"Priscilla, you didn't mention when we were getting to know ourselves better that you were dating the director's son," Fumnaya complained to Priscilla as they counted the drinks in the chiller.

Earlier on, Fumn and Nengi had a slight argument that had to do with accounts and that prompted Erica to intervene. She directed Nengi upstairs to cross check the number of drinks to see if Priscilla had sold any short while Priscilla was informed that she was going to be handling the regular section of the club alongside Fumn.

Priscilla was a tad bit disappointed. She was going to miss the attention she was getting from the rich guys that bought exotic alcoholic beverages at will, that was part of her reasons for breaking up with Michael. She couldn't have him as her date while other men were breathing down on her neck.

Michael hated competiting for what was his own and Priscilla couldn't guarantee being with him alone as his father had started making sexual advances towards her.

Priscilla frowned. "Why, do I have to tell you everything that goes on in my personal life? There are some things I don't know about you too." There was a tinge of accusation in her tone.

Fumn nodded vaguely. She was bad at getting hints. "So, what does that mean?"

Priscilla shrugged. "Michael and I were just not working out."

Fumn bent slightly as she entered the dark store room with a torchlight. She began counting the variety of beer bottles that were in stock compared to the ones that were in the fridge. Sweat was beading her forehead because of the hot air that circulated the area. Fumn had to wipe her brows repeatedly.

At the fiftieth count, she discovered that ten bottles of Heineken and Budweiser were missing. She headed back to the counter with a puzzled expression on her face. Priscilla turned sharply to stare at her and then halted in placing a bottle of whiskey in the fridge.

"What's the matter?" She quizzed worriedly. Fumn couldn't speak. She shakily plopped down on a chair by the corner and clasped her hands in front of her.

"Are some drinks missing?" Priscilla reached for the account book and flipped through the pages to where the receptionist circled a figure in red ink.

Fumn raised her head from the tiled floor. "I don't understand. I sold drinks well last week and recorded the sales I made. I don't expect anything to be missing at this time. Is it possible that Nengi sold some bottles and pocketed the extra cash?" Fumn's knees were bouncing up and down as she spoke.

"Who knows?" Priscilla heaved a sigh. "Let's not think about that right now and focus on how to get our shits together."

"What shit?" Michael interrupted. He was dressed in a neatly tailored blazers with a tight pant that accentuated his muscular thighs and narrow waist. Priscilla gulped as the familiar scent of his cologne wafted through her nostrils.

"Nothing," Fumn and Priscilla chorused. It was an unspoken rule for the club attenders not to mention anything work related to a member of the board of directors.

Michael scratched the light stubble on his chin and lifted a lined brow. "Are you fucking kidding me?" He took a seat opposite and eyed Fumn and Priscilla warily. As Michael's gaze landed on Priscilla, something dark shaded his eyes and he wrinkled his nose.

"What the heck are you doing here?" He asked her. "Aren't you supposed to be working upstairs?"

Priscilla shuffled about her feet adjusting her t-shirt. She caught Michael's observant eyes settling between the parting of her breast and it made her uncomfortable. Michael was a guy that wanted sex every and anywhere if he was so into his partner which was the case for her.

Michael despite his bad boy persona was a good guy at heart. He often showered Priscilla with gifts and never forgot to remind her of how precious she was to him. Priscilla couldn't count the number of times he called to check up on her, kept up with her consistent mood swings and stubbornly helped her pay some of her bills.

He met with her mother once and she was smitten by how well mannered and traditional he was.

"I think we need to talk outside," Priscilla stated trying to quell the tension that hung in the dense air. She moved through the open barricade and Michael followed suit to the door entrance. Fumn hid a smile as she spotted Michael smacking Priscilla's ass.

She sighed heavily, remembering the problem at hand. Fumn didn't know how she was going to approach Nengi to ask her if she had anything to do with the missing bottles.

"Can I have a shot of brandy?" A deep steely voice asked. Fumn dropped the bag of trash she was going to dispose and stared on speechless. She wiped her sweaty palm on her short skirt and tried to appear professional as the director stared at her with a frown.

"Are you alright?" He asked eyeing her warily. Fumn cracked a nervous smile. Seeing the director always gave her the heebie jeebies. Nothing prepared her for an up close and personal view. His sparse white hair had recently been barbed judging from the edge carves on his forehead.

A muscle twitched in his firm jaw and his doe brown eyes glinted with something inexplicable. The director had high cheekbones and full pink lips which his tongue constantly roved over. And his ink black lashes were in contrast to his milky skin.

The director took a glance at his watch and urged Fumn with a flick of his wrist for her to hurry. He was dressed in a black shirt which hung loosely about his broad shoulders tucked in a light brown jeans trouser.

Fumn fumbled with the drink she was pouring in a wine glass and almost spilled the liquid on herself. It was least expected for the director to club on a Monday.

"Here you go," she breathily stated handing him his drink she'd stuffed with ice. The director gratefully accepted it. Coincidentally, their fingertips brushed and Fumn flinched like she was scalded with hot water. The drink sloshed all over the counter leaving next to nothing in the glass.

"It's okay. I do understand this is your first time working in a club. Please, pour me another glass. And this time, carefully," the older man patiently said resuming his seated position in front of the flat screen tv. Priscilla walked out of the kitchen where she was washing the soup dishes she used in eating. She paused when she saw Emeka.

Only Priscilla knew the director by his name and pretended she didn't have a clue. Emeka couldn't take his eyes off Priscilla. He was a sucker for dark skinned girls with big brown eyes and well rounded breasts. Priscilla was self conscious so as not to arouse suspicion from Fumn who was watching them closely.

She removed the drink from the tray and dropped it on the mahogany table. Fumn inwardly seethed as the director dragged Priscilla by the hand and leaned to mutter something in her ear. She slammed the tray in the kitchen sink and blew out a breath as hot tears clouded her eyes.

Why was it that the one thing she wanted wasn't achievable? Fumn wiped her tears furiously and walked out to attend to the customers who were now trickling in groups to the club.

Fumn cleaned her make up with a face wipe as she stared at her tired self in the mirror. Working as a waitress was indeed a tough job and it wasn't helping that she was trying hard to hide her feelings. Feelings she didn't understand. She lusted after the director no doubt but could it be that underneath, there was something more?

Ozo packed Fumn's braids up and placed a soft kiss on her neck.

"You look exhausted baby," he said softly. "Would you care for a massage?"

Fumn blew out a breath and shrugged Ozo's hands from her shoulder.

"I am fine, thanks," she replied with a clipped voice.