“Fine,” she muttered. “But if this turns into a crime documentary, I’ll be furious.”
He laughed softly and tapped on the partition. “Ricardo, let’s go.”
As the car glided through Mexico City, smoother than any rideshare she’d ever taken, he asked about her life. She admitted the truth: full-time studies, two jobs, barely any rest.
“That pace will destroy you,” he said.
“Some of us don’t have alternatives.”
When they arrived at her modest apartment building, he studied the neighborhood quietly.
Then he surprised her.
“I’m looking for a personal assistant. High salary. Flexible schedule.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
He handed her his card.
“Organize my calendar. Manage communications. Oversee my household logistics when I travel. You clearly deserve better than exhaustion.”
“I don’t need pity.”
“It’s not pity. It’s an opportunity.”
She almost ignored the card.
But overdue rent has a way of silencing pride.
Three days later, she called.
“Helena,” she said. “The accidental passenger.”
He chuckled. “I was wondering if you would.”
She started the next morning.