“It is impossible to win a contest with an helpless opponent, since if you win, you have won nothing.” – Jay Haley.

•••

As Lekan approached the gates of his parents’ mansion and its intimidating exterior, he felt like a framed convict—latched in cuffs, and being shoved towards the gates of a prison. He had contemplated dishonoring the man’s request, but his subconscious had echoed the fact that the wrath, he didn’t want to incur would only increase at an exponential rate and find him anyway. Might as well get the war over with, and nurse the injuries for the rest of his life than hide in a fortress, that was bound to be penetrated and compromised soon.

After ringing the bell, wedged into the orange brick walls that emasculated the walls, he stood still and waited for the black metal railed gates, with hard serrated edges to be opened.

As expected, security personnel stepped forth through the smaller, demarcated portion of the gate for passage and not the one for cars. The security staff was a stranger to Lekan, as he couldn’t recognize him. The guard seemed to be a thirty something year old man, as depicted by his rather hefty, sturdy physique and not by his face, which was partially concealed by his head gear. His uniform was a brown and black utility gear, trademark of the King David security agency—which had its logo, imprinted on the uniform’s breast pocket region. The guard was studying and assessing his appearance now, with an expression that eluded Lekan because of the head gear that casted a shadow on the guard’s face. After a while, the guard spoke up.

“Who are you?” The man put his muscles on display, flexing his biceps and forearms with his arms folded, and his chest protruding in confidence.

Lekan sighed. The least he expected was to be further delayed by a security guard. “Lekan Keye. I’m the son of Kunle and Darasimi Keye that live here.” The man didn’t seem convinced, and so he continued. “I have a twin sister that wedded two days ago. Her name is Tiolu.”

The layers of the frown on his face, depleted. “Tiolu, I know. She comes here very well. You I don’t, why?”

Lekan wasn’t sure, he grasped the full essence of the question. Was the guard querying him on why he didn’t visit his parents?

“Look, just call dad and mom and tell them Lekan is outside. You’re wasting my time.” He said, passively.

“I’m wasting your time?” Was all the guard said, before heading back in and slamming the gate behind him. Lekan’s mouth remained ajar, as he heard the locks of the gate being bolted. What insolence? He thought. Lekan dialed the number of his mom instantly, and relayed the scene that had just transpired at the gate. A maid was sent to clear his entrance, and he made sure to flash a goading smile in the way of the security personnel.

Everything was still pretty much, the way it was.

The gem stone glazed walls that balanced on the twin towers—exuded the effect of a modern castle. The building was a fusion of various complimentary colors—brown, grey and white—and formed a coherent theme, like huge chunks of LEGO clipped together. It was a massive one storey building, with a chimney that protruded on top—pumping out tongues of mild, pungent smoke in the air. On the opposite edge of the roof were two turrets, arched into each other to elongate upwards into a gazebo, flanked by metal railings and from afar—it took the shape of a gigantic, open outstretched palm. In the center of the premises, a sculpture of a ball juggler was erected, and it sprayed water from said balls—ten feet into the air.

Despite his perturbed state, the pathos of the design didn’t elude him.

Lekan walked into the house and its luxurious surroundings. Everything, from the antiquated lighting, to the portrait littered walls and exorbitant furniture was in pristine condition. Brown and white, being the most dominant colors around—with the atmosphere being so dainty clean, that he felt he could stain a wall or carpet, by just looking at it or breathing near it. Darasimi Keye didn’t have an obsessive compulsive disorder, but her constant haranguing and supervising ensured that the house beauty remained, and was even capable of competing with highly pixilated images of model, animated houses.

When he arrived at the common room however, the spectacle in place wasn’t as a result of the house’s tidiness but rather, a sport in play. The common room was mostly scanty in terms of furniture, except several leather couches on one side—facing the crenellated walls, and beneath the oak ceilings. The rug was wool matted, and a pleasing cushion to the bare legs but Lekan had forgotten to kick off his shoes, because his attention had been snatched by the fierce warriors dueling, in the center of the room.

Fierce warriors in this context meant, two persons decked out in standard fencing gear and going at it, with unapologetic force and agility, as if it were a fight to the death. Upon close inspection, one seemed to be female and the other male.

The female seemed to be getting the upper hand ironically, as she ducked lower to slash her opponent’s right thigh—but he anticipated the move, and bent his leg farther to the edge, so the tip of the sword glided under his lap, missing it by a few inches. The female recovered fast, and pulled her weight back before going into a whirling motion, and unleashing three spinning attacks—all blocked by the male’s sword, except the last strike that almost knocked his sword off his hand.

Fascinating.

