BLURB

Ada and Jide are two bankers with two different reasons to be desperate about meeting their respective targets. While Jide is keen to make a name independent of his billionaire father’s, Ada just wants to stay employed. With only a week to the closure of their bank’s IPO, and a limited number of pool cars, they have no choice but to share one as they hit the town, marketing. Unseasonal rain compounds their already dire situation, and by the end of the week, as unexpected emotional connections are made, there is more at stake than just their jobs.

DEDICATION

To Lovers.

DAY ONE

Ada

I zone out as my manager continues his Monday morning rant, a rant that hadn’t concerned me as recently as three months ago, but which now feels like it is laser focused on me.

And all because the person I’d once considered my friend, Joy, moved to another bank with my one major account. A chance encounter with Belema Jim-Fubara, the CFO of one of the largest indigenous oil producing companies, Pelamar Oil, led to my clinching the company’s account for my bank, and for two years, I was the golden girl of not just my unit but the bank. After introducing him to Joy, she and I had laughed over the ludicrousness of the overfed and very married Belema thinking he had a chance with me. It was all hilarious until Joy got an offer for a Senior Manager role from Cornerstone Bank, a role four times higher than our Senior Banking Officer role. As it turned out, Belema and Joy had exchanged contact information, and what I’d thought ridiculous to give him – my body – my friend had done so without a second thought.

“All na hustle, Ada,” Joy said when I confronted her. “I no get choice. You sef no want the guy nau.”

Yes, I hadn’t wanted him…but I had wanted my job. In a space of weeks, when Pelamar’s account was moved and its loan liquidated, I went from hero to zero. And even though I was well above my annual target in June, I now run the risk of ending the year not having achieved a tenth of it.

“I’ll advise you to use the ongoing IPO to help your case,” my manager’s rampage continues. “If you know you’re still interested in having a job by January, I strongly advise you to do at least that.”

At least that is a minimum five hundred million naira in subscriptions from retail investors and two billion from institutional investors. 

Not exactly a walk in the park. 

Jide

“Help me help you, Jidenna,” my manager, Barong, says.

“I’m trying my best…” I answer, the words lame even to me.

“I’m finding it difficult to make anyone believe that,” she sighs. “Truth be told, I’m finding it hard believing it myself.”

And her meaning isn’t lost on me. When I walked up to her at Ikoyi Club last year and handed her my CV, I was sure she’d expected more from the offspring of Chief Osita Elozonam, one of the country’s wealthiest industrialists. But considering the whole point of getting this job was to prove to my family and, more importantly, myself, my ability to stand on my own two feet, leaning on my father’s influence was never an option. 

“The IPO closes in a week. Try to progress with that at least,” Barong says with another sigh. “Put your contacts to good use, Jidenna.”

Translation, put my family’s contacts to good use.

I nod and force a smile, but as I exit her office, it isn’t only my smile that fades, but also any optimism I have about not tanking yet another year.

Ada

“I need a pool car,” I say to Akinbiyi, one of the bank’s logistics officers.

Because I’m not going to achieve anything by sitting on my ass feeling sorry for myself.

“Hey, Biyi, I need a car,” comes a voice almost at the same time.

I look up and see Jide Elozonam, one of the many spoilt rich kids whiling away time in the bank. He comes from old money, his family’s fortune dating back many decades. But that isn’t the reason the tall, light-skinned Jide was instantly recognisable to many when he resumed at the bank. No, he had the viral video of him proposing to Candy Okoye, the only child of another wealthy businessman and also a popular Europe-based model, to thank for that. The proposal video of him on one knee in the beautiful sunset of a beach in Maui had many women, me included, wailing God when? So it was quite the surprise to see him appear in the bank, jostling for accounts with the rest of us.

“There’s only one car left,” Akinbiyi answers, casting an apologetic look my way.

As a Deputy Manager, even though only two rungs higher up in the bank’s hierarchy, Jide would be the automatic choice in a toss-up, meaning the one car would go to him.

“We could share it,” Jide says, surprising me. “If you’re going to places on the island, we could share the car.”

I nod enthusiastically. Even though at this point, I’m pretty much shooting from the hip and have a hundred and one places to go, if it means not losing another precious day and waiting for any of the other pool cars to return, I’m happy to share.

So I answer, “Yes. Yes, I’m going to places on the island.”

Jide

I hadn’t planned for company, and, in truth, I could have pretended not to notice the look of dismay on the face of one of the bank’s highfliers. If I had a kobo for every time I’ve heard unsolicited praise for Ada Osagie, I would be an extremely wealthy man. I’d like to say being chivalrous and considerate is the reason I have offered to share the pool car, but the truth is that I am hopeful of maybe benefitting from her apparent wealth of contacts. 

Ada

“Wait here, I’ll bring the car,” Garba, the driver of the Toyota Corolla assigned to us, says. “The rain is heavy.”

And so, it is. As Jide and I stand under the glass portico at the bank’s entrance, the elements before us are anything but friendly, what with the heavy shower of rain atypical for this time of year. We wait until Garba pulls up and scurry into the car before we get wet, Jide in the front passenger seat and me at the back. In the confinement of the car, the heady aromatic smell of Jide’s perfume permeates the small space. Ignoring its immediate lightheaded effect, I whip out my notepad from my handbag and start to scribble, determined to make the most of this outing.

Jide

It turns out my colleague’s wealth of contacts isn’t quite as wealthy. As a matter of fact, if the drawn look on her face after her stops is anything to go by, it’s probably more austere than mine. But I don’t have any right to make fun of her as I don’t fare any better. 

“It’s a tricky time, Jidenna,” the law firm partner I befriended in church says. “Year-end is the worst time to move accounts or make heavy expenditure. Maybe January.”

Except January will be too late.

As we comb the island, as we emerge from the places we visit with faces longer and shoulders lower than when we entered, it becomes apparent that the day has been a total bust.

For me, anyway. Because why star girl Ada Osagie is hunting for accounts beats me.

Ada

“Going to the mainland might be better,” I suggest.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Jide says. “We could plan to do that tomorrow.” He turns to look at Garba. “I’m going to have Biyi lock you down for the day.”

I nod, grateful for his foresight. With only one week to the closing of the bank’s IPO, that every marketing staff is now frantic is an understatement.  

“It might be a good idea to buddy up for calls tomorrow. Strength in numbers, and all that.”

“You’re right,” I answer, genuinely pleased by this suggestion as I’m certain the American inflection to his words will go a long way in making people more willing to listen to, and maybe even buy, what we’re selling.

“Great,” Jide says as the car pulls up under the portico in front of the bank. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” I say. 

DAY TWO

Ada

Exiting the elevator, I see Jide already standing in the lobby. He is occupied with his phone and doesn’t see me, allowing me appreciate the appealing sight of him in a fitted black suit and a red tie that pops scarlet on the white shirt on which it rests. The click-clack of my heels on the marble floor makes him look up and his face is impassive as I approach, not acknowledging the extra effort I put into my attire for the day – a white shirt over a grey houndstooth skirt unusual for me, given my preference for comfortable suits with a loose enough jacket over loose enough pants – or showing any regret about offering to share a car with me for a second day. I can read nothing from his face.

“Hey,” I say when I reach him.

“Hey,” he answers. “So, I have good news and bad news.”

“The bad news first,” 

“The good news sets the tone for the bad…”

I shake my head. “The bad news first.”

“The driveway is too busy for Garba to pick us up from the front.”

I grimace as my eyes travel to the glass doors. With today’s rain even heavier than yesterday’s, there is a long line of cars dropping off people at the door, people that might have otherwise walked the short distance from the car park.

“And the good news?” I ask, sighing.

Jide’s lips curve in a slight smile. “Garba is ready to take us now.” He taps the floor with an umbrella I hadn’t noticed him holding. “Let’s go.”

