Page 3 of The Prices We Pay
“I don’t doubt it for a second,Josephine.”
“I gave your assistant—”
“Clara.”
“Right. I gave Clara all of my information and my contract. However, I know a man in your position is quite busy, so if you haven’t had a chance to look it over, I brought an extra copy. Should you agree to hire me, my current rate is listed within the contract.”
Reaching out, she hands me the small stack of papers. I purposefully let my fingers graze hers, and it has the same effect as when I shook her hand.
Not a fluke.
Shit.
I’ve already thoroughly reviewed her previous work history and background. Her success trulyspeaks for itself. I knew she was talented; it’s the whole reason I asked Clara to set up an interview. After so many lackluster candidates, I reached out to some friends, and she did, in fact, come highly recommended. I just had no idea she was so young.
Staying on task, I quickly flip through the first two pages—her resume and references—as I already know what they entail and graze the first page of her contract.
When my eye lands on a number, I raise a brow and place the papers back on my desk. Leaning forward, I rest my forearms on the overpriced marble desktop and clasp my hands in front of me.
“You’re asking for twelve percent commission per tariffed good.” It’s a statement, not a question. One that I want to see if she’ll correct me on. While I can more than afford to pay that percentage, I want to see just how far Ms. Jenkins is willing to bend.
“Yes. That is my current rate. And for the size of this business, the amount of work I’m going to have to do daily, and what I’m assuming is a decentamount of backlog work, I feel that is more than fair.”
If she’s nervous, she’s doing a good job of hiding it. The normal person wouldn’t be able to tell. However, I’m no normal person. The pulse in her neck is beating at a faster pace. The slight part in her lips tells me she’s trying to gasp for more air. And she hasn’t blinked in forty-five seconds.
I don’t blame her, though. This contract would change her life, especially with a twelve percent commission rate.
“I can do eight percent. The price tag on the luxury goods we move daily would still result in a hefty commission for you.”
Josephine holds firm. “Twelve percent. With the price tag on the luxury goods you import and export daily, you would think you would want the job done correctly.”
She may be smiling, but there’s not an ounce of softness behind it.
I fight to hide the smile tugging at my lips.
“Best I can do is ten.”
“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to subject yourself to another interview.” She reaches for her bag and stands. “Have a nice day.” Not hesitating for a moment, she spins and walks toward the door.
Brava ragazza.
I quickly look up at Dante behind me, who has his hand over his mouth, hiding a rare smile. He widens his eyes at me and nods toward Josephine, who’s now about two feet from the door. I wink at Dante and quickly stand from my chair.
“Josephine.” Her pointed Louboutin stops in its tracks, and she spins to face me.
I round my desk, and in a few long strides, I’m in front of her. She’s a tall woman, standing at around 5’11 with heels on, but I tower over her at 6’5. She looks up at me through dark lashes and answers softly, “Mr. Vittori.”
“Twelve percent.” I reach out in the small space between us to shake her hand. “I couldn’t possibly sit through another interview anyway.”
She huffs out a light laugh and wraps her hand in mine once more. “You have yourself a deal.” She drops my hand first and takes a step back. “I’m assuming Clara can get me set up with the necessary paperwork?”
“She can.”
“Perfect. I can start right away, so I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”
“Perfect,” I echo.
“Have a good day, Mr. Vittori.” She looks around me, and her smile only grows. “You too, Dante.”
