Office tension?
819 Words
Zara’s first day at M&O Media felt like stepping onto another planet. The office was modern, sleek, and filled with people who dressed like models and moved like they owned the world. Her corner of the floor, however, was small—just a clean desk, a borrowed laptop, and a potted plant that looked fake.
She didn’t mind.
At least it wasn’t her aunt’s cramped apartment. At least she was being paid to write.
She was halfway through her first piece—an article titled “Why Lagos Traffic is a Spiritual Test”—when someone hovered behind her.
“You’re the newbie?”
Zara turned. A tall woman with red lips, sharp cheekbones, and an even sharper suit looked her up and down.
“I’m Zara,” she said, extending a hand.
The woman didn’t shake it. “I’m Rita. Lead content strategist. I trained for four years before I got this office. You showed up overnight.”
Zara frowned. “I applied like everyone else.”
“Did you?” Rita said with a cold smile. “Well, don’t get too comfortable. Pretty girls don’t last long here. Not unless they offer more than clever headlines.”
Zara bit her tongue. This wasn’t the time to be sarcastic, but the urge simmered in her chest.
Thankfully, a familiar voice saved her.
“Rita,” Jason said as he approached, “Zara’s writing the new column I told you about. She’s under my supervision.”
Rita stiffened but nodded. “Of course, Mr. Okwudili.”
As she walked off, Jason turned to Zara. “Ignore her. She thinks she’s still in charge of hiring. She’s not.”
“Is she always like that?”
“Only when she’s threatened.”
“By me?” Zara raised a brow.
Jason leaned in slightly. “By anyone who doesn’t kiss her ass.”
Zara grinned despite herself. “Good. I’m terrible at office politics.”
He smiled but quickly stepped back, his expression neutral again. “Anyway. Just checking in. Send me your draft by 4.”
She nodded, watching him walk away. He didn’t look back.
---
That afternoon, she sent her article to his inbox. Within minutes, he replied.
Subject: Nice try.
Body: Clever, but the ending is weak. Rewrite the last paragraph. And don’t hold back—use that bite I saw at the store.
She scowled at the screen, but part of her smiled. He wanted fire? She had plenty.
---
By Friday, she’d submitted two more articles. Jason barely spoke to her in person but replied to every email within the hour, always blunt and brutally honest:
> “Paragraph 3 drags. Delete it.”
“Your sarcasm works. Use it more.”
“You think too small. Dig deeper.”
It was annoying—and weirdly flattering.
Still, Zara couldn’t shake the whispers.
At lunch, two interns giggled as she walked by.
“Is that the girl the boss brought in personally?”
“She probably has a side contract... or side benefits.”
Zara clenched her jaw and kept walking.
She didn’t need this. She was just here to write and get paid. That was it.
---
That evening, she stayed back to polish a new article. The office had emptied out, leaving only the hum of lights and distant elevator dings.
Jason’s door opened.
“You’re still here?”
“Trying to beat traffic,” she said without looking up. “And your edits.”
He chuckled, walking toward her desk. “Want a ride?”
She hesitated.
“I don’t bite,” he added.
Zara sighed, shut her laptop, and grabbed her bag. “Fine. But no music from the 2000s.”
He grinned. “Deal.”
---
In the car, silence hung between them, until Jason asked, “Why do you write?”
Zara stared out the window. “Because it’s the only place I get to be honest. No filters. No fear.”
He nodded. “Makes sense.”
“What about you?” she asked, turning to him. “Why media? You don’t seem like the blog type.”
“I inherited the company. My father wanted me to run oil fields. I wanted to tell stories.”
“That’s... unexpected.”
Jason smiled. “I get that a lot.”
She laughed softly. For the first time, the tension between them felt less like a wire waiting to snap—and more like a string pulling them closer.
He pulled up outside her apartment. “Text me if you have questions about the next brief.”
She nodded. “Thanks for the ride. And... for not being completely horrible.”
Jason smirked. “I try.”
Zara stepped out, heart slightly lighter than when the day started.
As she walked up the stairs, she realized something terrifying—she liked working there.
Worse?
She liked him.
- Writer