Jide

I open my umbrella just as we step out of the bank and Ada slips her arm through the crook of mine as we make a dash for the car park. As we fast walk, I smell the earthy scent of her Sisterlocks, an earthy aroma with the slightest hint of coconut. Thankfully, we reach the Corolla before I start to question why I am dissecting the smell of her hair. After holding the umbrella over her as she gets into the car, I take my position in the front seat. 

I have way more important things to do than notice the smell of Ada Osagie’s hair.

Ada

The traffic adds forty minutes to our commute. We head first to Ilupeju, and then to Ikeja, Ogba, and Ojota, cold calling all the energy companies we find on Google – oil and gas for me and renewable for him.

Hoping for the best. 

Jide

Today is a much better day. As we go from company to company, I am fascinated watching how easily Ada engages people she meets for the first time, and I soon start to understand why she is such a superstar at work. She’s a natural. 

By the time we walk out of the last company on my list, not only have we succeeded in visiting all the places we’d earmarked, at 2 p.m., we have time to spare. The torrent has reduced to a drizzle and the skies are brightening with the re-emerging sun. Spotting a fast-food chain as we turn on to a major street, the growl of my stomach is the reminder I’ve had nothing to eat all day.

“I second that!” Ada chuckles from the back seat. “Garba, please park in front of that Johnny’s Chicken before hunger finishes us on top of United Trust Bank matter.”

Garba laughs as he turns into the Johnny’s Chicken’s car park, and Ada presses a few naira notes into his hand.

“Find yourself some food before we start round two of this our journey,” she says.

Round two? As far as I’m concerned, we’re done for the day. 

Ada

“Was it hunger today, or is that how you market?” I ask as we tuck into plates of surprisingly tasty fried rice and peppered chicken.

“Huh?”

“Your voice was so one-tone and unexcited, it didn’t sound like you even believed in what you were selling.”  

“I passed on the message, which is what will ultimately make them buy shares or deposit money. I suppose you think your over-exuberant method is better.”

“Over-exuberant?!”

“You sounded like a home video commercial, the ones that end with ‘marketed and distributed at 51 Iweka Road’.”

“See this guy oh!” I laugh. “How else will I convince people to buy shares? How much are Zenith Bank or even GTCO shares that we’re selling UTB’s for sixty naira? How else will I convince them our shares will yield more than Zenith shares?”

“You can’t convince them because they won’t.” 

I shake my head, still smiling. “That, Jide, is the reason you haven’t convinced anyone to buy.”

Jide

“Why are you so keen anyway?” I ask her. “From what I hear, you’ve surpassed your target and are pretty much coasting now.”

The smile on her face fades. 

“Not anymore. I lost my major account.”

I listen, slack jawed, as she tells the story of her friend moving to another bank and taking with her this account that laid the golden egg.

“Your friend did that to you?!” 

 “Turns out she wasn’t a friend after all. Anyway, enough about me. Why are you, a whole Jidenna Elozonam, slumming it and running around Lagos looking for money you can easily pay from your trust fund.”

“Very funny. Let’s just say I’m trying to do things independently of my father.”

Ada scoffs. “Must be nice for this to just be about proving something to yourself.”

“It’s a lot more than that,” I say, pausing as I contemplate the wisdom of saying more to someone I barely know. “The truth is I pissed the old man off when I broke off my engagement to his friend’s daughter. After he threatened to slash my salary and stop my allowance until I fixed things with her, I realised he had way too much control over me. At thirty, I was too old to be as dependent as I was. So, I left the family business and found myself a job.”

“You broke up with Candy Okoye?!” Ada exclaims, prompting laughter from me because, really, that was her takeaway from me spilling my guts?

“Almost two years ago, yeah.”

“But your proposal video! How could you break up after proposing to her like that?”

My smile dims. “Candy actually broke up with me. I just agreed to take the fall for it.” 

Ada

There are a million and one other questions I want to ask, but I’m perceptive enough to see that this is a sore topic for him. He must have really loved her.

“Your name is such a puzzle to me,” he says, changing the topic. “Ada Osagie. Please explain.”

“Contrary to what many think, my Ada is a Bini name, meaning favour. It’s not the name your people give firstborn daughters,” I answer. “You should talk, Jide Elozonam.”

He smiles again causing a small flutter in my stomach. “Everyone knows Jide is short for Jidenna, so not the same thing.” He glances at his watch. “We wrapped things up early today. I’m sure we’ll get back to the island before 5 p.m.”

“About that,” I say, biting my lower lip. “Since we’re here, can we visit a tank farm in Ibafon? My cousin gave me the owner’s phone number, but I haven’t been able to come this way.”

“Ibafon?! Ada, we’re in Ojota.”

“It’s not far,” I plead. “If we get off the bridge at Oworonshoki and hit the expressway, we can be there in thirty minutes.”

“I don’t know…”

“Jide, please. I’m in danger of losing my job if nothing happens for me this week. I beg you. I’m desperate!”

Jide

How can I say no to that?

So, despite the escalating rain, we head to Ibafon. But the journey isn’t as straightforward as Ada sold it to be, with heavy traffic keeping us still en route over an hour later. By the time we hit the expressway, it is almost 6 p.m.

“Will they still be there, Ada?” 

“We’ve already come this far, we can’t turn back.” 

We continue the journey, inching along until we turn off the expressway to heavily flooded roads. My anxiety rises as we wade through the roads and rising water level.

“Garba, are you sure the car can manage?” I ask as water seeps into the car from the door.

“Maybe we should turn back,” Ada, the brainchild of this foolish sojourn, says.

“If it’s not too far, we can try,” Garba says, but the rigidness of his face betrays his anxiety.

  He turns off the air conditioning, but as we move through the water now high enough to swipe the car’s windows, I know we won’t make it to our destination. And when the car sputters to a stop along the road, my postulation becomes a scary reality.

Garba grunts and curses under his breath.

“I dey come,” he says, opening the door and shutting it quickly, but not quick enough to keep water from entering the car.

Ada

“Jesus!” I scream as water surges into the car in the short time it takes Garba to open and close his door. “Where is he going?!”

“To get a tow truck, maybe,” Jide answers, his voice not registering the kind of panic I need us both to be feeling right now.

I watch as Garba wades through the water in the heavy rain, my heart in my mouth as the car rocks from the force of the billowing water around it.

God, who begged me to come here?!

Jide

After thirty minutes sitting and swaying in the car with both our feet elevated, I know we can’t afford to sit in here for much longer. It is pitch dark now and Ada and I are sitting ducks in this car.

“We can’t stay here until Garba gets back,” I say. “We need to get out and wait under one of those shelters over there.”

Across the road is an elevated row of kiosks with corrugated roofing.

“Get out to where? This dirty water?!” Ada shrieks. “Can you imagine the ecosystem of germs and bacteria swimming in it?! Or even water snakes or…or scorpions!”

I smile as I roll up my trousers. “Scorpions don’t swim, Ada.”

Before I can second guess myself, I slip my phone into the pocket of my jacket, open my door, grimace as I put first one leg and then the other into the water now thigh-high, walk to the back door under the heavy rain, open it, and stretch a hand to Ada.

“It’s not that deep,” I lie, knowing it will be at least waist high for her.

“The thing has almost swallowed you, you say it’s not that deep!” 

 “Get on my back. I’ll carry you,” I say, turning around and lowering myself.

Ada

I hesitate, not knowing if I’m truly expected to climb on the sturdy back he offers or remain seated in the car for however long it will take Garba to return. But as more water floods the car from the opened door, it’s obvious what the wiser choice is. I hoist my bag over my shoulder and put my arms around Jide’s neck as his solid hands lift me so I straddle him. With my legs circling his waist and my hands in a chokehold around his neck, we wade through the flood. But even though the murky water grazes my ankles, rather than repulsion, I have a tingling awareness that has less to do with the water that drenches us up and down but more from heady smell of Jide’s perfume at his neck where my head is burrowed, and the feel of his firm hands on my calves where he supports my weight.

