Nicole smelled lavender, a raw taste to her mouth, rough in texture and something beyond seductive. Repulsive. Her stomach churned and she heard the whizz of her breakfast, loud and destructive, it almost rose to her throat.

Nicole clipped more of the oddly repugnant detergent into the silver metallic mop bucket, her legs askew, distant and alert, as though a wild witch roamed her trail. Her upper lip soothed her nose as she wrung the mop against the bucket, willing its bristles onto the dust clawed alabaster concrete floor.

Janitress?

She had come to hate the name. A loathing that dug holes into her heart and reminded her of the nights when the winds would slash through the eaves, bearing strength to her father's angered voice. Let's see where life takes you.

Nicole dragged out a gutteral laugh, bitting the insides of her cheeks as it made way to her lips in strong doses. Her arms and legs shook noodly, her laughter a sizzle of palm oil.

Father. How he should see her now, working on the floors when he'd raised her better, cradled in the arms of nannies and maids.

Nicole let out another laugh, but this time she felt her eyes begin to tear. Father was right, he was always right. She had played with her future, kicking the ball like the world was under her feet when in reality the world played her a dangerous sonata, watching the way she edged her decisions.

Was it wrong to pursue writing rather than law?

The only thing that Nicole has to show for are the deep crevices rooting on her bones and father would be more than happy to add insult to her injuries.

Nicole fixed her grip on the mop handle as she continued to scrub the floor, a task that teemed sweat onto her forehead, trailing kisses to her sharp cheekbones. A pair of black heels on an umber skin stood before her mop and Nicole contemplated skirting the distraction but instead she looked up, anger drooping her eyelids.

"Excuse me," she said tersely, her eyes locked on a familiar face. Brown oak eyes, slick-hewn face, black braids trapped in a clean bun. She had seen her somewhere, probably in the washroom when she would clean the bathroom.

Loathe.

That same feeling clung to her throat, hitching her breath. No. She won't cry. At least not in front of anyone.

The woman carried a smile to her face. "You've got balls." Nicole noted that the woman's voice didn't hold any sharpness to it, if any she sounded amused.

"What?" Nicole quirked a brow.

"That day in the conference room, I heard you speak." The woman's eyes, a beautiful brown storm, twinkled, and Nicole caught sight of gold specks barely blurred. "Even though you rubbed people the wrong way, more so Mr. Wayne Bajuu, you actually spoke more sense that anyone else in that room."

Nicole hummed, seemingly taken back by the woman's plain honesty. "Thought maybe my opinion would help."

Her revised version. Did Wayne read it?
What did he think of it? What did he think about her?

"Maybe? No. It did help..does help," the woman mumbled, the same smile looped to her lips. "Come on Miss Nicole, I want to show you something."

Nicole still held the mop handle, eyeing the woman askance. "You want to show me something?"

The woman donned a nod to her face. "Well yes, I do have something to show you. You can call me Linda." She turned and began to walk away.

Nicole, deep-seated with her nerves on edge, watched Linda's gait, her black heels a trill to her mind, loud, she felt the swirl of her thoughts as though poised on a thin thread. What was it that she wanted to show her?

Linda turned to Nicole, her brows brewed together. "You coming or not?"

Nicole tipped the mop against the creamed wall and dragged the bucket next to it. She wiped her misted hands against the fabric of her overall, catching up to Linda.

Nicole saw Linda slow to her pace as they walked along the hallway. A smiting pair, one a determined lion in a prim indigo dress, the other a curious cat in a deary overall. Such a pleasant scene. Nicole mused.

Linda's hand twirled to Nicole's, capturing it in a warm hold. Nicole flushed, her legs a ton heavier than before, she dragged behind. She didn't expect the open display of affection. It disturbed her. Linda barely knew her.

They stopped by the elevator, a feverish ding seeping through as the polished doors slipped open. Nicole caught her reflection inside the elevator. Her face appeared smudged, as though the remnants of the world finally found refuge. Her braids, dust-coated and completely beat, lazied on her shoulders. Her overall appeared more appalling than before.

When Linda dropped Nicole's hand, pressing the red shimmering button, Nicole felt her nerves reside to normalcy, a steady rythm to her veins. She tugged her hands behind her back, afraid Linda would pry. At fourth floor, the elevator charged open, the same feverish ding to it. Nicole's curiosity grew to a full blown verve as Linda slipped through a double glass door. Swarms of people sat behind furnished oak desks, eyes glued onto the lustered desktops, conflicting pad tunes flooding the hall.

A smile curled at Nicole's lips. Even before Linda turned to her, she already knew. Knew what this was all about.

"We want you to be part of the team," said Linda, pulling at Nicole's sleeve. Nicole realized Linda feared that she might decline. She was begging. "Your mind is an art, pristine and undiscovered. Your edited version of this month's magazine was an intricate piece and we would love to have you on board as our chief editor," Linda continued.

Nicole failed to blink, her eyes ablaze. "What?"

Linda laughed. A sweet lilt. Nicole discovered. "Don't make repeat myself. I rarely do that."

Chief editor.

Nicole's heart threatened within her ribcage. A violent stir. Her hands gripped her thighs as she bent over, trying to hush the pulsation. She breathed through her mouth, streaks of warmth painting her throat a colourful hue. Feeling better, Nicole fixed her stance, her gaze levelled on Linda. They were of the same height. "It will be an honour to work for the Nairobi Fashion House Magazine."

Linda smiled, her eyes a gleam of relief. "Let's see what I wanted to show you." Linda led the way, stopping at a door. "Welcome to your new office."

Nicole stood beside Linda, her mind a whirl, she felt it drift away, silenced by the loud pad tunes. Her head began to reel, her arms a sweaty mess. Speechless, Nicole watched Linda ajar the door, flashes of amber upon her cocoa skin as she caught site of the large glass pane, overlooking the sun's roar.

Nicole stepped in, slowly and cautiously, like a boat paddling perilous water, a wild storm caving in. Nicole feared that it may all be just a trick. A dangerous trick at that. She didn't like her emotions to be played with. But as she looked to Linda, Nicole realized that the sun's heat wasn't a roar after all.

Linda moved towards the marbled desk, her back supported to it. "I know the office looks a bit bland but it will feel homely with time."

Nicole fought back a tear, regarding the office. "It's perfect," she said, her voice barely a whisper. She meant it, dreamt of moments just like this. To be in an office, her mind at work, roaming through the world of writing.

Nicole edged towards the glass pane, her finger tracing the sun. A short prayer fell down at the part of her lips and she watched her breath fan the pane, blinding the sun.

"Miss Linda Oguta, I see you've kept Miss Nicole Wanjiru up-to-date."

Wayne Bajuu.

Nicole's hand crept to her chest, silencing the throb on her chest. What's with today?
For the first time, Nicole didn't crave a glance. Those eyes, dark and alluring, a collision between the sun and the moon, did wonders to her heart, nerves and mind. No. She couldn't look at him.

Nicole was glad that her back was to him.

"Miss Nicole?"

Did his voice sound pleading or was Nicole just imagining her own things?

"Yes?" Nicole managed, curving towards Wayne Bajuu. He stood by the door, his arms drowned to his khaki pockets. Nicole looked at everything, except at his face, at his eyes.

"We shall be attending the Nairobi fashion show later today, make sure to avail yourself." Wayne spoke, a cold edge to his voice. It was a command, not a request as Nicole would've wished.

Nicole thought of the gin back at the apartment, craving sourness to her tongue, just enough to freeze her heart.

It would be one long day.