by Jane Igharo
“Okay.” I twist to look at him and trace his handsome features with my fingertip. “Sure. I’ll stay.” Because I want to more than anything else.
“Good.” He smiles, wide and genuine. “You know, I turn thirty today.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, happy birthday, Rafael.”
“Thank you.” He brings his lips to mine and takes his time exploring my mouth. “I swear, Azere, I could kiss you forever.”
“Well, maybe not forever. Just for tonight.”
Because tonight, for one night only, I am not the obedient daughter of a conservative woman who is adamant on preserving her Nigerian heritage. Nor am I the daughter of a patriotic man who feared his family’s departure to a foreign country more than the cancer that was killing him.
Tonight, I belong to no one but myself, driven by my desires and impulses despite any consequences that might follow.
One night. It’s all I can have and all I can give to Rafael, a man who seems worthy of so much more.
chapter
2
One of the perks of working at Xander, North America’s top advertising agency, is the downtown workspace. It has that new age corporate design thing going on—open-concept layout, industrial ceilings, glass walls, light fixtures that resemble descending UFOs, and splashes of vibrant colors that imply playfulness. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, there is a spectacular view of brownstone structures and slick glass skyscrapers towering over ever-bustling civilians. Another perk of working at Xander are the snacks available at every staff meeting. At the moment, I’m enjoying a raspberry-chocolate-chip muffin.
The warm, fluffy loaf breaks apart in my mouth, and I stifle a moan. Dev, the chief operating officer, is saying something that must be of importance, but I’m savoring the sweetness of the chocolate chips and the tartness of the berries and paying very little attention to anything else. Every bite relieves the cramp in my empty stomach until I’m no longer hungry. I have to stop skipping breakfast.
When Dev’s orotund voice suddenly captures my attention, I realize I’ve missed something important. A few minutes ago, he mentioned a new hire. Unfortunately, I tuned out before receiving all the details.
“And here he is!” Dev says, elated. He stands and arranges his plaid blazer over his protruding stomach. “Everything settled with HR?”
“Yes. It is.”
Still chewing, I turn to the door and offer a glance at the person who just spoke. The glance is too brief, and within a second of looking away, I’m doing a double take and carefully examining familiar features—a strong but relaxed jaw, flawless ivory skin gleaming with sun flavor, pink lips with a gentle fullness, and compelling eyes with an infinite supply of blues.
Holy crap.
I gasp, and a chunk of muffin hitches in my throat, obstructing the flow of air. As I cough and wheeze in the most inelegant manner, I try to rationalize the current situation. I align all my memories, retrieve forgotten pieces of the past, reexamine minor details that once seemed irrelevant, and stitch them all together to form a clear understanding of the present.
It’s him. It’s been a little over a month, but I remember that face.
It’s the face of a man I thought I’d never see again. And yet, here he is.
“Azere,” Dev says just as my throat clears. “Are you okay?”
“Mm-hmm. Yeah.” Air courses through my throat like water through an unclogged pipe, and I exhale. “I’m fine.” Far from it.
“Right. Anyway, as I mentioned before, we have a new hire.” He gestures to the person standing beside him. “Everyone, meet our new marketing director. Rafael Castellano.”
In a moment so brief it almost doesn’t exist, I hear the devil laughing at me, mocking a predicament triggered into motion by my lust and stupidity. Lust and stupidity. No, those weren’t the only factors that created this dilemma. Fate had a hand in this too. And fate is a cruel force, toying with us all, manipulating our lives, making lessons out of them and riddles and jokes—the type of jokes that are bittersweet. This joke, however, is straight up bitter. I can’t handle it. My heartbeat is manic. My nerves aren’t fluttery butterflies but nails, stabbing my stomach. This can’t be happening.
“Nice to meet you all.” Rafael is addressing the room, but he is fixated on me. “I look forward to getting to know each one of you.”
I’ve already gotten a chance to know Azere. Actually, I know her very well. I expect him to say this, but he doesn’t.
