Simi my love

Chapter 2: The Note

Simi had been in the compound for exactly three days when she found the note.

She'd spent those three days avoiding Damilola Adeyemi with the intensity of someone

avoiding a gas leak. She'd gone out early, come back late, and kept her curtains drawn.

Not because she was scared of him, but because she was scared of herself.

That moment at the fountain kept replaying in her head. The way the sunlight had hit his

face. The way his eyes had looked for that split second before he put the glasses back on.

The way her entire digestive system had performed a backflip.

It was embarrassing, really. She was a 26-year-old woman with a degree, not a teenager

at a concert.

The note was taped to her gate. Handwritten, in expensive-looking ink:

"Miss Okafor, Welcome to the compound. Please meet me at the main house at 7 PM

today to discuss compound rules and your tenancy. Regards, D. Adeyemi."

Simi read it three times. It was formal. Businesslike. Perfectly professional. So why did she

spend the next four hours trying on different outfits?

She settled on jeans and a simple white shirt, telling herself it wasn't for him, it was just

comfortable. She blow-dried her hair for twenty minutes, telling herself it was just humidity

control. She applied subtle makeup, telling herself it was just... polite.

By 6:45 PM, she was standing outside the main house, her palms sweating.

The door opened before she could knock. He stood there in casual linen trousers and a

black t-shirt that probably cost more than her monthly rent. His hair was slightly damp, like

he'd just showered. He smelled like expensive cologne and fresh water.

"Miss Okafor. Please, come in."

His office was what Simi imagined a billionaire's office would look like. Floor-to-ceiling

windows overlooking the compound, a desk the size of a small car, art on the walls that

looked like actual originals. There was also a small bar area and what appeared to be a

sitting space with leather furniture that probably cost more than the house she grew up in.

"Please sit," he said, gesturing to one of the leather chairs. "Can I get you something?

Water? Wine? Juice?"

"Water is fine," Simi said, perching on the edge of the chair like she might combust.

He poured water from a bottle that probably also cost more than her rent, and handed it to

her. His fingers brushed hers, and Simi nearly dropped the glass.

Professional, she reminded herself. Keep it professional.

"I hope you're settling in well," he said, sitting across from her. He had removed his

sunglasses, and his full brown eyes were studying her with interest that made her throat

dry.

"Yes, yes, it's beautiful. Mama Kemi has been very helpful."

"Mama Kemi is the heart of this compound. If she approves of you, everyone will approve

of you." He smiled, and Simi noticed he had one dimple on the left side. Just one. It should

be illegal. "I wanted to go over some rules. Nothing complicated. Pay rent on the first of the

month, maintain your space, be respectful of other tenants. We have a small community

here, and it works because everyone respects the space."

Simi nodded, taking notes on her phone because having something to do gave her

something to focus on besides his face.

"The WiFi password is written on the router in the common garden area. Feel free to use it.

I also have a gym in the house next to yours if you're interested. I'm usually there early

mornings."

Great. Simi would have to plan to never go to the gym.

"Most tenants order food from outside—there are several good places within walking

distance. But Mama Kemi cooks on Sundays if you're interested. She makes a mean jollof

rice and the best pepper soup you'll ever taste."

"I'll keep that in mind," Simi said.

There was a pause. He was looking at her with an expression she couldn't quite read.

"I also wanted to apologize for not being more welcoming the other day," he said. "I was

on an important call, and I wasn't as warm as I should have been. It's a flaw of mine—I can

be... distant."

Simi was surprised. Rich people didn't usually apologize. "It's fine. You were busy."

"Still. My mother raised me better than that." He stood and walked to the window, looking

out over the compound. "I'm sorry if my distance comes across as cold. It's just... I prefer

to keep things professional with my tenants. It's easier that way." Of course," Simi said. "I completely understand."

But as she said it, she couldn't help but feel a tiny bit disappointed. Which was stupid.

Which was exactly what she needed. Distance. Professionalism. Clear boundaries

between her and a man who had literally sworn off love.

"Well, I think we're done here," he said, turning back to her. "Unless you have any

questions?"

Simi shook her head. She was already standing, eager to escape before she did

something stupid like lean across the table and kiss him.

"Welcome to the compound, Miss Okafor," he said, extending his hand.

She shook it—firm, professional, quick. "Thank you, Mr. Adeyemi."

"Please. Call me Damilola."

She left before her brain could malfunction further.

Back in her room, Simi sat on her bed and put her face in her hands. This was a disaster.

A complete and utter disaster. She had come to Lagos to find a job and rebuild her life, not

to develop an inappropriate crush on her landlord.

She pulled out her phone and called her best friend, Zainab, who was still back in Ibadan.

"Girl, talk to me," Zainab answered immediately. "Your energy just told me you need to

vent."

"I think I'm in trouble," Simi said.

"What kind of trouble? Bad trouble or boy trouble?"

"Boy trouble."

She heard Zainab's delighted laugh. "Tell me everything."

By the time Simi was done explaining, Zainab was laughing so hard she could barely

breathe.

"Okay, so you're telling me that your landlord—your RICH landlord who lives in a

mansion—has made some dramatic vow never to love until he finds 'the one', and you've

already caught feelings after three days?"

"I haven't caught feelings!"

"Simi. You practiced what outfit to wear for him."

"That's different—"

"You blow-dried your hair for a professional meeting."

"Okay, fine, I might have caught a tiny feeling. But it's situational. It's just because he's rich

and beautiful and mysterious and—"

"And you're living in his compound, which makes this both the best and worst scenario

possible," Zainab finished. "Listen to me. You need to get yourself a boyfriend. Or at least

a distraction. Someone to keep your mind off your mysterious landlord."

"That's not the solution!"

"Isn't it though? Think about it. Once you're interested in someone else, you won't have

time to obsess over Damilola."

Simi considered this. It wasn't terrible logic. "I don't know anyone in Lagos."

"Perfect. This is what we're going to do. You're going to download every dating app in

existence, and you're going to find yourself a nice Lagos boy. Someone safe. Someone

boring. Someone definitely not your landlord."

They hung up an hour later, and despite her reservations, Simi found herself downloading

Tinder, Bumble, and i********:.

Three days later, she had exactly two matches. Both of them seemed to think "how far"

was an acceptable opening line.

She sighed and deleted the apps.

Fine. She would just have to develop the discipline to ignore her landlord's existence. How hard could that be?