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    Serving the Billionaire
    Serving the Billionaire
    Serving the Billionaire
    Ebook106 pages1 hour

    Serving the Billionaire

    By Rose Francis

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    "What do you think I should have tonight?"
    Curvy Cherise never expected the hot new guest in her restaurant to request her as his server. He had so many other options—thinner, prettier types more than eager to cater to all of his needs. But the sexy, mysterious man insists on having the bodacious beauty—in more ways than one! Suddenly, Cherise finds herself facing all sorts of indecent propositions.
    What the heck is the handsome stranger really up to?

    When the wealthy hunk presents her with a tempting offer, she quickly catches on to his plan—so she thinks. She wants to take him up on it, but only if she can convince herself she won't end up wanting more than he's willing to give.
    But does the mysterious billionaire want even more from her than he's letting on?

    **A steamy BWWM pregnancy romance starring a black BBW and a wealthy white alpha male. It is a standalone interracial love story (no cliffhangers and a HEA). It is recommended, though not required, to read 'The Billionaire's Assistant' first.**

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPoison Arrow Publishing
    Release dateDec 23, 2016
    ISBN9781370216192
    Serving the Billionaire
    Author

    Rose Francis

    Rose Francis writes interracial and multicultural romance. She loves reading and writing psychological fiction, particularly stories addressing difficult topics. She has been writing from a very early age and is thrilled to have a platform that allows her to bring her tales to the public!

    Read more from Rose Francis

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    • 5/5
      He’s a very good books. You have to read them in order in order to understand. It will take your mind to new level, and the characters are awesome and what she wrote about. Enjoyed the book I gave it a five star rating. Her books are loving and carefree. Thank you once again with author.

    Book preview

    Serving the Billionaire - Rose Francis

    Chapter 1

    Cherise

    Tonight , the server ranks are buzzing because we have a new guest.

    No big deal, right? We get lots of new guests every night; it’s a hip, new restaurant.

    But the difference is that this particular guest is extremely hot. Not only that, he doesn’t have some ditzy blonde on his arm—he came in totally alone, and not many people do that.

    The last time I saw a guest dining alone, it was some big name director I recognized only because I did extra work on one of his films once; otherwise, who knows directors’ faces unless they’re really huge, like Spielberg?

    Anyway, this new guest seems like he might be in the industry: he definitely has movie star good looks and possibly an action star body from what I glimpsed—but no one has recognized him so far, and this place is full of aspiring actors, so I guess he could be a director.

    We doubt he gave us his real name upon booking the reservation, but someone will probably google the name on his credit card later tonight.

    In the meantime, we’re all stuck racking our brains for guesses.

    We suspect he’s filthy rich, although when it comes to filthy rich folks, it’s anybody’s guess what the tip will be like.

    I always thought rich folks would tip more back when I worked in twenty-four-hour diners, but I learned that the main difference is what the final bill looks like. In either case, you could get lucky or you could even get stiffed.

    Of course, in places like my current job, since the bill’s usually much higher, 18% on a bill worth hundreds sure as hell beats 18% on a sixty-dollar bill.

    For the most part, I expect an average of 20% everywhere—whether it’s some cheap diner or a new upscale restaurant.

    The clientele here is mainly L.A. movers and shakers, quiet millionaires, and a few loud, insecure actors.

    I’ve recognized several industry people so far, and, of course, I have to keep my shit together if it’s someone I know and happen to be a huge fan of.

    I find myself hoping the solo hottie gets seated in my section, but there’s no way the lead hostess would do that—she’ll probably direct him to Maggie’s section, or any of the other cute, slim female server sections.

    I feel like I’m pretty much the last resort—at least I would be if it wasn’t for the fact that people can sometimes be picky about their seats, and if it happens to be in my section (or the place is full), I’m in business.

    Not that I’m hideous or anything, but the L.A. flagship restaurant of a recent Chef of the Year is going for a certain look and feel from welcome to goodbye.

