chapter 8
1425 Words
Amara made the mistake of dreaming about Adrian.
Not normal dreams either.
No.
Her subconscious apparently specialized in emotional sabotage now.
She dreamed about his laugh.
His voice.
The way he looked at her like he could see through every carefully built wall she owned.
Which was exactly why she woke up irritated.
“This is your fault,” she muttered to her ceiling at 6:12 a.m.
Unfortunately, the ceiling refused to apologize.
By the time she arrived at work, her mood had only worsened.
Because now she wasn’t just attracted to Adrian.
Now she was emotionally invested in mysterious family drama too.
Fantastic.
“You look haunted,” Daniel observed as she walked into the office.
“I feel haunted.”
“Deadline?”
“Men.”
Daniel stopped walking immediately. “Oh, this is serious.”
Amara ignored him and headed straight toward the conference room.
Unfortunately, her brain refused to cooperate.
During meetings, she kept replaying Adrian’s voice from the night before.
People stop caring about truth. They just hold onto anger instead.
Something about that sentence stayed with her.
Because deep down—
she knew her family did exactly that.
Not just with the Coles.
With everything.
Appearances mattered more than honesty.
Pride mattered more than vulnerability.
And suddenly she wondered what growing up in Adrian’s family had been like.
Had he always been this calm?
Or had life forced him to become that way?
“Amara.”
She blinked.
Mr. Adebayo stared at her from across the conference room.
“Your thoughts?”
Oh no.
Every eye turned toward her.
Professional recovery mode activated immediately.
“I think the campaign lacks emotional connection,” she replied smoothly. “People buy stories before they buy products.”
Silence.
Then Mr. Adebayo nodded slowly.
“Excellent point.”
Crisis avoided.
Barely.
Daniel leaned toward her afterward and whispered,
“You were absolutely not listening.”
“I listened spiritually.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is now.”
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You’re in love.”
Amara almost inhaled her own oxygen incorrectly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’re distracted. You smiled at nothing twice today. And you just called branding emotional storytelling.”
“That’s literally what branding is.”
“No,” Daniel replied carefully, “that’s what people say after they develop feelings.”
Amara grabbed her notebook and walked away before committing workplace violence.
—
That evening, she told herself she would not text Adrian.
A strong decision.
A mature decision.
Unfortunately, mature decisions became difficult when his contact sat at the top of her messages looking attractive.
AMARA:
Did you eat?
The moment she sent it, regret arrived instantly.
Why would she send that?
Who raised her?
Three dots appeared immediately.
ADRIAN:
Are you checking on me?
AMARA:
Don’t make this weird.
ADRIAN:
Too late.
Amara rolled her eyes despite smiling slightly.
ADRIAN:
I ate. Did you?
AMARA:
I’m at work.
ADRIAN:
That wasn’t my question.
Annoying.
Why did he always do that?
Why did he answer the things she avoided instead of the things she said?
AMARA:
Eventually.
ADRIAN:
That means no.
AMARA:
You’re very controlling for somebody so relaxed.
ADRIAN:
You’re very stubborn for somebody so smart.
Her stomach flipped traitorously.
Then another message appeared.
ADRIAN:
Come outside.
Amara frowned immediately.
AMARA:
Outside where?
ADRIAN:
Your office building.
Her heartbeat stumbled.
She stood up so quickly Daniel looked alarmed.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Comforting.”
Amara ignored him completely and walked toward the elevator trying not to panic.
Because surely—
surely—
Adrian was not actually outside.
Except he was.
Leaning casually against his SUV beneath the evening lights like this city personally belonged to him.
Amara stopped walking for half a second.
And unfortunately, Adrian noticed.
His expression softened immediately.
“There she is.”
The simple words did something deeply unreasonable to her heartbeat.
“You’re insane,” she said while approaching him.
“You texted me first.”
“That’s not permission to appear physically.”
“It felt romantic.”
“It felt concerning.”
Adrian smiled slowly.
God.
That smile should honestly require legal documentation.
“What are you doing here?” she asked carefully.
“I brought food.”
He held up a takeout bag.
Amara blinked.
“You drove across Lagos traffic to bring me dinner?”
“You say that like I deserve a medal.”
“You deserve psychiatric evaluation.”
He laughed softly.
Then opened the passenger door for her naturally, like it was something he’d always done.
The small gesture caught her off guard more than flirting ever did.
Because it felt thoughtful.
Intentional.
And somehow those things affected her more.
“I can’t leave yet,” she admitted quietly. “I still have work.”
“Then eat first.”
She hesitated.
Adrian tilted his head slightly. “Amara.”
“What?”
“You take care of everybody except yourself.”
Her throat tightened unexpectedly.
Because nobody really noticed that.
Not at work.
Not at home.
People admired her ambition but rarely questioned what it cost her.
Yet Adrian saw it immediately.
Dangerous man.
Very dangerous man.
Slowly, she accepted the food bag from him.
Warmth spread through her hands instantly.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Jollof rice.”
Amara gasped softly. “You guessed my favorite food?”
“I pay attention.”
That answer hit entirely too hard.
The city moved loudly around them while they stood beneath golden streetlights, suspended inside a quiet moment that suddenly felt far too intimate.
Adrian watched her carefully.
Then his gaze dropped slightly toward her mouth.
And the atmosphere shifted again.
Soft.
Heavy.
Terrifying.
Amara felt it immediately.
So did he.
Nobody spoke for a second.
Then Adrian stepped closer.
Not enough to touch her.
Just enough for her heartbeat to completely lose professionalism.
“Tell me to stop,” he said quietly.
The words wrapped around her slowly.
Warm.
Dangerous.
Amara looked up at him.
At the patience in his expression.
The restraint.
He wasn’t pushing her.
Wasn’t assuming.
He was waiting.
And somehow that made her want him closer even more.
This was bad.
Very bad.
Her voice came out softer than intended.
“…I should.”
Adrian’s eyes darkened slightly.
“But you don’t want to,” he finished gently.
No.
She really didn’t.
- Writer
