Writers 
CHAPTER THREE
I tossed and turned in bed, sweating like a Sallah cow, all because the air conditioner in my room had decided to betray me in the middle of the muggy night. Sleeping in Ebere’s room was completely out of the question; I knew all too well she would’ve volunteered to fix my AC while flexing her bottomless money right in my face. Gift’s room wasn’t an option either because there was every chance of her bringing some random boy toy home and keeping me up anyway.
I reluctantly peeled my eyes open, picturing them as bloodshot and vampire-red from a miserable, restless night. No AC meant no sleep. The fleeting, restless rest I had attempted this morning was downright laughable.
I reached for my phone on the bedside table, yanking it off its charger to check the time.
“Jesus Christ! Why didn’t anyone wake me up?!” I shrieked into the empty room. Seven thirty-five. I had less than twenty minutes to get to work, and I was still tangled in my pyjamas.
I wrestled frantically with the duvet before storming into the bathroom, determined to achieve the quickest shower in human history. Ten minutes later, I emerged victorious, having spent seven minutes brushing my teeth and three minutes lost in a chaotic, slippery dance with the showerhead and its rebellious bar of soap.
My head was completely blank as the impending horror of work consumed my thoughts. Outfit decisions were delegated entirely to my panicked instincts. Whatever my hand landed on first was going to be the day’s ensemble. Thank heavens I had pre-organised my wardrobe over the weekend.
My fingers first brushed against a pair of white palazzo trousers dotted with delicate black polka dots. Next came a soft, black short-sleeved top, perfect to tuck tightly into the waist. Lastly, my tailored white designer jacket completed the look. Classy, effortless, and undeniably me. Makeup? Ha! Who needed a full face when God had already done the heavy lifting?
I snatched up my oversized handbag, slid into my heels, and marched straight into the living room. There, my friends lounged casually on the sofas, looking utterly relaxed and unbothered by the passage of time. One was blissfully unemployed, and the other was supervising her father’s multi-million-naira company only when she felt like showing up. And yet, all three of us split the flat’s rent equally.
“You know what? You two are nothing but fake friends,” I snarled, pointing a furious finger at them.
“Morning to you, too,” Ebere muttered dryly, not even looking up from her phone.
“Why didn’t anyone wake me up? I’m going to be late!” I snapped, my eyes darting toward the kitchen in a desperate search for a quick bite of breakfast.
“Oh, today’s Monday?” Ebere said, her eyes widening with a stroke of perfect, feigned ignorance.
“Don’t look at me,” Gift shrugged, curling her knees up to her chest and resting her head lazily on Ebere’s shoulder. “I was busy with Edosa.”
“Who’s Edosa?” I asked, eyeing her suspiciously.
“Her special guest from last night,” Ebere supplied smoothly.
“And where is he now?”
“In the kitchen,” Gift pointed casually. My eyes nearly popped out of my head.
“My kitchen?!” I barked, the sudden volume making Ebere flinch slightly. “You sent your man-friend into my kitchen?!”
“My kitchen?!” Gift echoed, mimicking my shrill tone perfectly. “As if you even cook in there. The only person allowed to complain should be Ebere, not you. Aren’t you normally the queen of takeaways?”
“Regular, high-value customer,” Ebere chipped in, and the two of them burst into synchronised laughter.
I rolled my eyes dramatically. “Na me find trouble.”
“A-ha,” Ebere sighed, shaking her head. “Someone can’t even joke with you again? You’re far too quick to vex.”
I offered them another long eye-roll and marched straight into the kitchen. The very first thing that met my eyes was a fair-skinned guy, completely shirtless, wearing cotton shorts so absurdly short they could easily qualify as pants.
“Hi,” he said, smiling warmly, his gaze dropping unapologetically down my body. I rolled my eyes in sheer disgust and bypassed him toward the fridge. “I saw you briefly last night, but you were quite drunk. My name is Edosa. And I must say, you are breathtakingly beautiful.”
“I’ve been told,” I replied coldly, snatching two slices of bread from the top shelf.
