CHAPTER SIX: CONTRACTUAL AGREEMENT.

Winnie. 

Contractual agreement

I stood there motionless for a few seconds, with my hands shaky as I held my phone to my ears. My mind running around in circles wondering what response to give?

I had just found myself in the middle of a financial crisis and crying about it, then suddenly meeting a billionaire, and getting right out of it the next second? I had to ask, was the universe just playing chess with my emotions? And having fun in just giving me mini heart attacks from time to time? 

Plus now, it was putting me in a position where I had to quickly make a decision. And one where I had no time to properly process my options. Like I even had any… 

“Are you there?” his rich voice suddenly boomed again from the other side of my phone.

“Yeah, yes!…” I said, nodding my head, shocked out of my subconscious. 

“Uhm… I'll need some time to think to about it, I'll call you back when I decide…”

“You don't have any options left. You've taken the money, and the only thing you can do is such as is required. Agree to marry me, or be paid a visit for not holding up your end of the bargain…”

And right then I gulped a sea of saliva… wondering what he meant by be paid a visit?...

I was now wondering what I had gotten myself into? I thought it was all just a prank or joke or scam. I thought he was lying, and I thought he just wanted to make me tense in the process of him helping me. I knew he was really a billionaire, but I thought the part about him paying me a million dollars to actually buy me into marriage was just a creepy rich guy joke?...  

I felt weird and now suddenly afraid that it wasn't. And that dead seriousness I had seen on his face in the elevator was actually real. He meant what he said, and said what he meant. And I guessed that was how billionaire’s worked?...

I held the phone still to my ears, with my damp clothes now slightly itchy in the armpits, and the jacket I tied around my waist now feeling like an anvil holding a ship to the bottom of the ocean. I gulped another lake of saliva down my throat in trepidation. At the back of mind still afraid that this handsome hunk of wealth and affluence was just the frontman for a human trafficking syndicate. As he was too good to be true, but still too good to not believe he was actually… 

“Okay, I agree” I said now, sighing. “But like you said, it's only going to be for face value. Me and you are not a thing, and will never be. We'll only just be partners in this- this political campaign of yours…” I shrugged, describing his plans for what they were.

“This isn't a political campaign…” his voice answered back, the distaste for what I said ringing in his tone. “But I admire the humour…” he added surprisingly. “It shows you have something in the least to offer…”

And I was taken back for a second. His response hitting where it hurt and sharply. As I reeled in suprise, not in any way expecting the clap back. 

“Hey?!” I yelled, indignant. “You're the one who needs help here, you arrogant handsome piece of equipment!…” I said, in large part, ahead of myself. “You’re the one who needs a partner to take pictures with, not me…”

“And you're the little girl who needs money to pay off a bank loan unless she'll go to jail…” he replied now, steadily. “I have more than enough money to buy the bank you're indebted to and clear you off of even your grandchildrens student loans…” he explained, point blank. “But I decided the easier route of a written cheque will be better so as to not make so much of a fuss…”   

And then my jaw dropped…

I was lost for words and I could tell that this time he could sense it too. As the silence that followed was immense, and the sweat on my arms now felt like arms themselves. My face frowning as I face the tiled floor with feet in sneakers squeaky and my socks inside damp too. I hated being in such a tight spot. I didn't really like being pushed to the wall, and having my hands tied, I hated situations where I had no choice and no say. But maybe if I made it out of this, I would learn a lesson about the power of money. Or I could just return the money?...

I deeply considered just backing out and telling him he could take his money back. I pondered asking the woman at the counter to set up the process and click her buttons again, and have me write a cheque, returning the money back to this auctioneer who seemingly wanted to buy me into slavery…

But I thought against it as I also considered my dreams and my promise to Grandma. The thought of finally opening my own bakery, doing what I love and making her proud surpassed my fear of shackles and chains. And for the most part, I knew they were temporary… As this whole contractual agreement was only for a year, and I could just go back to the foundation I had already laid…

“What's the matter?” his voice now came again, the tone of mockery visible. “Does the cat have your tongue?...” he asked.

And with that, I pouted, as it seemed I had finally lost my dignity. His jokes and sarcasm now getting too much under my skin, which usually didn't happen, as I didn't really care what people said about me. The only reason his words hurt was because they were all leading out from a bloated ego the size of a football stadium. It hurt me because I knew he was the type of man who could get better anytime he wanted, and he was the kind of guy who knew it…     

“I'll see you at Gregory park tomorrow…” he said now, interrupting my thoughts again. “Be at your best behaviour and please do well to use some of that money to change your wardrobe…”  he said finally. “It'll be our first outing, and I want the people passing by to notice us. Because I know fully well it would make the news by the evening…” 

And with that, the line suddenly went off, before I could even have a last word in…