Chapter 6 The fundraising Party

Jojo trudged into her room, the weight of her emotions threatening to suffocate her. She flung her bag onto the bed, the motion echoing her frustration. Collapsing into the chair, she let out a deep sigh, the sound heavy with despair.

Mr. Mark's harsh words replayed in her mind like a cruel mantra, each phrase a fresh stab to her already wounded heart. She couldn't help but think of the countless times she had devoted herself to her role as a double, all with the hope that she would eventually make a debut of her own. The promise of stardom had been a beacon, guiding her through the long hours and endless rehearsals.

But now, that promise lay shattered, like broken glass on the floor. Jojo's eyes grew misty as the pain washed over her. She was upset with herself for believing the words of that cunning bastard, Mr. Mark. How could she have been so blind, so trusting?

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, threatening to fall. Jojo's gaze dropped to the floor, her mind reeling with the realization that she had been nothing more than a pawn in Mr. Mark's game. The thought was a bitter pill to swallow, and Jojo felt her heart heavy with sorrow.

As she sat there, lost in her thoughts, Jojo's sighs became deeper, her tears falling like autumn rain. She wiped them away, but her gaze fell upon the printed file of Gerald's compensation list, lying on her desk like a stark reminder of her reality. "Seriously," she muttered, her voice laced with frustration.

She stood up, her movements slow and heavy, and reached for her phone in her bag. But as she did, the envelope Binnie had given her earlier slipped out, falling to the ground like a forgotten secret. She picked it up, her fingers tracing the edges of the paper as she stared at the envelope, her mind torn.

Should I go? Should I not go? The questions swirled in her mind like a vortex, pulling her in different directions. She stood there for what felt like an eternity, the silence of her room punctuated only by the sound of her own breathing.

And then, like a whispered promise, she made up her mind. She would attend the fundraiser. Maybe, just maybe, a miracle could happen, and she might win the favor of the highly esteemed Director Zic. The thought sent a thrill through her, a spark of hope that she clung to like a lifeline.

***********

Jojo stepped out of the taxi and onto the red carpet, her floor-length, sleeveless gown shimmering in the soft light of the evening. The champagne color seemed to glow with a subtle warmth, complementing her sun-kissed skin and dark hair. The classic, strapless design accentuated her toned shoulders and slender neck, while the sweetheart neckline framed her heart-shaped face. The fitted, mermaid silhouette hugged her curves in all the right places, flaring out at her knees like a gentle wave.

With her heels clicking on the marble floor, Jojo felt a newfound confidence in her stride. Her hair, styled in a sleek, low bun, added a touch of sophistication to her overall look. She clutched a small, beaded purse in her hand, its delicate strap sparkling like a tiny diamond on her wrist.

As she entered the grand hall, she was struck by the sea of notable personalities gathered before her. Celebrities and philanthropists mingled in groups, their designer clothes and jewels glinting in the light. The air was alive with the hum of conversation and laughter, the atmosphere electric with the excitement of a worthy cause.

Jojo felt a twinge of self-consciousness as she scanned the room. She had never been one for grand events, and the realization that she was now a part of this world made her feel like an imposter. It wasn't that she looked out of place – her gown and heels ensured she fit in with the glamorous crowd – but rather, she felt like she didn't belong. Like she was just a small fish in a vast ocean, struggling to keep up with the currents of high society.

"The fundraiser must have started," she whispered to herself, her eyes darting around the room in search of a familiar face. But everyone seemed to know each other, their laughter and chatter a testament to their long-standing relationships. Jojo, on the other hand, felt like a lone stranger, her presence a mere whisper in the wind.

She shook her head, her eyes scanning the room like a hawk on the hunt. She was on a mission to find Director Zic, the reason she had suffered through an hour of hair styling and a face full of makeup. But, like a bad penny, a familiar figure caught her eye. Mr. Perfect, the obnoxious jerk, stood amongst a group of celebrities, looking like a sulky teenager forced to attend a family reunion.

His tall frame towered over the others, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, and his face a picture of boredom. Jojo's mind raced with the question: "What was he doing here, and why hadn't he been abducted by aliens yet?" Just as his gaze began to wander in her direction, she swiftly turned away, using her purse as a shield to cover her face. She couldn't let him see her, not when she still owed him a fortune - $660,000 to be exact.

Pheobe's warning echoed in her mind like a mantra: "Stay 10 meters away, no, 50 meters away, just to be careful." Jojo didn't need to be told twice. With a hasty goodbye to her dignity, she swiftly exited the grand hall, her purse still clutched to her face like a mask.

Meanwhile, Gerald's eyes narrowed, his brows furrowed in concentration. Had he just seen that little rat, or was it just a petite, purse-wielding doppelganger? He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something about that fleeing figure seemed...familiar.

