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Chapter 11: Deze

“She’s pregnant for TJ?”

My bedroom door flies open and slams against the wall. Zulu stands there, still in last night’s clothes. He’s angry, and it’s just 8AM. I am dressed for work, not in the mood for anyone spoiling my day.

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“Liatu,” he spits out. 

“Liatu?” I ask, confused. I walk to the door and close it. Our dad is in the house, still asleep. The last thing I want is for him to hear this talk.

“No, not Liatu,” Zulu responds. “I mean, Fana. But I just left Lia’s house.” Zulu slumps on my bed and falls on his back, looking up. “I spent the entire day and night with her because I spent the entire week with Fana, who had the effrontery to let me be with her while she’s pregnant for TJ. I had to feel something, anything, else.” He runs a hand over his head, his shoulders slumping. “But it’s no use. It’s her. It’s always been her. Lia doesn’t even come close.”

“We’re talking about sex here, right?”

He sits up. “It’s more than sex!”

“Shh! Lower your voice.”

“Ada, talk to her for me nau,” he pleads, his tone changing. “Talk to Fana.”

My stomach clenches as I return to my dressing mirror. “Zulu, not this again.”

“You gave us your hotel suite to be with each other because you believe in us.”

“I let you stay because I wanted you guys to get it all out of your system before she goes off and marries TJ and you ride into the sunset with Liatu.”

“Why are you not listening? It’s more than sex, don’t you see that? I love her. Why can’t anyone see that? Why can’t you?”

I focus on my reflection in the mirror, on the poised event planner I need to be today. It’s the first ever event I’m in charge of all on my own. I must prove to Imani that I can do this without her stepping in to guide me like she does Atirola. I don’t need Zulu spoiling my mojo this morning. 

“Zulu, it doesn’t matter what you feel. Fana is pregnant with TJ’s child. She’s marrying him. I’m helping Imani plan the wedding, for God’s sake. Everything is all set and done.”

The words are cruel, but they are the shield he needs. I can’t tell him the truth, that Fana is not pregnant, that it’s a lie she probably told him to discourage him from sticking with her, that her father would make her mother’s life a living hell if she called off the wedding to TJ. I can’t tell him because my brother, in all his noble passion, would try to be a hero and make everything so much worse.

It thunders outside, and I look out the window. It’s about to rain again. This damned weather for two that locked Zulu and Fana in for seven days and left the rest of us miserable is about to mess up my work flow.  

I sit beside my brother. “Your marriage to Liatu… her family’s connections… it will help Bani Hospital get back on its feet. It will help you. It will secure everything you need to pursue your residency abroad. This is the real world, Chizu. Love doesn’t pay the bills or open doors.”

He stares at me as if I’m a stranger. The betrayal in his eyes is painful as he gets on his feet. “You’re my sister,” he whispers. The fight has drained out of him, replaced by profound hurt. “And you don’t know me at all.”

“I do, Zulu—”

“Then why would you say what you just said? Do I look like someone who gets into transactional relationships?”

“It’s for the greater good.” I stand and touch his hand, but he snatches it away. “Zulu…”

He walks out of my room, making me feel like a wicked person.

“—do you understand, Ada? Your mother is waiting for you to work with her. It offers a solid, respectable future.”

My father’s voice jolts me back to the present, pulling me from the ghost of my brother’s heartbreak in 2011. I’m leaning against the wall in King’s hallway, the taste of our kiss still on my lips.

“I hear you, Daddy.”

“But how are you? How have you been?”

“I’m fine, Daddy. Just… handling things,” I manage to say.

“Please, listen to us, Ada…”

As he goes back to talk about family and legacy, my eyes find King in the living room. He’s also on the phone, but his gaze catches mine. He winks. It’s a simple, intimate gesture that speaks of a fondness that scares me.

No one has looked at you like that since…

Adika.

An old, familiar bruise I nurse to remind myself why this is necessary. More than six years ago, I let my guard down. I, the pragmatic planner, threw my own rulebook out the window for my Ghanaian colleague with a laugh that felt like heaven. For a year, I was all in, vulnerable, hopeful, in love. I showed him the messy, uncurated parts of myself, the dreams that weren’t tied to a business plan. I thought we were building a life.

