Chapter 5 - The Offer on the Table
Sitting at Table 4 without her silver tray felt surreal. For three years, Cassidy’s physical space had been defined by standing three feet back from the table, staying out of light, and never making extended eye contact. Now, she was looking directly into the sharp, assessing eyes of Victor Volkov and Natalia Rostova.
The Chilean sea bass arrived, served by Simon himself, who placed the plates down with the reverence of a man handling religious relics. He poured more Margaux for Victor and Natalia, and then, with a respectful bow, poured a glass for Cassidy.
"To unexpected turns of fate," Victor said, raising his crystal glass.
Cassidy tapped her glass against theirs, taking a small, refined sip.
"Now, Miss Brooks," Victor began, setting his glass down and resting his large hands on the white tablecloth. "Let us speak plainly. A woman with your linguistic capabilities, high-level diplomatic training, and ice-cold composure under pressure does not belong carrying plates at Le Rêve. How did you end up here?"
Cassidy took a quiet breath. She saw no point in lying; people like Victor could smell deception instantly.
"My father," Cassidy explained, her voice steady. "He was a civil engineer. Four years ago, while I was deployed in Eastern Europe working contract translation for defense logistics, he developed a rare, aggressive form of cancer. The specialized treatments weren't covered by his insurance. I resigned my post to come back and care for him."
Natalia’s gaze softened slightly. "And the medical costs?"
"Staggering," Cassidy admitted quietly. "Over four hundred thousand dollars by the time he passed away two years ago. High-level geopolitical translation in the private sector takes months of security clearance renewals to land a contract. I needed immediate, high-yield cash flow. Fine dining in Manhattan allowed me to earn three to four thousand a week in cash tips to keep the creditors from seizing my father's house."
Victor listened attentively, nodding slowly. "Honorable. You sacrificed your career to protect your father’s memory and fulfill his debts. That shows loyalty. In my world, Miss Brooks, loyalty and intelligence are the only two currencies that matter."
He leaned forward, tapping his fingers on the table.
"Dominic Pierce was supposed to manage our North American supply chain operations," Victor continued. "He failed his test tonight. But our expansion into the US markets still requires leadership. I need a Chief Liaison—someone who can navigate complex international contracts, speak the language of our European directors, and read corporate predators like Dominic Pierce before they bite."
Cassidy’s heart gave a sudden, heavy thud against her ribs. "You're offering me a corporate position?"
"I am offering you the role of Senior Vice President of Eurasian Logistics," Victor said plainly. "Starting salary is seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars annually, plus performance equity. A corporate signing bonus of two hundred thousand will be wired to your account by tomorrow afternoon—enough to clear your father's remaining debts instantly."
Cassidy sat back, the air momentarily leaving her lungs. Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. It was more money than she had earned in her entire life. It meant total freedom. It meant her father’s house was safe forever.
"Victor," Natalia added smoothly, looking at Cassidy. "You forget to mention the immediate terms. Miss Brooks will need an executive wardrobe, corporate legal counsel, and an office in our Midtown tower."
"Of course," Victor smiled. "So, Miss Brooks... what do you say?"
Before Cassidy could answer, the dining room’s quiet elegance was interrupted by the heavy, hurried footsteps of Simon rushing back over to the table. He looked panicked once again.
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"Cassidy... Miss Brooks," Simon stammered, holding a telephone receiver. "It’s the owner of Le Rêve. Mr. Vance. He’s on line one. He says Dominic Pierce just called him directly from his limo..."
Simon swallowed hard. "...and Pierce told him that if you aren't fired, stripped of your uniform, and blacklisted from the restaurant association by midnight, he’s launching a press smear campaign against Le Rêve tomorrow morning."
