Just as William was recovering from the visually stunning "door and window renovation scene," Jessica stopped.
She turned around, her eyes, which seemed to pierce through all disguises and had weathered countless storms in Hell's Kitchen, fixed directly on William, her tone a mix of coldness and mockery:
"Now, are you still selling insurance?"
William's brain felt like it had been hit by a heavy hammer, buzzing and going blank for half a second.
Sell?
Of course, he had to sell!
This was simply a fat piece of meat delivered to his mouth by the heavens!
Weren't those thrilling scenes just now the most vivid, intuitive, and hardcore practical demonstration of "Superhuman Third-Party Liability Insurance"?!
Damaged doors and windows? Yes!
Worth a fortune!
Third-party property damage? Yes!
Maurice's tearful, chubby face was proof!
Potential risk of personal injury? Absolutely!
The three big men cowering in the corner, shaking like sieves, were living examples!
This wasn't some potential risk; this was a definite, already-occurred insurance claim!
But the problem was... William swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.
The sight of Ms. Jones tearing through the rolling shutter door with her bare hands made him ponder the fundamental philosophical question of "who insures whom" with unprecedented depth.
According to the conventional logic of insurance contracts, the insurance company should provide coverage for the client's unknown risks.
But Jessica Jones, with her destructive power comparable to a human-shaped self-propelled artillery, was the biggest source of risk herself!
It felt more like the insurance company needed to tremble and pray she wouldn't make a claim.
Or... the insurance company needed to buy a "Special Additional Insurance for Jessica Jones" for itself!
A terrifying image flashed uncontrollably in William's mind: if Jessica really bought his insurance, and then one day, in a bad mood, or without controlling her strength while "performing her duties," she casually demolished a landmark building in downtown New York City... the astronomical compensation amount... He felt his heartbeat suddenly go out of sync, as if an invisible hand had squeezed it tight, and his breathing became somewhat difficult.
"Sell! Of course, I'll sell!"
William's voice was louder and much firmer than he expected, and he even straightened his back a bit:
"Ms. Jones, after the on-site inspection just now — a very intuitive inspection — I have a more precise and profound understanding of your risk situation.
Frankly speaking, a special talent of your caliber truly, and urgently, needs a comprehensive protection service that matches your outstanding abilities!"
Jessica raised her heroic eyebrows, and a faint, yet meaningful, curve appeared at the corner of her firm mouth, like a tiny crack in an ice surface, revealing a hint of playfulness: "Oh? Then tell me, what should the premium be for someone of my 'caliber'?"
William felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up; this was the ultimate loaded question!
If he quoted too low, it would not only make him seem unprofessional but also insult Jessica's "business capability," which was comparable to a small demolition site.
If he quoted too high, given Ms. Jones's expression of "I'm so poor all I have is strength" and her detective agency located deep in Hell's Kitchen, which looked like it could fall apart at any moment, this deal would probably fall through on the spot.
"Well..." William's brain raced, his temples even starting to slightly flush, and a bold idea formed in his mind.
"Ms. Jones, based on your brilliant and highly representative 'business demonstration' just now, I believe your case holds extraordinary research value and benchmark significance for our company in expanding the superhuman insurance market.
Therefore, our company is very willing to offer you a specially customized trial policy — completely free.
The trial period will be three months, with a basic coverage amount that I dare to set at one hundred thousand U.S. dollars for you."
He held his breath, carefully observing Jessica's expression, then quickly added:
"During the trial period, if any claim event occurs that meets the terms of the insurance contract, our company will strictly adhere to the contract and provide full and timely compensation services.
After the three-month trial period, if you are satisfied with our service, we will then sit down and, based on the actual risk data from this period, jointly discuss a mutually agreeable and most favorable official premium standard. What do you think?"
Jessica stopped, turned around, and scrutinized William from head to toe with a discerning gaze, so sharp it seemed to penetrate his clothes and look directly into his heart.
Under that gaze, William felt like he was back in high school, called into the office for a private "talk" by the strictest dean, unconsciously softening his breathing.
"Free?"
Jessica's tone carried undisguised suspicion, each word hitting William's heart like a small stone, "There's no such thing as a free lunch, insurance salesman. What are you really after?"
William knew this was the crucial moment, where success or failure hinged.
Facing someone like Jessica Jones, any pretense or hidden agenda would only be easily torn apart by her.
He had to be truthful, but his wording needed to be artful.
"What I'm after is opening up the Hell's Kitchen market, which has huge potential."
William spread his hands, trying to appear sincere yet with a hint of a salesman's "helplessness," "Ms. Jones, to put it plainly, a client with outstanding abilities like you, once you choose our insurance, you yourself become our company's loudest and most hardcore living advertisement!
