Jean’s head whipped up too fast, and once again she was met with those icy blue eyes.
“Marriage between whom?” Jean found herself asking.
Michael let out a scoff at that.
“For a clever thief you’re quite dumb, aren’t you?” Jean ignored his insult, not that there was anything she could do about it.
She simply waited.
“You and I will wed, and then I’ll overlook this… theft of yours.
No case, no police involvement, no need to pay back.
It’ll be swept under the rug like it never happened.” “No,” Jean answered, surprised by her own boldness, and from the way Michael’s brows lowered, she could tell that that wasn’t the response he had been expecting.
“No?” Michael repeated.
“I can’t marry you.
I’m seeing someone.” Jean said, feeling more confident in herself.
She had no idea what games Michael was playing with his absurd proposal, but she would not allow herself to be used like a fool or a toy, despite the gravity of her offence.
Michael barked out a laugh at her response, and after he had managed to get himself under control, he smiled at her.
“The lowlife you’re slumming it with?
You are aware of the amount of money you stole, right?
You could get at least two years, or a whole lot more, depending on who I talk to.” Jean knew that it would eventually come to this.
She had mentally prepared herself for it after all.
“I knew what I did was wrong, Mr.
Marquez—” “Michael, please.” He corrected.
Jean swallowed the lump in her throat.
“I know what I did was wrong, Mr.
Mich—” “Just Michael is fine.” Michael corrected again.
His nonchalant expression made it extremely difficult for Jean to tell what he was thinking, and she did not like that.
“I stole, Michael.
I know it was wrong, and from that moment I was ready for whatever repercussion would come with my actions.
If you want me to go to jail, I’ll go, but I can’t marry you.
As I said before, I have someone in my life already.” “Perhaps you’ll both continue your love life in prison,” Michael said, his grin widening.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that.
I am very well aware of what Jeff Peterson does.
Shoplifting, drug handling, car stealing, breaking and entering.
He’d be gone a long, long time.” Jean shot to her feet at that.
“You can’t do this.” “I most definitely can.
Sit down.” He commanded, and Jean dropped back to her seat like an obedient dog, panic seizing her.
“Jeff had nothing to do with this.
It was I who stole your money,” Jean said.
Michael leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.
“But it was he who put you up to this, no?” “No,” Jean answered sharply, shaking her head.
“Everything I did, I did of my own accord—” “Because he asked you to.” Michael interrupted before clicking his tongue.
“You’re being manipulated, and you don’t even know it.” “Why are you doing this?” Jean managed to ask after a while.
Her palms were sweaty, her eyes were fixed on the rug, and she felt broken and tired.
She was afraid, so very afraid.
Jeff could not go to jail because of her.
He would hate her for the rest of his life, and she could not bear that.
“Did you ask yourself that question when you slept with different men because some idiot asked you to?” Jane let out a mirthless chuckle, and she stared straight into his blue eyes as she spoke.
“You think I enjoy doing it?
You think I don’t hate myself enough already?
You… you think I enjoy being an orp—” Jean stopped herself just in time, drawing in a shaky breath.
She could not afford to lose her head here; it would do her no good.
“Look, Mr… I mean Michael.
It was me who stole your money; it was not planned, purely coincidental.
If you want to punish somebody, let it be me, just me.” Michael studied her for a while, his eyes softening, and for a moment, Jean thought that she had finally gotten to him and that he would have mercy, or at least leave Jeff out of whatever he planned on doing.
Michael rose to his feet and, looking down at her, he said.
“I suggest you discuss things with your… lover first.
You’ll come back here by Monday next week with your answer.
You either marry me, or he rots in jail.
Get out.”