Then, the disappearance and silence. A call that never connected. A text that never delivered. It took me calling his line with Fana’s number to realize that I’d been blocked, and another month to realize that I’d been stupid enough to get pregnant.

An abortion, a heartbreak, and a boss with expectations that even a GPS would get lost trying to navigate her standards.

Later, Atirola gleefully told me Adika moved back to Accra abruptly, something about a family emergency he never deemed necessary to tell me. Clearly, I had been a diversion, not a destination. He broke my heart and obliterated my faith in my own judgment. He was living proof that when you let emotion take the wheel, you end up in a ditch.

I rerouted my stance on relationships, making my heart a secondary organ again while my brain and ambition took the lead. And it worked. I built Daze Events from nothing.

Until Chief Yele blew it all up. 

Now, King is offering me the tools to rebuild and be stronger than before. This partnership is my foundation. Letting this… flutter in my tummy for him grow into something more is going to be a betrayal of the survivalist I became after Adika. I’m fine with dying in want for King. I will feel for him from the safety of my professional walls.

The family business. A solid, respectable future. This phone call out of the blue from my dad is the wake-up call I didn’t know I needed. 

My thoughts begin to swirl as if I’m in an internal business meeting where the old man is the stern chairman.

Priority One: Rebuild Your Legacy. Your name is mud. This partnership is your lifeline.

Priority Two: Financial Independence. Your accounts are still frozen. You’re living on the kindness of family and friends. This partnership means stability, a salary, a share of profits. You cannot be a kept woman. 

Priority Three: Do Not Mix Business and Pleasure. Emotion blurs lines. A relationship is a volatile variable that could destroy the foundation you’re building.

But…

I look at King again. I remember the feel of his hands on my waist as we danced. The sound of his laugh. The devastating tenderness of his kisses. There’s a heart in this man that draws me to him in a way no other man has.

I badly want him.

But the memory of Zulu’s shattered face flashes in my head.

Priority Four: Don’t Let Him Spiral. You saw what impractical love did to your brother. It will ruin the business, and it will ruin King. The kindest, most pragmatic thing you can do is draw a firm, clear line.

“…so just think about it, okay?” my dad concludes, his voice pulling me back once more.

“I will, Daddy,” I say. “I have a very clear plan now. I’ll call you soon.”

I hang up. The plan is set in cold, hard stone. I will take some time off with King, like Fana once took an entire week. I will let the fire burn out. And then I will extinguish it for good.

I walk back into the living room. King has just ended his call too. He looks at me, a question in his eyes. I don’t give him a chance to speak. I walk straight to him, place my hands on his chest, and rise onto my toes. After I remind myself how delicious his mouth tastes, I break contact.

The sharp buzz of the doorbell interrupts us. King pulls back, his brow in a frown. He strides to the door and checks the peephole. I see his entire body go rigid. He turns to me. “Deze, could you please, give me some privacy? It’s Ifechi. And I have no idea what version of her she’s bringing to my door today.”

I nod and retreat to the guestroom just as I hear King open the front door.

“Fechi… This is a surprise.”

I leave the door a crack, as I don’t want her to hear it click shut and know there’s someone in the house. But curiosity keeps my ear pinned to the door as she speaks. I have never met her before, and I’m surprised that she doesn’t sound half as bad as I’d imagined. In fact, she makes a joke I don’t hear clearly, and they both laugh.

Then, her voice goes lower and I give up eavesdropping. The conversation feels like an hour, but it’s only minutes. Finally, the front door closes and I wait.

A soft knock. “Deze?”

I open it. He stands there, looking weary. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Is everything alright?”

“It will be, eventually. She actually came to apologize over our fight yesterday. So, we’re good-ish.”

“And Don?”

“Don has gone off to a prayer retreat. Apparently, he needs ‘clarity’. It means I can’t finalize anything about our partnership with him for at least two weeks. He’s switched off his phone. It’s all good, though.”

Two weeks. Fourteen more days in this limbo between desire and duty.

“But…” He steps closer, his voice dropping back into that intimate note that makes my skin prickle. “It doesn’t mean we can’t start.” He reaches out, and with his thumb, he gently traces my bottom lip, reigniting the memory. “We can start getting all the paperwork ready. You call your lawyer and I call mine. We’ll have everything drafted so when he’s back, we’ll move.”

