Chapter 12: Rubber Band
The society blog headline had already metastasized across Lagos WhatsApp groups by sunrise.
"Anderson Heir & Mystery PA: Elevator Romance or Office Scandal?"
The grainy still captured the exact moment they stepped out—her braids mussed from a night pressed against his chest, his shirt collar open where she'd cried into it, their hands hovering a breath apart like they couldn't decide whether to hold on or let go. The comments were vicious poetry:
"She trapped him in there on purpose."
"Pauper bride arc activated 😂"
"Ivy must be fuming."
"He's slumming it for clout."
Imani arrived at 7:03 a.m., stomach in knots, palms damp.
She kept her head down, braids falling forward like a shield.
Damian's door was closed.
No intercom buzz.
No coffee order.
No acknowledgment that twelve hours earlier he'd whispered Yoruba endearments into her hair while she shook apart in the dark.
She sat.
Opened her laptop.
Began the impossible merger presentation redo he'd assigned yesterday—twenty-four hours to rebuild what he'd already signed off on once.
Punishment disguised as work.
The floor felt like it was breathing down her neck.
Sarian sauntered past at 8:12, voice loud enough for three cubicles.
"Morning, viral queen. How was the overnight shoot?"
Lola's giggle followed like an echo.
Imani's fingers froze on the keys.
She didn't look up.
Just kept typing.
At 9:47 the intercom crackled.
"Miss Bright. My office. Now. Bring the draft."
She saved, printed, walked in on legs that felt borrowed.
He stood at the window, back to her, phone in hand.
The blog was still open on his screen—she caught the headline reflection in the glass before he locked it.
She placed the printout on the black marble.
He turned slowly.
Eyes flat.
Jaw locked so tight a muscle jumped under the skin.
"Sit."
She sat.
He flipped pages without sitting.
Silence stretched—long enough for her to hear her own heartbeat in her ears.
Finally:
"Slide 8. The data is buried. Redo the visualization."
A beat.
"And the palette is childish. Fix it."
She swallowed the protest rising in her throat.
"I followed brand guidelines."
His gaze flicked to her—sharp, unreadable.
"Change them."
She nodded once.
Stood.
At the door he spoke again, voice low.
"The blog. Ignore it."
She paused, hand on the knob.
"Easy for you to say. You're not the one they're calling a gold-digger."
He exhaled through his nose.
"It's noise."
She turned fully.
"Is that all it is to you? Noise?"
His eyes dropped to her mouth for half a second—then snapped back up.
"Don't read into last night. It was a panic attack. I did what anyone would."
The words landed like a slap.
She felt heat flood her face—not embarrassment.
Anger.
"Right," she said quietly. "Anyone would hold someone for twelve hours. Whisper things in Yoruba they've never said to anyone else. Tell them they don't want them to leave."
His throat worked.
"That was… instinct."
"Instinct," she repeated.
The word tasted bitter.
He stepped closer—slow, deliberate.
Close enough she could smell sandalwood and coffee on his breath.
"You think I wanted to feel that?" His voice dropped, rough. "You shaking in my arms? Your tears soaking my shirt? You think I enjoyed knowing exactly how much pain you carry?"
She lifted her chin.
"Then why act like it never happened?"
"Because if I don't—" He cut himself off.
Jaw clenched.
Looked away.
"Redo the slides. 6 p.m. sharp."
She left without another word.
The door closed behind her like a guillotine.
Afternoon – 3:42 p.m.
She worked through lunch.
No food.
Just black coffee—his habit seeping into her now.
Her phone buzzed.
Kings.
Saw the blog. You good, baby girl? Call me when you can breathe.
She typed back one-handed.
Surviving. Talk later. ❤️
Then Damian walked past her desk.
Paused.
Looked down at her screen—saw Kings' name flash.
His jaw ticked once—visible, violent.
"Who's that?"
She met his eyes.
"Kings. My best friend."
A beat too long.
"Best friend."
She tilted her head.
"Yes."
He nodded—sharp, curt.
Turned away.
But she caught the shadow that crossed his face.
Something dark.
Possessive.
Jealousy?
The thought was absurd.
And terrifying.
