Baby Matchmakers

My life as a single mother was officially falling apart, and it was only 8 AM on a Monday. "Miss Amara, are you insane? You cannot bring a baby to a board meeting!" My supervisor, Mrs. Coker, was hissing so loud the whole 12th floor could hear her. Her eyes were locked on the baby carrier strapped to my chest. Inside it, my 18-month-old daughter Maya was happily chewing on her sock. And then, as if she knew I was about to get fired, Maya chose violence. She grabbed her mashed banana and threw it. Hard. Splat. Straight onto the quarterly report. Onto the CEO's quarterly report. The conference room went dead silent. Ten directors stared at me. My probation was going to end today. With a sack letter. I was done for. Finished. How would I pay rent in Yaba? How would I buy her diapers? Until the elevator dinged. And he walked in. David Adeyemi. My boss's boss's boss. CEO of Adeyemi Innovations. 32, Nigerian-American, 6'3, ex-Wall Street, the most arrogant, handsome, and terrifying man in Lagos. The man Forbes called "The Ice King of Banana Island." And the only other single parent in this building who might actually understand. He wasn't alone. He was holding a baby. A chubby, light-skinned little boy in a $300 blue Ralph Lauren sweater who looked exactly like him. Same frown. Same cold eyes. And that baby was staring at my Maya like he had just found his soulmate. "Who said babies aren't allowed in meetings?" David's deep voice cut through the silence. His American accent slipped through when he was angry. His cold eyes landed on Mrs. Coker, then on me, then on the banana-covered report. "My office. Now. Both of you." --- I had been a Junior Manager at Adeyemi Innovations for three months. Three months of lying. Not because I was ashamed of Maya. Maya is my whole world. She is the reason I left my abusive ex in Houston and flew back to Lagos with nothing but two suitcases and a baby. But because I got this job when my mother swore I would never make it as a single mom. And Adeyemi Innovations had a strict policy: No children at work during 6-month probation. Especially not for junior staff. I was breaking that policy every day. My neighbor, Mama Nkechi, watched Maya until 7 AM before she left for Oyingbo market. My mother was in the village in Enugu. I had no one else. Daycare in Lagos costs more than my salary. So I hid her. In the abandoned creche downstairs that no one used. Except today, the creche was locked for fumigation. The cleaner forgot to tell me. Hence, the board meeting disaster. Now I was standing in the CEO's penthouse office, clutching Maya, waiting to be fired. His office smelled like expensive wood and his cologne - that same cologne I smelled in the elevator every morning. David Adeyemi placed his son on the expensive Persian rug. The boy didn't crawl. He sprinted. Straight towards Maya. "Leo, no," David commanded. Too late. Leo had already reached Maya and offered her his toy - a Tesla Model X miniature. Maya, who NEVER shares, not even with me, offered him her soggy biscuit in return. David and I watched, stunned, as our babies became best friends in two seconds flat. "How old?" he asked, without looking at me. His eyes were on the babies. "Eighteen months," I whispered. My voice was shaking. "Nineteen months. His mother... left. Went back to New York." His voice was flat, but I heard the pain underneath. The same pain I heard in my own voice every night when Maya asked for Dada. Two single parents pretending to have it all together in a city that judges single parents. Maya giggled. Leo giggled. Then Maya did something that made my heart stop. She pulled herself up, toddled two brave steps - her first steps without holding anything - and hugged Leo. The entire office was watching through the glass walls. The Ice King CEO and the junior manager who brought her baby to work. And two babies hugging like old lovers. David finally looked at me properly. Really looked at me for the first time since I joined. His eyes went from my tired face, to my cheap but neat Zara dress, to my daughter's curly afro. "You are Amara Okoro, from Marketing?" he asked. "Junior Manager, yes sir." "You have good reports from Houston and Lagos. But you lied on your application. You said you had no dependents." My heart stopped. This was it. "I... I needed the job, sir. My ex left us. I came back from Texas with nothing. Please. Don't fire me. I will leave the baby at home tomorrow, I swear —" "My son needs a playmate," he cut me off abruptly, picking up Leo. "The nanny quit yesterday. Said she cannot work for a man who does Zoom meetings at midnight. And my daycare on Ikoyi is closed for two weeks for renovation." I blinked. "What?" "You heard me, Miss Okoro. Bring your daughter to work. Keep her in the creche. Officially. For both of them. I will email facilities to reopen it today." I thought I didn't hear well. "Sir?" "But," he leaned closer, and I could smell his expensive cologne again, and see the tiredness under his eyes - the same tiredness I had, "you will help me watch them during lunch. I have back-to-back meetings with American investors and I cannot bring a baby to meet investors who think I'm heartless already." Was the cold CEO asking ME for help? "And Miss Okoro," he added, his eyes dropping to my lips for just one second before going cold again, "next time you throw banana on my quarterly report, make sure it's on our competitor's report. Their numbers are fake anyway." Maya chose that exact moment to sneeze loudly on his designer Tom Ford shoe. Leo clapped like it was the funniest joke in the world. And for the first time in eighteen months since my ex left me in that small apartment in Houston, I laughed. Really, loudly laughed. David didn't smile. But his eyes softened. Just a fraction. A tiny c***k in the ice. "One o'clock. Creche. Don't be late. And Miss Okoro — buy your daughter proper baby food. That banana looks like it has suffered." As I walked out with Maya on my hip, my face red, I heard my colleagues whispering. Mrs. Coker was staring like she had seen a ghost. But I didn't care. I still had my job. And my daughter had just made her first friend in Lagos. What I didn't know was that Maya and Leo had already made a plan. A secret baby plan to make Mommy and Daddy fall in love. And baby plans? Baby plans never fails