The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield

Chapter Three: The Inevitable

By the time Friday came, I was already losing my mind.

The notice of sale from the bank arrived and I had about three weeks before the house was to be auctioned off. I got the default notice about five months ago and I've dragged it on as much as I could. The mortage payments were too high and it was hard to keep up with it along with the insurance, property taxes and all the utilties. I wouldn't even get started on my other consumer debt.

I went to the bank again to get another loan but considering I was only nineteen without much of a credit history or other collateral, they turned me down. I went to other loan agencies but the interests were so high they were almost criminal. I'd only bury myself deeper into debt if I signed up with any of them.

I needed money and I needed it fast but my paycheck barely covered my personal expenses and if I had to move in three weeks, I needed the money to pay down an apartment if I didn't want to sleep on the streets.

There's money to be had if you would just sign on the dotted line.

Even though I was still stewing in indignation at Brandon's offer, I couldn't resist going over the contract.

Reading it definitely made things seem very real—that marrying him and getting paid for it was not merely just an arbitrary idea. 

The marriage would be real—and so would be the lies and the money.

"Why can't just the prince come riding down in his white horse and rescue Cinderella because he couldn't live without her?" I muttered after I finally put the contract down late Thursday night, the revisions scribbled on it in red ink. 

Because this isn't a fairytale and Brandon Maxfield is no prince charming.

I convinced myself that night that this was bitter reality and I had decisions to make—there will be no fairy godmothers or true love. Even if money didn't make the world go round, it paid for a lot of its maintenance.

On Friday morning, I went to Marlow's in a light blue cotton sundress and flip-flops, my long, dark  blonde hair gathered in a loose bun. I wasn't due for my shift until much later because I worked Friday evenings when the tips were the best.

I was there five minutes before ten and Brandon was already waiting in a booth, reading the morning paper.

"Hey," I said when he finally looked up.

His hazel eyes flickered with some unidentifiable emotion as he appraised me from head to toe.

"Like what you see?" I snapped, irritated by the sight of him because it was either that or I swooned which would not do at all.

"Just thinking that you might clean up better than I hoped," he said as he gestured to the seat across from him. "You look almost... young."

"I am young especially compared to you," I retorted as I slid into the booth and tossed my white canvas bag on the seat next to me. "You're practically ancient—from the caveman era, I believe."

"Good morning to you too, Ms. Samuels," he said dryly. "And yes, I am older and wiser than you."

I scoffed. "Real wise people need not to point it out. Those who wish they were point it out often."

He smiled and set down his paper. "Bad week, huh?"

I sighed and leaned back against my seat, eyeing him in exasperation. "Oh, I'm sure you have a pretty good idea of how great things have been going for me. That's why you look like the cat who got the cream."

"Hmm, this is sounding positively better with each second," he said with a satisfied smirk. "And since I'm pretty certain I'm getting the answer I want today, let us take our time and maybe feed you first. If I'm right about the dire straits you're in, you'e probably been skipping breakfast."