“Are you sure about this? You’re not going to change your mind?”

“No.” 

“How about Don? I feel like this is bad timing, considering what’s going on between the two of you right now. He’s not going to take this lightly.”

King gives me a smile of assurance as his finger traces a line to my chin. “Trust me, Deze. You don’t have to worry about him.”

“You’re sure?” I ask again.

He tilts my head up from under my chin and my eyes fall into his intense gaze. The romantic haze clears, replaced by the sharp focus of the businessman. “For this to work, though, we have to be completely open and honest with each other. No hidden agendas. No half-truths. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” I say without hesitation. This is the transparency I crave.

“Good.” He lets my head drop, slides his hands in his pockets and takes a step backward.

“You should know, though, that my proposal isn’t just a partnership, Deze. I don’t want to co-own Daze Events. I want to buy it. Completely. I want to absorb it into Barrett Brothers.”

The air leaves my lungs. “Sorry?”

“Your brand is done for. I’m sorry to be that brutal. You can build from the ruins, but it will take a lot from you. You just need one random person to remember who you are, and they start stirring shit again. Plus, there’s Imani, who has beef for you. Gist is that she was Yele’s sidechick.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not one for gossip, but if there’s any truth in that, you being her former staff getting favors from her sugar daddy feels like a betrayal. She won’t let you fly high in Abuja. You won’t be the first former staff she’s burned.”

“Oh.”

“My brand is stability, quality, and discretion. We fold your clients and your unparalleled creative vision into that. They get the quality they hired you for, but under the unassailable umbrella of Barrett Brothers. An acquisition is a clean break. I buy the assets, you come on as a Senior Partner and Creative Director with a significant equity stake in my company. You’re not losing your business, Adaeze. You’re trading a sinking ship for a captain’s chair on a battleship.”

My father’s voice echoes in my head. A solid, respectable future.

King is brutal and pragmatic. It’s the most brutally honest offer I have ever received. He is looking at the wreckage of my career and not seeing a victim. He’s seeing salvageable parts he can use to build something greater.

But he’s asking me to surrender the name I built…

The name that has been dragged through the mud?

The plan was never to work with anybody.

“Should I give you some time to think about it, talk to your lawyer, talk to friends and family?” he asks. “I can have my lawyer quickly draw up a contract with the terms and conditions, if you like, after we discuss them?”

Earlier, this proposal sounded like the best thing to ever happen to my professional life. Now that it’s becoming real, why am I being cautious?

I look into his eyes, seeing the businessman and the man who kissed me. They are one and the same. 

“Okay,” I whisper. “Let’s draw up the paperwork.”

A genuine smile fills his face. “Fantastic.”

I smile back.

“Should we kiss on it?” he asks, staring down at my lips as he licks his.

“Do you kiss everyone you get into business with?”

“Darling, until this moment, I’ve never found a business partner worth kissing.”

His lips are between mine before I can utter a word. The soft sweetness of his mouth instantly takes away the worries in my mind, and I shut my eyes as his hands draw me closer.

***

King’s car hums softly outside my gate, a world away from the quiet order of his life. The short drive from his place felt like crossing a border back into my chaotic existence.

“So,” he says, his hand resting on the gear shift, “the due diligence documents. The sooner I see the bones of Daze Events, the sooner my lawyer can get started.”

The term ‘due diligence’ sounds so clinical and final. I’m deeply turned on by his seriousness.

“I’ll get them.”

“Good.”

He looks at me with a smile in his eyes as his hand finds mine on my lap, giving it a soft squeeze. “Do you want to kiss me?” he asks.

I shake my head, giggling.

“Yes you do.”

But when he reaches over and brings his face to mine, his lips land on my cheek softly.

“Talk tomorrow.”

I get out and watch the sleek car pull away as the reality of what’s happening settles in my stomach. I don’t go inside just yet. Leaning against my gate, I pull out my phone. Abebi picks up on the second ring.

“Ma?”

“Abebi, I need you to go to the office. I need everything. Financial statements from the last three years, bank records, the client contract database, vendor lists, asset inventory… everything you gave Aisha for the NFCC case. Put it all together.”

There’s a brief silence on the other end. “Ma? Is everything…?”

