by Kiru Taye
She opened the door and stepped out into the humid night, suddenly lambasted by blaring car horns and revving engines. One advantage of being cocooned in the metal, glass and rubber seclusion of a vehicle, the humming air conditioner muted all the external sounds.
Ten minutes of navigating kamikaze pedestrians arguing with obnoxious bus drivers who were mounting the pavement in a bid to avoid the long queue and perspiration beaded her hairline and pits.
“Uh,” she uttered as she viewed the entrance of her destination. Now she was going to arrive sweating like a pig.
She wasn’t the most athletic person around, her love-hate relationship with food put paid to that notion. Dieting had never worked for her. She would lose weight only to gain it back double what she’d lost.
And don’t get her started on gyms. Those places were designed by narcissists for narcissists. The women at the last gym she’d visited looked like they survived on straw and water not to mention the way they’d looked down their noses at her.
She’d just prayed that none of them had discreetly taken a picture of her sweaty body after she’d finished her workout to post on Instagram or whatever social media they used for their cyber-bullying posts.
She’d seen it happen to other people and would be mortified if it ever happened to her.
The only reason she’d opened an Instagram account was due to her half-siblings who had profiles and frequently shared about their fabulous lives. Not that they knew who she was. She used Facebook to keep in touch with old school mates and friends in the UK.
The heel of her platform shoes caught in a gap on the pavement and she raised her arms to steady herself. These shoes weren’t exactly suitable for walking on the uneven surfaces that were Lagos streets.
When she’d lived in London, she had worn sneakers for the train commute to work with her shoes in her tote. She would change into the heels when she arrived at work.
Here, a car picked her from outside her building and dropped her off at the office premises. Same again but in the other direction, in the evenings. So she had returned to wearing stilettos from the moment she left home to the time she got back.
Now, she wished she had worn sneakers to save herself from breaking her neck if the reckless Okada bike drivers didn’t kill her first.
At the gated entrance to the restaurant and bar, the security man greeted her. “Good evening, Madam.”
She nodded in response, not wanting to speak, so he didn’t hear her panting from her power walk.
Through the floor-to-ceiling glass of the establishment, diners could be seen in the restaurant section and drinkers standing around the bar lounge. Colourful spotlights shone in hues of pink, purple and blue. The place appeared busy, even on a Friday night.
On previous visits, Reams always had a great vibe and crowd, and the food selection was also fabulous, a fusion of African and International cuisines.
She approached the swinging glass doors slowly, using the time to catch her breath. She would use the ladies first to make herself presentable before going in search for Jonah.
She pushed the door handle and stepped in. The sounds of merriment—afro jazz and chatter—rushed at her.
“Welcome, Ma’am,” the maitre d’ in black shirt and trousers said. “Do you have a reservation?”
“Hi.” She sighed in relief for the air-conditioning unit positioned directly over the entrance that blew refreshing air on her hot skin. “I’m meeting a friend. Jonah Mills.”
“Yes. Mr. Mills is at the bar. I can show you.”
“Oh, it’s not a problem. I’ll find him in a minute. I’d like to use the ladies first,” she said.
“Sure. Over there.” He pointed to the far corner that has the sign for ‘Toilets.’
She thanked him and hurried through to the corridor and down the stairs. The multihued lighting continued in here, and she couldn’t be certain of the colour of the walls. An off-white shade, she guessed.
None of the stalls in the ladies were occupied. She had time to dab the sweat off her forehead with a paper napkin, reapply her face powder and squirt a refreshing body spray onto her hot skin. With a hair brush, she got her relaxed tresses looking sleek and wavy.
Feeling a lot calmer, she headed out. Hopefully, Jonah wouldn’t be too irate at her tardiness.
She found him sitting on a stool by the hand-carved dark wooden bar, chatting with two other men she recognised. He must have come straight from work also as he still had his tie around the collar of his white, long-sleeved shirt. His friends dressed casually in jeans and t-shirts.
“Babe,” she said in a mollifying tone, draping her arm around Jonah’s shoulders.
He twisted on the stool, saw her, and his smile disappeared. His grey eyes turned to slate, his voice cold. “You’re late.”
“I’m sorry. The traffic out there is murder. I’ll make up for it.” She batted her lashes, hoping to placate him.
She’d had a long day at work. The end of the financial quarter proved to be a hectic period. She’d spent the week analysing reports from all their regions in preparation for the executive team ahead of the board meeting scheduled in a month’s time.
To unwind from the stress, she needed good company, good food and a fun evening.
“You sure are going to make up for it,” Jonah said, turning back to the bar and calling out, “Bar man!”
Ebun puffed out a sigh. It would be one of those nights. She turned to the other men in the group. Perhaps they would be better company. “Hi, Hans. Hi, Pete.”
“Hey, Ebun,” they greeted.
Even after almost a year of knowing the men, they still couldn’t pronounce her name properly, calling her ‘Ee-bun’ rhymes with gun instead of the proper pronunciation of ‘Eh-boon’ rhymes with goon. She’d tried to correct them several times but had now given up.
“You can sit here,” Hans said and vacated a stool.