We watch each other, neither of us blinking. The moment is so intense, goose bumps sprout to the surface of my dark skin, causing the thin hairs on my arms to spike up. In my chair, I shiver. I squirm. The subtle movement breaks his concentration. He blinks sharply and tears his eyes from mine. The meeting continues, but I don’t take note of anything that’s discussed. The room is spinning, and my sanity is slowly receding because it’s too fragile to handle the madness that is currently my life.
How is this possible? How the hell is this possible?
Lost in my thoughts, I zone out. When I regain focus, the room is emptying. People are rising and leaving, but Rafael and I remain seated. We have things to discuss.
Once we are alone, I stand. Though light-headed by the recent discovery, I manage to balance my weight on my stilettos and walk to the window, away from the open door and prying ears. Rafael follows.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.” A simple greeting that doesn’t quite suit our predicament. “So. Your interview. It was here—at Xander.”
He nods.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It never came up, and I had no idea you worked here. Small world, right?”
Too damn small.
“It’s good to see you, Azere. Really good.” He flashes his teeth in a grin that makes my heart move in leaps and bounds. “By the way,” he says, gesturing at my face, “you’ve got a little something right there.”
“Oh.” I touch the corner of my lips and dust away crumbs. “I had a muffin.”
“Oh yeah? What kind of muffin?”
“Raspberry chocolate chip,” I say. “It was so freakin’ good. I kinda devoured it. Hence the crumbs.” At the sound of my own laughter, I shake my head and instantly regain my wits. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m supposed to be figuring this situation out and, of course, setting some ground rules that will allow us to coexist on platonic terms. Instead, I’m giggling like an infatuated idiot. Time to get back on track. “So . . . um . . . you work here now.”
“I do.” He watches me, stare fixed and consuming, and takes a step forward. The space between us is small—too small for employees who should, for the sake of their careers, appear like they’ve never engaged in a sexual relationship. I should take a step back, but his scent fills the sliver of space between us, and I stand static, close my eyes, and breathe him in.
He smells so good—like air. The kind that’s sweet, fresh, untainted. I inhale deeper. Hints of musk and cedarwood accompany the scent of clean air, creating the perfect blend. Days after our hookup, this scent remained on my skin as if my pores had opened and swallowed it, every part of my body desperate to hold on to some piece of him.
“Why did you leave without saying goodbye, Azere?”
“What?” I look at him.
“You left without saying goodbye. I woke up in the morning and you were gone.” A deep frown makes his eyes shrink to thin lines of blues. “Why?”
“Umm . . . well.” I tug on a lock of my braid and expel a heavy, shuddery breath. “Look. Rafael, can we just act like that night never happened? We both work here now. I don’t want it to get weird, and I certainly don’t want anyone to know. No one can ever know, Rafael. No one. Please.”
“Azere, you don’t even have to ask. I won’t mention it to anyone. You have my word.
”
With his assurance, I breathe easy. “Thank you.”
“I know this situation is completely insane and unexpected. Believe me. I’m just as shocked as you are, but I think we should talk about it. Maybe over lunch or dinner.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. I think it’s best we just stay away from each other—keep our distance.”
He scowls and opens his mouth as if to object, but before he can speak, I escape in a manner more fitting for sneakers than the heels I’m wearing.
In the open-concept workspace, prying eyes dart from computer screens to me. As I sprint to the kitchen, the sound of my heels contends with the low murmurs of my colleagues. Today, I’m wearing my jewel-toned satin stilettos, an imitation of the iconic Manolo Blahniks Mr. Big proposed to Carrie with in Sex and the City. They’re stunning but the wrong choice for a day when I want to go unnoticed.
Christina, my best friend, is the only person in the kitchen. She’s yawning while stirring a spoonful of honey into a cup.
“Chris, where in the world have you been? You missed the staff meeting.”
“Yeah. It’s been a crazy morning.” She brings the cup to her pursed lips and takes a sip of what smells like peppermint chai. “Saw you chatting with the new guy. What was that about?”
