Chapter 3 - The Offer on the TableThe rain outside had slowed to a steady, melancholic drizzle by the time Roman led me out through the private front exit of Laura. The grand dining room was completely empty—Marcus had cleared the guests out ten minutes prior with polite, irresistible instructions that their meals were fully covered by corporate courtesy, while discreetly handing each table a complimentary bottle of vintage Dom Pérignon.
We stepped out onto the polished marble portico of the building. Waiting at the curb was a massive, matte-black armored Maybach with tinted windows and a idling V12 engine.
"You don't have to do this," I said, pulling my damp jacket tightly around my shoulders as the cold wind bit at my wet blouse. "I appreciate what you did in the kitchen, Roman. Really, I do. But I'm just a single mother trying to get home to my son. I need to find another job by tomorrow morning, or I won't be able to pay rent next week."
Roman stopped, turning to face me on the pavement. The amber streetlights caught the sharp angles of his face, casting deep shadows beneath his cheekbones.
"Your rent is paid for the next three years, Megan," he said simply, as if he were discussing the weather.
I froze, staring at him in utter disbelief. "What? Are you insane? You don't even know where I live!"
"I know your name, I know your face, and I know that forty-five minutes ago you risked your life to keep me from bleeding out behind a dumpster while every other person in this city walked past me with blinders on," Roman replied, his voice brooking no argument. "In my world, loyalty and genuine human kindness are commodities more valuable than crude oil or gold bullion. You saved my life. Do you honestly expect me to let you worry about rent?"
"I'm not looking for charity, Roman!" I snapped, a sudden flash of pride cutting through my exhaustion. "I worked for my money. I wanted to earn my paycheck. I don't need a billionaire playing white knight just because I happened to have a work apron and a bad sense of timing."
For a long moment, Roman didn't speak. He just looked at me, his gray eyes searching my face with an intensity that made my breath catch. Instead of looking offended, a slow, genuine smile spread across his lips—a look that made him appear younger, far less dangerous, and terrifyingly magnetic.
"You have fire, Megan," he murmured softly. "That’s rare. Most people who look at me see only the suit, the guards, or the rumors. You saw a bleeding man in an alley, and you didn't even ask who I was before you tried to save me."
He opened the rear door of the Maybach himself, gesturing for me to step inside.
"Get in out of the rain," he instructed gently. "We're going to the pharmacy to pick up Leo’s medicine, and then we're going to talk about your future."
"My future?" I hesitated, clutching the strap of my worn leather purse.
"Unless you prefer scrubbing floors and taking abuse from incompetent managers like David Kesler," Roman said, raising an eyebrow. "My hospitality division controls forty-two luxury venues across the tri-state area. I need someone running them who actually understands human dignity. But we can discuss the terms over hot soup."
The mention of Leo’s medicine broke the last of my resistance. My son was sick, feverish, and waiting for me. Pride was a luxury for people with full bank accounts and dry clothes.
I climbed into the plush leather interior of the Maybach, the heavy door sealing out the cold Chicago night with a solid, reassuring thud.
As Roman slid in beside me and Marcus put the vehicle into gear, sliding smoothly into the rain-slicked traffic, I looked out the tinted window at the glowing neon lights of the city.
May you like
I had lost my job, my apron, and my afternoon.
Little did I know, I had just stepped into a war zone where my new boss wasn't just a wealthy businessman—and the enemies hunting him were already closing in.
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