Think about it, if even the famous Jessica Jones — a legendary figure of Hell's Kitchen — becomes our company's esteemed client, then who in Hell's Kitchen would question our company's professional capabilities and guarantee strength?"
These words were extremely clever.
He frankly admitted his commercial purpose while subtly placing a high hat firmly on Jessica's head.
Jessica was silent for a few seconds, her sharp eyes still locked on William, as if discerning every trace of truth and falsehood in his words.
Then, the frost on her face suddenly melted a little, and the faint curve at the corner of her mouth widened slightly, emitting a low, somewhat husky laugh.
The smile was brief, but it allowed William's tense nerves to relax a little, like seeing a ray of sunshine in the eye of a storm.
"Interesting," she said, her voice carrying an indescribable complexity, seemingly a hint of appreciation, and also a hint of unexpected playfulness, "You're the first person who dared to call me a 'living advertisement' to my face.
Most people are either scared to death of me or want to use me for some sordid purpose; few people are as... well, direct as you."
William secretly let out a huge sigh of relief, his tumultuous heart finally settling back into place, at least partially.
It seemed he had played this risky move correctly.
"I can sign your trial policy," Jessica said bluntly, but then her tone changed, and her eyes became sharp again, "However, I have one condition."
William's heart skipped a beat, and the half-settled feeling in his chest became anxious again.
Sure enough, there were no easy bones to chew in this world, especially when that bone was Jessica Jones.
"Next time there's 'business' similar to today's," Jessica's expression became exceptionally serious, and she said word by word, "You must come with me."
William: "..."
What kind of divine logic was this?
Buy insurance and get personal service?
No, it was the client buying insurance demanding that the insurance salesperson accompany them on high-risk operations?
Was this selling insurance or signing up for some extreme survival challenge reality show?
"Ms. Jones, do you mean..." He tried to confirm he hadn't misheard, or that she wasn't joking.
"My meaning is very clear." Jessica crossed her arms, her gaze unwavering, "Since you want to sell me insurance, you must truly understand the working environment and real risk situation your client faces.
Sitting in a bright, clean office all day, talking theoretically over data and reports, the analysis you come up with is complete nonsense.
That's not professionalism; that's perfunctory."
Looking at Jessica's eyes, which brooked no refusal, even carrying a hint of "if you dare say no, I'll break your dog legs," William felt his throat go dry.
He swallowed with difficulty, rapidly weighing the pros and cons in his mind.
The risk was extremely high, but the rewards were equally tempting — the first top-tier superhuman client and the generous rewards he could receive in the future.
"...Okay, Ms. Jones, no problem." Ultimately, the instinct for survival and the desire for performance (as well as fantasies of system rewards) outweighed everything else, and he squeezed out these words through clenched teeth, his voice carrying a tremor he didn't even notice and... excitement?
Thinking about immediately developing one of Hell's Kitchen's top combatants into his client, William couldn't help but feel a tingling excitement.
"Very good." Jessica seemed satisfied with his answer.
William quickly pulled out his work phone from his pocket: "It's an electronic contract, very convenient. You just need to confirm the terms and then sign."
Jessica, however, did not immediately reach for it. Her sharp eyes locked on William again.
Her tone was calm but carried an invisible pressure: "Just now in the pawn shop, I noticed that even though your face turned White with fright, you never chose to escape in the chaos.
Tell me, why?"
William was slightly stunned.
He hadn't really thought about this question in detail during that chaotic situation.
Why didn't he run?
Was it because of that damned professional ethics at play?
Or was it due to the obsession of being determined to secure this deal?
Or... he couldn't quite explain it himself, perhaps subconsciously feeling that running away in front of Jessica Jones was an even more foolish choice?
He was silent for a few seconds, thought seriously, and then slowly but exceptionally clearly said: "Perhaps because... I feel that since I chose this job, I should bear the corresponding risks and responsibilities.
Moreover, Ms. Jones, to be honest, although it was very dangerous just now, 'interning' once with an expert of your caliber, I feel like I learned more than all the case analyses I've read in the company's training manuals combined.
Some things, if you don't experience them firsthand, will always remain theoretical."
Jessica stared at him for a full five seconds, her gaze deep, showing no discernible emotion.
Then, she reached out and took the phone William offered.
"Alright, insurance salesman," she said in an almost self-muttering tone while quickly scanning the contract terms on the screen, "You've barely passed my initial assessment."
She quickly signed her name and handed the phone back to William.
"But don't think that signing this trial contract means everything is settled."
Jessica started walking again, her voice returning to its usual coldness, "The Water in Hell's Kitchen is much deeper than you imagine, kid. Good luck."