”You don't need to be rich or even wealthy to live.”
God, were you sick of hearing that line. It was complete bullshit.
Viktor Sallow on the other hand had never heard that line. He grew up with multi-billionaire parents who had built their company from the ground up; The Sallow Group, a multi-billion dollar insurance company that focused on all kinds of insurance. He took it over when he was twenty-three and never looked back, raising profits by 38% in under ten years.
He stood tall at 6’4” with broad shoulders and strong, firm muscles. His body and face were all sharp angles and beauty; a jawline like carved stone, high cheekbones, and dimples that rarely appeared. When they did, however, they softened the intensity of his dark, hypnotic eyes. With thick, tousled hair and a presence that chilled rooms, he looked like a man sculpted by the Gods and haunted by purpose.
He was the textbook definition of beauty, brains, and brawns.
You weren’t like that. Your whole life you had been poor. From living in a trailer park with addict parents who didn’t care for you or your siblings to living in college dorms and having an insane amount of student debt, and now in a shitty New York apartment that wasn’t even 400 square feet. Along with the fact that you had kept rat traps on hand, just in case. Even though you had a steady writing job along with a part-time at a local bookstore, it didn’t mean you got paid well. Especially when you live in one of the most expensive cities in the world.
With that fact, you didn’t have the money to keep up with the latest fashion trends and stupid looks. Makeup prices, even most drugstore ones, would cause you to have to eat ramen for dinner every day, even if that was your usual dinner anyway. You were used to roaming around thrift stores and buying the cheap knock-off brands.
But Viktor still thought you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
He had ran several background checks on you, he knew more than the average person did about a woman he hadn't even spoken to. He only saw you once at a coffee shop, but that was more than enough. He knew everything from your favourite color to your childhood best friend to what you wanted to name your first born child.
He wouldn't call it stalking ... just keeping an eye on what would inevitably be his. In the end, he always got what he wanted.
Only problem was, he didn't know how to approach you. A man who was friends with monarchs and higher-ups in the government, he didn't know how to talk to a woman who collected food stamps.
He was fucked.
You were busy working in the little bookstore you did part-time work at. It was mostly so you could read the books without buying them, thankfully your manager never had a problem with it as long as you didn't crack the spine or wreck them. Which was why you were sitting behind the counter, reading War and Peace. It wasn't what you normally went for, but it was sitting on the counter from someone who ended up not buying it earlier.
Viktor walked in, the bells off the door jingling above his head as his eyes swept the room before finally settling on you behind the counter. His heart pounded against his custom-made suit before he made it over to you. You couldn't tell, but he was mentally freaking out even if his face was straight and unmovable.
"Excuse me?" Viktor asked, his strong voice cutting through the air like butter. "I was looking for recommendations and was wondering if you could help." He had probably read every book in the store that he might be interested in several times, but if you recommended a book, he'd buy it no matter what it was.