“Nothing. Just answering some of his questions about the office.” I’m proud of the lie. It’s quick, simple, and definitely believable.
“Mm-hmm.” She drinks the tea leisurely, her hazel eyes watching me from above the rim of the cup. “He’s hot. Don’t you think?”
“No. Not really. I don’t . . . I don’t think he’s hot at all.” Another lie. Though, this one lacks all the elements of believability.
“Oh. Okay. Well, rumor has it that the instant he walked into the conference room, you forgot how to chew and choked on a muffin.” She chuckles, and her nose scrunches up, its length shrinking. “Then you proceeded to gawk at him like a damn fool for the rest of the meeting. Did I hear wrong?” She arches a perfectly groomed eyebrow, daring my denial.
“Look.” I sigh, and the sharp release of air makes my lips tremble. “I wasn’t staring at him because he’s hot or anything.” Damn the stupid rumors.
“Then why were you staring?” She waits for an answer I’m not ready to provide. “Azere, I’m not judging. Hell, I probably would have been staring too. He’s one gorgeous excuse for a man.” Her hand flaps, fanning her flushed face. “Oh, the things I would love to do to him. Whips, handcuffs, and hot wax would definitely be needed.”
At her admission, my eyes widen. Hot wax? I have questions but lack the audacity to ask and the resolve to stomach the answers. “Yeah. I gotta get back to work.”
“Hold up.” Christina stands in front of me, preventing my exit. “What’s with you?” Tilting her head, she observes me. “I’m getting a vibe.”
“A vibe?” I laugh. “Should I credit that to your supposed psychic abilities?”
“Or just good ol’ instincts.” She’s still inspecting my face. “Azere, what’s wrong?”
There’s so much I could tell her, so many issues currently bothering me. One is sitting a few feet away, confined by glass walls in an office directly across mine. The other issue is a suspicion I’ve had for days, a suspicion I’m not ready to confirm or tell my best friend about. Fortunately, the third issue doesn’t require secrecy because it’s something Christina has heard many times before.
“It’s my mom. I’m having dinner with my family tonight, and she’s setting me up. Again.”
“Azere, just tell her you don’t want to meet another potential husband. In fact, tell her you don’t need a man.”
“That’s definitely not happening.” I glare at my friend. “Immediately when I say that, she’s gonna call the pastor over for a prayer and deliverance session. Her exact words will be”—I clear my throat and conjure a Nigerian accent—“Azere, at your ripe age, if you don’t need a man, a husband, you must be possessed. You must be very possessed, but Jesus will deliver you.”
Christina giggles. “Okay. Fine,” she says, settling down. “But, Azere, if you really want a man, you gotta stop letting your mom set you up. She’s a terrible matchmaker. Maybe it’s time you pass the baton to me.” She grins widely, exposing the gap between her two front teeth. “I’ll set you up. With my cousin. Leo.”
“Hmm. Leo.” I consider the name. “From your father’s side of the family?”
When she nods, I shake my head.
“Chris, I only date Nigerians. You know that.”
“Yeah. And how’s that been working for you?”
I say nothing, and she eyes me.
“Mm-hmm. Exactly. Now, let me set you up with Leo. He’s a great guy, and he’s super cute. He looks like a young John Travolta with a hint of an older Robert Downey Jr.”
“I’m having a hard time envisioning that combination.”
“No need to. You can meet him in person. You two could work out. And if you’re wondering, a Nigerian woman and an Italian man can make a pretty cute kid. Check it out.” She waves her hands over her body like she’s a displayed prize on The Price Is Right. “I’m proof.”
I smile and nod in agreement. Christina is a beautiful woman. The mixture of black and white in her DNA adds an undertone of russet to her beige skin and a delicate kink to the brunette locks that puff out and coil past the length of her neck. We interned at Xander together—right out of university. The first time I saw her, attempting to balance a stack of files on her arms, I noticed her eyes. They were wide and frantic, a stunning hazel hue that complemented the ginger-colored freckles on her cheeks. I took half the load off her arms, and the next day, she thanked me with a latte. We became inseparable soon after, having lunch together every day, ranting about our boss, and bonding over our shared Edo heritage.