Jide

I should have thought this through. I grit my teeth as the feel of her soft hands on my neck, her silky legs beneath my hands, and the soft push of her breasts on my back threaten to ignite parts of me that have no business burning, not under this rain…and not for a colleague.

Forcing my attention to the task of getting us both to dry safety, I try to ignore the heat that licks down my spine and the blood flowing all the way south. Thankfully, we get to the elevated rise, but as I lower her, as her soft body slides down my back, a raw, feral yearning makes me step away, tempting me to run back into the pouring rain to calm myself.

“Thank you,” she says, causing me to turn to her. 

Big mistake.

Her drenched blouse now sticks to her skin, showing the lacy outline of her brassiere. I swallow hard and nod, willing my body not to betray me any further than it already has.

“Are you cold?” I ask. “I’d offer you my jacket, but I’m not sure if that would do you any good.” 

Ada

His offer makes me smile, even though it is a ridiculous one, considering how the said jacket is just as soaked as my clothes.

“I’m good, thanks,” I answer.

He doesn’t say anything in response, but his eyes stay on me. With the only light coming from a weak overhead bulb, the space between us thickens as our eyes tangle in the darkness. My breath shortens, and the birds and butterflies in my stomach run riot. I have always thought Jide attractive, but now…now, standing before him, something pulses, something that is more than harmless attraction, something that longs for the feel of those hands, the smell of that neck…

And everything else in between. 

Jide

I should look away. Why the fuck can’t I look away? But I am unable to peel my eyes off her, unable to do anything about the awareness of her that was a mere ember before, a growing flame as I carried her, and which is now a raging inferno as I look at her.

The flash of lights ahead makes me finally peel my eyes away, and I exhale with relief when I see a truck head towards our abandoned car.

“Garba found a tow truck,” I say, turning away from her and facing the safer view of the road.

The trauma of being trapped in the rain must be what is awakening the long-hibernated senses inside me.

Ada

I am grateful when Jide looks away, grateful for the chance to catalog the strange emotions his gaze stirred inside me. 

But as we journey back to town, sandwiched between Garba and a mechanic in the truck towing the bank’s car, I am again all too aware of Jide in ways I wasn’t an hour before. With my thigh pressed against his, my mind runs riot, envisioning the firm muscle beneath the fabric of clothing separating us. I close my eyes to banish the wanton visuals. It’s been too long since I’ve enjoyed a man’s touch. No man has been in my bed since my last boyfriend two Christmases ago. It’s hunger for male company that is making me feel this way, not any misplaced attraction to Jide Elozonam of all people.

“I’ll get down here,” Jide says as we approach Falomo. “My house isn’t too far away.”

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“We’ll drop you, Sir,” Garba says.

But Jide is out of the car as soon as it slows down, like he is just as eager to put distance between us. He waves but I don’t wave back, instead turning to look ahead as the truck pulls away and heads back to the office from where I will call myself an Uber, go home…

And give myself, my body especially, a good talking to.

DAY THREE

Jide

Ada and I exchange a smile as I join her in the back seat of the Toyota Avensis that will ferry us around today. With Garba’s Corolla out of commission, I was lucky to get us the last car left after the marketers’ scramble this morning. Even though it means sharing with my colleague, Amina, what’s most important is for Ada and I to have a car today.

Ada and I.

After a very cold shower last night, a much-needed hand job, and a good night’s sleep, I woke up this morning knowing whatever I thought I felt yesterday for Ada was just my mind confusing a growing fondness for something deeper. After spending all of Monday and Tuesday together, not to mention the shared trauma of the flood, it’s not surprising the cables in my head – not heart – got twisted. I like her. I might even be fond of her.

Nothing more.

Ada

I went to bed confused yesterday, woke up confused this morning, and Jide’s text telling me he’d gotten us…us…a car for today confused me even more.

But now, sitting next to him in the car as we go on today’s hunt, rather than the anxiety and tension from yesterday, I feel relaxed, comfortable in his company, the smile he gave me when he entered the car confirming that all I felt yesterday was nothing but a Prince Charming Syndrome, making me think I’d fallen for my rescuer.

Which is nonsense, really. Especially as I don’t even like light skinned guys.

“New shoes?” I nod at his black patent leather brogues. “How’s yesterday’s pair? Will they make it?”

He chuckles, making a slashing motion against his throat. “They’re done. How’d your shoes fare?”

“A little damp but nothing a bit of sunshine won’t cure. It’s my phone that’s acting all crazy.”

“Your phone was in your bag.”

“And my bag got drenched. The damned phone is now glitching.”

“My phone was in my jacket pocket and wasn’t affected at all. But I guess that’s what you get with an Android.”

I giggle and smack his arm but tuck my hand away when my eyes meet Amina’s in the rearview mirror, her brows furrowed as she watches us. Thankfully, Jide picks up on my cue and doesn’t make any more small talk. 

Jide

We drive to a few companies before hitting the Lekki-Epe Expressway. Amina declines joining Ada and me for our calls and doesn’t request that we follow her for hers either, which would have been great if it didn’t lengthen the duration of our journey.

“Elozonam?” the CFO of a small inverter distribution company asks when Ada and I cold-call. “Any relative of Osita Elozonam?”

“He’s my father.”

“Your father is a billionaire, so why are you here?” the man scoffs. “The man likes to chop alone, so why will I help one of his spoilt brats? Why don’t you go back and allow the many slaves your family is oppressing clean your buttocks and wear your diapers.”

I gape at the man, not having a comeback for an attack as unexpected as it is unwarranted.

“This is Jidenna Elozonom, Oga, not Osita,” Ada retorts. “Maybe you need to flush your ears so you can hear better.”

I tug her sleeve, but she smacks away my hand, her face flushed with anger.

“Did you help the man work for his money? Talking about cleaning buttocks when it’s your own making this place smell like an abattoir.”

“Get out of my office!” the man bellows, his face tripling in size as he flings our forms to the floor.

“Na this three by three you dey call office?” Ada cackles as we walk out, not bothering to pick up the sheets. “Circulate your CV so you can find a better place to work than a battery recycling company in Agungi.”

Pushing forward his table, the man shoots to his feet in a wild rage. Ada grabs my hand as we run out of the place, both of us breathless with laughter. We don’t stop until we have run all four flights of steps downstairs.

“Madam, I thought you were all about toasting and sweet talk. Where did that come from?” 

“I don’t look for trouble but if anyone talks nonsense around me, them go collect,” she answers, her laughter fading as she regards me. “Do you get that a lot?”

“Not always to my face. But yeah, my dad isn’t exactly Mr. Popular. It didn’t help when he got Julius Berger to build our country home in Okija but ignored the bad roads leading to the place.”

“It’s not your dad’s responsibility to fix the country’s roads.”

“Tell that to the millions of people who hate his guts.”

Ada

Even though he is still smiling, I see a vulnerability lurking beneath his cool and composed mask.

“Hmm,” he says, reading a message on his phone. “Amina says we should meet them at the mall down the road. Something about a trailer blocking the way and making it impossible for them to come get us here.”

“But it’s raining,” I wail, referencing the downpour that started as we entered this building.

“So should we wait? Or call an Uber?”

I peer out of the window. The mall is less than a five-minute walk from here and it wouldn’t make any sense to call a taxi.  

“I have an umbrella,” I say, bringing out a small contraption that struggles to provide shelter for one person, let alone two. “Let’s make a dash for it.”

Jide

I look from Ada to the small thing in her hand but before I can counter her, she launches it, grabs my hand, and we are soon out in the rain. 