“It’s fine,” I cut her off. “Just a potential investor.”

My next call is to Aisha. Luckily, she’s free and confirms that she can spend a couple of hours with me. 

“It’s about the company. A… buyout offer. From Barrett Brothers.”

This silence is profound. I can almost see her sharp eyes moving in calculation. “I see. What are the initial terms?”

“Vague. He wants to see everything first. Due diligence.”

“Naturally.” I hear the soft tap of keys. “I’ll meet you at your office and review the files before we hand anything over. There are always… sensitivities.”

“Sensitivities?” 

“Vendor contracts where the pricing was… aggressively negotiated. Personal expenses that might have been run through the company account in the early days. The sort of thing that doesn’t look professional to a new partner, even if it’s standard practice for a small business. We present a clean, professional front. We don’t hand them a weapon.”

Of course. I feel naive. “Okay. You know what to do.”

I end the call and finally walk into my house.

***

The meeting with Aisha is a blur of spreadsheets and legal pads. She certifies a curated collection of documents as “a robust picture of the company’s health.” She hides the messy, desperate early-year ledgers and the few overly-personalized client contracts. Sanitized, it feels like a betrayal, but a necessary one.

It’s late afternoon when my phone buzzes with a text.

King: Dinner. Your place. I’m bringing food.

My heart does a funny little flip. I don’t overthink it. I just text back: Okay.

By the time his car pulls up, the house is clean and so am I. I open the door before he can knock.

He stands there, holding a bag that smells of spicy food and grilled chicken. His eyes scan me, from my bare feet to my face, and a slow, appreciative smile spreads across his lips. 

He steps inside, drops the food bag on the small table by the door, and his hands are on me before the door even clicks shut. One hand cups the back of my neck, the other palms my bum, pulling me firmly as his mouth finds mine. We kiss long enough for me to feel him getting hard against me. Fire goes through me, and a small sound escapes my throat. My hands grab his shirt though they burn to touch something else that will get us both in trouble.

Finally, he breaks the kiss. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I respond in a shaky voice.

“Fine woman,” he says, eyes worshiping me.

“Let’s eat.”

We eat off plates on our laps. The conversation is light, but our eyes keep catching, making the moment unbearably sweet.

After dinner, I dim the lights and put on some 90s R&B. We stretch out on opposite ends of my couch, wine in hands, and let the conversation flow. It is easy, raw and endearing. He opens up about his past as a trainee radio host, how his deep voice drew unwanted attention, and how the experience soured when admiration turned to objectification from his fans and envy from his colleagues, who believed he didn’t deserve that much attention. Eventually, he left that world behind, softened his tone to a baritone, and pursued his dream in event planning. I tell him about my own odd jobs before I went fully into events—assembling gift hampers and snapping photos at events back in the early 2010s. The night feels like peeling back layers, one story at a time.

At some point, we’re silent for a bit, both of us reaching for our wine glasses at the same time. I don’t know about him, but I’m struggling to keep my hands to myself. I want to touch him. I so want him to touch me.

The wine, serenading music and sheer weight of the day eventually hit him all at once. Mid-sentence, his words slow, then stop. I straighten up to find his head tilted back against the armrest, his eyes closed, his breathing deep and even. He’s asleep.

A wave of tenderness washes over me. I take the wine glass from his loose grip. I find a light blanket and drape it over him, then adjust the AC, turning the coolness up the way I know he likes it. My couch is too small, too narrow for me to curl up beside him without disturbing him. So I turn off the lights and leave him there, while I go to my bed alone.

***

Three nights later, after a strange, empty forty-eight hours without seeing him, he texts: Movie night. My place.

I arrive to find him already set up in the living room. He actually set up a projector which casts a blue light on the wall. There’s popcorn, wine and chicken wings. It’s disarmingly domestic.

We settle on the couch, and I notice that he doesn’t say anything about drinking wine on his precious sofa. The movie starts. It’s horror, which is my favorite. Noticing I’m engrossed, he doesn’t disturb me, save for the little moments I catch him staring or when he tenderly brushes a finger against a part of my body. After the movie, he picks an action flick, which I find boring. By now, we’ve somehow found a way to have our bodies touch, as I’m lying on his lap, half-covered by a blanket. 