The male then went on the offence, his blade prodding for an opening as it collided, intermittently with his opponents, piling with more force upon every subsequent strike. He finally found one, when his opponent took a nanosecond to relax. Flipping the blade in his hand, he smashed the hilt into the tip of his opponent’s blade such that her sword straightened in her grasp, pointing to the ceiling and not him—before diving forward to slash her hard on the chest. The female twisted her body out of the way, as hard as she could but missed it by a few inches as the blade managed to brush its lips on her chest, for a death kiss.

After this, both fighters gave each other an elaborate bow before removing their head gears. Lekan had half expected it to be his parents, under the gear going at it—but even he knew that although, they weren’t so archaic as regards the way they lived their life, it was nothing but preposterous to assume, fifty something year old people could partake in a physically exerting sport like fencing.

The fighters exited the room, before he could get a good glimpse of their face and his parents emanated from across the room, from what was a cube viewing room barricaded by one-way glass. It would explain, why he hadn’t seen them earlier when he arrived.

Kunle Keye was wearing a grey flannel robe, and black slides. His beard seemed blown out of proportion and thorny, thus implying he was yet to shave. His face wasn’t grim, so Lekan could deduce that he had been out of bed for a while. Darasimi on the other hand, was wearing a pink wool robe and bunny head, flip flops. Her short natural hair was held in place by a scarf, but her fingernails glowed with newly applied polish, matching her sleeping robe. Of course, she had taken time to paint her precious nails.

“You were not thinking, it was your mom and I fencing right?” Kunle’s baritone boomed, and shook the entire room with a certain authority that spoke volumes of the fact that he was the master of the house. He had moved to a stool, by the side of the nearest couch and was pouring himself a cup of tea—both jug and cup, antiquated ceramic and reminiscent of the English culture. Darasimi on the other hand, welcomed Lekan with a hug and pecked him on his right cheek, before guiding him to the seat nearest to her.

“It could actually be us and he would have no idea, because he never visits.” His mom said, while pouring him a cup of tea. Kunle rotated his chair in an angle of 360 inclination, and dragged it back a bit—so he faced Lekan and Darasimi as he talked. “Matter of fact, we could have had more kids and he could have more siblings, he’d never know of because he just doesn’t visit.”

Lekan didn’t indulge his mom’s lament, or give an excuse either. If he did, it would only lead to a guilt tripping path that would result in him making promises, he wouldn’t be able to uphold. So his safest bet was to look sober and derailed by regret, without issuing a verbal statement emphasizing his intent to rectify his shortcomings.

He accepted his cup of tea, with a smile of gratitude on his lips and he sipped gently, letting the hot liquid drizzle down his tongue and into his throat. The taste was a bit too sharp for him, but he dared not complain. Kunle Keye believed Tea ought to be taken the English way. Thick and pungent black. Personal preferences were trifle things that shouldn’t be considered.

“For a moment there, I thought you were not going to show up but it’s good you did. It proves that there is indeed hope for you after all, and I might not actually be giving you enough credit.” Kunle started with his address, easing his back into the cushion of his chair—his posture similar to that of an extolled emperor on his throne. His father’s right hand, was still holding the handle of his mug of tea. “Look around you, Lekan. What do you see? That’s a rhetorical question. What surrounds us is nothing but wealth. Money, hard earned money. Luxury that can only be bought with good money.”

“Yeah, I sorta figured that out.” Lekan repressed the urge to be snarky, as he took another sip from his mug but he couldn’t help but comment nonetheless. Darasimi on the other hand, was seated on his right—a restive expression on her face, that meant only one thing. The topic about to be treaded was that of a delicate nature “You know, it’s not like this sort of house is common around the country, that’d make me assume it is a commodity everyone can afford.”

Kunle ignored his jab altogether. “Money can always finish. No matter how big, no matter how constant it’s flow is, if adequate effort is not put into making more of it, the supply is going to die. Even C.E.O’s like myself who aren’t actively involved in the money making process, influence it by formulating and implementing policies. If one isn’t even careful, they could be swindled by their workers and go totally broke without knowing it. We both know that we have just one source of income in this household and that is my shipping, and distributing company. Keye Conglomerate.

“And you also know that I’m not young anymore, Lekan. I’m gradually approaching my seventies and very soon, I’d be retiring. I don’t want to work when I’m so old. I’ve worked too much at my young age, to keep on working while I’m seventy. I need someone to take over the company, and keep it in the family. Even if you don’t know a thing about business, you should have watched some TV shows that show you how cut throat the business world is. If I don’t start grooming an heir soon, my enemies in the company would be scheming to capitalize on it and snatch it from my hands. And you’re my only son. I have just two kids.

