Chapter 4
889 Words
Tracy’s POV
Maintenance day. My little escape from stress.
I had planned everything—get my afro braided into neat cornrows, maybe do my nails if time allowed. I had even taken the day off from work since my favorite salon didn’t open on weekends.
The Uber driver called, letting me know he was outside. I hurriedly grabbed my essentials—phone, a bottle of water, chocolates, earpods, ATM card, and some cash, stuffing everything into my big black tote bag.
A quick glance in the mirror. My baggy jeans and oversized white shirt were light enough to survive the Lagos heat. Flat slippers for comfort. Simple, effortless.
Satisfied, I stepped outside.
I was midway through texting Ray when—bam!
Strong hands landed on my shoulders, steadying me before I could stumble.
My heart slammed against my ribs. I snapped my head up, and there he was. Mr. Richard.
Tall. Sharp jawline. Eyes that always seemed to look straight through me.
“Watch where you’re going,” he said, voice deep and smooth, but laced with mild irritation. “What’s got you so distracted? You could’ve walked straight into trouble.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “I—I’m sorry, sir. I was just trying to get to my ride.”
His gaze flickered past me, spotting the Uber. “Where are you off to?”
“The salon,” I answered quickly. “Just getting my hair done.”
His next words left me frozen.
“I’ll take you. Cancel the ride.”
Wait… what?
Before I could react, he was already walking back inside. “Give me a minute. I need to change.”
And just like that, the conversation was over. No room for debate.
I turned to look at the Uber driver, who was now glancing at me through the rearview mirror, clearly confused.
So was I.
Why would my boss want to drive me to the salon?
After an awkward few seconds, I sighed and pulled out some cash, handing it to the driver before canceling the ride.
As I waited, my stomach twisted in nervous knots.
What the hell just happened?
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Richard’s POV
I saw the hesitation in her eyes. Tracy looked like she wanted to protest, but she knew better. I smirked as I headed inside to change, knowing she’d do as I said.
Minutes later, I walked to the car, finding her standing awkwardly by the passenger door, fidgeting with the strap of her bag. The Uber was gone. Good.
“Get in,” I said, opening the door for her.
She hesitated but finally obeyed, sliding into the seat. I joined her, started the engine, and we were on our way.
For a while, she stared out the window, tapping her fingers against her knee. She was nervous. I noticed the way she kept adjusting her bag, the way she shifted in her seat like she wasn’t sure what to do with herself.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the road.
“Nothing,” she said quickly, too quickly.
I glanced at her, raising a brow. “You sure? You look like you’d rather be anywhere else but in this car with me.”
She turned to me, eyes wide. “No! It’s not that. I just… I didn’t expect this.”
I chuckled, enjoying how flustered she was. “Relax, Tracy. It’s just a ride.”
She exhaled and leaned back, but I could still feel her unease. I decided to help her out.
“So, cornrows?” I asked.
She looked at me, surprised. “Yeah. It’s easier to manage, and I like how neat it looks.”
“I think it’ll suit you,” I said truthfully.
A soft smile appeared on her lips before she quickly looked away. Cute.
The rest of the drive was easy. We talked about random things—music, Lagos traffic, how she hated getting her nails done because she was too impatient to sit through it. I enjoyed hearing her talk, the way her eyes lit up when she got carried away in a conversation.
When we arrived at the salon, I parked, but she didn’t move immediately.
“You’re not leaving, are you?” she asked, looking at me uncertainly.
I smirked. “Of course not. I brought you here. I’ll wait.”
Her mouth parted slightly, but she didn’t argue. She got out and entered the salon, and I followed.
The moment we stepped in, I felt the shift in energy. Every woman in the room turned to look at me, eyes widening, whispers starting.
I ignored them all. My eyes were on one person only.
Tracy.
She walked over to her stylist, while I leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, watching her.
“You can sit, sir,” one of the stylist offered, flipping her hair, clearly hoping for attention.
“I’m fine,” I said flatly.
She pouted and looked away disappointed.
Tracy, on the other hand, looked amused. I caught her stealing glances at me through the mirror as her hair was being braided.
I smirked.
Let her pretend she wasn’t enjoying this. I knew better.
- Writer