He was just about to pour two teaspoons of sugar into his mug of tea when I stepped in, grabbed the warm cup right out of his hand, and drank the entire contents in one long gulp. Not burning hot, thank God. I handed the empty mug back to his stunned grip, keeping my eye-roll game exceptionally strong.
“Thanks,” I muttered with a saccharine, fake smile, stuffing the two slices of bread between my lips as I turned on my heel to leave.
“Ah,” Edosa stumbled forward, stepping right into my path. “What’s your name?”
“Aren’t you here for my friend?” I tilted my head, my eyes narrowing into razor-sharp slits. “Why are you getting all up in my business?”
“I just . . . .” He scratched the back of his neck nervously, clearly taken aback by my ruthless forwardness. “I just wanted us to be friends.”
“Friends? I’m completely done with friends,” I said, flashing another icy, poisonous smile. I patted his smooth cheek lightly twice before striding straight past him and back into the living room.
“I’m off,” I announced to my friends, grumpy as ever, and stormed out the front door.
At the compound gate, I fumbled frantically with the stiff iron latch, my manicured nails almost chipping under the pressure. Finally, the heavy gate gave way.
I slid into the driver's seat of my car, turned the key in the ignition, and zoomed out onto the street. But I wasn’t done with the morning struggle yet. I had to step back out to swing the heavy iron gates shut properly, muttering dark curses under my breath about our urgent, non-negotiable need to hire a gateman. Satisfied, I climbed back into the car, straightened my jacket, and prepared to face the absolute chaos of the Monday morning rush hour.
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Lagos traffic was absolute chaos. Horns blared, brakes screeched, and impatient drivers edged forward like predators circling prey. I was already late, and the traffic made it feel as though the city itself was conspiring against me. Sweat prickled on my forehead, and my hands gripped the steering wheel tighter with each angry honk. Finally, I pulled into the company compound. Thank goodness for that. Relief washed over me for a fleeting moment before pure panic hit again.
For a little context, I worked at A.A. Real Agency, one of Nigeria’s fastest-growing real estate firms. Branches sprawled across Abuja, Edo, Akwa Ibom, Ogun, Kano, and Port Harcourt, with Lagos serving as the corporate headquarters. After nearly two years of soul-crushing job hunting, landing a junior accountant position here felt like winning the jackpot. It was through this company that I became familiar with Castle Estate, a prized residential development in A.A. Real Agency’s property portfolio.
Ebere, Gift, and I had been best friends since our first year at university. We first met in the halls of residence, assigned to different rooms, but our friendship blossomed instantly. By our second year, Ebere suggested we move into a flat together. Gift and I weren’t as financially privileged as Ebere, so she offered to cover the largest portion of the rent while we paid a smaller share. We moved into a two-bedroom flat, with Gift and me sharing a room and Ebere taking the master bedroom.
Even after graduation, our friendship survived every squabble, every heated argument, and every petty spark of jealousy. When I told them about Castle Estate, they agreed immediately, and just like that, we became flatmates once again.
I drove into the company car park and reversed neatly into a space, taking a long moment to look up at the towering glass building. It loomed over Lagos like a monument to corporate success. Pride swelled in my chest as I remembered the day I received the email offering me the role. My hands had trembled with pure excitement, and I could still recall the thrill of knowing I would start the following week.
Quit my job? Not bloody likely. Ebere could ramble on all day about living off wealthy men, but I wasn't buying into that lifestyle.
I hurried into the building, practically tripping over my own heels. My pulse was racing, with every frantic step echoing in my mind like a drumbeat of impending doom.
“Eddy —” the receptionist started, her tone strictly neutral. I already knew she was about to say something painfully bland along the lines of, “How was your night?” or perhaps throw a subtle jab about my arrival time. I didn’t wait around to find out. I zoomed straight into the lift, squeezing past seven other people just before the doors slid shut.
The enclosed air reeked of expensive cologne, stale sweat, and strong coffee, making my stomach twist with anxiety. I rolled my eyes; by now, I really should have been used to this morning madness.
