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“So, you want me to be...fake,” Danielle said, trying to keep the hint of judgment out of her voice.
“Not fake,” Victor countered. “I want you to look absolutely impeccable, and I’m also sure that with a little bit of a shopping spree, you would look like you never even heard of the Bey family.” That—all at once—made it clear to Danielle what Victor was going for: he was running a business that he was very careful to make look as legitimate as possible.
It was—to the best of her knowledge—fully legitimate, but with his background, having been funded by the Sokolovs, he would want everyone, and especially people working directly below him, to be completely clean.
“I need to go and get my hair done, anyway,” Danielle said. “I can go shopping for a few outfits to hold me over until I get my first paycheck from you.” Victor shook his head.
“I have accounts at several stores at King of Prussia Mall,” Victor told her. “I’ll call them and let them know to expect you—I’ll need your full name—and you buy whatever you like, within reason, for two weeks working with me.” Danielle stared at him.
“Two weeks?” Victor considered.
“Three,” he said. “That would be a good start. Once you start getting paychecks, of course, you can buy whatever else you want and can afford—but you’ll have a monthly stipend of five thousand dollars for clothing and makeup.” Danielle for a moment could only continue to stare at him. Five thousand dollars a month for clothing and makeup? “And hair, too—if you need it,” Victor added. Danielle blinked, and made herself take a sip of orange juice.
“That...is quite an allowance,” she said. That was more than half the amount that he would already be spending on her new salary, per month—at least, before taxes. He’s a billionaire, she reminded herself. A multi-billionaire. He could pay you three times that and not even notice it’s missing.
“This weekend, I am not going to take it out of your stipend for the month,” Victor said. “You’ll be given that card to use probably after your first week or so—I have to order it. But for this weekend, I’d say try to stay within about ten thousand dollars.”
Danielle tried not to show her shock again, but she felt as if she had suddenly been thrown into the ocean itself, far out of her accustomed depth. Ten thousand dollars to spend on clothes and makeup? So that she could play at spending money on charity and projects for a billionaire who wanted to get rid of as much of his wealth as possible? And—most of all—this job falling into her lap the morning after she’d been nearly caught up in a police raid on a bar owned by an organized crime family?
“I’m going to need you to send me that contract we talked about before, before I’ll be willing to accept this is real,” Danielle told him, suddenly certain that he was setting her up for some kind of humiliating—or potentially life-threatening, if the police showed up—incident. She imagined herself insisting to some high-end shop clerk that she had permission to put things on Victor’s account, only to be arrested for attempted grand theft.
“I will get my lawyer to draw up your employment contract and I’ll send you—separately—the one about our sex lives, all by this afternoon,” Victor told her. “You should have plenty of time to get some shopping done—actually, do you want to start Tuesday? That will give you Monday, too.” Danielle considered that and nodded.
“I think that works,” she said. She thought, a little grimly, that she wouldn’t be emailing her current boss until she had the contract in her hands, and until she had been able to make the purchases on Victor’s account without being arrested or harassed. It all seemed far too good to be even close to true.
Chapter6
Victor waited outside of his office for Danielle’s arrival, wondering why he felt nervous. It wasn’t his first day on the job; he had nothing really at stake. He’d gotten reports from the shops that Danielle had visited over the weekend and on Monday, and she’d stayed well within the limit he had set—and the personal shopping clerks she’d worked with on his advice, sent by text message once he’d sent h
er the contracts, had all had good things to say about Danielle’s choices.
What in the world do I have to be nervous about? Victor smoothed his hands against his suit jacket, and shook his head, glad that none of the other assistants he employed were there to see him in his present state. He did have a certain image to maintain. Maybe he thought—somewhere, deep down—that Danielle had played him? That she’d taken the money he’d offered for her shopping spree, and then decided to keep her job anyway?
But she’d sent him the signed contract—she’d committed. She wouldn’t be foolish enough to try and get out of a deal with a billionaire who could take her to court for breach of contract—she was too smart for that, too aware of how powerful wealthy people could be.
When the executive elevator pinged, announcing someone had arrived, Victor checked the time on his phone. It was six minutes before the time that he’d told Danielle to arrive in his office to report for her first day of work. When the doors to the elevator opened, revealing Danielle, Victor felt his heart starting to beat faster—yet steadier all at the same time.
She looked absolutely stunning, but at the same time utterly professional, in a loose, off-white blouse and a skirt that fell to a few inches above her knees, along with a pair of boots that came up to just below her knees—those, Victor thought, she had already had.
A fitted blazer completed the look, along with a few pieces of jewelry, and her purse, probably also something she’d already owned before the weekend, was plain but well-made. She had also, Victor noted, gotten her hair done over the weekend: it fell to her shoulders in small braids, maybe the thickness of Victor’s pinky finger at most, pulled back from her face to make the most of the makeup she’d applied that morning. She looked utterly professional, and—Victor thought—possibly more beautiful than she had the night he’d met her.
“Right on time,” he said with a smile.
“That was the plan,” Danielle countered, smiling too.
“Let’s discuss what your job is going to look like,” Victor suggested. He’d spent a good portion of the rest of the weekend—and Monday—making a job that he’d only really come up with in passing, as an excuse to lift Danielle out of her situation with the Bey family and keep her close to him, into a proper, real position. They had the contracts signed, but she would have to meet with his accountant and lawyer later on in the day to make sure all the rest of the paperwork—tax information, salary arrangements, all of that—was official and legal and documented.
Danielle nodded, and Victor led her into his office proper, unlocking the door with his key fob. “I’m assuming that there’s more to this job than just finding things for you to spend money on and having sex with you,” Danielle said, when the door closed behind them. Victor chuckled.
“It is going to be an actual job,” he said. “I made sure of that.” He stepped around his desk and sat down, gesturing for Danielle to take the seat on the other side of his work surface.
“So how is this going to work?” Victor watched as Danielle took her seat, looking confident and curious in equal measures.
“Basically, your official workday is nine to five,” Victor explained. “Your job here is to do research, and talk to people, companies, charities—the whole deal—and report to me with the information I need to know to make it happen.” Danielle nodded.
“I’m assuming you’ll want documentation—finding out not just where the money will go, but what it will do, things like that?” Victor considered the question.
“Basically, I want you to use my money constructively,” he replied. “The goal is to start out spending five hundred thousand dollars a day, and eventually ramp up to a million dollars a day.” He saw Danielle’s eyes widen.
