My crush my boss

My name is Hannah Oshin, and I am the invisible girl at Adeleke & Co. I have worked here for six months as an intern, but nobody knows my name. They call me "photocopy girl" or "that Bariga girl." I am twenty-three years old. I graduated with a second-class upper degree in Mass Communication from the University of Lagos, UNILAG. I live in a single room in Bariga with my mother who sells akara every morning by the roadside. Every day, my life follows the same routine. I wake up by 4:30 AM. Our room is small and hot. The zinc roof makes noise when rain falls. My mother is already awake, frying akara in hot oil. The smoke fills the room and enters my eyes. I fetch water from the public tap, take my bath with cold water, and wear my only good black dress. It is faded because I have worn it every day for six months. I don't have money for new clothes. By 5:15 AM, I leave Bariga. I join the crowded danfo bus from Bariga to Obalende, then another bus to Victoria Island. The bus is always full of market women, students, and workers. We squeeze together, sweating. The conductor shouts, "Hold your change!" The traffic on Third Mainland Bridge is terrible. Sometimes I stand for two hours in traffic. But I must arrive early. I arrive at Adeleke & Co by 7:00 AM, before anyone else. The security man, Baba Musa, knows me now. He says, "Good morning, small madam, you don come again early." I clean the conference table. I arrange the files. I switch on the photocopy machine and make sure there is enough paper and ink. My official job is to photocopy documents, file papers, and buy coffee for senior staff. That is all I do. I have never been allowed to speak in a meeting. I have never been allowed to bring an idea. The company is owned by Mr. Alex Adeleke. He is thirty-one years old, six feet tall, handsome like a movie star, and the coldest man I have ever seen in my life. Everyone in the office calls him the Ice King. He never smiles. He wears expensive black suits every day. His shoes shine like mirror. His perfume smells like money and power. When he walks into the office, everyone becomes quiet and serious. All the female staff are in love with him, especially Cynthia Bello, the Senior Strategist. Cynthia is twenty-eight years old. She is very beautiful. She is tall, light-skinned, with long Brazilian hair and expensive red lipstick. She wears tight dresses that show her shape. She has worked here for three years and she believes that one day Mr. Alex will marry her. She is from a rich family in Lekki. She hates me because I am from Bariga and because I did not go to private university like her. Cynthia always insults me. When I bring coffee to her, she says, "Photocopy girl, you added too much sugar. Are you from village?" When I photocopy her documents, she says, "Do it again, you made mistake. Bariga girls don't know how to do anything well." I always keep quiet because I need this job. My mother borrowed money to pay my school fees. I must send money home every month. This morning, Tuesday morning, everything changed in my life. I was arranging files in the big conference room for the Glow meeting. Glow is a big Nigerian cream company. They make body creams and face creams for Nigerian women. They want to launch a new cream called Mama's Glow. It is a cream for mothers, for market women, for women who work hard under sun. It is a big contract worth thirty-five million naira. If we get this client, our company will be famous. Mr. Alex entered the conference room with two clients and with Cynthia and Tolu. Tolu is my only friend in the office. She is also a junior staff but she has been here for one year. She is kind to me. Mr. Alex was discussing the Glow campaign. He was standing near the white board with marker in his hand. "We need a real story," he was saying to Cynthia. His voice is deep and serious. "Our ideas are too polished. Too fake. We are using too many bleached models and i********: influencers. Real Nigerian mothers don't connect with that. Real mothers in Oshodi market, in Mushin, in Bariga, they want to feel respected. They want to see themselves." Cynthia stood up, confident, with her laptop. She opened her slides. Her idea was full of fine pictures of Nollywood actresses with smooth, bleached skin and heavy makeup. "Sir, I suggest we use celebrity influencer," Cynthia said. "We can use a popular actress like Mercy or Chioma. Mothers want to look like celebrities. If we use celebrity, mothers will buy the cream because they want to look like her." Mr. Alex frowned. His face became more cold. "No," he said. "Mothers in Oshodi market don't have money to look like celebrities. They have burnt hands from cooking. They have tired eyes from not sleeping. They want cream that respects their struggle, not cream that makes them feel ugly." He looked frustrated. I was standing by the photocopy machine in the corner, holding files, trying