said haughtily.

He looked at her for a moment. His face softened little. “Let us in, Yvonne,”

“No. Now, get out of here before both of you get your asses handed to ya,” she said.

“Yo playa, what’s up!” a deep male voice yelled from down the hall. “What you doing at Baby Girl’s door?

Bobby and Mr. Michelson turned their heads in the direction where the voice came from.

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