Halfway through the new movie, during a loud car chase, he reaches for a black folder on the side table and places it on my lap. 

“The first draft,” he says. “From my lawyer, after reviewing your documents. Thought you might want to look it over.”

I open it. My eyes skim past the legalese until they land on the numbers.

“Five percent?” I ask calmly, but my tone delivers my deep disapproval. “You’re offering me five percent equity?”

“It’s a starting point,” King says, his gaze on the TV. “You’re bringing your IP. I’m bringing a multi-million naira business. It’s fair.”

“Fair for whom?” I respond, pointing a finger at another clause. “And this? ‘Final creative approval rests with Barrett Brothers.’ So I become your glorified assistant?”

He laughs. “She said glorified assistant. No vex. But I’m buying a brand tied to a public scandal. My reputation becomes your shield. It has value.”

His hand on my tummy moves and slides under my top. His thumb makes slow, soothing circles.

“This is why we have lawyers. To argue over percentages. This… us… this is what matters. The rest is just paperwork.”

His touch is a deliberate distraction, blurring the hard lines of the contract. 

“I need a drink,” I say. 

I close the folder, push it away and walk to the kitchen.

When I return with a fresh bottle of wine, he’s watching me. He doesn’t make space on the sofa. Instead, he tugs me down until I’m straddling his lap. He takes the bottle and sets it aside.

“Better,” he whispers, his hands holding down my hips.

In answer, I crush my mouth to his. This kiss isn’t a statement. I’m surrendering to the attraction, the confusion, the need to feel anything but the weight of that contract. His arms wrap around me, and the negotiation is forgotten. For now, there is only this.

***

The rhythm of the days that come is a strange but beautiful dance between the life I’m building and the business I’m losing.

We go out on lunch and dinner dates, or stay in at mine or his, growing closer to each other while negotiating business terms. It feels like we’re both using the deal as reason to be close. For me, I want to enjoy this moment of undefined connection before I draw the line.

This evening, after we go shopping in Utako market, we try to prepare dinner. When he’s free from the task I assign him in the kitchen, he comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. I leave the cooker, he pulls me to him and lifts me up to place me on the countertop. He steps between my legs and kisses me, slow and deep, then whispers, “Have you ever had an eargasm before?”

The timbre of his voice leaves a hum on my ear. I swallow. “No.”

I get a nibble on my earlobe and soft kisses on my neck that send a direct message to my nerve endings. But he stops there. I’m beginning to wonder if this man wants to do more than kiss and touch me. Is he afraid to go all the way?

The next day, as I drive to the airport to get Fana, my phone buzzes with an email from Aisha. She has sent a counter-proposal on the equity stake, following all the back-and-forth. I park by the sidewalk and read through the document, smiling. Then, I forward it to King and continue my journey.

I arrive in time, finding Fana emaciated, though elegant. She gives me a weak smile as I head toward her. The moment our bodies touch, she hugs me and lets out heavy, silent sobs.

“He’s dying, Daze,” she finally chokes out. “The doctors say we should be prepared.”

I hold her tight, saying nothing. Some airport official harshly tells me to move my car from the pick-up area. I help Fana get her luggage into the trunk and we settle in. She is silent until we leave the airport.

“I don’t even know why I’m crying!” she sniffles. “The man was a monster to me and my mom. An absolute asshole.” Then she laughs. “But he showed me the will, Deze. I’m going to be so rich. Filthy, obscenely rich!”

The tragic irony of her situation hits us both, and we’re suddenly laughing.

“Ah! You’ve tried, Fanasiba.”

“I have. I can’t wait to start truly living.”

“To living your best life!” I raise an invisible wine glass in the air. She clinks it with hers.

“Hear ye! Hear ye!”

“Ode!” I laugh. “It’s hear, hear!”

“Let the universe sha hear.”

“And align the stars that will lead you back to Zulu.”

Her uttered “amen!” is cut short.

“Don’t start.” She smacks me. “Ehen! Tell me everything about King Barrett.”

“I… It’s a long story,” I say, looking out the window. “And you have to leave for Accra first thing in the morning. I’ll tell you everything when you get back. I promise.”

She studies my face, then nods, accepting the delay. The truth is, I’m not ready to share him yet. What we have is not defined, and in the light of our professional partnership, it may never be.

