Love in Lagos Tech

Chapter 8: The Coffee Test

Chapter 8: The Coffee Test

The following Monday started like any other. Iremide arrived at the OneID office early, beat the traffic, cleared his inbox, and was halfway through a strategy deck when he heard a knock on the glass wall of his private office.

It wasn’t his assistant.

It was Olaide.

In sunglasses, a linen shirt, and that arrogant grin, Iremide hadn’t realized he missed until that moment.

"Tell me Lagos missed me," Olaide said, arms wide.

"You’re back?!"

"Physically. Emotionally? Jury’s still out," Olaide joked, pulling him into a brief one-armed hug. "I figured you’d be here drowning in KPIs, so I thought surprise!"

Iremide laughed, motioning him inside. "This is a nice surprise. You didn’t tell me you landed."

"Because I knew you’d try to schedule me in between a seed funding call and a TED Talk."

They settled into the chairs opposite each other. Olaide pulled out a pack of chin chin from his pocket and tossed it on the table.

"Breakfast," he said. "Fit for kings."

"Only you would walk into a fintech office like it’s your living room."

"And only you would run a fintech and still act like you have no time for love."

Iremide rolled his eyes. "Here we go."

"Look, I’ve been watching you get all soft-eyed about this girl. You might as well tattoo 'FarmConnect' on your chest."

"We’re not even dating."

"Yet," Olaide said pointedly. "But you want to. You’re just doing that thing where you pretend to be too focused for romance."

"I am focused. OneID is at a critical stage. "We’re finalizing our go-to-market plan, exploring strategic partnerships, and..."

"And writing poetry at Bar Beach. Please," Olaide leaned forward. "You’ve done the grind. You’ve built a stealth team. You’ve got Keji semi-impressed and Dad low-key proud. Maybe it’s okay to build with someone beside you."

"I don’t want to distract her. She’s building too."

"Then build together."

They sat in silence for a beat. Iremide knew Olaide had a point. But admitting it felt like something bigger than he was ready for.

"So," he deflected, "how’s your love life? Still breaking hearts across the continent?"

Olaide grinned. "Not breaking. Just temporarily borrowing. There’s a difference."

"You’re incorrigible."

"I’m single. There’s a difference. And unlike you, I actually take chances."

"Says the man who once ghosted a girl because she mispronounced 'croissant.'"

"That was a cultural mismatch!"

They burst into laughter, the sound filling the quiet office space. It was the kind of laughter that softened ambition, that reminded them they were still more than their startups and strategy decks.

Eventually, Olaide stood. "Come to my place this weekend. Drinks. Grilled fish. Tech-free zone."

"Deal," Iremide said. Bring better snacks, though. Chin chin doesn’t count."

"Says the man who used to live on plantain chips."

And with a final clap on the back, Olaide walked out, leaving behind only the scent of too much cologne and the energy of a friendship that made the hustle feel a little less lonely.

Later that day, Iremide sat through a strategy meeting but couldn’t stop replaying the conversation. Olaide, for all his wild charm, had a way of cutting into the truth. Maybe it was time to stop compartmentalizing work in one box, feeling in another.

Lagos didn’t slow down for love, and neither did Tiaraoluwa. The morning after the private dinner, she was back at her desk, swiping through backlogged emails and fielding calls from two developers, a UI intern, and her accountant. Her mind should have been on debugging and prepping FarmConnect for beta testing. Instead, it kept returning to the way Iremide had looked at her. How his voice had dropped when he spoke only to her. How the night felt suspended between possibility and restraint.

She shook it off.

Tiara was not going to be the girl who derailed her dreams for a charming billionaire, not even one with a jawline sculpted by the gods.

By midday, she was at the TechSpark hub again, leading a workshop for new founders on accessible design. She stood tall, pointer in hand, walking them through clean wireframes and contrasting color palettes, never letting her voice waver.

"Design isn’t decoration," she told the room. "It’s strategy made visible."

Applause followed. And when she sat down afterward, she noticed her phone buzzed with a message:

Iremide: Great session. Want to grab lunch?

She stared at it for a full minute before replying: Busy. Maybe next week.

Across town, Iremide exhaled slowly. He respected boundaries. He also hated them. But he knew pushing now would only backfire.

His own office was a war zone hiring delays, miscommunications with vendors, and a bug in the payment module for his flagship app. The returnee glow was wearing off, and the real Lagos was baring its teeth. But amid all the noise, one thing felt clear: Tiaraoluwa wasn’t just another tech talent. She had presence. Grit. And damn, he was curious.

Later that evening, their paths crossed again unexpectedly. At a pitch night hosted by a rival accelerator. Tiara was on the panel. Iremide was there to scout. When he entered the room and saw her, their eyes met with a flicker of surprise and something warmer.

After the event, he caught up with her in the parking lot. "So much for avoiding me."

"I said maybe next week," she said, unlocking her car. "It’s still this week."

He grinned. "Fair. You were impressive in there. No fluff, just straight impact."

"That’s the only way I know how to move."

"I noticed."

A beat passed.

"Alright," she said, turning to him. "Coffee." Saturday. Morning. Neutral ground."

He smiled, slow and satisfied. "Deal."

As she drove off, Tiara let herself smile for the first time all day. Coffee wasn’t a commitment. But it was a beginning.

And maybe it was the kind she was finally ready for.

And maybe that, in itself, was enough for now.

Saturday morning came dressed in soft sunlight and the scent of fresh pastries. Tiaraoluwa picked a quiet café tucked between an art gallery and a yoga studio in Victoria Island neutral territory, just as she had said. It wasn’t flashy, but it was her kind of place: calm, creative, unpretentious.

She chose a seat near the window and ordered a hibiscus latte, hoping to settle her nerves. She had dressed simply in denim trousers, a mustard blouse, her afro loose and free, but she couldn’t shake the tiny flutter of anticipation that danced in her chest.

Iremide arrived seven minutes late, which surprised her. She was used to men like him being irritatingly punctual, as if to show they were in control. But when he walked in, all tall elegance and linen-shirt calm, she saw something else: a man who had rushed, maybe even hesitated.

"You’re not usually late," she said as he sat across from her.

"No," he replied, removing his sunglasses. "But I wanted to be today. Makes it feel like I wasn’t trying too hard."

She laughed. "Points for honesty."

He ordered black coffee and a slice of banana bread, then leaned back in his chair.

"So," he said, "let’s talk about everything except work."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because I already admire your mind. Now I want to know the rest of you."

She didn’t smile immediately. Instead, she studied him, as though deciding whether to believe him.

"Fine," she said. "What do you want to know?"

"What did you want to be at age ten?"

"An inventor. I tried to build a robot out of my mum’s old blender. It blew out the entire flat’s power supply."

He chuckled. "And she still let you keep dreaming?"

"She encouraged it. Bought me books. Eventually, she enrolled me in a coding summer camp."

"Smart woman."

"She was."

He noticed the past tense but didn’t press. Instead, he shared his own ten-year-old dream: being an astronaut. Then an architect. Then CEO.

The coffee cooled, but the conversation warmed. They spoke of childhood fears, favorite books, and embarrassing teenage moments. At one point, Tiaraoluwa confessed she still cried during airplane takeoffs, and he admitted he used to fake phone calls to avoid awkward parties.

By the time their cups were empty, there was a comfortable silence between them.

"This was nice," she said.

"Yeah," he agreed. "No pressure. No pitch decks. Just... us."

She nodded slowly. "That might be scarier than pitching."

He laughed. "Then maybe we’re onto something."

Neither of them called it a date. But they both knew that’s exactly what it was.