Leaning closer, I hissed, “Ndi, Zioh’s not—”
“Whatever he is, bib!” Andi cut in. “The point is, he’s anarsehole.Am I wrong?”
I couldn’t answer. My head dropped.
“See? It’s time to move on! So what if he’s back? He didn’t return to apologize to you, or to Tsabinu.” His words landed as if a blow to my stomach, and he sighed, pulling another book.15 Ways to Move On and Get Revenge.His eyes blazed.
“Andi—”
“I read it already. Step one—” He flipped pages, jabbing a line, then he read aloud: “Get rid of all remnantsthat remind you of your ex.” He looked at me, smirking. “Clear it all, Bib. Everything that reminds you of him. I call this mission: cleaning the rubbish.”
I shook my head, and I forced myself to breathe. To focus.
Andi was right.
“Two tenderloin steaks. One rare, one well-done. One wine and one cranberry juice. Also, can you add some chillies—” Zioh told the waiter.
I glanced at him as he ordered. His voice was calm, and I remembered.
Steak…
I used to devour it with bird’s eye chilies, always humming as I chewed. But now, for the last ten years, I couldn’t even eat it without tears falling.
It reminded me that I always ate that dish because Zioh used to make it for me. I had only said one sentence: “I want to eat it with chilies,” and after that, most days, I would always eat the dish.
It was the kind of steak that existed only for me.
But that was the past. In the past, it felt like a warmth blooming beneath my skin, but in the present, it felt like a bruise I kept pressing.
And unfortunately, I live in the present now.
Clearing my throat, I gathered courage. “I-I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t like steak. Could I have spaghetti instead?”
Zioh paused, studying me with an intimidating, searching expression... then gave a curt nod and passed me the menu. “My apologies. Please choose—”
“No need.” I smiled at the waitress. “One spaghetti, please.”
The waitress dipped her head and left, and the silence returned. I busied myself with my iPad and papers, but… I knew he was watching.
Then his deep voice finally broke it. “About what happened a few daysago—”
“I apologize, sir.” My panic burst out, cutting him off. His careful tone frightened me.
I couldn’t. I couldn’t talk about it. He had to know I tried to erase it. Being this close, after those words, after that night, it tore me apart. If he knew how much those words destroyed me, and yet how much of me still refused to hate him for that—
I forced myself to speak, my voice tight. “I know I was out of line.” I bit my lower lip hard, swallowing a lump in my throat. “You were drunk. Instead of calling your assistant or a taxi, I made it worse. I provoked you like a—”
“Tshabina.” His low voice sliced in, as if he didn’t like what I was about to say.
My eyes burned, and I clenched the fabric of my pants. “The point is—I just want to say…” I licked my lips.Say it, just say it, don’t cry, and say it.“Let’s act as if it were nothing.” My teeth gritted. “We were both wrong, both over the line, but now let’s focus on our work. You’re my superior, and I’ve been entrusted to work with you on this project.” I lowered my face for a second, then raised it again to lock my eyes onto his. “We should keep formal, right?” I echoed his own words.
Zioh went still and looked at me with an expression I couldn’t decipher. I glimpsed a flash of anger, tension hardening his face. His fists clenched, then he nodded. “Yes,” he said, his voice cold and flat. “As we should.”
Nodding, I plunged back into the files, even as something inside me began to crack. We worked in silence. I laid out the details of the press conference while he watched, his eyes never leaving mine. For a while, we were just boss and subordinate.
Until his phone buzzed.
It wasn’t the first time, but this time Zioh responded. He grabbed his phone and typed something, looking focused.