to be invisible. But when he said burnt hands, I thought of my mother. My mother's hands are full of burn marks from hot oil. Her eyes are always red from smoke. And I remembered what she told me last Christmas when she rubbed cheap cream on her face and smiled. Before I could control myself, I spoke. "Excuse me, sir... my mother sells akara in Bariga..." Everyone turned and looked at me. The room became silent. Cynthia rolled her eyes and hissed, "Who asked you to talk? Photocopy girl, keep quiet!" But Mr. Alex looked at me. For the first time in six months, he looked directly into my eyes. His eyes are dark brown and very serious. "What did you say, intern?" he asked. My heart was beating very fast, like drum. My hands were shaking. But I continued because I was already in trouble. "Sir, my mother fries akara from 4 AM to 10 AM every day. Her hands are burnt from hot oil. Her eyes are red from smoke. But when she comes home in the afternoon, she still rubs small cream on her face and she smiles. She says, 'Even though I suffer, my face must still glow.' I think mothers like my mother would like Mama's Glow if they see a real mother like them, not a celebrity. If they see my mother, they will believe the cream is for them." The room was silent for almost ten seconds. Nobody spoke. Cynthia laughed loudly, "My God! See this Bariga girl! You think your akara mother can be model for big brand like Glow? Do you know who Glow is? They are big company! They don't use market women!" But Mr. Alex did not laugh. He stared at me for a long time. His face was unreadable. He dropped the marker. "What is your name?" he asked me again. "Hannah, sir. Hannah Oshin." "Hannah from Bariga," he repeated slowly, like he was tasting the name. "Come to my office by 5 PM today. I want to hear more." Cynthia's face changed completely. Her smile disappeared. She looked at me like she wanted to kill me with her eyes. By 5 PM, I went to his office. I knocked three times. My heart was beating so loud that I thought he would hear it. "Enter," he said. I have never entered his office before. It is very big and beautiful. It has glass walls that show all of Victoria Island. The air conditioner is very cold. It smells like his expensive perfume. His desk is big and clean, with two laptops and many files. He was sitting behind his desk, reading something. "Sit down, Hannah." I sat down at the edge of the chair, shaking. "Do you have more ideas about Mama's Glow?" he asked, without looking up. "Yes, sir. I have many ideas. I have been writing them in my notebook since I joined this company. I write every night after work. I have ideas about real mothers in Bariga, in Mushin, in Ajegunle, in Oshodi..." "Show me your notebook." I brought out my small, torn notebook. It is brown and old. The cover is torn. It is filled with my handwriting. I have written ten ideas for Glow, with small drawings of my mother and other market women carrying babies on their backs and frying akara and selling garri. He read it for fifteen minutes without talking. I was sweating inside the cold AC. I thought he would throw the book away and say it is nonsense. Finally, he closed the notebook and looked at me. "Hannah, from tomorrow, you are no longer an intern. You are now Junior Strategist. You will lead the Mama's Glow campaign. You will work directly under me. I will inform HR." I thought I did not hear well. My mouth opened. "Sir... Junior Strategist? Me? Photocopy girl?" "Yes. You. The girl from Bariga with burnt-hands mother idea. That is exactly what we need in this company. Real ideas from real life. Not copied American ideas from Google." Tears came to my eyes immediately. Junior Strategist? My salary will move from 100k to 400k? I could not believe it. I wanted to cry and laugh at same time. "Thank you, sir... thank you so much... I will not disappoint you..." "One more thing," he said, and opened his drawer. He brought out a black card. It is a very fine black card, with Adeleke & Co written in gold. "This is company black card. It has no limit. Tomorrow, you will present to the owner of Glow herself. I want you to buy a wine dress with this card. And fine heels. You cannot present Mama's Glow wearing faded black dress. You must look like the brand you are selling." Wine dress? Black card? For me? Girl from Bariga? "Sir, I cannot collect this... it is too much..." "It is an order from your boss, Hannah. Do you disobey your boss?" "No, sir." "Then take it." I collected the card with shaking hands. It felt heavy. As I left his office, I saw Cynthia standing outside near the door, pretending to press her phone. But she was listening. She saw the black card in my hand. Her eyes were filled with jealousy, hatred, and anger. Her red lipstick was pressed tight. I knew that from that moment, my life in Adeleke & Co would never be the same again. My enemies have started, but my promotion has also started.