Jojo let out a frustrated sigh as she ducked behind a nearby flower vase, her eyes scanning the area behind her for any sign of the dreaded Mr. Perfect. She had managed to avoid him thus far, but her luck seemed to be running thin. "Why did he have to be here?" she grumbled to herself, her mind racing with the earlier debacle at her agency and now this new complication.

As she crouched there, her thoughts turned to the notion that Mr. Perfect was somehow cursed to torment her life. It seemed like every time she turned a corner, he was there, lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce. But she was determined not to let him ruin her evening. She took a deep breath and stood up, her eyes fixed on the crowd ahead.

"Right, it's not as if he would kill me if he sees me," she muttered to herself, trying to sound braver than she felt. She began to walk, her eyes darting back and forth, half-expecting Mr. Perfect to pop out from behind a pillar at any moment. And then, disaster struck.

As she whipped her head forward, her face slammed into a hard, unyielding chest. The force of the impact sent her stumbling backward, her feet tangling beneath her. She felt herself falling, her arms flailing wildly, and then, she saw him. Mr. Perfect. The very man she had been trying so desperately to avoid.

"Ow!" Jojo groaned, her bottom connecting with the hard ground with a resounding thud. She glared up at Mr. Perfect, who stood over her, his hands still casually tucked into his pockets. A smirk played on his lips, as if he was enjoying her misfortune.

Jojo's eyes narrowed, her mind racing with indignation. If it were any other gentleman, they would have rushed to her aid, grasping her hand and pulling her to her feet. But not Mr. Perfect. Oh no, he was far too self-absorbed to bother with such chivalrous gestures.

As she struggled to her feet, her gown rustling with the movement, Gerald's smirk grew wider. "Serves you right," he said, his deep, husky voice sending shivers down her spine.

Jojo's eyes widened in disbelief as she shot him a glare that could melt steel. "Serves you right?" she repeated, her voice incredulous. "Is that really what you're supposed to say?"

Gerald shrugged, his broad shoulders barely moving. "What am I supposed to say?" he asked, his tone as innocent as a cherub's.

Jojo let out a frustrated sigh, her hands on her hips. "I guess the word 'sorry' is not in your dictionary, huh?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Gerald furrowed his brows, his expression puzzled. "Why should I apologize to you?" he asked, his voice genuinely confused. "It's not my fault I have such a perfect, athletic body that's hard enough to make you fall to the ground."

Jojo's jaw dropped, her eyes rolling heavenward. "Oh, please," she muttered, her voice laced with exasperation. "You're not even sorry that I fell, you're just proud of your...your... granite-like chest!"

Gerald grinned, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, someone's got to appreciate it," he said, his voice dripping with self-satisfaction.

Jojo sighed in disbelief, already regretting why she had even bothered to respond to him. She could have just ignored him, pretended he was a mere statue, and walked away with her dignity intact. But no, she had to go and engage with the most infuriating man on the planet.

Gerald's eyes scanned Jojo from head to toe, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement. "I seriously don't understand what a little rat like you is doing here," he said, his voice dripping with condescension.

Jojo's eyes flashed with anger, her hands on her hips. "What, are you going to fire the security for letting me in?" she asked, her voice sweet as honey, but laced with sarcasm.

Gerald snorted, his nose wrinkling in distaste. "When are you paying my money?" he asked, his deep, husky voice sending shivers down Jojo's spine, despite her best efforts to ignore it.

"Tomorrow is the deadline, and if you don't pay up, we'll be seeing each other at court," he warned, his eyes glinting with a mocking light.

Jojo's face flushed with anger, her mind racing with the impossibility of paying him back. But she refused to back down, her pride getting the better of her. "I'll pay your money tomorrow," she gritted, her teeth clenched in determination, despite her empty bank account.

Gerald's eyebrows shot up, his expression skeptical. "Do you think I would want to keep seeing your... your face?" Jojo's words trailed off, her mind blanking as she struggled to find an insult. But her brain refused to cooperate, her thoughts hijacked by the realization that Gerald was, in fact, ridiculously handsome. And she hated to admit it.

Gerald hummed, a smug smile spreading across his face. "I also don't want to keep seeing your ugly face," he shot back, his words dripping with sarcasm.

Jojo's eyes flashed with anger, but she refused to rise to the bait. "At least we have something we agree on," she said, her voice sweet as honey, as she ignored the insult.

"If you'll excuse me, the one with the ugly face will take her leave," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief, as she pushed him aside and sashayed away.

Gerald scoffed, his eyes rolling in exasperation, as he turned to watch her go. "That little..." he muttered, his words trailing off as his eyes landed on a figure he had never wished to see again.