The lift dinged, and I practically launched myself out onto the floor, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with two other employees. My gaze immediately locked onto Silver standing in the lobby.
Silver. My colleague, my friend, and genuinely the only human being in this entire building I could tolerate. Her fair skin, soft round face, and effortless beauty could easily make men stumble over their own feet.
Today, she looked as though she had just stepped off the pages of a high-fashion magazine, wearing a red velvet suit jacket over a black sleeveless top, paired with tailored velvet trousers that hugged her figure perfectly. Her silver court shoes clicked against the polished floor with total authority. Her glossy black hair fell in bouncy waves over her shoulders, and her signature glowing makeup was utterly flawless, striking, and downright intimidating.
“Eddy, where on earth were you?” she exclaimed, completely breathless. I tried to rush past her toward the open-plan office we shared with three other staff members. I dumped my bag onto my desk, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“Even The Flash no do pass this one,” I muttered, collapsing heavy-hipped into my swivel chair and spinning gently to steady myself as my pulse thundered in my ears.
“Where have you been?” Silver asked, her eyes narrowing sharply. “You’re not just late, Eddy, you are outrageously late.”
“Girl, you won’t understand,” I waved my hands dramatically, trying to soothe my rising panic. “I didn’t plan to be late. I went out with my girls last night, got completely plastered, and slept straight through.”
“But didn’t you set an alarm?” she asked, perching on the edge of my desk like a watchful hawk. Did she completely miss the part where I admitted I was drunk? My stomach churned. “Sha, I hope you’ve audited and arranged the transaction files for the site inspection today?”
My eyes widened in sheer horror as a wave of heat flushed up to my face. “Hey, hey, hey . . . ! Jesus, I am finished! My village people have finally caught up with me.”
Silver’s intense stare didn’t waver for a second. I patted her thigh lightly in sheer desperation. “Silver, I’m dead. I haven't done it. I was supposed to reconcile those figures yesterday — yesterday!”
“You are indeed finished,” she leaned in closer, her voice cutting sharper than a freshly honed blade. “Annabelle the witch came lurking around your desk twenty minutes ago, demanding those exact files.”
“She came here already?!” I buried my face in my hands. The unexamined files were still sitting untouched inside my bag. My chest tightened into a vice grip, panic squeezing me from every angle.
“Annabelle won’t want to hear any of your excuses. I strongly suggest you go up to her office right now.” Silver stood up straight, her calm, composed posture standing in stark contrast to the chaotic storm raging inside me.
I wasn’t remotely prepared. I had deliberately taken those audit files home, fully intending to work through them over the weekend, but they had remained completely untouched. I tilted my head toward Silver in a silent plea. She simply shrugged back, looking as though it were her paid duty to watch me squirm.
I let out a shaky exhale and pulled the manila folders from my bag, bracing my soul for the execution ahead.
The lift ride up to executive management felt agonisingly endless. Annabelle wasn’t the owner, nor was she the heiress to the company. She had been introduced two months ago as the fiancée of the Managing Director's heir, and ever since, she had been patrolling the corridors like she personally owned the brick and mortar. I often caught myself wondering what the heir was actually like. If he had chosen to engage a woman like her, it meant he had to be just as ruthless, cold, and untouchable.
The lift dinged, and my stomach plummeted as I stepped out onto the top floor. Every step toward her office suite felt significantly heavier than the last. The hallway seemed to stretch out indefinitely, like some cruel joke straight out of a cartoon where the finish line keeps sliding further away.
Finally, I reached the door I dreaded most. I froze in place, desperately trying to structure my words so she wouldn't see right through my flimsy cover story.
I squared my shoulders, raised my knuckles, and knocked on the door three firm times while holding my breath.
“Come in,” her voice rang out from inside. It wasn’t loud, but it carried a razor-sharp edge that could make even an infant wet their pants.
