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Chioma's POV — That Morning, Getting Ready
I stood in front of the mirror, biting my lower lip as I stared at my reflection. My overnight bag was still half-open on the bed, clothes spilling out in crumpled, half-thought options. I hadn't exactly packed for… this.
For a work meeting, I would've picked my plain black trousers and a structured blouse—safe, professional, invisible. But something about the way Kelvin had said "We're heading to Lagos" lingered in my chest. The casual tone, the hint of a smirk, like it was more than just work.
And it was just the two of us.
No entourage. No official DC staff car following behind. No other chefs. Just me and Kelvin.
I told myself it meant nothing. That I was reading too much into it.
But still… I reached for the olive-green midi dress. Soft, sleeveless, cinched subtly at the waist, skimming my figure without clinging too much. It made my skin look warmer, my eyes sharper.
I debated it. Argued silently with myself. Then pulled it on anyway.
I left my hair loose. Light makeup—just a hint of gloss, mascara, and blush to warm my cheeks. Simple stud earrings. Flats. I didn't want to teeter awkwardly beside him in heels. I needed my balance.
When I stepped out into the living room, he was already by the door, scrolling through his phone.
His eyes lifted.
They skimmed over me, head to toe. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face. Approval? Interest? Maybe just recognition.
"You clean up nice," he murmured.
I swallowed. "Thanks."
And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he opened the door for me, waiting for me to step outside before following.
Outside, by the Car
Emeka was already by the car, keys in hand, ready to open the back door for us. The morning sun was soft, the compound quiet except for the occasional birdcall and distant hum of traffic.
But Kelvin raised a hand before Emeka could reach for the handle.
"Don't worry about it," Kelvin said casually. "We've got it."
Emeka blinked. "Sir… you sure?"
"Yeah," Kelvin replied, his tone light but carrying enough weight to leave no room for argument. "Take the day. Get some breakfast."
He didn't even look at me as he said it, just opened the driver's door himself and slid in.
I hesitated.
This wasn't normal.
A CEO driving himself—and me—to a branch inspection? Unheard of.
But I climbed in anyway, the soft leather cool against my skin, the car suddenly feeling smaller than it should.
As he pulled out of the driveway, I glanced sideways at him. His profile was calm, one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting the AC vents toward me.
Maybe this was still just work.
Or maybe…
Maybe it was something else.
Either way, I was in the car now.
And I wasn't getting out.
Chioma's POV — DC Lagos Branch, Brunch Tasting
I watched him.
Not directly. Not obviously.
Just… watched. The way he sat—leaned back like a man who already owned the room, even when something was clearly off. His fingers drummed against the edge of the table, eyes scanning the plate in front of him like it held more than just food—it held answers.
"This is bland," I said softly, poking at the grilled chicken wrap they served us as part of their brunch special.
His eyes flicked to mine, amused. "You didn't even take a bite."
"I can smell it."
He smirked. "Show-off."
I cut a small piece and put it in my mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. Then shook my head slowly.
"No soul," I said. "Like someone followed the recipe without believing in it."
"Exactly," he murmured, setting his fork down.
The waiter lingered a little too long beside our table before awkwardly stepping away. Kelvin leaned in slightly, voice low, almost like we were sharing a secret.
"You noticed how no one in this place smiles unless they're spoken to?"
I nodded. "And they don't ask questions either. Like they're trying to do the bare minimum to stay out of trouble."
"Which usually means trouble already happened," he added. "Or is still happening."
I tilted my head, curious. "Do you think it's the manager?"
"I think it starts with him." He picked up his water glass. "But I don't think he's acting alone. Either there's a disconnect from HQ, or someone here's siphoning energy, creativity—or worse, money."
He looked away, thoughtful.
I studied his profile. Sharp jaw. Strong cheekbones. A calm intensity in his eyes that made it easy to forget the night before. Or at least, try to forget.
But then he turned to me again, gaze direct.
"What do you think?" he asked.
That caught me off guard. No man I'd ever worked under had ever really asked me that—not like it mattered. Not like I mattered.
I straightened in my seat.
"I think the staff are drained," I said slowly. "No leadership. No motivation. No accountability. I think the kitchen team is uninspired, the menu hasn't evolved, and the entire place feels like it's holding its breath—waiting for something to either change or collapse."
He stared at me for a second, like he hadn't expected that level of detail.
Then he smiled.
A slow, almost proud smile.
"And that's exactly why you're Head Chef in Owerri," he said. "Remind me again why I didn't bring you here sooner?"
I blushed. "Because you like a little mystery in your management?"
He chuckled. "Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted the excuse to spend more time with you."
I blinked.
Was that… flirting?
No. No, it was just a compliment. Professional encouragement. Probably.
Except then his eyes dropped—just briefly—to my lips as I sipped my juice. And I felt it. The flutter. The tension. The echo of last night's teasing still wrapped around my chest like a whisper I couldn't shake.
We finished the tasting mostly in silence after that, but the silence wasn't empty. It was full. With awareness. With the slow, cautious kind of connection that starts when two people stop pretending not to feel it.
As we stood to leave, a junior staff member brushed past us carrying a tray of poorly plated meals. Kelvin raised an eyebrow at the mess but said nothing. Just watched.
Another waiter fumbled the order card at a nearby table. A couple had been waiting too long for their bill, visibly frustrated. The ambiance was there—but something deeper wasn't.
When we got to the exit, Kelvin placed his hand gently on the small of my back—guiding, not pressing—but the warmth of it lingered longer than it should.
And in that moment, I knew…
Something had already shifted between us.
And something else—something in this restaurant—was about to be unraveled.