Must Date The Chef

|| 2.

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.