***

The air in my bedroom is soft with morning light. I wake to the smell of coffee and the faint, familiar scent of King’s cologne on the pillow next to me. He had spent the night. 

After a make-out session that had left me breathless and aching, he’d simply held me and slept, even with a straining boner he didn’t make any attempt to hide. As much as his restraint gave me a kind of delicious agony, I’m beginning to wonder why he’s holding back. 

The sound of quiet clattering comes from the kitchen. I take a pee and leave my bedroom and find him there, standing before the cooker in a pair of ashawo shorts, which had been his outfit of choice to come here in last night.

He turns, sensing my presence. “Good morning,” he says. He plates the pancake he just made, drops a cut of butter on it and carries it past me to my bedroom.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I say, following him.

“I know. This is a bribe.” He sits on the edge of the bed and watches me take the first sip of coffee. “There’s a book launch tonight. It’s at the Intercontinental. Chief of Defense Staff. His son is the author.”

“The Yarima boy?”

“I’d like you to come with me.”

I slowly lower my mug. A public event. The crowd is not like the one at Ms. Banke’s party. These ones run in the same circles as Yele.

“I can’t, King. That’s… that’s a very corporate scene.”

He doesn’t push. He never does. He just nods slowly, but it feels like an unshakable belief that I am stronger than I think I am. 

Later that morning, Fana lets herself in, fresh off her flight from Accra. She finds me still in my robe.

“Okay, I’m back. And I’m not taking no for an answer this time,” she announces, dropping her bag. “Spill. All of it. King Barrett.”

So I do. I tell her everything, even about the contract, the brutal pragmatism of his offer, and the confusing tenderness that follows every negotiation.

Fana’s eyes are wide. “Deze, this is… this is amazing. He sounds… real.”

“There is no ‘this’, Fana,” I insist, wrapping my robe tighter around myself. “We’re… navigating. I can’t mix whatever we think we’re doing with the business. It will spoil what could be a professional lifeline.”

“Abeg, shut up,” she scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. “If there’s anyone who can mix business and pleasure and come out on top, it’s you. Remember Adika?”

The name hits me like a physical blow. My whole body goes cold. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

Fana’s expression softens, but there’s mischief in her eye. “Too bad. Because I saw him. In Accra.”

I stare at her, my breath caught in my throat.

“He’s looking… yummy, as ever,” she continues, a slow smile spreading. “Seriously. That man is a work of art. He asked about you. Said he’ll be back in Nigeria soon.”

An unwelcome, vivid memory flashes: the first time I saw Adika at a Mani Fest event, thinking he was a model hired for the night. The sharp beauty of his face, the way his gaze felt like a physical touch. The subsequent, soul-crushing fallout.

“He should just… remain where he is,” I say. “Far away from me.”

Fana nods and lets the subject drop. She sleeps over that night, and for the first time in a bit I’m not dreaming about the things King should do to my body.

For two days, King doesn’t mention the book launch. But on the afternoon of the event, he shows up at my door holding a garment bag. He unzips it to reveal a designer dress of elegant pink. 

“I’m not taking no for an answer,” he says. “You deserve to be seen in this. With me.”

And I am sold. The dress is a weapon, and he is handing it to me.

I spend the afternoon at the salon, glamming up and hiding my anxiety under makeup. When King comes to pick me up at home later, the look in his eyes is worth every second of the fear. 

“Adaeze,” he breathes, his gaze traveling from my styled hair to my heels. “You are making me want to not go for this book launch. We can just sit in and…” 

I take his hand and drag him out of my house. He continues to murmur compliments all the way to the hotel, his hand resting on my knee as he drives.

Intercontinental is filled with a sophisticated, political and literary crowd. We are waiting in the short line to be admitted in, and King’s hand on the small of my back fends off any anxiety I’m supposed to feel.

 But out of nowhere, I feel the air grow cold.

I follow the gaze of the people around us, and my heart plummets to my feet. Nkene Okon has arrived, surrounded by her aides. She glides past the line, then stops. Slowly, she turns. Her beautiful eyes land on me, then flick to King, and back to me. 

She takes a step toward us. “What are you doing here?” she asks. Her voice seems quiet but everyone around us can hear her.