Laughing, I take the umbrella from her and stoop to provide better shelter for us both, but it is useless as the rain whips us from all directions. Then without any notice, Ada breaks away and runs ahead, turning around with a broad smile on her face as she beckons me to walk, or run, faster. Putting away the umbrella, I run behind her towards the mall and when we dart under the canopied forecourt, we are doubled over laughing, both of us drenched.

“We should have waited,” she giggles.

“We should have used the umbrella, Ada!” I quip, also laughing.

“If we find the toilets, their driers might help us,” she says, reaching for her bag to retrieve her phone. “Now the damned thing is dead. Can you call Amina and Josiah to ask them to give us a few minutes?”

But as I look at Ada, alerting the driver and other occupant of the car is the last thing on my mind. As she lifts her wet hair away from her face, shaking her head to reduce some moisture, I reach for my phone alright, but to do something I haven’t done in many months; capture a captivating image. I take several pictures of her. I take pictures as she secures her hair in a makeshift bun with a rubber band, as she slips off her jacket and shakes it, and as she turns to look at me with furrowed brows, following which I do go on to dial our companions.

“They’ll wait,” I say after I’ve spoken to Amina.

Fifteen minutes later, drier and not too worse for wear, we’re back in the car making our rounds. As we drive around, I take more pictures of Ada, capturing her as she tries to revive her phone with a power bank, as she crosses things off a list in her notebook, and as she leans her head on the window in contemplative mode. At some point, she turns to look at me and smiles when she realises I’m taking her picture. With a wide smile of my own, I continue to snap as she laughs first in amusement and then self-awareness, not stopping even when she covers her face with her hands. By the time the car pulls into our bank’s premises, I have over a hundred images of her on my phone.

“Na wa for two of you,” Amina mumbles as she walks past us into the building, clearly not amused about the day’s failed trip.

At almost 7 p.m., the building has emptied out and even though I haven’t achieved anything for a third day straight, rather than feel despondent, I feel…lightheaded and more than a little euphoric. 

Ada

Alone on our floor, Jide sits near me as we catch up on our emails.

“Thank you for today,” he says. “For defending me.”

“It was nothing,” I answer, not looking up from my screen, crestfallen as I read a commendation email from my boss to a team member who has secured over five billion naira in IPO subscriptions.

“Everything okay?”

“Everything is not okay, Jide. I have only two days left to save my ass with this IPO. Unlike for you, this is life or death for me. My parents are retired civil servants who depend on me. I have three younger siblings still in school and a younger brother who’s been in the job market for years. As if that isn’t bad enough, my flatmates are relocating to Canada next month, and I have only a few weeks to find another place because I can’t afford to rent our apartment alone. If I lose this job, I’m finished.”

“You’re not going to lose this job. And this is also life or death for me. My dad essentially cut me off when I left. This job is all I have as well.”

“You said you took the fall for your breakup with Candy. What does that mean?”

“The outcome for her would have been worse. Besides, I was tired of the strings on my back by then, so I decided to go for the first job I could find…even if I hate it with a passion.”

“You hate banking?”

“I detest it. Walking into this place every day crushes my soul.”

“Then why do it?” 

“Lowest hanging fruit. I’m also trying to save for what I really love to do.”

A slow smile spreads on my face as realisation dawns. “Photography?”

He smiles in response, swipes his phone active and hands it to me, revealing a gallery of candid shots of everything from sunrises, to sunsets, to the Lagos skyline, to hawkers on the road…and me.

“I want to get the kind of equipment that will take even better pictures,” he says, a wistful look in his eyes. “My dream is to have my own studio one day, to have exhibitions of my own work, to be as big as T.Y. Bello or Emeka Agboti.”

I lean forward and cover his hand with mine. “And your dream is valid. It will happen one day.”

Jide

The feel of her hand over mine makes me lose my train of thought, makes me forget my musing, makes me want to take her other hand, makes me want to pull her close enough to find out what other parts of her are this soft, this supple.

“You think we should try Ajah and Lakowe tomorrow?” she asks.

It takes a few moments to remember our discussion in the car about spreading our dragnet further.

“Yeah, I think we should,” I answer after clearing my throat. “Since you stay on that side of town, I could pick you up in the morning. It might make more sense for me to drive than hustle for a pool car, especially considering they’re probably all booked by now.”

“That’s a great idea. I’ll send my address from my other phone, so don’t worry what strange person is texting you.” she says, winking.

“Okay, ma’am,” I laugh, shutting my laptop. “How are you getting home now? I could give you a ride…”

“I’m hitching a ride with my neighbour. She’ll be here any minute.”

 “Cool. See you tomorrow.”

DAY FOUR

Jide

At 7 a.m., I pull up in front of the address Ada sent me, feeling worse for wear having hardly had a wink of sleep. With one hundred and twelve pictures of her in my photo gallery, I can no longer attribute the images of her face playing in a loop in my head to a growing fondness…not when it steals my sleep and leaves me fantasizing about the feel of her lips beneath mine and wondering if the rest of her body is as soft and silky smooth as her hands. So, yeah, I’m not exactly in the best of moods.

But my mood is about to get a whole lot worse.

I have barely set my phone down after texting to let her know I’ve arrived when her gate opens, and she steps out.

And my world stops.

In a shapeless black suit at least a size too big and with her face completely devoid of any makeup, there is no reason for the sight of her smiling and walking to my car to make my heart race. But it does. From her large eyes that have no business shining so bright this early in the morning, to the dewiness of her coffee brown skin, to the plushness of her full pink lips, she is in her most natural of elements…and the most beautiful I have ever seen her.

And that’s not good. That’s not good for me at all.

“So you’re an early bird?” she asks as she enters the car, her coconutty smell filling the car. “When you said seven, I was certain you meant eight.”

“If we’re starting with Lakowe, we might as well set off early,” I answer, putting the car into motion.

“Thank God the rain has stopped,” she says, using the vanity mirror to rearrange her locs. “With better weather, we should be able to do more today.”

“The forecast is for more rain,” I mutter as we join the already heavy traffic on Orchid Road. “I hope you have your umbrella.” 

Ada

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“I’m good,” he answers, not turning to look at me.

Recognising the dismissal, the smile on my face disappears, and I push back the sun visor. I should have taken the time to apply some makeup and maybe wear a better suit. He probably regrets agreeing to have me tag along in this state. But apart from the suit being my only clothing option after not having electricity overnight to iron anything else, if my appearance is an issue, well that’s tough for him.

We ride in silence for the ninety-minute drive to Lakowe, not saying anything as we market employees of the golf course, the hotel, the integrated power company, and the LPG distribution company, all unsuccessfully. By the time we leave for Ajah at noon, like Jide predicted, it is raining just as heavily as it has all week.

“This kind of rain in October,” I grumble as we inch through traffic. “Whatever happened to it being the start of dry season?”

“Ever heard of global warming?” is Jide’s retort, his eyes still on the road.

I throw him visual daggers, my happy mood long dissipated, no thanks to his sour attitude and our so far failed mission. Alas, we fare no better with the companies we visit in Ajah.

“Those guys at Air Peace asked us to come back on Thursday, right? Jide asks as we get back on the expressway.

I nod, glancing at my watch, wondering if it’s too ambitious to head to the mainland at 2 p.m.  

“Should we try?” he asks.

I shrug in response and return my attention to my phone, because two can play this cold-shoulder game.

He taps a button that floods the car with Frank Ocean’s Pink + White. And the Blonde album remains the soundtrack as we head to the mainland.

Jide

Nothing is working. Not ignoring her, not avoiding conversation, not even listening to my favourite album. No matter what I do, I am all too aware of her, all too aware of this responsiveness to her that has traversed layers of skin and muscle and now penetrates my bones.

The traffic is heavy inward and outward the island and we don’t get to Ikeja till almost 4 p.m. Thankfully, it isn’t a wasted journey as, between Ada and I, we manage to sell five-million-naira worth of shares. A drop in the ocean considering our respective targets, but the best we have done all week.