I paused for a second, rolling my eyes in sheer exhaustion before forcing my face into a neutral expression. Then, pushing the heavy door completely open, I stepped into hell. For a brief, dangerous moment, Ebere’s advice echoed in my mind. Maybe I really should just hand in my resignation today and live off wealthy men’s bank accounts.
Clutching the thick manila folder tightly against my chest, I walked in. Annabelle sat behind her massive oak desk, every single inch of her posture screaming unearned superiority.
She wore a skimpy, glittering dress, far more suited for a Saturday night at a nightclub than an executive corporate office, her silky hair swaying whenever she tilted her neck. Her makeup was applied with painstaking precision, softer than usual, but the expression on her face was anything but soft.
Her eyes locked onto me in a glare sharp enough to slice through solid steel. She chewed her lower lip slowly while twirling a gold pen between her manicured fingers.
“The only thing stopping me from descending on you right now,” she said coldly, her voice dropping into a dangerous whisper, “is whatever you have in your hands. I hope it’s what I asked for.”
I swallowed my pride, just as I was forced to do almost every single day in this firm. “I’m sorry, ma. I took the files home on Friday to work on the audit, but a few unexpected things came up.”
“Saturday?” Her voice grew sour, dripping with heavy sarcasm.
I winced inwardly.
“Sunday?” She pressed again, her tone so bone-chillingly cold it sent a sharp shiver straight down my spine.
I had no valid excuse left to offer. The absolute truth, that I was out at a nightclub getting smashed by drinks with my girlfriends, was certainly not something she needed to hear.
“Just give me a few hours, ma,” I pleaded, clutching the transaction records tighter against my ribs. “Five hours at most, and I’ll have the complete ledgers reconciled for you.”
Annabelle’s glare deepened, her dark eyes drilling into me just like every other time I had been summoned into this office. “My fiancé doesn’t pay you to slack off on company time.”
A fiancé none of us had ever set eyes on, yet somehow, she waved his executive title around like it granted her divine, absolute authority over all of us.
“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” she snapped suddenly. I flinched slightly as she slammed her palm flat against the desk, the sharp crack echoing through the room.
“My eye got itchy, ma,” I muttered quickly, trying desperately not to dig myself into a deeper hole.
“You think you’re so clever, don’t you? With that arrogant attitude of yours that’s always so casual.” She leaned forward over her desk, her voice dropping to a low, warning growl. “You’re extremely lucky I don’t personally hold the power to throw you out of this building myself. But the very moment my fiancé steps into this office, your name will be the absolute first on the redundancy list.”
Her words stung my pride, but I held my ground, keeping my mouth shut and saying nothing.
“One hour,” she finally declared, her voice as sharp and brittle as breaking glass. “You have exactly one hour to bring me those completed financial documents. I can’t fire you directly, but I can issue a formal suspension. And trust me, if I suspend you today, your position will not survive his arrival.”
If I had been an outsider watching the two of us from the corner of the room, I might have assumed Annabelle and I shared some deep, painful history — perhaps that I had stolen her man or wronged her in some unspeakable way. But no, this was simply who she was. Naturally bitter. Constantly hostile. And for some bizarre reason, I was always her preferred target.
“Thank you, ma,” I managed to choke out, swallowing hard as I excused myself and slipped out of her office. The second the heavy door clicked shut behind me, I let out a long hiss under my breath, my eyes narrowing at the polished wood.
Beautiful? Far from it. If her fiancé truly believed she was the prize of Lagos, then handfuls of sand must have blinded his eyes when he put a ring on her finger.
My phone’s ringtone suddenly shattered my bitter thoughts. I glanced down at the screen, a massive wave of relief flooding over me when I saw it hadn't rung while I was inside her office. That would have been my official execution. One of these days, I really needed to remember to switch it to silent during critical meetings.
“And look who’s calling,” I teased into the receiver in my best seductive tone, striding down the tiled hallway toward the lifts.
“I owe you far more than just phone calls, sweetheart,” came the low, velvety reply over the line. Gold Master. His deep voice carried that effortless, rich confidence, the exact kind that forced you to listen even when you knew you shouldn’t. I let out a soft giggle. Nothing was actually funny, but sometimes a sweet giggle was the easiest way to feign genuine interest.
