Unbothered
626 Words
Tinashe’s heels clicked sharply against the clinic floor, each step a small rebellion against the chaos Ken Okoye had stirred inside her.
She prided herself on being grounded. Focused. Immunized against flirty business types in tailored suits. And yet, here she was — mind racing with images of a man she’d known for exactly twenty minutes.
Tall. Smooth-skinned. Dressed like an Abuja senator and smirking like the world owed him kisses.
Ridiculous.
“You’re walking like someone owes you money,” Chipo called from behind reception, not even looking up from her computer.
“I *feel* like someone owes me peace,” Tinashe muttered. “Preferably a peace that comes without unsolicited billionaires barging into my clinic.”
Chipo finally glanced up, grinning. “You’re still talking about him. Wow. He *really* got under your skin.”
Tinashe rolled her eyes. “I’ve dealt with egos before. This one just has more money and a fan club.”
“You mean more muscles and a passport that smells like cologne and Nigerian heat,” Chipo teased.
“Don’t forget the inflated self-worth,” Tinashe added dryly, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.
---
Meanwhile, across town in a sleek hotel suite, Ken paced like a lion with a thorn in its paw.
He’d handled hostile investors, cutthroat negotiations, and even nosy Lagos journalists. But one Zimbabwean dentist with too many piercings and eyes that could slice through steel had managed to derail his focus completely.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her.
The defiance in her tone. The strength in her stance. That curvy silhouette wrapped in a no-nonsense white coat. And those locs — pinned up like a crown, soft tendrils grazing her neck, paired with glinting silver piercings on her earlobes, helix, and that tiny hoop hugging her nose.
She didn’t just walk into a room — she owned it.
Ken poured a glass of water and sat by the window, watching Harare hum beneath him.
“She didn’t even smile,” he muttered.
Most women smiled when they met him. A few even blushed. Tinashe had glared — then lectured him about ethics and community before walking away like he was the one who should feel lucky to breathe her clinic’s air.
And maybe he did.
The thought annoyed him.
---
Back at the clinic, Tinashe exhaled as her last patient left. She rubbed her temples and leaned back in her chair. Today had been a mess of fillings, root canals, and one entirely too attractive distraction.
Ken had made her feel... visible. Not in the uncomfortable way many men did — but like he saw her. The problem was, she didn’t want to be seen. Not now. Not while she was still stitching her life back together.
Her clinic was more than a business. It was her second home. Her father’s legacy. Her mother’s pride. And she would not sell it off to some Lagos businessman just because he looked like a walking Calvin Klein ad.
Still, his presence lingered in her thoughts — his rich accent, the way he said her name like it deserved to be sung.
---
Her phone buzzed on the desk.
From: Ken Okoye
“Still hoping we can talk again. Properly. Dinner?”
Tinashe stared at the screen.
Chipo peeked over her shoulder. “Are you going to say no and pretend you don’t want to say yes?”
Tinashe smirked. “I’m going to say… coffee.”
She typed:
“I don’t mix business with dinner. But coffee? Maybe. If you can behave.”
The reply came seconds later.
Ken:
“I’m Nigerian. We always behave... until we don’t 😉”
Tinashe rolled her eyes — but she didn’t stop smiling.
---
- Writer