She thanked him and climbed on, placing her tote on her lap.
He was always the perfect gentleman. Sometimes she wished she dated him. But he hadn’t asked her out. Jonah had. And she’d been attracted to Jonah’s smouldering Latin look.
She’d met all three white Europeans over a year ago at one of the bars in Lagos. It had been a tough time, and she’d been on a downward spiral in her personal life.
She’d come to Nigeria hoping for a reunion with her long-lost father and a welcoming into his family. Instead, she didn’t exist as far as they were concerned.
Being in the same country as her father and half-siblings and yet not included in family events had been depressing, awakening the devastation of being abandoned as a child by her parent.
Old resentments had arisen.
To drown her sorrows, she’d sought out a popular bar for non-locals, needing the alcoholic oblivion and company, a habit from her teen years used as a coping mechanism.
Her family didn’t want her. The rest of the blooming country wouldn’t accept her as a local, even though she looked like a local and had an African name. Her British accent always gave her away. She’d been addressed as JJC, Johnny-Just-Come, once too many, so she preferred to hang out with fellow foreigners.
Not to mention that her mother had warned her against dating African men.
So there she’d been sitting at a music lounge filled with Lebanese, Asian and European men, nursing a vodka and coke. Interestingly most of the women in there had been local girls dressed to seduce.
Jonah had approached her and offered to buy her a drink. With dark hair, clean-shaven good looks and a slight Mediterranean accent, she’d fallen for his charms. She’d found out he was half-Scottish and half-Spanish.
He’d introduced her to Pete who was Dutch with short brown hair and hazel eyes, and Hans who had straggly blond hair and a beard that reminded her of Vikings, being Swedish.
“I thought we were having a meal,” she said, focusing her mind on the present. She faced the counter, unsure if she should order a drink here or wait
for the dinner table.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” Jonah gritted out in a low voice, his irritation evident.
Okay. Not wanting to start an argument in front of his friends, she swivelled to the left so she could talk to Hans who stood next to her.
“So, Hans, how are you?” She didn’t see the man often as he worked offshore on an oil rig in the Niger Delta. He only came to Lagos when he had a break.
“I’m doing okay.” He had a gruff accent that reminded her of Alexander Skarsgård. “How about you?”
“Same old. Same old.”
“Have you been back to London recently?”
“No. But—”
Jonah cut her off. “Does she ever get a break, this one? I hardly see her as it is. She’s at work all the time.”
Heat pelted her skin, and she flicked her gaze heavenwards. “That’s not fair.”
His attitude got old, fast.
She had a single-minded determination to succeed and worked sixty to seventy hour weeks. With no children or a serious relationship, what else did she have to do?
As an employee of one of the big accounting firms, Jonah worked as long and as hard as she did.
She never criticised his work schedule. Yet, he complained about hers.
Glaring at her, he got off the stool. “I’m going to get some food. Are you coming?”
He walked off without looking back.
Ebun sucked in a deep breath and puffed it out. This was going to be a long evening. If she didn’t need company tonight, she would have just gone home. The idea of spending the night alone didn't appeal.
A few weeks had passed since she’d met up with Jonah as he'd travelled on business. Maybe she understood some of his grouchiness. They were both overdue for some TLC.
“I guess I’ll see you guys some other time.” She got off the stool, patted her skirt and followed Jonah through the throng of revellers.
“We’re joining you two.” Hans followed her.
“Oh. I didn’t know that.” She arrived at the foyer where the server gathered the menus and led them through the busy restaurant. Their four-seat table stood in the middle row and offered no privacy from other diners or the entrance.
Jonah held the chair for her. He could be a gentleman, sometimes. After she settled into it, he lowered his head and whispered in her ear.
“You are going to pay for making me wait.” He sat on the chair to her left while Hans took the seat opposite her and Pete plonked next to him.
His threat made her scalp prickle and stomach quiver. What did he mean?
Narrowing her eyes, she opened her mouth to protest and closed it.
The click of crockery, hum of chatter and low music reminded her that she sat in a busy restaurant. She couldn’t make a scene.
She lifted the menu and gazed at it. It proved to be more of a shield and a distraction because the words didn't register in her mind.
Why was Jonah difficult?
She flicked her gaze at him. He seemed preoccupied with the cuisine list, his demeanour back to normal.
How could he threaten her one minute and be calm the next?
This wasn't his first time of behaving erratically. She'd dismissed the previous occasions. No one was perfect, but they now occurred more frequently, and she'd made one too many excuses for him.
Was it time to call this relationship to an end? They'd lasted longer than her previous relationships.
The uneasy chill on her skin wouldn't go away. Something about this arrangement didn't seem right. She chanced sidelong glances at the men.
Hans and Pete didn't tag along on Jonah's and Ebun's dinner dates. There had only been one other time when the three of them had sat down together like this.
The memory of that night was still hazy. From the things she remembered, she didn't want to revisit the memories anyway.
This was the reason the presence of the other men unsettled her, especially Pete.
Hans was always nice to her, and she liked him.
Pete? A shudder racked her body as she glanced at the man. He gave her the creeps, especially when he stared at her as if she were on the menu, like he did now.