The lift doors slid open and I stepped inside, resting my back against the cool steel wall as the cabin descended toward my floor.
“I just want to see your beautiful face again,” he continued smoothly, the background noise humming over the speaker. “I honestly can’t stop thinking about you, baby girl.”
Not that word. Thanks to watching 365 Days, being called “baby girl” always made my skin crawl. And in a bad, annoying way. Whoever thought adding that phrase 365 times was a good thing? Still, I forced a sweet smile onto my face because charm was my best defence mechanism.
“Likewise,” I replied lightly, playing along with his game. “I was actually wondering when you’d get round to calling me.”
“I’m sorry it took so long,” he said, the rustle of tailored fabric coming through the line. “I had some urgent business to attend to this morning.”
The lift dinged, and I stepped out onto the marble floor, my heels clicking sharply as I made my way down the corridor toward our department.
Inside, the open-plan space was already buzzing with Monday morning activity. Silver and the three male accountants we shared the room with were in their usual seats, heads bent low over their respective tasks.
“I was only teasing,” I continued into the receiver, catching Silver’s inquisitive look and quickly raising a finger to signal that I’d give her the full gist later. She rolled her eyes knowingly.
“We only met yesterday,” I laughed softly, sliding gracefully into my ergonomic office chair. “I was only joking with you.”
“Ah, but a woman like you deserves all the attention in the world,” he countered smoothly.
I flipped open the manila folder on my desk, staring down at the overwhelming mountain of financial data waiting for me. His timing genuinely couldn’t have been worse.
“What are you up to right now?” he pressed. “I want to invite you out to a classy restaurant.”
My fingers froze over the page. It was tempting. Extremely tempting.
“Tempting,” I said, gently biting my lower lip. The gesture was entirely subconscious, but Marvin, the junior accountant sitting to my left, caught it and was openly staring at my lips. I snapped my head away and glared at my monitor. “But I’ve got a massive pile of urgent work to clear right now. How about lunch instead? There’s a very popular eatery just down the road from my office.”
“An eatery?” he scoffed, his voice dripping with pure amusement. “Taking a woman of your standard to a basic eatery is an absolute insult to your class, milady.”
I laughed into the receiver, shaking my head, even though nothing he said was particularly funny.
“I’ll drive over and pick you up myself,” he insisted, his tone leaving absolutely zero room for debate.
I made a quick, audible kissing sound into the microphone before ending the call. I quickly typed out my workplace address to Gold Master with meticulous care and hit send. Then, setting the phone aside, I forced my mind to focus on the dense columns of figures laid out before me.
I buried myself in the paperwork, letting the monotonous audit figures steady my frantic breathing. The cursor blinked on the display screen, waiting for input. I typed in the exact title of the spreadsheet I had saved late last week, and after a brief pause, the file populated the screen. My fingers flew across the keyboard, carefully cross-referencing each figure from the physical receipts with the digital records on my monitor.
Silver’s clear voice suddenly cut through the room. “Who was that on the phone?”
I didn’t look up from my monitor immediately. “Just some guy I met at the club yesterday,” I said smoothly, my eyes glued to the numbers. I picked up my phone, brought up the calculator app to verify a total, and punched the final sum into the software before flashing her a quick smile over my shoulder.
Her eyes narrowed sharply. “A guy? What on earth happened to Adra?”
“I broke up with him.”
That statement made her pause completely, her sharp gaze lingering on my face much longer than I preferred.
“You love him, Eddy,” she pressed, her voice entirely matter-of-fact.
“Loved him — past tense,” I corrected smoothly, wagging my index finger in her direction as if it were all a lighthearted joke, even though it didn't feel like one inside.
She moved her weight fully in her swivel chair, angling her entire body toward my desk, clearly waiting for me to elaborate. I scrolled further down the digital spreadsheet and let out a sigh when I realised there were four more pages of raw financial figures waiting to be audited.