“Right from the start, Tiolu has been convinced she wanted to be a doctor so I didn’t burden her with family business. I only made her and you, shareholders when you turned eighteen. But you on the other hand, you’ve not exactly been sure of what you wanted to do and basically everything you’ve been doing so far, is as a result of our suggestions. The course you studied in the university, was your mom’s suggestion. Your current occupation as a real estate agent, was my suggestion. You don’t exactly seem to be taken by anything and so it’s only natural that you should take over the company.”

Lekan sat up, setting his mug aside and meeting Kunle’s gaze. He had indeed braced himself for this. He knew the conversation was lurking, and was only a matter of time before it reared its ugly head. It was only being green and naïve, as the child of a magnate to assume that the generational burden of maintaining the abundance of wealth, wouldn’t be transferred to him at some point. But he wasn’t going to subject to the vice, to the detriment of his own liberty. He wasn’t going to succumb, without a fight.

“I try my best not to be like my colleagues who don’t have a care in the world for their children dreams.” Kunle continued, his legs crossed. “And so I left my kids to go out there and discover stuff for themselves, and be what they truly want to be. But you, Lekan you’re yet to find that. If I ask you now, what you have passion for? Asides women of course, I’m sure you wouldn’t be able to pinpoint something feasible in your head. And so, telling you to take over my company and continue the tradition, isn’t necessarily killing any of your dreams or anything. It would only be securing your future of a good, privileged life that you so much love.”

Lekan cracked his knuckles. “You’re going through a lot of stress to explain, dad. I’m beginning to wonder if I have a say in all of these. We both know that if I find your explanation legit or not, you won’t exactly take no for an answer.”

Something sinister twinkled in his father’s gaze, while Darasimi flinched in her seat. “Oh, well pardon me for trying to reason things out with you. You’d prefer that I rather call you here, and assert my authority then? Okay, if that’s the case. I want you to resume work at the company, unfailingly and begin your grooming as heir. I think that’s quite clear?”

“What happens if I decline?” Lekan persisted in his resistance.

“Well if by all means, you decide not to reason things out with me then you leave me no choice, to be unreasonable also.” Kunle rose to his feet, and Lekan almost feared the man was about to unsheathe a shotgun, and blast him to smithereens. “I’d freeze all your accounts, seize your house, your cars and pretty much, cancel every other benefit you enjoy as being my son. It’s either you’re in business with me or not?”

“Kunle!” Darasimi gasped, but her voice was laddered with chastisement rather than shock. It meant, she had known of the impending consequence and had probably tried to divert it to somewhere less cutthroat. “Look, Lekan.” Her gaze was on him now. “You don’t have to relinquish anything. Just do as your dad says, okay? It’s what best for you, trust me. It’d make your future very secure, and if there is something else you want to dabble into the future—it would make it thrive more because of the affluence from the company. Don’t let us fight over this.”

Lekan didn’t know what made him detest Kunle’s wish. It wasn’t exactly inconsiderate or insensitive to his plight. But for some reason, agreeing to it made his insides boil in resentment. Perhaps, it was the fact that Kunle still had such overwhelming control over his life and his wishes couldn’t be trumped, or the fact that he didn’t want an atom of constrain, in his rogue, free life. Whatever it was, it made him stand up and rebel against his mother’s wishes.

“I guess that’s the way it’s going to be then,” He replied finally, in a casual tone as if they were conversing about the weather. He retrieved his keys from his pockets, and threw it on the stool and followed it with a stash of his cards. Kunle had nothing but a murderous grin on, but his mother seemed distraught. After emptying his pockets, he dusted his hands as if it he had just cleared himself free of dirt and turned to walk out of the room. Behind him, his father’s voice thundered.

“You’re like a house rat that doesn’t know his place, Lekan. I give you a week at most, and you’d come scurrying back here. You can’t survive outside on your own, you’ve always had the comfort of your parent’s wealth.”

Lekan didn’t exactly know the type of pit he had dug for himself, but he figured he might as well make an effort to climb out of it, in a way that didn’t involve soliciting for his dad’s help. He was going to be his own man, from henceforth.

***

“Um, Anjola. Your attention is needed in the C.E.O’s office.”

Anjola wheeled her chair back, and whipped her head towards the origin of the voice to find, Ehize poking his head through the door. It was the following Monday, and work had resumed in full swing of course, not caring if someone like her had, had a manic, strenuous weekend.

The euphoria of the wedding proceedings had already worn off, replaced by fatigue and dull senses. She couldn’t wait for the aftershocks to also wear off, so she could attain her maximum capacity work input level once again. It was a bit past noon, and all day she had been sluggish and sloppy in her work—and so the thought of contending with external forces, such as an impromptu meeting with the C.E.O. for whatever reason, zapped out all her courage. What the hell could it be for?