She'd told Jonah once that Pete reminded her of the guy in a horror movie who sets up hidden cameras in the victim's houses and watches them discreetly before hacking them to death.
Jonah had laughed it off as a joke.
“Have you decided what you want?” Hans's question drew her from her turbulent thoughts.
“Not yet.” Her voice sounded croaky. She coughed to clear the lump in her throat and stared at the menu, still struggling to decide.
A glance at lecherous Pete made bile rose in her throat. She swallowed the bitter taste.
Enough.
“Jonah, I’m sorry. I don’t feel very well. I’m going to head home.” She put the menu back on the table and didn’t meet his gaze.
“If you don’t want to eat, you can stay and have a drink. I need food.” He raised his hand to call the waiter.
She waited while the men ordered their meals. Jonah ordered a glass of wine for her even though she’d said she didn’t want anything.
When the waiter walked away, she said. “I’m only going to stay for the wine, and then I’m going home.”
Using her phone, she sent a message to her driver and got a response back that he'd parked on the premises, waiting for her.
Jonah wouldn’t be happy with her leaving early. But she'd moved beyond caring. She wouldn’t have an argument in a public venue, and she wouldn’t let him railroad her into doing something she'd regret.
They would have to chat privately over the weekend about her concerns.
Why couldn’t she have a normal man, anyway?
The image of her boss loomed in her mind—tall, handsome and imposing Kamali Danladi.
Her heart rate kicked up. Her body flushed hot and then cold with intense emotions, the way it always did when she thought about him.
There was nothing ordinary about the CEO of Danladi Cements. Ruthless and regal would describe him better.
She had a love-hate relationship with her boss, all one-sided of course. Because she’d rather die than confess that she’d been in love with the man from the first day she’d seen him. He represented everything her heart yearned for and everything she couldn’t have. And she hated him for it.
Not that anyone would ever know it, including him.
The server returned with the drinks.
Thinking of her boss and her unrequited feelings made her drink fast.
Jarabi by Sona Jobarteh played in the background. Ebun hummed along and swayed rhythmically to the wonderful, seductive beats and vocals of the Gambian musician.
By the time she got to the bottom of the glass, the alcohol buzzed in her veins because she hadn’t eaten much today.
“I’ve got to go. See you guys another time.” She tried to stand, but Jonah gripped her arm.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he gritted out in a low voice.
“Home. I told you I don’t feel well.”
“And I told you to wait for us.”
“I can’t.”
“Let her go,” Hans intervened. “She’s not feeling well.”
Jonah glared at her for a few more seconds before releasing her hand.
“Thank you,” she said, stood up and walked away, her body trembling.
However, she didn’t get very far.
A group of men she recognised blocked her exit. The sight of one of them sent her heart racing.
Talk of the devil.
Without a doubt, Kamali stood in the restaurant foyer with two other men, impressive and too darn real.
She stared at him, drank him in. Adrenaline surged through her veins.
Judas Priest! He was a sight for sore eyes. Wearing a tailored two-piece silk-cashmere navy suit, a burgundy silk tie on a white shirt with blue pinstripes, and black Italian brogues, he could’ve just stepped off the cove
r of a men’s magazine.
She’d seen him earlier in the day. Still, her heart raced.
The men around him were good-looking. Yet she was drawn to Kamali, even after she’d sworn she wouldn’t date an African man.
What the hell was he doing here? Sure, he was allowed to eat out. Couldn’t he and his friends have chosen another restaurant?
She could only hope he hadn’t seen the little incident with Jonah. Her cheeks burned anyway.
Someone dropped cutlery on a table to her right, jarring Ebun into moving. She glanced towards the corridor. Could she get to it in time before her boss spotted her? She would wait there until the men had dispersed from the foyer.
She took another look in Kamali’s direction.
Too late.
Their gazes connected, his eyes a piercing cognac colour that reminded her of her father’s favourite drink from years ago. Her breath caught and a lump lodged in her throat, old sentiments rising.
This wasn’t going to be her night.
She could handle seeing Kamali in the office because when at work, determination to excel drove her to focus on the matters at hands. She would never want to come across as incompetent.
Now outside work, especially after Jonah’s behaviour, she felt raw and exposed. She didn’t want Kamali seeing her. Not like this.
Too late do anything as Kamali strode towards her.
Chapter Three
Car doors thunked shut as Kamali stepped into the humid Lagos night. Sometimes he missed the arid climate of his native Katsina. Up north, he wouldn’t have this oppressive humidity that made the air heavy and hot.
He strode into Reams Bar and Restaurant, eager for the conditioned cool air inside. Henry led the way, with Ike taking up the rear.
After their meeting, which had gone better than Kamali expected, his cousin had invited him to an impromptu party organised by his fiancée Gloria to celebrate their snap engagement.
In the lobby, the manager greeted Henry by name, and they chatted briefly. Directly ahead, the eatery lay busy with diners. A partition wall carved out a bar lounge to the left which appeared packed with revellers.
A flash of familiar colour caught Kamali’s attention. He glanced down the row of tables in the middle section of the restaurant.
