Chapter 4 - The Negotiation
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The car did not take her to a dark warehouse or a seedy underground club. Instead, it glided into the private underground parking garage of a towering glass skyscraper in the financial district. The guard escorted her up a private elevator that opened directly into a sprawling, minimalist penthouse overlooking the entire city.
Victor Malenkov stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the frozen harbor. He wore a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to expose thick forearms corded with muscle and faded scars.
"You did your research on my debt," Aliyah said, stepping out of the elevator. She refused to let him see how much the sheer opulence of the room intimidated her.
Victor turned slowly. The pale gray of his eyes seemed to capture the ambient light of the city.
"I research everything that interests me," Victor said, gesturing for her to sit on a sleek leather sofa. "Please."
Aliyah remained standing. "I can't accept that check, Mr. Malenkov. I don't take dirty money."
"It is entirely clean, routed through three legitimate pharmaceutical charities," Victor replied smoothly, walking toward his mahogany desk. "But it is not a gift. It is an offer of employment."
"I'm a waitress and a student. I don't know how to launder money or smuggle weapons."
A faint, genuine look of amusement crossed his harsh features. "I have men for that. What I do not have is a private medical professional I can tolerate."
He leaned against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms.
"Twelve years ago, my wife was killed in an explosion meant for me. I was pulled from the wreckage with severe burns and nerve damage. Since that day, the physical touch of another human being triggers a violent, uncontrollable panic response. Haphephobia. It has made receiving necessary medical treatment... complicated. Doctors agitate me. Nurses terrify me."
Aliyah’s nursing instincts instantly overrode her fear. She looked at his posture, the rigid control he maintained over every muscle.
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"But you caught me when I fell," she whispered, realization dawning on her. "You touched my blood. You didn't panic."
"Exactly," Victor said, his voice dropping into a rough, desperate whisper. "For the first time in over a decade, my mind did not register a touch as a threat. You are the anomaly, Aliyah. I need a live-in medical caretaker to help me rehabilitate the nerve damage in my hands and manage my chronic pain. I want it to be you."