“Can we pass through Ilupeju?” Ada asks. “The CFO of Coastal Oil asked us to come back later in the week, remember?”

I frown, glancing at my phone, which is blowing up with notifications from social media platforms about the now gridlocked traffic.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Apparently, traffic is mental today.”

“But Ilupeju is on our way back to the island,” Ada answers, an unmissable edge in her voice. “We have to pass there anyway.”

“According to Google Maps, we’re already not making it back to the island before 9 p.m.,” I say through grit teeth. “That’s four hours, if you haven’t done the math.”

“Maybe you have the luxury of allowing traffic dictate your movement, but I don’t,” she snaps, turning to glare at me. “Tomorrow is Friday. The week is gone. And some of us don’t have daddy’s money to fall back on.”

 I look at her, both angered and betrayed by her words.

“Just drop me there. I’ll find my way back,” she mutters, looking away.

“Fine,” I answer, returning my attention to the road.

It takes us forty minutes to get to the Town Planning Way exit of Ikorodu Road, and I swerve into it, make the turn to the oil trading company, stop in front of it, and wait for her to fish her umbrella from her bag, push it open, and disembark. And when she is out of the car, I drive off.

Ada

A lump forms in my throat as I watch Jide’s BMW X6 disappear down the street, but the pouring rain doesn’t let me marinate in my disappointment. Turning around, I scurry into the building, where I proceed to wait endlessly to meet with the CFO. But after almost an hour, his secretary dismisses me with the apology of him having to leave for a meeting with the company’s Chairman and that ‘he will be in touch soon’.

When is soon?! I have only until Monday!

Desolate, I try to book a taxi back, but none of my cab-hailing apps has drivers willing to head to the island. It turns out Jide wasn’t exaggerating, and that Lagos truly is locked down.

I’m screwed.

Jide

I have only just ascended the bridge when I curse aloud, knowing there is no way I can leave Ada behind. But getting off the bridge is a different ball game, and it is almost an hour before I exit at Anthony Village and another forty minutes before I can turn off Ikorodu Road at Town Planning Way. But when I make to turn into Coker Road and see the long line of cars at a standstill, I know I have well and truly fucked up.

Ada

I sit in Coastal Oil’s reception for over an hour, trying and retrying my cab hailing apps until I am politely asked to leave so the office can be locked up for the day. I have no choice but to venture out in the rain, my flimsy umbrella doing little to protect me from the downpour. As I walk down the road, my tears compete with the rain beating my face. It is almost 8 p.m., and if the stationary array of headlights up ahead is anything to go by, the traffic jam is yet to abate. How am I going to get home now?

But as I near the end of the road, I see a familiar form approach. His jacket is off, and his shirt is plastered to his body, but my heart lifts as I recognise Jide walking towards me.

Jide

After making the decision not to venture into the tighter gridlock on Coker Road, I park on the side of the road and venture out on foot. I half walk and half run, not certain Ada will still be there three hours after I left her. But as I turn into Coastal Oil’s street, even though I am half blinded by the rain, she is the first thing I see, walking towards me with heavy steps as she struggles with her umbrella. Our eyes hold, and my heart is both lightened in my relief and weighted by her distress. I stop walking just as she does and we stand facing each other, the rain pounding us from every angle. But I’m so relieved to see her, I welcome every thrashing drop of it.

“I’m sorry.” 

“You came back.”

We call out at the same time, both our voices raised several decibels to carry over the howling wind and honking cars on the street behind me.

“I parked a distance away so it’s a bit of a walk,” I say.

“I don’t mind,” she answers, wiping from her eyes what I can’t tell is rain or her tears.

I give her my hand, and she takes it, and the contact is everything I have needed, everything I have yearned for today. With my other hand, I take the umbrella and do my best to shield her as we head to the car.

We are soon sucked into the numbing traffic all the city is locked in, but as we make our way through it inch by inch, even though Ada sleeps for most of the journey, even though we don’t speak, long-buried emotions unearth inside me. And I accept what I have been running away from. 

I have fallen for her.

“What time is it?” she asks when she wakes up and sees that we have only just descended Third Mainland bridge.

“11:57.”

She sighs and sits up, her face contorted with concern that isn’t misplaced. From everything I see online, traffic is even worse on the Lekki expressway.

“I have a spare room,” I say. “I’ll take you home first thing in the morning when the traffic abates.”

Her eyes widen, and I worry that my internal turmoil has coloured the delivery of my suggestion. But then she smiles and nods, her shoulders sagging in her relief.

“If it won’t be a bother, I’d like that very much.”

Forty minutes later, we drive into the compound that houses the serviced apartment I occupy. We ride to my penthouse flat and, once inside, I lead her to the guest room and give her comfortable clothes to change into. After a shower and a change myself, I go to the kitchen to rustle up a meal. I am warming leftover lasagna in the microwave when she appears at the door of the kitchen.

“That smells so good. I had no idea how hungry I was.”

My breath catches in my throat at the sight of her in my jersey joggers hugging her hips and cotton t-shirt stretched taut by her ample breasts. And as I stare unabashed, as I register her features, I realise the most captivating thing about her isn’t even her beautiful face or body…but something not visible to the naked eye. I realise the thing I love about her goes deeper than that.

Way deeper.

Ada

He says nothing in response to my redundant statement, his eyes on me like he is seeing me for the first time. I try to train my eyes on his face, doing everything not to take in the beauty that is him in his natural habitat. In a pair of joggers similar to mine and a University of Southern California t-shirt that hugs a chest more defined and sculpted than his work clothes give away, if I allow myself look at him too much and too long, my resurrected Prince Charming syndrome might make me do something stupid.

“I’m glad you’re hungry,” he finally says, his smile slight. “Thankfully, I asked for seconds after dinner at my sister’s house last weekend.”

Minutes later, our portions are served, and after we have eaten and cleared our plates, we sit in his plush living room, sipping glasses of wine.

“This is a nice place,” I remark. “It must cost a fortune to rent.”

“I own it,” he answers with a casual shrug, like owning prime real estate in Ikoyi isn’t a big deal. “My siblings and I got apartments for our twenty-first birthdays.”

“I thought you’re trying to break away on your own.”

“Yeah, but the flat is mine. Not my dad’s.”

“Have you considered selling it, buying a less expensive place, and using the balance to buy your photography equipment?”

Jide

Her suggestion causes me to smile. If only it were that easy. To change the topic, I show her more of the pictures I have taken on my phone, dating as far back as when I was still with Candy.

“These are stunning,” Ada remarks. “Please send me this one,” she says of a picture of early morning fishermen at Ibeshe. “You have a real talent, Jide. Don’t waste it.”

Ada

“How long were you with Candy?” I ask.

“Freshman year, so about eleven years.”

“The breakup must have stung,” I remark, surprised how his anticipated confirmation stings me.

“I saw it coming, so it took the edge off a little. But, yeah, it did hurt. Trusting people doesn’t come easily to me. My mom divorced my dad when I was fifteen, and even though she’s kept in touch, it felt like she’d traded us for a brand-new family.”

“She remarried?”

“And has two young kids. It’s given me what some call abandonment issues. That’s what made the breakup with Candy hurt.” His eyes hold mine. “What about you? Any big loves?”

I chuckle. “Big mistakes? Many. Big loves?” My laughter fades as our eyes hold. “None yet.”

The word yet hangs in the air between us, as visible as if it’s scribbled in neon and as audible as if I have yelled it from speakers.

“You know why I was so moody today?” he asks. “I’d started feeling things for you I didn’t understand.”

His words quicken my heartbeat and shallow my breath, making my heart expand till it pushes hard against its rib confinement as fear, excitement, and possibility surge through my veins.

Jide

Her silence almost makes me regret my words. Almost, but not quite, the confession making me feel lighter than I did minutes ago. 

“I hope I haven’t made you feel uncomfortable,” I say.

