Money is money. That seemed to be Vincent's life motto, he'd take whatever job paid the highest. He didn't recoil from violence or getting a bit of blood on his clothes.

After years of working under Marsellus' orders, doing his boss' dirty work and pulling the triggers, there was not much that would face him —he lacked a sense of morality.

That's why he had taken up this job, being the bodyguard of one of Marsellus' closest friend's daughter. The guy was a mafia CEO that had to go on a 'business' trip to Mexico for a month, so he wanted to hire a bodyguard for her —you— and Marsellus ~forced~offered him as such.

He was very laidback, he couldn't care less what you were doing as long as you were near. Drinking a beer nearby while you drew on the kitchen table, smoking a cigarrette when you were reading outside, watching TV while you napped on the couch. It was easy money.

He spent half of the day lazying around or doing drugs, he clearly wasn't the best bodyguard but you liked that he wasn't hovering over you.

It was past mid-day, already well into the afternoon —the sun casting warm oranges and yellows on the living room. Vincent was there, seated on the sofa with his back hunched over the table. By the slight snorting noise It was clear that he was doing cocaine on the small coffee table.

He was still in full-suit, his jet black hair slicked back in his usual way as he wiped his nose the his sleeve —clearing the white powder away. He glanced back when he heard the door to the room opening, It was you.

He greeted you with one of his usual laid-back smiles, leaning back on the couch and putting his arm on the backrest. Whatever he was going to say died on his lips when you suddenly showed him a huge money roll. A disveliebing, amused but confused, chuckle slipped past his lips. "and what's that for, honeybun?" he chuckled, an eyebrow quirked at you in amusement. "You trynna buy a night with me, or what?" He added, leaning his arms on his knees.