CHAPTER THREE.
1306 Words
Banks had downed six shots of liquor and sat hunched at the bar, unimpressed.
To him, this wasn’t a party—it felt more like a glorified professional dinner.
The lighting, the chatter, even the music seemed too calculated. He even spotted a woman in what looked like office wear.
“Who wears that to a party?” he muttered.
His friend sauntered over, noticing his mood.
“Guy, what’s up with you?”
“What’s really going on here?” Banks shot back sarcastically.
They laughed together. His friend already knew Banks wasn’t a fan of this sort of party.
“You are here alone again?”“You know me,” Banks said. “My car’s in the parking lot. If that counts.”
More laughter. Drinks kept flowing. The topic shifted from work to football, and then to the secretary at his friend’s office who seemed too determined to ignore the wedding ring on his finger.
“Bro, what were you expecting when you started gym?” Banks joked.
“I wasn’t expecting female attention, that’s for sure.”
As they chuckled, Banks’ eyes locked on someone across the room. Finally, something interesting.
She stood out—not just because of her silky backless dress, but the ease in her discomfort, the softness in her withdrawn stance.
Her skin glowed under the dim lights, and the neckline of her gown revealed a delicate collarbone and a teasing glimpse of cleavage.
He couldn’t tell if it was the dress or her body that was sculpted to tempt. Whatever it was, it worked.
“Bad guy,” his friend teased as he noticed Banks’ focus shift.
His friend soon got called away by his wife, leaving Banks alone with his drink and the image of her etched into his mind. She disappeared from his sight moments later. He had to know where she went.
Kemfon moved through the party with reserved elegance.
Though she wasn’t one for crowds, she had to admit Seima had been right—this event had potential.
She had just finished a short conversation with a bubbly woman who turned out to be the daughter of the prominent Senior Advocate of the country.
They’d exchanged numbers, and the woman had gushed about Kemfon’s dress.
“You made this? Kemmy Wears, right?” the woman asked, eyes sparkling.
Kemfon nodded shyly.
“You’re talented. I’ve got a media brunch in a few weeks—send me a catalog. I’d love to wear something from your collection.”
Kemfon’s heart fluttered. This was more than just flattery. This was an opportunity.
As the woman disappeared into the crowd, Seima rejoined her.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Seima squealed
“Do you know who she is?”
“I do now,” Kemfon murmured, trying to contain her smile.
“And she asked for your catalog? Babe, that’s a gateway to A-list visibility. You can’t mess this up.”
“I know, girl,” Kemfon said, taking a deep breath.
Moments later, overwhelmed by the noise and energy, she stepped outside.
Kemfon needed air.
The noise, the bodies, the perfume—everything inside the party was too much.
She stepped outside to the back lawn, thankful for the quiet.
She slipped off her heels and let the cold earth cool her soles. The moonlight illuminated the garden just enough.
She lay back on a stone bench, taking in the night sky, when she caught the scent of cologne—strong, masculine, and unfamiliar.
Her heart skipped.
“Can I be forgiven for privacy intrusion?”
The voice was deep, confident, and had a touch of mischief.
She sat up, turning towards it.
From the dim light emerged a tall man in black pants and a wooden deep blue shirt, unbuttoned just enough to show a silver crucifix.
He held two glasses.
“Who are you?” Her tone was wary, but her body language betrayed a flicker of intrigue.
“Banks,” he said, offering her one of the glasses.
She didn’t move.
“Ouch. That means,” he said with a mock pout.
“Did you follow me?” she asked, trying to sound stern.
“Yeah,” he said simply. “Can you blame me?”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s exactly what a creep would say.”
“I’m not a creep. I promise,” he said with a small chuckle. To her own surprise, she laughed a little.
“You looked like you needed air,” he added. “I needed it too.”
“Well, I did. This whole event is suffocating.”
He smiled. “You don’t seem like the party type.”
“I’m not.”
“Then why are you here?”
“My friend. She dragged me out. Refused to take no for an answer.”
He nodded. “I came solo. Hoped for a better vibe. So far, you’re the most interesting part of the night.”
That flustered her slightly. She glanced at him.
“Bold much?”
“Just honest.”
They sat in silence that wasn’t
uncomfortable.
Then he asked, “So what do you do?”
“I’m a fashion designer. I own a brand—Kemmy Wears.”
He looked intrigued.
“No way. My cousin works for Kemmy Wears. Amara Adams.”
Kemfon blinked. “Wait—Amara? That’s my model.”
She reached into her purse, scrolled through her phone, and showed him a picture.
“That’s her,” Banks said.
She laughed softly. “Small world.”
“You’re talented,” he said genuinely. “Your designs are bold but elegant—like that dress you’re wearing.”
She looked down at her dress.
“Seima picked it. I wouldn’t have dared.”
“Well, thank her on my behalf,” he murmured, eyes twinkling.
He leaned slightly closer, and the space between them crackled with tension.
He reached out slowly and brushed the loop that held her dress around her neck.
She shivered.
Her breath caught in her throat. She knew she should tell him to stop.
But she didn’t.
He leaned in, his lips just grazing the skin of her neck. His breath was warm. Her skin prickled under the cold air.
“You smell… so good,” he whispered.
Her thoughts were a storm of warning signs and forbidden excitement.
“I should go back in. My friend might be looking for me.” Her voice was barely audible.
“I’ll walk you in,” he said.
They walked side by side.
The party music grew louder as they neared the stairwell. Qing Madi’s “Goosebumps” played almost mockingly in sync with what she felt.
Before she could stop herself, she turned and kissed him.
Her hands explored the firmness beneath his shirt. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her into the kiss like he’d been waiting for it all night. Their lips moved like they had something to find in each other.
Then came footsteps.
She broke the kiss, her breath ragged. She saw two guests descending the stairs.
Banks looked at her, eyes dazed, lips slightly parted.
She picked up her purse from where it had dropped, adjusted her dress, and tried to compose herself.
“Maybe we could talk after tonight?” he asked, reaching for her hand. “I could call you… If you’d give me your number.”
She stared at him. This was too much, too fast. She wasn’t ready.
“Goodnight, Banks,” she said, gently pulling her hand away.
And without another word, she ascended the stairs and disappeared into the party.
Inside, the lights felt brighter, the music louder, and the world just a little more confusing.
This night wasn’t over—but it had already changed something in her.
- Writer