She smiles and moves closer, resting her head on my chest and wrapping her arm round my torso. “Uncomfortable is the last thing I feel when I’m with you, Jidenna.”

The earthy smell of her hair and sweet smell of her still lingering perfume shoot straight to my bloodstream, my building arousal making my vision blur. Clamping my teeth down on my tongue to keep an erection at bay, I focus instead on the warm emotions radiating from my chest to the rest of my body. And as sleep finds us both, all I can think is how much I love this feeling. 

DAY FIVE

Ada

Maybe it’s the soft cotton feel of his t-shirt on which I lie. Maybe it’s the citrusy aroma from his shower. Maybe it’s the feel of his strong arm that cages me to him. Maybe it’s the pounding of his heart beneath my head. Whatever it is, when my eyes flutter open a few hours later, all I know is that I never want the moment to end. I am unable to stop the purr of contentment that escapes my lips as I snuggle closer, burying myself even deeper into the cave of his chest. 

Jide

I feel her stir. I feel her move, so close that only a heartbeat separates our bodies. I squeeze her shoulder and she looks up at me as I look at her. Our foreheads press together, and her large coffee brown eyes cause my breath to saw in and out of my chest. I want her so bad…but I also can’t break her trust. I promised her she’d be safe with me, and safe is what she has to be.

Ada

His gaze melts me to liquid, all the emotions charging through me reflected in his eyes. I hold his eyes in a silent plea to take everything I am desperate to give. I lick my lips and his eyes drop to them, the bob of his Adam’s apple betraying his need…and unleashing mine. Leaning forward, I brush my mouth over his, and the feel of it sends fiery tendrils of want through my body. He tips up my chin and commandeers the kiss, his tongue entwining mine and sending my mind into freefall. I fist his t-shirt as he pulls me closer, the kiss needier and greedier with every hungry swipe of our tongues.

Jide

She tastes like wine…and paradise. My mouth devours hers like a starved man before a banquet, a thirsty man before a fountain, the kiss equal parts confession, declaration, and confirmation. And when her soft hands move down my chest and slip under my shirt, the feel of her fingers on my skin severs my last frayed thread of self-control, the contact making my blood almost burn its way out of my body. Leaning forward, I help her slide the t-shirt off me before I roll over to kneel over her. I pause as our eyes hold again and even though I hesitate to silently seek her permission, as I look at her, I know this is no meaningless quickie to satisfy an itch. I know I’m too far gone for that. Her hands circle my neck and pull me down, and our kiss this time is wilder and more feral, both of us wanting more.

Needing more.

Ada

I peel off my t-shirt, and the hunger in his eyes as he looks at my bare chest pleases and arouses me. Before long, we lose the remaining items of our clothing, both our hands voracious and everywhere at once. Our bodies connect, and we are soon an entanglement of slick skin, pounding hearts, searching hands, and probing mouths as our limbs surge and retreat, give and take, not breaking gaze as my walls quicken around him and as we detonate almost simultaneously. He collapses on me as we both struggle to catch our breath, but even with his weight grounding me, I feel weightless, like I’m floating. We lie there unmoving, the only motion coming from the heaving of our chests…and it is like nothing I have ever felt before.

Jide

I push away slightly to look at her, worried I will see in her face regret, but the tenderness in her eyes and soft smile on her mouth show anything but. Still, I want her to know this was no act of impulse for me.

“I love the view from here,” I say, hoping she can read from it all the other things I’m saying.

She must, because smile widens. “Me too.”

And she leans forward, and we exchange kisses, and breaths, and kisses, and heartbeats, until our bodies consume us again.

Ada

We don’t leave for my apartment until past 9am, after a shared shower and my watching in fascination as he clothes his magnificent body in a casual dress shirt and chinos pants, marvelling over his geometry and textures, and amazed how, after barely acknowledging his existence for so long, I now can’t take my eyes off him.

My flat mates have left for work by the time we get there and what starts as Jide waiting for me to get dressed for work soon has me flat on my back as he takes me apart piece by piece again until I shatter even more explosively in a release that is stronger…deeper…bottomless, the satisfaction I feel more profound than skin-deep.

I have fallen for this man.

Jide

We finally make it out of Ada’s place at noon and leisurely drive around the island, revisiting places from earlier in the week. The outcome is unchanged, but it doesn’t dampen either of our spirits. From driving with my free hand interlocked with hers and stealing glances any chance we get, neither of our missions for the day has anything to do with our work targets. I am happy in a way I haven’t been in a long time…possibly even ever…and if I end up losing my job, it would be worth it. 

She would be worth it.

Ada

We return to Jide’s apartment after what must be my most half-hearted marketing day ever. But even though the week has ended with me not meeting either of my targets, as I sit and watch Jide stir chicken and vegetables in a wok, I am neither despondent nor anxious. Because if the heavens have delivered to me a man like this, everything else must work in my favour, right?

And not just for me.

As Jide contemplates what spices to use for his Asian stir-fry, I log into the Emeka Agboti Gallery website, navigating to the tab where amateur photographers are encouraged to submit their work. I upload the picture of the fishermen and include Jide’s phone number in the contact section, quickly closing the tab as he leans over to kiss me where I sit at the kitchen island. He might not think he’s ready to showcase his work until he has the right equipment, but there is no time like the present.

No time like now. 

DAY SIX

Jide

I have a smile on my face as I stir awake, as I stroke the smooth skin of Ada’s bare back, as the plumes of our morning breath combine, as her natural fragrance seeps into my pores, as her body effortlessly fits into the corners of mine like she was carved from it. She is the appendage I didn’t know I was missing, the jigsaw piece to complete a puzzle I didn’t think could ever be solved. My heart blooms and expands in a way it hasn’t for anyone…or anything…in years, letting her in in a way it hasn’t for anyone…or anything. For the first time in my life, I’m not second guessing, I’m not guarded. For the first time, I am not just trusting my feelings, but also the reciprocity of the person to whom they are directed.

For the first time in my life, I’m happy without fear.

And also for the first time in my life, I know exactly what I need to do.

Ada

His stroke on my back awakes me and I stretch, so happy and content, I want to burst.

“Good morning, gorgeous.”

His morning voice is gravelly, but with a cadence that warms, comforts, and arouses me all at once.

“Good morning,” I say, stretching again and wondering how he is more handsome every time I look at him.

“There’s a wedding I think we should attend today. Tom Mbanefo’s daughter and…”

“General Al Kaliel’s son,” I complete, referencing the wedding of the former Senate President’s daughter to the son of the army chief turned billionaire mogul that has taken over social media for months.

“My sister is friends with Amara, the bride, and I got an invite a while back. I wasn’t going to attend but thinking about it now, it’s the best place to market. One person there could single-handedly help you hit your target.”

I look at him, knowing how big a sacrifice he would be making to be anywhere adjacent to the life he is desperate to distance himself from, knowing he is doing this just for me…and my eyes cloud and my throat clogs in my gratitude.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” I say, the reality of my situation breaking through my state of euphoria, because not even in my apartment do I have anything worth wearing to a wedding like this.

But then he chuckles. “Minor detail, gorgeous.”

Jide

I might not have a lot, but I have enough to buy the woman I’m falling for a pretty dress. 

After a late breakfast, we drive down Awolowo Road until she finds something she likes, a strapless, orange taffeta dress with a shimmery organza overlay and gold and diamante strappy sandals. I sit with her in a natural hair salon in Dolphin Estate as her locs are styled into a chignon, after which we return home to shower and get dressed. When she emerges from the bedroom after applying her makeup in sculpting bronzes, shimmering golds, and a glossy red on her lips, my heart stutters to a stop at the sight of her, and I know I’m not just falling for her.

I’m already flat on my face.

