Simi my love

Chapter3: The electricity bill

Two weeks later, Simi was starting to think she might have miscalculated her budget.

The job hunt wasn't going well. She'd applied to seventeen companies and gotten twelve

rejections. The five companies that requested interviews had essentially offered her

peanuts—entry-level positions that would barely cover rent, let alone food and

transportation.

She was beginning to understand why her mother had been so eager to throw her at the

banker.

She was in her room, staring at her bank account with the kind of intensity usually

reserved for those magic eye pictures, when there was a knock at her door. She opened it

to find Damilola holding an envelope.

"Your electricity bill," he said, handing it to her.

She'd been doing well avoiding him. Mostly. Okay, she'd rearranged her schedule to run in

the evenings specifically because she knew he went to the gym at 5 AM. But this was

unavoidable.

She opened the envelope with shaking hands.

■8,000.

For the entire month.

"There must be a mistake," she said. "I've been using the air conditioning. A lot. The

weather here is insane."

"I know." He was leaning against her door frame, studying her. "I also noticed you've been

paying for data while using my WiFi. You could save money that way."

Simi felt her face heat up. "I didn't want to impose."

"It's a resource I'm offering. Use it." He paused. "You look stressed."

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine. You look like you're doing mental arithmetic in your head right now,

and it's not making you happy."

Simi looked away. She hated that he was perceptive. "I'm still looking for work. I haven't

found anything permanent yet."

"I see." He was quiet for a moment. "There's a marketing position opening at my company.

It's not entry level—it's a coordinator role, so there's some responsibility. But the pay is

good, and the people are nice. I could put in a word if you're interested."

Simi's first instinct was to refuse. She didn't want charity from her landlord, especially not

her landlord she was (definitely not) having feelings for. But her bank account was staring

her in the face like a disappointed parent.

"I don't want you to do this just because I'm your tenant," she said carefully.

"I'm not. I need someone good, and Mama Kemi mentioned that you have a degree in

Business Administration. You're overqualified for most entry-level positions anyway." He

pulled out his phone and tapped something. "I'm sending you the job description. The

interview is Tuesday at 10 AM at the office. My HR manager is Christina—she's brilliant

and fair. Absolutely no nepotism with me involved. If you're not right for the job, she'll tell

you."

He sent the email and then left, leaving Simi standing in her doorway with her electricity bill

and her crumbling resolve.

She took the job.

Actually, she got the job. The interview went surprisingly well, probably because Damilola

had meant what he said about no nepotism—Christina was brilliant and fair and asked her

detailed questions about marketing strategy. Three days later, Simi got an email offering

her ■180,000 per month.

She would never, ever admit it, but she had a small emotional breakdown in the bathroom

of the office that day.

She had paid Damilola her rent for the month, secured her financial future for at least the

next three months, and proven to herself that she could do this—that she could build

something in Lagos.

Now she just had to avoid developing deeper feelings for her landlord while working at his

company.

Her first day at work, she learned that Damilola's office was on the same floor, three doors

down from where she'd be sitting.

She also learned that he was her direct supervisor's boss, so there was a chain of

command that she could hide behind. Theoretically.

Except that theoretically didn't account for the fact that in a company of about fifty people,

everyone knew she was his tenant, and there was immediate interest in that dynamic.

"So you live in the compound?" her new coworker, Dayo, asked on her first lunch break.

They were at a food place near the office called Suya Spot.

"Yes. It's a nice place."

"The landlord is fine though, innit? Damilola is like THE bachelor of Lagos. I see him in the

society pages sometimes. He goes to all the right parties, knows all the right people. But

he never has a girlfriend. There's this whole conspiracy that maybe he's dating someone

secretly."

Simi focused very hard on her rice and stew.

"My sister said she heard he made some kind of vow," Dayo continued, oblivious to Simi's

desire to disappear into the ground. "Like he promised he wouldn't love anyone until he

found someone specific. Can you imagine? That's peak romantic movie material right

there."

"That's actually kind of sad," Simi said. "What if he never finds her?"

"That's the tragic part, innit. Some people think 'the one' doesn't exist. That he's just afraid

of commitment and using the vow as an excuse." Dayo shrugged. "But that's just

speculation."

Simi went back to work with her mind spinning. So it was true. This vow was real, and

apparently, it was known enough to be gossip in the office.

That evening, she found another envelope slipped under her door. This time it was her first

month's paycheck from the company, already deposited. But attached to the receipt was a

handwritten note:

"Welcome to the team. You did well in the interview. Try to eat something other than rice

and stew—your diet looks very sad. -D"

She looked down at the takeout containers on her table and couldn't help but laugh.

Despite everything, despite the vow and the distance and the professionalism, he was

watching her.

And she was definitely in trouble.