I am sitting idly in the corner of the office I share with a married woman. She has her earpiece hidden expertly under her large weavon. Her white shirt that is buttoned to the collar stretches when she adjusts in her seat, the third button opens to reveal her cleavage. I look away without telling her.

She does not approve of my living alone as a single lady, never fails to mention it, even today. Sometimes she's subtle about it, on other days she's too excited to share one of the downsides of staying alone to her friend who she's forever speaking to on the phone.

Her source is a non-existent blog that never fails to run stories on the danger of single ladies living alone. They always have a story which she's overly willing to share.

On today's edition of her tragic tales, three young females were found dead in the gutter with their private parts missing. The banger is this: the police took a month to find them. No one noticed they had gone missing early enough and she blamed it on their staying alone, like always.

I have told her in not-so-nice words that I do not care what she thinks. The argument that ensued this morning was heated, harsh words were hurled at each other and now, we are both seething quietly at our different corners, licking at our wounds.

Even if her stories are real, my friends and family know where to find me, who to call if they don't hear from me after a while.

I know I can report her to Mr Adams, our boss and she will be relocated to a new office but I don't want the gossip mill, her friends, to peddle more rumours. Besides, the office is large. It's been built this way so we will not notice the presence of the other person. But she's loud, loquacious.

The wood that was used to demarcate our sides of the office is missing, gone. I suspect that she used her teeth to knock it off, that way she will be able to see my face when she reads out her daily dose of tragedies.

I pick up the pamphlet of the company I work for, Madiba Property Services. There's a grey multiple storey building on the paper, a replica of the tower we are in. My name and Mrs Onochie Nse, the woman who I share the office with is written in black ink, our position as Junior Consultants and our phone numbers attached under it.

In the past, I slaved for an upcoming firm that rewarded me with more work and terrible pay. I decided to leave and thankfully this came up. Well, maybe I should have allowed my dad to get me a job from the beginning rather than try to find my footing without support from home.

I am packing up for the day when my phone rings. I roll my eyes as the name of the caller comes into sight, it is my boyfriend.

"Hey Babe," I say into the phone. His voice greets me from the other end and my lips curl into a seductive smile. "I am tired ..." I trail off for him to continue and he does.

Edwin, my boyfriend wants us to visit the cinema together for a new movie that just came out, Up North, but I don't feel up to it. I am tired from doing nothing all day.

Seconds later he comes up with a better option: a dinner date at our favourite spot, The Palace, a food club for the rich. I nod and end the call with, "You're a darling."

The thought of eating there has me excited, my tiredness is almost forgotten. I stand up to clear my desk, thankful to be done for the day. Picking up my bag, I make my way out of the office, not a glance cast at Mrs Nse.

Today doesn't seem to be my day as I bump into Mr King, the Second in command.

The folder in his arms tumbles to the floor and he directs a deathly glare at me when I attempt to pick it up. I keep mute, standing awkwardly by the side until he's done. He sends me another one of his glares, walks off without any of his snarky remarks.

*   *   *

"Hey," I greet Edwin when I approach our favourite table that is covered with a white tablecloth. We visit here often so we have a table and I dare to say, our waiter.

Edwin stands to engulf me in a hug and the lower part of my body trembles. I am yet to recover from climbing the stairs of Madiba in my heels and my feet is starting to hurt.

His dreadlock brushes my cheeks when he proceeds to place a light kiss on my lips, his way of telling everybody, back off, she's mine. It was sweet at first until he told me his real reason for doing it. I do not like it but I cannot get him to stop doing it.

"How was work?" He asks.

"Fine." I place my hand on the table and he closes his palm over it. "I was late again and King was on my case, like always," I say with an eye roll. "How about you? How was your day? What did you do today?"

Unlike me, Edwin doesn't work. Well, he does, but for his dad. He is not so serious about it though; he will inherit the multimillion-naira company anyways.

"Nothing much." He flicks a speck of invisible dirt from the bouquet that is on the table. "Was at the company, got bored, decided to see you."

My other hand that has been resting on the table drops. I raise my eyebrows, giving up on trying to do the one eyebrow thing. I grit my teeth, partially annoyed at him and myself. I should have gone straight home.

His words ring in my ears, I spare him another glance, trying to process that statement. I am here, not because he misses his girlfriend but because he is bored.

Sometimes I wonder why we are still a couple. Maybe because I am not sure I will find someone else that's better or I am daunted by the thought of starting all over again with someone new, an angel I do not know. Or I simply cannot let go of the attention, gifts he showers me.