Before I can form a word, she turns to her female security aide. “Get her out of the premises.”

The aide moves forward, but King is faster. 

“Oga, move!” the woman orders, drawing more attention.

“Calm down—”

“I said move!”

King stubbornly stands his ground. “And I said that won’t be necessary. We’re leaving.” He looks directly at the aide, a silent command that brooks no argument. He takes my elbow in a firm grip and turns us away.

The walk to the car is a mix of hot shame and cold fear. I am silent, my body trembling. He doesn’t speak either, his jaw clenched tight.

But back at his apartment, the dam breaks, after I have done my darndest to be brave. I collapse against the door, sliding to the floor. I cannot control the tears of humiliation and the crushing weight of a world that will never let me forget.

King is with me in an instant. He doesn’t try to shush me or tell me it will be okay. He simply gathers me into his arms, pulling me onto his lap right there on the floor. He holds me and cradles my head against his chest, as I cry until I have nothing left.

Later, after he watches me finish an entire bottle of wine alone and get a headache from doing so, he helps me undo the gown. Slowly, he slides it down my body until it hits the floor. 

I cover my breasts and step out of my dress. He picks it off, goes into his bedroom and returns with a clean pair of shorts and t-shirt that smell of him.

“Thank you.”

He doesn’t watch me dress as he goes off into the bedroom again, and returns, now wearing his home clothes. Then, he offers me space on his precious sofa. I lie down, and he slides in behind me, covering us with a warm blanket. The lights are off, replaced by the lights from the muted TV.

“Don is back,” he tells me, his voice a low rumble against my back.

The safe harbor of the last two weeks is over. The real world is crashing back in.

I don’t pull away. Instead, I press myself back against him, seeking his solidness. His arms tighten around me.

“Okay” I whisper. I don’t ask when or how. For this one, last moment, I don’t want to be the pragmatic businesswoman. I just want to be the woman he held while she fell apart. I feel his lips press against my neck.

“We’ll handle it,” he murmurs into my ear.

And I know he means it. But I also know what “handling it” means. It means lawyers, negotiations, and Don’s resentment. It means the sweet, romantic bubble we’ve lived in is about to pop. The lingering touches, the whispers in the dark, the breathless kisses… will all have to go away.

Isn’t this what you want? 

A profound sense of loss washes over me, but the feel of his arm around me is both comforting and arousing. The rightness of my body fitting against his is about to become a memory I’ll have to lock away.

I need this. Just once, before it’s too late. I need to know what it is to be with him, completely, before I let him go.

So, I turn around and look into his eyes. His steady gaze holds tiny crinkles at the corners that make me realize that I’ve seen these eyes countless times, looking into mine, that they’ve now become part of my story. It will only feel natural to let my body do what it so desires to do.

Gazing at each other, we don’t speak for a bit, just our combined breaths resting in the almost-negligent space between us, but that is enough to reignite the fire that just won’t stop burning each time we’re this close.

“I want you, Adaeze,” he confesses finally and rests his hand on my bum. “I so want you it hurts.”

“So, what’s stopping you?”

He sighs as his hand caresses me. “Because the moment I do, this becomes a line in the merger agreement. And I’m terrified that if I do the things I want to do now, in all this chaos, it will be all we ever are… A beautiful, complicated mistake. I feel…” He shuts his eyes and opens them, and I see certainty. “I know you could be the most important thing I’ve ever built, Adaeze. I’m not willing to lay the foundation while the ground is still shaking.”

His confession is a quiet earthquake that shatters my selfish plan to use his body and dump him for his business. Still, I’m scared of the future he so clearly sees with me in it.

Spreading his palm on my bum, he brings me close to feel what I do to him.

“What we’re doing, Deze… it’s a dangerous game. The most dangerous I’ve ever played. It’s dancing at the edge of a cliff.” I see a reckless spark in his eyes as he brings me even closer. The only things separating us are the thin fabrics we’re wearing. “And God help me, I enjoy edging.”

“Hmm…”

“But one day, monkey go go market, e no go come back…” he murmurs as he does a slow grind of his waist.

I laugh and he stops it short with a kiss. His arm locks around me, and his leg does the same, pulling me completely into him. I moan shamelessly into his mouth.

This monkey, I think, is already halfway to the market.