Sighing, she arose from her cubicle and crossed the room to join Ehize by the door—passing a curious faced Adaure, at her desk—who she shrugged her shoulders at, to imply she was equally confounded. She didn’t inquire the reason behind her summon, until she had fallen into pace with Ehize in the large corridor.

“So, what’s up? Why am I being called to the C.E.O.’s office? The only reason I could come up with, at the top of my head is…um, pretty much nothing at all. I mean, how many employees here at Sigma even knows what the inside of the C.E.O.’s office looks like? Are you sure you aren’t mistaken?”

Ehize gave her a look of scorn, as if she had asked him to lend her his kidneys. He was looking as dazzling as always in a neatly pressed, white and blue stripped button down, blue khakis and brown ankle length laced up suede boots. Anjola couldn’t help but take cognizance of his appearance, since every now and then—a woman would pass by them, and give him a second look, usually shrouded in admiration or pretense apathy, to exude a façade that he didn’t have any effect on them.

“I’m not mistaken. Last I checked, you don’t have a twin sister who checks into work for you, when you’re not around.” He said, finally—his gaze back in the distance.

The hall was quite vast and spacious, to contain a group of ten people, walking in a parallel motion. It was illuminated by carbon coated chandeliers that ran in a zigzag motion in the ceiling as if the lights were in a drag race, hell bent on getting the upper hand on the other. The dark walls were paneled with polished steel, and glimmered alongside the lasers of light created by the overlapping glass panels¬—either wedged into the doors, ceilings or diffracting from the offices. Everything looked unsullied and so primitively perfect, that it made Anjola wonder if there were invisible fairies that constantly paroled the turf, to clean and rectify any slight stain or sign of imperfection.

“The reasons why a person, who is not the head of a department get called to the C.E.O’s are as follows…” Ehize looped his hands together, and started counting with his fingers. “One, the person is a former ex of the C.E.O. and has threatened him to break the egg and spill to his wife, that he cheated on her with said employee if she doesn’t get a sum of five hundred million or thereabout. So, yeah the man wants to cover his tracks. But we both know that’s not the case for you, so—”

“Wouldn’t it be wiser for them to meet, outside the office in that case?” Anjola said, with an inquisitive look, almost as if the condition applied to her. They had arrived at the other end of the hall already, where the elevators were positioned and they halted, in the glass shelter—awaiting its arrival.

“Not, really. Chances are they could be spotted by the C.E.O.’s sister-in-law who has a flair for exaggerating things, and would definitely add salt and pepper, when narrating it to her sister when she gets home, eventually making things worse.” Ehize replied, with such a professional comport that she burst out laughing, and nudged him gently in the side.

The elevator finally halted, and the doors opened to let them in. Two women, dressed in classy corporate outfits offloaded and also spared a moment or two to gawk at Ehize. It was fun for Anjola, watching women watch him and probably, wishing they were in her position—without knowing, she had a sibling like relationship with him.

“On to the second reason why, employees are summoned to the C.E.O’s office.” Ehize resumed, as the elevator began its ascent. “Said employee could have uncovered some dirt on the company, that is powerful enough to make it crumble and exploitable by its enemies, if leaked out. So the employee is thereby called to be compensated by a huge sum of money, to keep their mouth shut.”

“And you don’t hold such meeting outside, because? You don’t need people wondering if there is an affair going on between employee and boss?”

“Not exactly,” Ehize shook his head. “It’d be in the employee’s best option, that he or she insists the meeting holds in the office. If it happens outside, he or she could be lured into a trap and be killed. After all, people never really do keep their mouths shut. The C.E.O. might decide to get rid of them altogether.”

Anjola couldn’t help but study Ehize with an entranced look. “You sure do have experience in this area, don’t you?”

“Which leads us to the last possible reason,” He said, just as the doors parted. It wasn’t their destination to get off, but two additional people got on. It was the first set of people that didn’t care for Ehize’s appearance much. One was a bespectacled, bald headed man in a rather saggy suit and the woman, looked eccentric cute in dorky glasses and a fringe wig. Ehize reduced the volume of his voice, so the duo wouldn’t listen in on their conversation.

“This is a drama series. One that’s based on the cut throat life of heir and big companies. The young heir has decided not to marry the daughter of his dad’s business magnate’s friend, in order to strengthen his father’s empire because he is in love with a woman, in his dad’s office who is just from an average home. The C.E.O. and his wife, then summons this employee to their office in order to size her up, intimidate her and force her to discourage her son from chasing her. Which could go two ways.”

“And what are these ways?” A grin was bulging out of her face now.

“She agrees to their pressure, and as incentive—they promote her to head of department and give her whatever she wants. Or she tells them that she’d think about it, and they threaten that she’d lose her job and everything she cares for, if she doesn’t cave in soon.”