Christina, unlike me, was born in Canada. I became a citizen at twelve, shortly after immigrating.
Canadian. It’s a title that is both empowering and demanding as it requires me to give up portions of my Nigerian culture so I can fit into my Western setting. And I’ve been doing that for years—compromising, losing bits and pieces of my original identity in an attempt to reinvent myself. However, the one thing I can’t compromise on is the ethnicity of my future husband.
“So,” Christina says, “should I give Leo a call and tell him someone special wants to meet him?”
“Absolutely not.”
“What?” Her thin lips shrink then turn downward. “Why not?”
“Chris, you’ve known me for years. You know what I want.”
“Yeah. You want to marry an Edo man and have his babies. Sounds good. But what makes you think life is gonna turn out just as you expect?” She scoffs. “It hardly ever does, Azere. Maybe it’s time you become a little flexible, open up to new possibilities— let go of the life you’ve planned and accept the life that’s waiting for you. I’m just saying.” She shrugs and struts out of the kitchen, her heels clicking and clacking against the ceramic floor.
Let go of the life you’ve planned and accept the life that’s waiting for you.
For a moment, I wonder what that would be like. If I hypothetically let go of the life I have always envisioned, the life I have meticulously planned, what else would there be? What else would be waiting for me?
chapter
3
Rafael Castellano
Sweat gathers at the root of my hair and drips down my forehead. According to the watch on my wrist, I ran six miles—six miles that did nothing to relieve the stress of being newly employed at a company where my one-night stand coincidentally works. The shock and disbelief of seeing Azere quickly turned to elation and relief. Though, she didn’t share the sentiments.
The private elevator slides open, revealing my spacious, two-story penthouse. I step out, walk to the kitchen, and
grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator. I guzzle down the chilled drink, knowing I’ll soon be interrupted by the quick pitter-patter of small feet. Right on cue, the interruption arrives. The toy fox terrier hastens toward me, his tongue hanging out of his open mouth and his tail wagging at an incredible speed. He stops at my feet and barks, demanding my attention.
“Hey, Milo,” I say, crouching down to pet him. “Did you miss me?”
He licks my hand, his way of answering.
“Missed you too, buddy. Did you enjoy your walk with Jenny? Were you a good boy?” He usually is. As I rub a spot under his chin, I recall getting him two years ago. He was exactly what I needed, someone other than myself to take care of. Unfortunately, we haven’t spent much time together lately. I’ve been occupied with moving back to Toronto. Now, with my new role at Xander, I’ll be occupied with trying to prove myself and impress higher-ranking colleagues who already expect so much from me. The pressure to succeed is higher than ever. To make matters worse, I haven’t been able to focus entirely on my new tasks. I’ve been thinking about her a lot.
Azere.
Today, while sending emails and taking phone calls, I found myself periodically looking straight ahead at where she sat in the office directly across mine, holding her gaze in the brief moments our eyes connected. The image of her in my arms—naked and spent—came to mind throughout the day.
It comes to mind now.
I still recall the details of that night—not just the pleasure derived from touching her and being touched by her, but the hint of emotion that sprouted out of my guarded heart like a plant through the ground. Being with her—laughing, talking, touching—was the first time in three years I felt something other than utter bleakness. It’s still a mystery how she managed to do that—reacquaint me with my old self, a man who was unburdened and easygoing. Azere did all that in one night, and then she was gone. The only evidence of our encounter was in my mind, and sometimes, I found myself questioning if I had imagined it all. And then today, I saw her—flesh and blood, muffin crumbs dusted on the corner of her lips, and eyes wide with surprise. It was as if our meeting again was the contrivance of some unseen immensity—God, angels, something. Now, she wants me to stay away from her. Fulfilling that request will require mustering a colossal amount of willpower.