Ada

Getting into this ridiculously expensive dress, I feel like Cinderella. Jide in a black satin lapelled tuxedo leaning on the door frame waiting for me makes me feel like Cinderella. Seeing the unabashed admiration and desire in his eyes makes me feel like Cinderella. But walking into the elaborately decorated hall with my hand tucked in the crook of his makes me feel like a princess living her happy-ever-after. As we make our way through the hall, I recognise people from the news and my social media feed, feeling both in awe in such esteemed company…and a little intimidated. Jide introduces me as his ‘friend’, and even though he and I haven’t discussed labels, this makes me feel some type of way.

“There’s my dad,” he remarks after we are seated, looking at an elevated part of the hall reserved for VVIPs. “I better go say hello.”

I nod and smile, even though the thought of being left alone has covered my body in goosebumps. I watch as he walks over there, as he bows in greeting to the very recognisable Chief Osita Elozonam, and as the man envelops him in a warm embrace. I watch their smiling faces as they talk and as more guests surround them, the ease with which Jide laughs and interacts with these people who are the crem de la crem of society reminding me just how different we are. While I’m sitting here like a freshwater fish flung into the deep blue ocean, this – this ocean – is his natural habitat. 

I am about to text him to hurry back when I notice the tall, statuesque, and devastatingly gorgeous Candy Okoye walk up to him…and my heart sinks at the smile they exchange, the intimate smile of people who were once in love. Or, if the way their hug lingers and the whispers they exchange are anything to go by, maybe still are.

Jide

“It’s so good to see you,” Candy says, stroking my face. “You look amazing.”

“You too,” I answer, smiling fondly at my former lover. “How’s Javier? Told your dad yet?”

She glances around before smacking my arm. “Not so loud. I’ll tell him when I’m ready.”

Javier is the Spanish Yoga instructor she left me for. With her father even more traditional than mine, that he will hit the roof when he finds out is a given. It’s the reason I agreed to cover her, even in my heartbreak.

“Anyway, you’re glowing, so he must be making you happy,” I say.

She observes me as a smile curves her lips. “You’ve met someone, haven’t you?”

I try not to smile but fail woefully, and she pulls me into another embrace, kissing both my cheeks as she does, as affectionate as I’ve always known her to be.

“Details, Jide. I want to know everything.”

“Later, I promise. Right now, I need a favour from Uncle Ezekiel.”

‘Uncle Ezekiel’, better known as Ezekiel Okoye, is the owner of Oilzo, the country’s largest importer of petroleum products.

“Sure. He’s over there with Uncle Tom,” Candy answers. “Something for your bank?”

“Yes and no,” I answer. “I’m leaving the bank. But I know someone for whom this will go a long way.”

Ada

I watch them laugh, watch her kiss him, watch them talk with heads pressed together, watching them walk holding hands across the hall to join a group of older men, and I realise I’ve been nothing but a brief interlude in their love story. Because this is the woman he is going to marry…and I’m the one who’s living in a fool’s paradise. That he didn’t even bother to properly introduce me, and that he hasn’t thought twice about abandoning me here for almost an hour confirms this. 

Swallowing down a lump in my throat, I rise to my feet.

And leave. 

Jide

“No problem at all. I’ll have my Finance SVP give her a call,” Ezekiel Okoye says, snapping a finger at a man shadowing him. “Collect the phone number.”

By the time I head back to Ada, I am literally floating on air, eager to blow her mind with the news. But when I get to our table, she isn’t there. And when I dial her number, it rings off. 

Ada

“Sis, you have to help me,” I say to my cousin, Osas, who manages my bank’s branch in Benin, as I sit in the Uber taking me home after having decided whatever I’ve left in Jide’s house isn’t worth facing him after tonight’s humiliation. “I haven’t met the IPO target and Monday is the deadline.”

“When I told you to transfer to Benin, you didn’t listen,” Osas scoffs. “There’s little I can do for you from here. But if you’re in my branch by Monday, I can cover you.”

Even though the thought of returning to Benin was inconceivable before, now, it is my only lifeline.

“You’re sure? But my manager…”

“Leave Lagos people to me,” Osas answers. “Get on a plane tomorrow and come over. We’ll figure it out.”

As the line disconnects, I know it’s exactly what I must do. Not just to save my job…but to heal my broken heart. My phone vibrates with a call from Jide, but I ignore it, and I ignore the one that follows, knowing hearing his voice will unravel me. I want to kick myself for being so stupid, for letting myself get carried away by a fantasy at the expense of what really matters; my job. After ignoring the third call, I block his number. 

Jide

Confused, I text her. 

JIDE: Babe, where are you?

I wait a few minutes and when no reply comes, I type another message.

JIDE: I got you the Oilzo account. The CEO has also promised to buy shares.

But as I hit the send button, I see that the previous message hasn’t delivered. Dialling her again, when it doesn’t connect, I realise I’ve been blocked. 

DAY SEVEN

Ada

What starts with throwing a few things into a bag ends with me hauling all my belongings into every suitcase and bag I can lay my hands on. Because if Osas can place me in her branch, I’ll have no need to come back here.

Or at least that’s what I tell myself.

Opting to charter a taxi instead of fly, I’m out of the house as early as 6am, the rain from the last few days showing no sign of abating. But as the car makes its way out of Lagos, past places Jide and I went marketing, the tears I have kept at bay find me, and I am soon weeping for everything I thought he and I were, everything I thought we’d be…and everything we never will.

Jide

It took the confirmation of three people who saw Ada get into an Uber to get me to leave the reception venue yesterday. Getting back to my apartment, her clothes still scattered on my bed and her overnight bag still on my bedroom sofa assured me she’d return. But after starting awake at 6am after falling asleep while waiting for her, panic overtakes confusion and I want to kick myself for coming home to wait when I could have been looking for her. Still in my shirt and tuxedo pants, I set off for her apartment.

“You just missed her,” the lady who answers the door says. “She left for Benin less than thirty minutes ago.”

Benin?!

“Do you know when she’ll be back?” 

“Back? She went with everything. Something about her resuming work there tomorrow,” the lady answers.

“But that’s her dress,” I say as I sight the orange taffeta and organza confection I bought for her only yesterday now slung over a dining chair.

The lady laughs. “I thought she forgot it, but she just told me over the phone that she left it for me.” 

“You’ve spoken to her?”

“A few minutes ago,” she answers before raising her brow. “Would you like me to send her a message?”

I am unable to speak, jagged fangs of realisation clawing all the way down from my throat to my stomach, hurt crowding my chest until I can barely breathe.

Returning to my flat, with the drapes drawn, I sit in the darkness of my bedroom as I mull over what has happened. Ada has left. She knew all along she was going to leave. I opened my heart to her. I let her in.

But she left anyway.

Opening my laptop, I type my resignation letter and call an agent to put my apartment on the market. Rather than stew in the regret of opening myself to this kind of pain again, I’m going to do what I must to get my life back on track. 

I am stepping out of the bathroom after an overdue shower when my phone vibrates with a call from an unknown number.

“Hi, is this Jidenna? My name is Emeka Agboti and I saw the picture you uploaded on our site. You’ve got a real talent, man. Can we meet up for drinks?” 

Ada

Sitting in my childhood bedroom, I am struggling not to feel like a failure for coming back home. Even though my parents and siblings received me with joyful surprise and my mom is in the kitchen cooking me lunch, my heart is heavy, my spirit broken.

But if I’m to be honest, my despondency has less to do with returning to Benin but more with my heart so shattered, it feels like I’m haemorrhaging from every pore.

I manage to nap after a heavy lunch of pounded yam and oyele soup, but as I groggily try to put some order to the mass of boxes and bags I have returned with, my phone rings. My heart lurches in my chest and, filled with the hope it is Jidenna calling from another number, I answer it.

“Hello. Am I speaking with Ada Osagie?” comes a voice that isn’t his. “My name is Nnamdi Obanya, SVP Finance at Oilzo Oil and Gas. I’m calling to discuss opening an account with UTB. My CEO, Doctor Ezekiel Okoye, is also interested in purchasing several units of your bank’s shares before the IPO closes tomorrow.”