“What of the instance, where she doesn’t agree?”

“Are you crazy?” Ehize looked at her with an incongruous look. “Which normal person, without power would say no in the face of high authority like that? It never happens that way. She either agrees, or leaves saying she’d think about it. At the end, she will still cave in no matter what.”

Anjola shook her head. “So love doesn’t win at the end of the day?”

The doors then parted, and they quickly hobbled off. “Concentrate, Anjola. We’re not talking about love here. We’re mentioning instances as to why you could have been called. This is where my journey stops.”

“What?” A cold chill streaked down her spine, and she turned to face him abruptly—such that several locks of hair, slipped into her brows and she had to brush them away. “Why did you follow me all the way here then? If you’re not going into the office with me?”

They were walking down the corridor, to the other end where the C.E.O.’s office, was of course situated. The surroundings of the upper hall, was more plush and luxurious—with wallpapers of blossoming flowers, replacing steel paneled doors and gold decked glass sliding doors, in contrast to the lower metal doors. Unlike the lower hall, that always had people hiking from one end to the other, this one was quite deserted and empty—only functioning in ramping up Anjola’s heart rate.

“No, they told me to call you and get lost.” Ehize replied. “I’m only following you, because I want to get a peek of the C.E.O’s office. I’m going to disappear after you close the door and enter. Just giving you a heads up now, before you start wondering if I ditched you.”

“But you’re ditching me.” She growled.

“Yeah, I know that. Just telling you that I’m going to.” Ehize flashed her a clownish smile, as they zeroed in on their bearings. The secretary’s desk was pitched by the entrance, and she looked up—just as their silhouettes surfaced in her vision.

Aishat Ali was known all through Sigma as a sadistic, unpleasant woman that stalked on people’s ignorance, and pounced on it to berate them at whatever opportunity she got. Not that, anyone could support this with a scenario where such had transpired before but it was all nothing but speculation. The woman always had a frown on, so it made most people assume the worst of her. Or at least, do their best to stay out of her way. Anjola never thought they’d have reason to clash, but now that she was here—she found herself wishing the stories were nothing but fairy tales and fallacies.

“How can I help you?” Aishat said dryly, as if they were boring her to death just by standing there. She was classy, Anjola thought. She could spot a gold tone, created bangle on the secretary’s hand and Jolie stud earrings dangling from her ears. She was wearing a grey suit, with oversized lapels and she managed to pull it off, without looking ragged. Her bangs were sleek and wavy, and complimented her dark complexion well. Although, Anjola thought she had too much mascara on—which made her look like a fiery eyed monster. The rumors would probably posit it was an intentional action.

“I’m here to see the C.E.O.” She cleared her throat, and straightened up almost as if she were a high school student, conversing with the principal. “I was summoned here to his office.”

Aishat didn’t bother justifying her explanation with a word or a nod. She simply transferred her gaze to Ehize, and furrowed her brows.

“Um, me? Well, I was just…you know.” Ehize nudged Anjola on the side with his elbow. “Just ensuring, she got here safely. Because,” He cracked a smile, and motioned about haphazardly with his hands. “Sigma Corp, big place. Anyone could get lost…I should probably get lost.” Ehize grimaced at her, before scurrying off. “See ya.”

Anjola bit her lower lip hard, and did her utmost best to repress her laughter, but Aishat’s daring gaze wasn’t helping things. It was almost as if the woman wanted her to falter and deny her access to seeing the C.E.O. She thought some sort of clearance would follow, but Aishat simply gestured to her side, towards the door—and implored Anjola to head in. After taking several deep breaths, she did let herself in to meet four room occupants.

Occupant one, the person who summoned her. Damien Omonigho, the C.E.O. of Sigma Corp. Seated behind his grand, mahogany desk at the other end of the room. Gathering wit, Anjola started towards the center of the office, which was the receptive area with couches facing each other and a glass center table, with a fancy abacus erected in its center, plunking at regular intervals.

The room had a lush, contemporary design. The marble created walls, were like filtered silver parched sand, and it was home to a plethora of abstract portraits. The chandeliers in the room, were like big pendulums of light¬—with circular globes, swinging. The floor was like cracked glass, with tiles that were unevenly shaped, so its lines were irregular and seemed like dents, thus inciting Anjola’s delicate steps, in the fear that the floor could break open and swallow her.

Occupant two and three, sat huddled together on the left couch in the receptive area and Anjola didn’t need close inspection, to confirm who they were. Zoe and Karen Omonhigo, royalty of Sigma and of course, daughters of Damien. They showed up in the building every now and then, in their high end, couture outfits and walked around the company’s turf with a certain grace, that spoke of their status, as privileged, influential people in the room. Even Damien himself, didn’t have such royal-like grandeur about him. Anjola expected nothing less from women, of such caliber anyway.