“What actually happened between you two?” she asked, her tone softening into a quieter register.
“What’s supposed to happen?” I kept my voice completely level, my shoulders lifting in a careless little shrug. “I simply fell out of love.”
I leaned closer to the monitor, letting my eyes dart rapidly between the paper trail on my desk and the ledger entries I had just created. The ambient noise in the office hummed with the steady clicking of mechanical keyboards, the rustle of heavy documents, and the distant ringing of a desk phone from Marvin’s cubicle. It was almost loud enough to drown out the intensity of Silver’s stare, but not quite.
“People don’t just fall out of love overnight like that,” she said finally, her dark eyebrows pulling together in deep concern.
I let out a heavy sigh and leaned back against the headrest, the black leather squeaking loudly as if echoing my internal frustration. “You’d be thoroughly surprised by what I’m capable of doing, Silver.”
Silver scoffed softly, folding her arms across her red velvet jacket, but her eyes never left my face. I knew for a fact she wasn’t buying my casual brush-off.
I turned back to the physical folder, flipping to the next page and typing fresh numerical entries into the accounting database as though they were the only things keeping the universe turning. Perhaps they were. Numbers were predictable. They didn't question my motives, and they certainly didn't care who I walked away from, or who walked away from me.
The awkward silence stretched between us a beat too long before Silver spoke up again. “So, this new guy . . . the one who just called you. Is he actually serious, or is he just another —”
“Silver,” I interrupted, my tone cutting through the air much sharper than I had intended. My hand froze dead on the computer mouse as I forced a tight smile and shook my head. “Please, just let me draw breath first. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since I met the man.”
Her lips pressed together into a thin, tight line, but she ultimately leaned back into her chair and decided to drop the subject.
I exhaled softly through my nose and returned my full attention to the glowing screen, pretending with all my might that I couldn't feel the heavy weight of her unanswered questions still hanging in the air between us.
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Forty-seven agonising minutes later, with a mere thirteen minutes left on the executioner’s clock, I sank back into the leather embrace of my swivel chair, letting out a heavy, victorious exhale as if I’d just sprinted across the finishing line of a marathon.
The computer screen flashed a glorious green, confirming the final reconciliation entry. Tremendous relief washed over my body in waves, as I swiftly gathered the physical receipts, sent the master spreadsheet to print, and bolted across the room to the high-capacity printer.
The machine vibrated into life, spitting out crisp paper one sheet at a time. I tapped my heel frantically against the floorboards, arms folded tight across my chest, as I watched the white stack grow. Every single sheet that landed felt like a personal triumph over Annabelle's malice.
Once the tray settled, I tapped the stack straight, sliding the sheets into a brand-new manila folder. Taking no chances this time, I fished my phone out of my pocket and switched it to silent before that woman could catch me unawares ever again.
Up on the executive floor, I gave the door two light, polished knocks before pushing it open. Annabelle was already staring directly at the entrance, her eyes sharp, unblinking, and predatory, as though she had been counting down the seconds of my life.
“All done, ma,” I said, extending the audit file towards her with absolute composure.
Her icy gaze swept over the documents, then up to my face. “At least you’re not entirely incompetent.”
That backhanded concession, I decided, was as close to a glowing performance review as I would ever wring from Annabelle.
“You may leave my office. I’m quite finished looking at your face for today.”
I swallowed the raging urge to roll my eyes into the back of my skull.
“Thank you, ma,” I offered smoothly, spinning around on my heels. Finished looking at my face? She ought to be giving glory to God that she was privileged to look upon it at all, completely free of charge.
The rest of the afternoon suddenly felt remarkably weightless. With that monstrosity of a deadline cleared, I could finally expand my lungs and breathe.
By two o’clock, my phone began to vibrate against the wooden desk. I glanced at the caller ID, a lazy, victorious smile spreading across my lips as I answered.
“Gold Master.”
“Hey, shawty,” his voice poured through the receiver like warm honey, dripping with unbothered charm. “I’m parked just outside your office building. I can’t wait another second to set eyes on that breathtaking face of yours.”
