Chapter 3: Lagos
1276 Words
The flight to Lagos was 1 hour. It felt like 10.
I sat in first class. Next to Alfred.
He was on his laptop the entire time. Suit. Sunglasses on even inside. Looking like every billionaire in a movie.
I was in the blazer he told me to keep.
Black skirt. White shirt. Hair in a low bun. Professional. Boring.
Exactly how he liked it.
“You don’t have to be nervous,” he said suddenly, without looking up.
“I’m not nervous.”
“You’re tapping your foot.”
I stopped. “It’s turbulence.”
“It’s me.”
I didn’t answer. Because it was him.
Eko Pearl Hotel. 5 Star.
The driver dropped our bags. Two bags. One for him. One for me.
The receptionist smiled. “Mr. Sterling. We have your suite ready. Presidential.”
“One room?” I asked quickly. Too quickly.
Alfred looked at me. “Two rooms were booked.”
The receptionist checked her system. Her smile dropped. “I’m so sorry sir. There was a system error. We only have the presidential suite available tonight. The other rooms will be ready tomorrow.”
My stomach dropped.
Alfred’s jaw ticked. “Fine. We’ll take it.”
He turned to me. “Problem?”
“No problem, Mr. Sterling,” I said, voice flat. “Professional.”
The suite was huge. Living room. Mini bar. City view.
And one bedroom. With one king-size bed.
One. Bed.
“Take the couch,” Alfred said, dropping his luggage. “I’ll take the bed.”
“The couch is 4 feet long. You’re 6'2."
He didn’t look at me. “Then you take the bed.”
“I’m not”
“Sandra.” His voice was final. “We’re adults. We can share a room. We did it before.”
That shut me up.
He went to the bathroom first. I heard the shower.
I sat on the couch and stared at my phone.
No signal. No wifi password yet.
10 minutes later he came out. Towel around his waist. Water dripping down his chest.
Hair wet.
I looked away so fast.
“Your turn,” he said. “There are spare clothes in the closet. Hotel robe. Use it.”
The robe was white. Too big. It swallowed me.
I came out and he was on the couch now, laptop open.
He glanced up. Then glanced away just as fast.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered.
“Like what?”
“Like you used to.”
The rain started. Hard. Hitting the windows.
Power in Lagos was unpredictable. 10 minutes later, the lights went out.
“Generator,” he said. “Give it 2 minutes.”
We sat in the dark. Thunder outside.
“This is unprofessional,” I whispered.
“This is Lagos,” he replied. “Everything here is unprofessional.”
A flash of lightning. For half a second I saw him.
Watching me.
The lights came back. But dim.
He closed his laptop. “We need to talk about tomorrow’s meeting.”
“We can talk in the morning.”
“No. Now.” He patted the couch next to him. “Sit.”
I sat. 1 foot of space between us.
He smelled like soap and that same cologne.
“The client tomorrow is Chief Okonkwo,” he said. “He’s old school. He’ll test you. Ask you personal questions. Ignore him. Answer only work questions.”
“What if he asks about us?”
“He won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I told him you’re my assistant. Nothing more.”
He paused. “That’s what you are.”
The word stung.
“Right,” I said. “Assistant.”
Silence.
Rain.
Thunder.
“I’m cold,” I said stupidly.
He sighed and stood. Got a blanket from the bed. Draped it over me.
His arm brushed my shoulder.
He didn’t move away immediately.
“Sandra,” he said quietly.
“Hm?”
“Why did you leave? 3 years ago.”
My heart stopped.
“Professional distance, remember?” I said, voice shaking.
“That’s rule number 3. I’m breaking it.”
He turned to face me. “Why?”
Tears pricked my eyes. “Because you told me to. Because you said I was a distraction. Because your family—”
“My family has nothing to do with this.”
“Then what does?” I snapped. “Tell me, Alfred. What changed?”
He stared at me. Jaw clenched.
“Nothing changed,” he said finally. “I’m still your boss. You’re still my employee. That’s all.”
Liar.
I stood. “I’m going to bed.”
I climbed into the king bed. On the very edge. Clutching the blanket.
He stayed on the couch.
At 2am, I woke up to thunder. And cold.
The AC was blasting.
“Sandra,” a voice said.
Alfred was standing by the bed. Holding another blanket.
“You’re shivering.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” He sat on the edge of the bed. Carefully. “Move over.”
“What?”
“Move. Over.”
I did. He laid down on top of the blanket. Not touching me.
Professional distance. 6 inches between us.
But I could feel his warmth.
And his breathing.
We didn’t talk.
At some point, I fell asleep.
Morning.
I woke up first.
To his arm around my waist.
My back to his chest.
He was still asleep.
I should have moved. I should have screamed.
Instead I laid there for 30 seconds. Breathing him in.
Then he stirred.
His arm tightened. “Morning,” he mumbled into my hair.
“Alfred.”
He froze. Then pulled away like I burned him.
He sat up. Hair messy. Eyes dark.
“s**t. Sorry”.
“Professional,” I finished for him. Voice small.
“Professional,” he repeated. Standing up. “We need to get ready. Meeting in 2 hours.”
Neither of us mentioned the couch. Or the bed. Or the arm.
In the bathroom, I stared at myself in the mirror.
Lips swollen. Hair messy.
Wearing his scent.
We were in trouble.
The Meeting
Chief Okonkwo was 70. Loud. And he stared at me the entire time.
“So this is your new girl, Alfred?” he asked. “Pretty.”
“She’s my PA,” Alfred said, voice ice. “And she’s very good at her job.”
Chief laughed. “I bet she is.”
I wanted to disappear.
After the meeting, Chief pulled me aside.
“Girl, you be careful with that one,” he whispered. “Billionaires break hearts. And they don’t pay damages.”
I nodded.
When we got back to the hotel, Alfred was quiet. Angry.
“You did good,” he said finally.
“Thanks.”
He stopped at the door to the suite. “Sandra.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t let him talk to you like that again.”
“He was just”
“I don’t care what he was,” Alfred cut in. “You’re mine to protect. At work.”
At work. Right.
That night, there were two beds.
They’d fixed the “error.”
I slept alone.
And I hated it.
At 3am, a text:
“Can’t sleep. The couch was more comfortable.
I smiled in the dark.
And typed back:
“Liar”.
He didn’t reply.
But 5 minutes later, there was a knock on my door.
I opened it.
Alfred. In sweatpants. Holding a pillow.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
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