Zoe, the older and less daunting one was decked out in a red, romper fashion body-con jumpsuit that outlined her slender shape. Her makeup—lip gloss and mascara—matched the red color, giving her a gothic look that Anjola found a bit over the top. While Karen, the younger and more visually stunning one, with a surreal animated beauty—like Tiolu’s—wore a black, leather biker jacket with asymmetric zippers, on a pale green laced up blouse that exposed an enormous amount of cleavage—as far as Anjola was concerned—and a pencil velvet skirt, with a front slit.

But it was the presence of room occupant four that took Anjola by surprise. Standing by the base of the unoccupied couch, was Delano in a grey herringbone button-up, blue pressed khakis with a prominent gator and black leather, buckle Oxfords. His face didn’t mirror her surprise of seeing him, as it shone a smile in her direction and so it meant that he knew of her summon, or rather—was behind it. She didn’t know how she felt about the latter probability, but it put a dampener on her anxiety a bit.

The gentle padding of her platform heels on the floor drew the attention of all four of them. Straightening up, she bowed in curtsy to Damien in curt formality, and waved in the direction of the girls. Zoe it would seem, flashed a smile in response while Karen didn’t bother looking up from her phone. Delano on the other hand, got a curious, inquisitive look but he maintained a stone cold neutral expression, as if he intentionally didn’t want to give anything away.

“Hey, Anjola.” Damien said finally, rising from his chair to extend a hand in courtesy. She couldn’t stop the involuntarily crinkling of her face, as she wondered why the C.E.O. was being so benevolent, in his comport. Sure, he didn’t have a reputation for notoriety or disrespecting his staff—but he usually maintained an equanimity that reassured everyone that he was the higher authority, and god all over matters pertaining to the oil corporation. So, why he was treating her as if she were some esteemed dignitary or another lord of a business empire, he wanted to fraternize with—eluded her. “How are you, doing?”

“I’m fine,” She said in her most polite voice, trying not to appear moved by the entire thing. When he had settled back into his seat, she couldn’t help but ask. “I mean no offence sir, but is anything wrong?”

“Nigerians and this mentality,” She’d have feared she pushed a button, if Damien didn’t have a smile on his face. His navy blue corduroy suit, looked pretty plain in design but Anjola was willing to bet it could pay her salary, in ten folds. He was pretty attractive for a fifty year old man, which was no wonder since he was a billionaire and could afford the most best things in the world, but it was mostly his full afro, dyed black hair and not his posh exterior that made him look younger. “I guess it’s no one’s fault. The country is so bad, it’s only normal to expect the worst of every situation. But no, Anjola nothing is wrong. I just wanted to meet you. And now that I see you, I’m wondering how I haven’t noticed your earlier.”

Um, because there are a hundred more workers in this building?

“Well, I’m not the head of my department or anything. So of course, we don’t have dealings together.” When Damien’s eyes narrowed, she continued. “I mean, like we don’t have direct dealings together. I don’t mean we don’t have dealings at all. Everyone in this building has dealings with you, since you’re the boss. I just meant that we don’t have any reason to meet or get to know each other, so it’s very logical that you don’t know me.”

Damien looked amused by her rambling, and so did Delano who was smirking sheepishly. Urgh, she grunted internally. It seemed no one in the room was interested in clarifying, on the true intent of her summon and she was beginning to think it was some elaborate, cunning scheme to mess with her or something.

“I see,” Damien nodded his head, slowly. “And how have you been finding things at Sigma?”

At this point, Karen had risen from her seat and strode across the room to where Delano stood. Anjola didn’t need telepathy, to aver that the girl was smitten by Delano—who seemed so incredibly aloof, that she knew it was deliberate in order to ward off the girl’s excesses. He didn’t seem like, he’d be slipping out of her trap soon though.

“It’s great, really.” She said, well naturedly. “The work environment is great, the job incentives are great and the people are great. Working at Sigma, is truly a dream come true for anyone. I don’t think anyone here, in whatever department they are would find better working conditions in some other place. If anyone resigns from here, it’d be that they want to start up their own establishment or become an entrepreneur or something.”

“And do you belong to said category?” Damien reclined in his chair, with clasped hands—a sleek, steel Swatch peeking out of his left sleeve. Zoe on the other hand, was still engrossed in her phone she was operating and Karen didn’t seem to be making inroads on the Delano’s front. They had moved to occupying the other couch, where the constricting latches looped around Delano was being tightened. If the scene weren’t so amusing, she’d feel pity for him.