I forced a layer of sugary sweetness into my tone. “I’ll be down in a flash.”
The moment the call disconnected, I scooped up my oversized handbag. Silver was already leaning over her desk, eyeing me with razor-sharp suspicion, her lips twitching with suppressed laughter.
“I’m stepping out for a quick lunch,” I informed her, slinging the leather strap higher over my shoulder. “I’ll be back immediately after the break.”
“Okay o,” she replied, clapping her hands together dramatically as if she were already drafting the office gossip in her head. “Must be nice! Unlike the rest of us poor souls who don’t have handsome men chasing after us up and down Lagos.”
“Oh, please,” I rolled my eyes, flashing her a wicked grin. “We both know that is a complete lie.”
Silver pouted dramatically, tossing her bouncy extensions over her shoulder. “Just make sure you bring back a sweet parcel for me to munch on, sha.”
I chuckled under my breath, bypassing her request as I made a beeline for the lifts. When the steel doors slid open, the cabin was already stifling, crammed with eight employees packed together like tinned sardines.
Letting out a soft sigh, I squeezed inside, bracing myself for the long, suffocating descent to the ground floor.
Stepping out through the grand glass foyer, I strutted into the scorching sun, scanning the car park for Gold Master.
“Shawty!” a loud voice hailed from across the tarmac. Of course, it was him.
I instantly plastered a dazzling smile across my face, exaggerating the sway of my hips as I strutted towards him, gracing him with my grand presence.
Unlike the night before, I wasn’t wearing a single speck of makeup, yet the moment I drew close, Gold Master’s eyes lit up like I was a supermodel stepping straight off a Paris runway.
“I knew the moment I laid eyes on you that I’d picked a winner,” he murmured, leaning down to whisper against my ear, his arm snaking smoothly around my narrow waist. “What an absolute African queen you are.”
Before I could dodge, his lips brushed my cheek in a warm, quick peck.
“You mentioned you knew somewhere lovely for lunch?” I asked, neatly disentangling myself from his embrace, though not fast enough to miss Annabelle’s razor-sharp glare slicing through me from across the executive car park.
I bit back a groan. Not that the woman could do a single thing about it; I was officially on my contractual lunch hour.
“As much as a lavish, five-star restaurant turns me on, I’d actually prefer somewhere a bit less stiff today,” I continued smoothly. “There’s this incredible eatery nearby, and honestly, they've got the best food in town.”
The raw truth? High-end restaurants brought back painful, ghost-like memories of Adra, and I refused to let his memory haunt my afternoon.
“Whatever the goddess desires,” Gold Master grinned, popping open the passenger door of his Mercedes-Benz. I glided into the leather seat, and within seconds, we were merging into the chaotic pulse of the city traffic.
I gave him quick directions, and before long, we pulled up outside Diamond’s Meal. He parked with practised ease, stepped out, and draped a heavy arm over my shoulder as I looped mine loosely around his waist. Together, we sauntered into the establishment like a power couple demanding every ounce of attention in the room.
He insisted on taking centre stage, naturally. So, instead of letting me retreat to my favourite, discreet window booth, he steered us straight to a large table smack in the middle of the floor. At the very least, he had the gentlemanly sense to pull out my chair before settling into his own.
“So, do you come here often, shawty?” he asked, already sliding a silver lighter and a crisp cigarette out of his designer jacket.
“The last time I was here was about two months ago. But yes, the food is incredible.” My words caught in my throat as he struck the lighter, sparking the tip of the cigarette.
Smoking? Inside an air-conditioned eatery?
I frantically scanned the floor for a waiter, but a young waitress in black fitted jeans and a royal-blue denim shirt was already marching purposefully towards our table.
“I’d like to see the menu, please,” I offered with a tight, polite smile, trying to diffuse the air.
“In just a moment, ma’am.” Her polite expression instantly evaporated as she turned her full attention to Gold Master. “I’m terribly sorry, sir, but smoking is strictly prohibited inside the dining area.”
Smack!