I sit up in a daze as I realise this can only have one explanation, can only be one person. After giving Nnamdi the information he needs and scheduling a virtual call for tomorrow, I unblock Jide’s number, and his text messages drop. 

JIDE: I got you the Oilzo account. The CEO has also promised to buy shares.

I stare at the last message, my elation by his gesture clouded by heaviness in my chest as I recognise this as an act of pity, a bone thrown to the girl he strung along. Wiping away tears that have returned, bone or not, I know I must at least show gratitude. So, I send him a text.

ADA: Thank you for the Oilzo contact.

Jide

I stare at her message for seconds, maybe even minutes, its curtness and brevity a dagger in my heart. Having just returned from meeting Emeka Agboti and seeing that the picture that caught his attention is none other than the one I gave Ada, I’d started to hope I was wrong, started to hope she had an explanation for bolting.

But reading her curt message shatters this hope. 

JIDE: You’re welcome. And thanks for sending my picture to Emeka Agboti.

Ada

By now, my tears are pouring without restraint.

ADA: You’re welcome. Good luck with everything.

I wait for a reply, but none comes. Setting my phone down, I lie back in bed, ignoring the mess around me and mourning the end of my one-week fantasy.

DAY ONE 

(OR THREE HUNDRED & SIXTY-SIX)

Jide

Emeka Agboti takes me under his wing and, after selling my apartment and buying a smaller one in Oniru, with the state-of-the-art cameras I purchase with the difference, I become his shadow, tailing him everywhere. He enrols me in photography competitions in Spain and Paris and even though I don’t place in any, the exposure and experience make me so much more confident in my craft, and after a year under his tutelage, I’m glad I didn’t take the leap on my own, everything I’ve learned not what I could have learned on my own. I might not be ready to branch out on my own for a few more years, but with access to Emeka’s studio and gallery, when I finally do, I will be the better for it. But as much as I have evolved in the last year, one thing has remained the same.

Ada Osagie as my sleeping and waking thought.

Ada

Osas does more than cover for me when I show up in her branch the day after I arrive in Benin. By the time she transfers one of her key accounts to me and convinces a mutual relative who just acquired a marginal field to open an account through me, I am closer to my target than I’d hoped to be. And when Oilzo makes good on its promise to open an account, I smash that target. With its CEO singlehandedly acquiring enough shares to meet my IPO goal, I end my first week in my new location, more secure in my job that I have been all year. I’ve gotten everything back.

So why do I still have this intense feeling of loss? 

Jide

To mark my one-year anniversary, Emeka offers me an exhibition slot at the gallery. Even though I now have an impressive body of work, as I scroll through the one hundred and twelve pictures I have looked at every day for the past year, even though they were pictures taken with an iPhone on a rainy day, there’s no doubt this is what I want to show the world.

Pictures of a girl I fell in love with one week in October.  

Ada

I stalk Jide on Emeka Agboti Gallery’s Instagram page, and my heart swells with joy every time I see him pictured on jobs and exhibitions all over the world. Even though a part of me wants to take credit for this, it’s clear it’s his innate talent that has gotten him so far. Over the year, I watch with pride as his pictures evolve in technique and I’m glad I was there to give him the push he needed.

Until I see a post that expels all the breath from my body in a single wave.

Titled One Week in October, it is a carousel post of ten images of me from one of the days we went marketing. Having chosen only pictures with my face hidden – me covering it with my hands, me leaning on the window, me looking away in the direction of the car park – my identity is protected. I swipe from picture to picture, amazed by the magic he has created from nothing. But it is the caption that completely melts me.

For the girl I fell in love with one week in October.

Jide

I stand before the pictures hanging on the gallery’s walls the day before the exhibition’s opening night. More images from my collection have been included for display, including a few that have Ada’s face visible. Blown life-size, as I stand before one of her laughing as she realised what I was doing with my camera, it’s like she’s before me in the flesh. I touch the glass frame, tracing her water-beaded eyelashes, high cheekbones, and pronounced Cupid’s bow, the longing for her a physical ache in my chest.

“Jide.”

I don’t immediately turn, certain my imagination is making me hear things. But as an earthy, coconutty fragrance drifts to me, I do, and my breath catches in my throat when I see her. She looks the same – her suit still too big and an Android phone still in her hand – but also different – her face leaner and her locs that barely reached the nape of her neck before now shoulder-length – but all the differences and similarities pale in comparison to the swelling in my chest at the sight of her…and the tightening of the rope that has tethered my heart to her for over a year. 

Ada

We say nothing, both of us just standing in silence. His gaze is deep and dark, his eyes boring into mine like he wants to read my thoughts. I, on the other hand, take inventory of every dip and curve of his face and the beard that wasn’t there a year ago, trying to memorize his every feature.

“I saw the Instagram post,” I finally say. “Your caption…”

“I meant every word.” 

“I thought you went back to Candy.”

His brows furrow, the first registration of any emotion on his face. “Candy?!”

“I saw how you were at the wedding…the touching and holding and kissing. I didn’t want to be in the way.”

Jide

My mouth parts in surprise.

“Candy touches and kisses everybody!” I exclaim. “The only reason I spent that much time with her was to get you the Oilzo account. Heck, that was the only reason I was at that wedding.”

Her eyes glisten as she folds her hands, and my tirade dies in my mouth, her distress both disconcerting and uplifting me, the latter because it dispels all the negative beliefs that tortured me for a year.

“I did it for you, Ada.” 

Ada

I nod and swallow the painful lump that has formed in my throat, my impulsive irrationality from a year ago not only painfully evident but embarrassing.

“I know.”

“I was looking forward to building something beautiful with you,” he says.

I nod and wipe my eyes. “Me too.”

We stand in silence for a few more seconds before I finally grab the bull by the horns.

“I’m in Lagos for a training program all week,” I say. “Maybe we could get to know each other better over another week in October?”

Jide

I laugh even as tears gather at the base of my throat, the joy I feel making my heart soar.

“I’d like that very much, Ada.”

She smiles, but it is the tear that slips from her eyes that unlocks my feet and propels me to her. I walk to her just as she walks to me, and I hoist her off the ground. With her hands wrapped around my neck, our lips merge in a union that is not just overdue but transcendent, in a kiss that replaces the finiteness of what we had with a never-ending ellipsis, an event longer than one week in October.

But an eternity.

BOOKS BY ADESUWA

Standalones

Accidentally Knocked Up

Faith’s Pregnancy

You Used to Love Me

The Love Triangle

Golibe

Iya Beji

You, Me…Them

A Love of Convenience

Jaiye Jaiye

Adanna

The Sisters

The One!

Call Me Legachi

The Marriage Class

The Ginika’s Bridesmaids Series

Ginika’s Bridesmaids 1: Ara

Ginika’s Bridesmaids 2: Isioma

Ginika’s Bridesmaids 3: Ife

Ginika’s Bridesmaids 4: Ozioma

Ginika’s Bridesmaids 5: Ginika

Whatever It Takes (a Bridesmaids Spin-Off) 

Any Love (a Bridesmaids Spin-Off) 

Love…Forever (a Bridesmaids Sequel) (2026)

Malomo High Reunion Series

An Unlikely Kind of Love

A Complicated Kind of Love

A Betrayed Kind of Love 

A Broken Kind of Love 

A Renewed Kind of Love (Christmas 2024)

A Forever Kind of Love (Summer 2025)

ABOUT ADESUWA

Investment Banker by day, romance writer by night, Adesuwa began writing by accident and what started as a few scribbles for friends has led to 28 titles…and counting. 

A self-described hopeless romantic, when she’s not creating new characters, she’s a loving wife and mom of three.You can find her at www.adesuwaomanwokedi.com