“Not exactly, no.” Anjola shook her head gently, so that her curls didn’t swirl over her face. “If you ask me, what the future looks like for me—I probably wouldn’t be able to give a coherent answer. I’ve never thought of setting up my own establishment or anything, so it’s not a dream or flair for me. Or maybe it’s that Sigma is so great and convenient for me, that is has shut my mind down from all that.”

At this, Damien chuckled a bit and nodded in a calculated way as if he were in a lecture room and was taking notes. “Thanks Anjola, you can go now. In order to ease your worries and ensure that there is indeed nothing behind this, you’re only here because of Delano. He has spoke highly of you many times, that you’re probably the most diligent person he works with and I don’t take his word lightly. He’s like a son to me, and so anything he says holds gravity with me. I only wanted to place a face on the person he’s been talking about.”

“Oh,” A wave of relief washed over her and left in its wake, bubbles of flustered color on her face. Delano had been talking frequently about her? She didn’t want to read too much meaning into it, and let her interpretation run amok with wild inferences but it was pretty suggestive. She was flattered of course, that someone she held in such high esteem extolled her, but there was little to no emotional turmoil within, or frenzy as to what his praise for her, was grounded in.

“Well, it was quite the honor to meet you Mr. Omonigho. I guess, I could leave now.” She motioned to the door behind her, with her thumb and Delano sprung to his feet instantly, before Damien nodded.

“I have to go along with her, we have work to attend to.” There was no work of such pending, but Delano was only making a run for it, so as to escape his captivity. “I’d drop in before I leave. Later, sir.”

Anjola donned a dumbfounded look and faced him. “We have work together? I don’t think so.”

If looks could kill, she was pretty sure Delano’s would not have only killed her, but would have disintegrated her skin into atomic fragments. “We have work together. Remember we haven’t assessed those documents, yet.”

“What documents?” Anjola kept on, hell bent on punishing him but Damien spoke up that they could both excuse themselves, and they couldn’t help but scurry out of the room like miscreants, who had a close shave with capital punishment. Delano didn’t talk, until they were well out of Aishat’s sight, and in the elevator heading to their office floor.

“You know, you’re wicked. Right?” Delano said with a grimace, and wiped sweat over his forehead. Anjola couldn’t help but shriek in an hysterical laugh, for his earlier helpless situation. “You knew I was trying to get out of there, yet you didn’t play along.”

“Hey, she likes you okay?” Anjola replied, amidst her intense laughter. When the elevator halted, to let in more people—she inhaled hard, and put a vocal inhibitor on it. Speaking in a hushed volume, she continued. “You have to give her a chance first, before you decide you don’t like her.”

“Neh, just by her appearance alone, I don’t need to.” Delano snorted, shaking his head. “Just look at how much cleavage, her clothe exposed today? It’s practically impossible not to see the entire detail of her boobs, even if you try so hard not to look at it. It’s hard enough keeping your mind sane, when women look beautiful. It’s even harder when they expose everything in the first place. Like, put a fucking clothe over it.”

“Well, it’s her body and she is free to express herself in whatever she wishes.” Anjola replied, just as the elevator halted again—and the duo of people, that had boarded it earlier, disembarked. When the doors closed, Anjola erupted into another bout of laughter, bracing herself on Delano’s side. When he gave her an inscrutable look, she apologized. “Sorry, I wasn’t finished with my laughter earlier on, when those people got on. I had to round up and all. So, as I was saying it’s her body, Delano. She is free to go naked if she wants.”

“Yes, and it’s my choice to decide whether or not I like such women and I don’t. Hence the thesis, that I don’t need to give her a chance before coming to the conclusion that I don’t like her.” Delano replied. “Plus, she is the daughter of a fucking billionaire. Not Dayo Tijani’s billionaire type, but billionaire in foreign currency.

“Just because Damien treats me, like we belong to the same class, doesn’t mean I forget my place. If I get into a relationship with the daughter of someone so rich and powerful, I’m pretty much a slave. If I break up, when she’s not ready for such—I could end up dead in a ditch. And it’d go just like that. No one would care.”

“Yeah, true that. Makes me wonder how Mr. Eazi copes.” Anjola laughed one final time, before the elevator halted on their floor finally, prompting them to step out. The floor was still every bit as busy as it was, when she initially headed out and she had forgotten its frenzy atmosphere, because she was returning from a deserted floor. It felt like she hadn’t been conveyed by an elevator, but had gone through a portal to traverse the length between parallel dimensions.

“By the way, Damien’s fifty fifth birthday bash is on Thursday. In the evening.” Delano was saying, above the overlapping noise of a gazillion conversations in procession, and shuffling noises—creaking and slamming of doors, padding of feet and other indiscernible, miscellaneous ones—in the hallway, as they approached the accounting segment of the building.

