"How do you know where I live?" Melissa eyed him suspiciously. "A man of your caliber has business in this part of the country, so how did you know I'd go through this way?"
"If you think I was stalking you, then you're wrong." Mr. Jones refuted her accusations. "I only followed you after you got off work; the thought of stalking you has never crossed my mind."
Melissa wasn't fully convinced, but she was too tired and didn't want to prolong the matter. Her body was aching, and all she wanted to do was dip herself in a hot bath to soothe her aching joints, but first things first, she had to listen to the reason why Mr. Jones had come to see her.
"You're here to see me?"
"Yes," he replied.
"Why?"
"I might have overheard you talking to your colleague where you complained about the debts that are choking you," Mr. Jones revealed. "Which is why I'm here to help you."
Melissa heaved a sigh of relief; he wasn't here to profess his undying love for her; that was good.
"Help me?"
Mr. Jones answered with a nod of his head. "I'm ready to help you, only if you're interested in my offer."
"I can't answer that until I know the nature of your offer," she said, to be on the safer side lest she couldn't take her words back.
With his arm at her back, he led her to where they had parked the car, which was well hidden; it was black, so it had no problem blending in.
The bodyguard, who was in their company, got into the car, retrieved a file from inside a briefcase that was lying on the seat, and he came out, passing it to Mr. Jones, who collected it.
"I have a job for you, a job that is bound to solve each and every money-related problem you may be going through." He showed the file to her. "This job is bound to make your pockets very heavy. With the money you get from this job,"
"I could pay off my debts, my outstanding rent, and also quit this annoying job of mine." Melissa blurted out excitedly.
At this point in her life, she was ready to take up another job no matter how stressful it'd be, as long as the pay was handsome.
"Could it be that he wants me to be his cook?" She wondered. He did ask her once about her culinary skills, and he always complimented her coffee, saying that she made the best coffee he had ever had.
"Tell me more about this job."
"Well," Mr. Jones flipped open the file. "It's a contract marriage?" He said, not beating around the bush.
"A contract what?" Melissa asked. Maybe Markus had struck her too hard, which was why she was hearing things.
"It's a contract marriage," he repeated. "All you have to do is get married to a friend for as long as required. When your services are no longer needed, you'll be paid and rewarded with extras if your acting is superb."
"Is everything okay?" He asked.
Melissa's facial expression was like that of a person who had seen a ghost. The excitement and joy she felt were replaced with shock, which turned into anger and then irritation. She slowly backed away, taking him whole in one look like she was trying to size him.
The fact that she needed money badly wasn't a lie, but getting married to someone she knew not just for money was something she'd never do no matter what.
"I'm not that desperate," Melissa hissed in anger. "After eavesdropping on a conversation that doesn't concern you, you suddenly came to the conclusion that I was a desperate lady who would do anything for the money, right?"
"Miss Melissa, I apologize for listening; you guys weren't quiet either." He pointed out. "I'm not saying you're desperate, I."
"You don't have to call me desperate." She cut him off rudely. "It's very evident in all that you've said."
"If you think you're going to have to perform wifely duties, you don't have to do any of that."
"Please, I am a decent girl who will only do decent jobs."
"All you have to do is pretend, that's all." Mr. Jones tried to convince her. "Just put up an act when his family members are there; that's all there is to it."
Melissa wanted none of it. She was better off at her low-paying job than being a contracted wife.
Marriage was sacred and should be treated as such. Shed have to pretend to love a man she knew nothing about, sleep in the same bed, and live in a house filled with people whose history she knew not.
No! There were limits to what she was willing to do to make money.
"Thank you, sir," she clasped her hands together. "I'm not interested." She picked up her bag that had fallen off her shoulder to the ground. "Thank you for saving me; I really appreciate it."
Seeing that she had made up her mind not to listen, he didn't push further. He retrieved his card from his breast pocket and handed it over to her.
"Here, in case you change your mind."
"I'll not be changing my mind anytime soon," she rolled her eyes. "You can keep it, sir." She was trying so hard not to sound rude.
"Just take it," he insisted.
Melissa, who didn't want to come off as rude and ungrateful, reluctantly accepted the card that she put into her bag.
"I'll be on my way," Melissa turned to leave, but Mr. Jones stopped her.
"Let me drop you off," he offered. He knew she was going to decline, which was why he added, "Markus and his gang may be lurking around; I don't need to tell you what they'd do to you in order to avenge themselves."
Melissa surveyed the empty streets; there was an iota of truth in what he said.
"You can drop me off; my apartment isn't far from here."
"Let's go"
With that, they both entered the car, and they sped off into the night.