    For example, current hostess number one is blond and blue-eyed, about five feet seven, and about a buck twenty. She looks made of makeup and hairspray, but in a way that says upscale escort instead of beauty pageant contestant.

    Current hostess number two is a green-eyed, raven-haired beauty about five nine, and no more than one hundred thirty pounds.

    Me? A brown-skinned brunette about five feet five, and definitely more than one hundred and thirty pounds.

    Luckily, I had lots of server experience—and a good word put in for me from my friend, Maggie—or I guess I wouldn’t have gotten this job at all, and I needed one badly.

    I would have liked to apply for a hostess position myself to shake things up a bit, but I’m no fool.

    No one really cares what servers look like unless it’s Hooters or something, and I’m definitely too much on the plump side for them.

    Even though I suspected it would happen, my chest falls a little when I see the blond hostess lead the sexy stranger to Maggie’s section.

    I swear Maggie puffs out her chest a little before heading to the hottie.

    Maggie’s a petite redhead with a sort of slim, but curvy body type—no bigger than a size four with boobs and a bubble butt. I’m sure our new guest will love her.

    I watch her chat with the handsome stranger for a moment, then inexplicably, Maggie heads toward the hostess stand.

    The blond hostess sends a look in my direction—barely restrained disdain—then there’s a shuffle and the hottie is suddenly being moved to my section.

    What the hell is going on?

    Maggie heads in my direction.

    He wants you, she says, then wriggles her eyebrows ridiculously.

    I almost laugh, but my confusion dominates—why would a new guest request me?

    Did he actually use my name or did he point and say, ‘the fat, black girl?’

    She slaps me on the arm—kind of hard actually.

    You’re not fat; stop saying that, she says seriously, her dark eyes looking at me intently.

    Well, in here I am, I say, my eyes pointedly sweeping the room full of socialites, industry folks, paid escorts and prospective millionaire baby mamas.

    Nearly all the women dining here are thin. Plus, the hostesses look like models, and my fellow servers are aspiring actors, so the general look here is definitely way better than average.

    I’m not the only pleasantly plump girl, but the other one’s a blonde with huge boobs, and people like those.

    My boobs aren’t so huge, but you should get a load of my ass!

    Bottom line is he asked for you. By name. Don’t worry—just your first name, she says quickly.

    Panic must’ve shown on my face. I mean, how creepy would it be to have a complete stranger request you by your full name? And how did he even know my first name?

    I figure maybe he saw me, and then pulled aside a busboy and said, Who’s the fat, black girl?

    I head over to him, trying to ignore my pounding heart.

    My body is heating up to an insane degree so that my cheeks feel ridiculously hot.

    Christ, I’ve waited on good-looking guys before, why’s this one making me so heated and nervous? My whole body is flushed and my palms are getting sweaty.

    I need to get it together.

    It’s simply been too long and this guy’s testosterone finally lit me aflame—like throwing a lit match on some kindling.

    I take a deep breath.

    As I get closer to him, I have no doubt this guy’s loaded. The scent of money is all over him.

    Diners eating alone usually tip well, but still, I find myself thinking, Will I get stiffed, low-tipped, or super lucky?

    My mind shoves all those words into the gutter.

    I take a few more deep breaths so that by the time I reach him, I have gotten ahold of myself somewhat, and my usual greeting smile is plastered on my face.

    I begin with my regular spiel, offering him our ‘special’ water.

    Sure, I’ll have that and whatever you recommend for wine, but I’d like to get right to it.

    Great! What can I get for you?

    Before I can launch into my usual recommendations, I swear this dark-haired Adonis gives me such a thorough once-over—dragging his beautiful dark eyes from my eyes to my lips, then down every curve and back again—that I am left utterly speechless.

    I should be offended—utterly disgusted by such a lewd display, but my body only responds with wetness.

    My uniform and apron pretty much leave everything to the imagination, so I don’t know what he was looking at considering I’m covered head to toe in dark clothing, but I realize the

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