His heavy palm slammed down against the wooden table with violent force, making both the waitress and me jump in our seats. “What did you just say to me, shawty?!”
“Gold Master, please, maybe you should just —”
“No!” he barked, his dark eyes flashing with sudden, unpredictable rage as he turned on me. I swallowed hard, my throat going dry. “My lady asked for the menu. So hand over the damn menu!”
“Sir, it’s company policy —”
Smack!
The second thunderous strike rattled the cutlery, sending a deafening echo across the dining room. Conversations died instantly. Every single eye in the eatery locked onto our table. The young waitress froze in her tracks, visibly trembling under his aggression.
“Is there a problem over here, Chika?”
That voice. Deep. Magnetically smooth, yet laced with an icy, command-level authority that made the temperature in the room plunge.
My stomach did a violent, dizzying flip. I turned around, and locked eyes with the breathtaking man from the nightclub.
Up close, he was absolute danger wrapped in effortless perfection. He was wearing dark-washed jeans and a fitted denim shirt rolled up to his forearms, revealing structured, muscular wrists. He didn't need to shout or slam tables the way Gold Master did, his sheer presence, dark eyes, and lethal charisma commanded the entire room.
He possessed that intoxicating, magnetic confidence that made every other man in the room instantly shrink into the background.
For one suspended heartbeat, his intense, dark gaze held mine. It was unwavering, piercing, and entirely unreadable, before effortlessly diverting it back to the trembling girl.
“Ayo,” the waitress stammered, her voice shaking as she took a protective step towards him. “I politely informed him that smoking isn’t permitted inside, but he’s throwing a massive tantrum.”
So, his name was Ayo. Ultimate Yoruba demon vibes fully confirmed.
“Sir,” Ayo addressed Gold Master, his voice dangerously smooth and relaxed, though his towering posture completely dominated the space between our tables. “I am going to ask you, nicely, to put out your cigarette or take it outside.”
Gold Master scoffed loudly, attempting to match his energy and failing miserably. “Ever heard of the golden rule? That customer comes first!”
“That rule only applies at First Bank,” Ayo replied without missing a beat, a faint, devastatingly charming smirk playing at the corner of his lips, though his eyes remained deadly cool. “put out the cigarette.”
“Hey, hey, that’s enough!” I interjected, throwing my hands up to cut through the suffocating tension. “You —” I pointed sternly at the waitress. “Go away.”
She gasped, hesitating in shock.
“I said, get lost!”
Chika stumbled backward, turning on her heel and retreating swiftly towards where I was to presume was the kitchen.
“And you,” Ayo’s intense gaze snapped back to me. It was heavy and expectant, as if he were silently challenging me, waiting to see what nonsense was about to tumble out of my mouth.
“I will handle my guest,” I muttered, though the sharpness in my voice crumbled under the weight of his steady, intoxicating stare. He lingered right beside our table, his arms folded loosely across his chest, clearly unimpressed and entirely unconvinced.
“Shawty,” Gold Master whined loudly, sounding like a disgraced child. “You told me this place was top-tier.”
“It is,” I said under my breath, my tone hushed, almost desperate as heat flushed up my neck. “But use your head for once! Would you light up a cigarette beside a petrol pump at a filling station?!”
“This isn’t a filling station,” he scoffed. Though under Ayo’s unyielding shadow, he finally stubbed the glowing tip out against the glass ashtray.
“Well, it’s completely unhygienic for everyone else eating here!” I snapped, gesturing frantically towards the dozens of patrons whispering and staring at us. Shame burned hot against my cheeks. “I have been quite embarrassed enough for one afternoon.”
“Shawty —”
“Are you taking me back to my office right now, or am I calling an Uber?”
Ayo’s dark eyes cut back to me once more. Silent. Lethal. Utterly mesmerising. He didn't say another word, nor did he move an inch, as he stood there like a velvet-draped wall of protection.
I made a fierce mental note never, ever to step foot inside a restaurant or eatery that banned smoking with Gold Rapp —
Damn it, Ebere.