She shook it off.
Kept working.
5:58 p.m.
She placed the revised deck on his desk.
He was on a call—ended it the second she entered.
Flipped through pages in silence.
Nodded once.
"Better."
She waited.
He looked up.
"Stay. We review together."
Her pulse kicked.
"Sir—"
"Now."
She sat opposite.
Laptops open.
Sunset bled orange across the lagoon outside the glass.
They worked in near-silence at first.
Then his voice—low, reluctant.
"This graph… it's stronger."
She glanced at him.
"Thank you."
Their eyes met.
Held.
Too long.
The room felt smaller.
His gaze traced her face—slow, deliberate.
Landed on her lips.
Her breath caught.
He leaned forward—just a fraction.
She mirrored without thinking.
Their forearms brushed on the table.
Skin to skin.
Neither pulled away.
The contact burned.
His breathing deepened—audible now.
Hers matched—shallow, unsteady.
She whispered,
"You're staring again."
He didn't deny it.
"I know."
The admission hung between them—raw, electric.
She felt the pull—magnetic, merciless.
Wanted to close the distance.
Wanted him to close it.
His hand shifted—fingers brushed the inside of her wrist.
Deliberate.
Slow.
Her pulse jumped under his thumb.
He exhaled—ragged.
"Imani…"
Her name on his lips—soft, almost reverent.
She leaned in one more centimeter.
So close she could feel the heat radiating from him.
Then he jerked back.
Stood abruptly.
Chair scraped.
"Enough. Go home."
The yank was brutal.
She stood too—legs unsteady.
Voice shaking with everything unsaid.
"You can't keep doing this. Letting me in for a second, then slamming the door. It's cruel."
He stared at her—chest rising and falling too fast.
Pulse hammering at his throat.
"I know," he said hoarsely.
He looked away first.
She walked out.
At the threshold she stopped.
Turned.
Quietly:
"It hurts, Damian."
He didn't answer.
Just gripped the edge of the desk until his knuckles whitened.
The door closed.
Surulere – 8:50 p.m.
Kings was waiting on the veranda with suya wrapped in newspaper and two cold Maltinas sweating on the plastic table.
They sat in the humid night air.
She told him everything—the redo, the brush, the almost-confession, the brutal yank.
Kings listened without interrupting.
When she finished, he passed her a stick of suya.
"He's terrified of you."
She laughed—small, broken.
"He's the one with all the power."
Kings shook his head.
"Nah. You're the one who makes him feel. And he's spent his whole life running from that."
She stared at the streetlights.
"Maybe."
Kings bumped her shoulder.
"You deserve someone who runs toward you, Sylvia. Not away."
She nodded.
But deep down, she knew:
She was already running toward him.
And he was still running away.
Banana Island – 10:38 p.m.
Damian stood on the balcony.
Lagoon black and restless below.
Maya appeared behind him—barefoot, oversized hoodie.
"You sent her home crying?"
"She wasn't crying."
"She was shaking."
Silence.
Maya leaned on the railing.
"I saw Becky today. She's glowing. Said Kings took her shopping for school stuff. Said you looked ready to murder someone when you heard his name."
Damian's grip tightened on the railing.
"I didn't."
"You did."
Another beat.
Maya softened.
"She's not Ivy. She won't chase you forever. If you want her, stop punishing her for making you feel something."
He stared at the water.
"I don't want her."
Maya laughed quietly.
"Liar."
She walked back inside.
He stayed.
Thought of Imani's wrist under his thumb.
Her whisper.
"It hurts."
His own chest ached in answer.
He pulled out his phone.
Typed:
Good job tonight.
Stared at the message.
Thumb hovered over send.
Deleted it.
Instead he stared at the city lights.
And the rubber band pulled tighter than ever—stretched to breaking.
The next morning Imani arrived to find a single white rose on her desk.
No card.
No name.
But she knew.
She lifted it to her nose—inhaled once.
Looked toward his office.
The door was open.
He was standing at the window.
Watching her.
And this time, when their eyes met, he didn't look away.
He simply held her gaze—long, steady, burning.
Then he turned back to the lagoon.
But the rose stayed.