Chapter 5 - AN UNEXPECTED PROPOSAL
Alina tightened her grip on the coffee pot handle. "A proposition?"
"Sit down for a moment," Victor said, gesturing to the seat across from him in the booth.
Alina glanced back toward the kitchen. Sal was in the back prepping bacon, and the diner was completely empty otherwise. She slid into the vinyl booth across from the most feared man in the city. The contrast between them was absurd—her in her cheap worker’s uniform, him in thousands of dollars of bespoke tailoring.
"I need a personal assistant," Victor said directly, getting straight to the point. "Someone discreet, highly reliable, resilient under pressure, and honest. Attributes that are exceedingly rare in my world."
Alina blinked, stunned. "An assistant? Mr. Vance, I'm a diner waitress. I wipe down tables and serve cheap coffee. I don't know anything about high-level business."
"You handled yourself with immense courage Tuesday night," Victor pointed out, his voice smooth and persuasive. "You didn't break down, you didn't scream, and you stood your ground against a man twice your size. Skill can be taught, Alina. Character cannot."
He reached into his jacket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and slid it across the table toward her.
"This is an employment contract," he continued. "The starting salary is ninety thousand dollars a year, complete medical benefits, a clothing allowance, and paid leave. Your duties would involve managing my personal schedule, handling non-classified correspondence, and ensuring my private residence runs smoothly."
Alina stared at the number on the paper. Ninety thousand dollars.
That was more than four times what she made at the diner working sixty hours a week. It meant no more late-night shifts. It meant paying off her mother's lingering medical bills. It meant living like a human being instead of surviving like a stray animal.
"Why me?" Alina asked, her voice barely a whisper. "You could hire anyone with an Ivy League degree. Why offer this to a girl from a graveyard shift?"
Victor leaned back, his eyes searching her face.
"Because Ivy League graduates are loyal to money and ambition," he answered honestly. "They look at me and see power or profit. When you look at me, you see a man who sits in the corner and drinks black coffee. You treat me like a person, Alina. That makes you invaluable."
Alina looked down at the contract. It felt heavy in her fingers. "Is it dangerous? The work, I mean. I saw what happened with Carl. I know you're not just an executive."
Victor’s eyes softened slightly, a flicker of genuine respect passing through them. "I will not lie to you. My world has dark edges. But my personal staff is completely insulated from my professional conflicts. You will be safe. I give you my solemn word on my family's honor: no harm will ever come to you while you are under my protection."
Silence stretched between them. The hum of the diner's neon sign sounded loud in her ears.
Alina thought about her cold shoebox apartment, her aching feet, the drunks who thought they owned her body for the price of a cup of coffee, and the endless, crushing weight of poverty. Then she looked at Victor Vance—a man who had protected her when no one else would.
"When do I start?" Alina asked softly.
Victor’s lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile. "Tomorrow morning. My driver will pick you up at eight."
The next morning at 8:00 a.m. sharp, a sleek black Rolls-Royce pulled up outside Alina’s run-down apartment building.
The neighborhood kids gathered around the luxury vehicle, whispering in awe. A driver in a crisp uniform held the door open for Alina as she stepped out, wearing her cleanest second-hand dress.
Thirty minutes later, the car pulled up to Vance Tower—a massive glass-and-steel skyscraper dominating the city skyline.
Alina was escorted to the top floor, where the private executive suite was located. The elevator opened into a stunning open-concept office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the entire metropolis.
Victor was standing by the window, a phone to his ear, speaking rapid, low Italian. The moment he saw Alina step out of the elevator, he immediately cut the call.
"Alina," he said, walking over to welcome her. "Welcome to your new life."
He walked her to a gorgeous walnut desk right outside his private office, equipped with state-of-the-art computers and a bouquet of fresh white lilies—her favorite flowers, though she had never told him.
"Your first task," Victor said, handing her a black credit card with no name on it. "My stylist is waiting downstairs in the lobby. You will go with her to purchase a complete professional wardrobe suitable for this office."
Alina gasped. "I can't take your credit card for shopping!"
"It is an expense, not a gift," Victor countered smoothly, his eyes warm. "You represent Vance Enterprises now. And I demand that my personal assistant looks the part."
As Alina walked down the hall with the stylist, she passed a large glass conference room. Inside, several powerful-looking men in suits were sitting around a table. One of them—a sharp-featured man with cold blue eyes—stared at Alina as she passed.
May you like
His name was Marcus Vance, Victor's ambitious younger cousin.
And Marcus did not like the way Victor looked at the new waitress-turned-assistant.