I have money of my own but Edwin has a lot more than I do and he doesn't hesitate to spend it on me, no matter the costs. I don't love him as much, not like when we first started dating but the attraction is still present. I know we can get past this phase; I am hopeful that we will.

We have been together for six months but have been friends for longer; we'll survive.

When this handsome man with long dreadlocks that is past his shoulders, silver stud on his ear and two diagonal lines cut into one of his eyebrows approached me at the NYSC orientation camp in Benue where I did my youth service, I knew I was a goner. Two years later and I can still admit that.

It was no surprise to me that the only knowledge I brought back home about the people of Benue was the fact that they were the food basket of the nation. Plus, my newfound favourite soup, okoho. Every moment had been spent with him and our friends who were also new to that city.

"You called me because you were bored?" I finally voice out my annoyance.

"Yeah?" Confusion is spread across his face. He either doesn't notice my annoyance or the problem with his answer or he is acting.

Whatever the case may be, he's an asshole; a fine asshole I have come to care about.

"You are new." It is more of a statement than a question he directs to the waiter who approaches our table after he rings the bell.

I raise my head to look at the waiter, using my eyes to apologise for Edwin's behaviour. He offers a small smile in return.

"Stop smiling at her," Edwin starts, he drops the menu we don't need on the table. "You are new here. She is my girlfriend. Take our orders, let someone else bring our food," Edwin pauses to catch his breath and level a stare at the waiter, "I do not like you."

Edwin can be possessive; she is mine, I'm hers, keep off. While that attitude is cute, sometimes, it can be annoying. And this is one of those annoying moments.

Cautioning him in the presence of strangers will only create a scene, so I keep mute, feeling rather bad for the waiter who I offer apologetic smiles. They should have sent our designated server; he knows the rules.

"She will have what I am having," Edwin replies when the server asks for my order. The waiter leaves and he raises an eyebrow at me, one of his hand on the table. "You can stop giving him those lustful looks."

"I wasn't giving him any look," I deny with a pout. My hand comes on top of his to pacify him and his lips move into a grim line.

When Edwin picks up his phone, I can't help but take one look in the direction the waiter went. I have to admit; he is one hell of a man. Sexy as sin. Melanin popping with his kissable lips, long nose and brown coloured eyes that seems to see deep into my soul.

His broad shoulders, his biceps, Oh Lord, he definitely goes to the gym. I can see him doing a pushup with me on his back.

I am brought back from my reverie by the snap of Edwin's fingers in front of my face.

"What?" I glare at him. He ignores me, directing all his anger and attention to the approaching waiter. I groan; why's he here?

"I thought I said I didn't want you bringing our food." Edwin looks angry and he bangs his fist on the table causing me to sigh softly.

His eyes are narrowed to slits, his lips are set in a straight line; his forehead creases and the top of his ears redden. If he is an animated character, it is at this point that steam will puff out of his ears and nose.

The waiter ignores him, ignores me and the pleading looks I send his way. He drops the tray containing our food on the table with a face that is as blank as the last page on the restaurant's menu. Going on to retract our plates, he places it in front of us and nods.

Pity turns to admiration when he does this, I have only known a few people who can stand up to Edwin. Still, I don't want him to get hurt over something as silly as this. Edwin is intimidating, a bit rugged too and if needs be, he'll throw his weight around.

Edwin stands up and I smile inwardly, the waiter is taller than him. I am tempted to wrap my arm around his wrist, ask him to sit down but I decide against it. I am silently rooting for the waiter, eager to see what will happen next, who will break first.

"Excuse me," the waiter says. The stainless tray is pressed against his chest and with a practised smile at us, he turns to leave.

His composure must have infuriated the already raging Edwin because he shoves the waiter. I suck in a sharp breath. Edwin's confrontations always end with lots of colourful words, nothing physical.

Edwin's surprise attack causes the waiter to stagger but he manages to steady himself and the tray clatters to the floor. His fists clench and unclench at his side but he does not turn around immediately. He bends down to pick the tray but his back is still to us as if he's considering his next move.

When he finally spins to face Edwin, tray in his hand like some sort of weapon, the only sound I hear is that of my heart pounding in my ears before my vision goes dark. 

**********

I imagine Uti Nwachukwu as Edwin and Mawuli Gavor as the waiter (whose name you will find out soon enough)

I didn't care to check who was taller between them but for the purpose of the book, Mawuli is taller than Uti(if it isn't so in real life).

Picture: Uti Nwachukwu.

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