Every department had an apportioned segment on every floor that spawned three to four office rooms, varying on its populace. The accounting department, as one of the most pivotal and essential organisms of the company, had four offices adjudicated to it. Anjola’s was on the farthest end, and that was where Delano was walking her to. Delano on the other hand, shared one office with the head of the department—Mrs. Sola Soneyin, who was currently on a maternity leave.

“I was invited of course, and everyone there is pretty much bringing a plus one.” Delano pocketed his hands, and met her gaze as they stopped finally at the entrance of her office. “It’s not mandatory, but if I do not want to be accosted by someone I’d rather not spend the evening with or worse, Karen—It’d be reasonable to bring someone along. I’d like that to be you. I think we’d have fun.”

Anjola was tempted to inquire on the nature of technicalities, that revolved round his request. Was it an extension of their good, formal working relationship or were they venturing into more personal ones? She kept her mouth shut, deciding to lean on his discretion.

“That’d be great, I’d love to.” She said, with a genuine, excited smile. “Is there a dress code, though?”

“No, just look beautiful.” Delano shook his head. “Although for you, that’s like telling you to breathe air, so…” Despite the fact that he didn’t usually stir hormonal reactions of a turbulent type in her, she was still flustered as a result of his lavish compliment. “So, just do you. When Wednesday comes around, we’d discuss more on time and location and every other thing else. See you later.”

“Yeah, bye.” She said, after his retreating figure and strode into her office—her eyes landing instantly on, a cross-legged Adaure leaning over her desk, with folded arms and a gaze hungry for information. Her friend was wearing a black blazer, on a white chiffon blouse and faded boot cut jeans. How the girl managed to pull off casual and corporate simultaneously, never failed to bother her.

“So, what exactly is going on?” Adaure descended on her like a hungry vulture, tearing at scraps of her body¬—the moment she sank into her seat. “Why were you called to the C.E.O’s office and why was Delano, giving you that…look, as if you had both just agreed to make babies.”

“Don’t be silly,” Anjola scoffed, browsing through the pile of documents on her desk, in a bid to drive her friend away. “I was called to the C.E.O.’s office, because well…Delano has been sorta, speaking highly about me and my hardwork, blah blah and the man wanted to place a face on the person, he’s been talking about. And I just agreed to be his plus one to the C.E.O’s birthday bash on Thursday.”

Adaure’s mouth fell open. “Wow. So much, big progress and development and you say it so casually. Thus implying, that it is not as big as my mind is interpreting it to be, which further implies that something has been going on for a while between you and Delano. Everything changed on the cruise ferry, didn’t it?”

“Nothing changed on the cruise ferry, Adaure.” She groaned, wheeling her chair to face her friend. “I’m saying it casually, because it’s the same way Delano asked me out to the event casually. He is making it seem like something not big, so I’m not going to freak out because it’s probably not big. And big in this context isn’t even feasible, because there is nothing going on between the both of us and nothing would ever go on.”

Adaure folded her arms, shaking her head. “Taste a meal, before you decide you don’t like it girl.”

Anjola couldn’t help but sigh. “Funny how I said that exact same thing to him, some minutes ago.”

“Okay, so.” Adaure sat up, locking gazes with her. Anjola’s default subconscious would panic, at their unprofessional posture but their boss was in absentia, and their other boss was the stimulant of said conversation. “Sure, he’s not making you go gaga and making your head reel like you’re drinking alcohol. Not like you’d know how that feels, since you don’t drink alcohol but that’s besides the point.

“The point is, while you don’t exactly like him, he is not appalling to you and I’m pretty sure your stomach doesn’t turn in disgust when you think about dating him. So just give it a shot. What harm could happen? Delano is a decent guy, and there is pretty much no one else in the picture you like, right? Or is there?”

Images of Lekan got conjured in her head instantly, and thoughts of how he could set her on edge with a single look or remark, followed suit but she shrugged them off as redundant. Even if he were in the picture, it would be folly to envision a stable relationship with someone that derived pleasure in spontaneous, casual relations. Delano on the other hand, was someone attuned to her needs in a relationship. It was only logical to give it a chance, like Adaure advised.

“Of course, there is no one.” She mustered her best indignant scoff, and sighed. “Fine, I’d give it a chance then and let myself feel. And if its still a blank space at the end of the day, I’d move on.”

“That’s the spirit.” Adaure said, in apparent sarcasm before tracing her steps back to her desk. Ehize entered at that moment and winked at Anjola, before going ahead to slam the documents in his hand, over Adaure’s curls. The girl went into a fit as expected, and began to school Ehize on the delicate nature of the perm, and how a slight disruption could bring about a cascade of mess. Their volumes were loud, and their banter—humorous, but all Anjola could think of was the looming event, and its power to define the true content of her relationship with Delano.

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