THE ELEVATOR
Chisimdi Nwankwo was twenty-three minutes late.
She knew it the moment she stepped out of the taxi because the first thing she did was check her phone.
8:23 a.m.
Her interview had been scheduled for eight.
“Oh God.”
She tightened her grip on her handbag and looked up at the towering glass building in front of her.
Adetola Holdings rose above the surrounding buildings, all polished windows and sharp lines.
It looked even more intimidating in person than it had in the photographs she had studied the night before.
She had spent hours preparing for this interview.
She had rehearsed her answers until she was tired of hearing her own voice, chosen her clothes carefully and even gone to bed early.
None of that had prepared her for Lagos traffic.
She hurried toward the entrance, silently begging the receptionist not to look at the time.
The moment the glass doors slid open, she quickened her steps.
Her heels clicked against the polished floor as she headed toward the elevators, already imagining the interviewer’s expression when she explained why she was late.
If they even gave her the chance to explain.
She pressed the elevator button repeatedly before catching herself and pulling her hand away.
“Relax,” she whispered, taking a breath.
“You’re only late.
You haven’t committed a crime.”
The elevator doors opened.
Chisimdi stepped inside just as a man approached.
She instinctively moved backward to make room for him, but he entered without saying a word.
He was dressed in a dark suit that fit him perfectly, his expression calm and unreadable as he pressed a button on the panel.
Chisimdi glanced at the floor number.
Then at him.
Then back at the panel.
He had pressed the same floor she needed.
For some reason, that made her even more nervous.
She shifted her handbag higher on her shoulder and tried to focus on the glowing numbers above the doors.
The silence inside the elevator suddenly felt heavier than it should have.
The man glanced at her reflection in the mirrored wall.
She didn’t notice.
She was too busy checking her phone again.
8:24 a.m.
Her stomach sank.
“Is there a problem with the elevator?” she asked suddenly.
The man turned his head slightly.
Chisimdi immediately regretted speaking.
“No,” he replied.
His voice was deep and calm.
She gave a nervous smile.
“Good.
I thought it was moving too slowly.”
His eyes moved briefly to the numbers above the door before returning to her.
“You’re in a hurry?”
“I have an interview.”
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Something about his expression changed, though only slightly.
“Late for it?”
Chisimdi looked at him.
Was that amusement in his eyes?
She straightened.
“Twenty-four minutes late, actually.”
“Then you should probably stop checking the time.”
She frowned.
“That’s easy for you to say.”
One corner of his mouth lifted.
It was such a brief movement that she wasn’t even sure she had seen it.
Chisimdi looked away before she could stare.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered.
“I’m just nervous.”
“You don’t look nervous.”
She gave him a disbelieving look.
“I’m practically sweating.”
“You’re not.”
She almost laughed.
“Well, that’s reassuring.”
The elevator stopped on another floor, but neither of them moved.
Chisimdi glanced at him again.
There was something unusually composed about the man.
While she was fighting panic over a late interview, he looked as though nothing in the building could possibly disturb him.
She wondered who he was.
An employee, perhaps.
Someone important, judging by the suit.
Before she could ask, the elevator began moving again.
When it finally stopped on her floor, Chisimdi stepped forward, then hesitated.
The man moved aside to let her out first.
“Thank you,” she said, adjusting her handbag.
She stepped into the hallway, then turned back when she realized he was coming out too.
For one brief second, their eyes met.
“Good luck with the interview,” he said.
A small smile touched her lips.
“Thank you.
I think I’ll need it.”
The elevator doors closed behind him.
Chisimdi took a deep breath and turned toward the reception desk.
Damian Adetola entered his office a few minutes later.
His assistant looked up immediately and rose from her chair.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning.”
He walked to his desk, placed his phone and car keys on it, then loosened his tie slightly before moving toward the window.
Another busy morning.
His schedule was already packed with meetings, reports and a board presentation he hadn’t finished reviewing.
Yet his mind briefly returned to the woman in the elevator.
The nervous interviewee.
She had been late, obviously anxious and strangely honest about it.
Most people who met him for the first time became careful with their words.
She hadn’t.
Damian almost chuckled at the thought.
Almost.
He turned away from the window and picked up the file his assistant had left on his desk.
Among the day’s documents was the list of candidates scheduled for interviews.
He flipped through the pages without much interest until one name caught his attention.
CHISIMDI NWANKWO.
His fingers stopped.
For a moment, the office seemed unusually quiet.
He read the name again.
Could she be related to Emeka Nwankwo?
His expression changed.
The name stirred something buried deep in his memory.
Something he hadn’t thought about in seventeen years.
He slowly lowered the file.
The woman from the elevator.
Could she be that Chisimdi Nwankwo?
Damian looked toward the closed office door.
For the first time that morning, the interview scheduled for eight o’clock held his full attention.
He picked up the phone.
“I’ll handle the Nwankwo interview myself.”
Chisimdi sat across from the receptionist, trying not to look as nervous as she felt.
When the woman finally checked her name on the appointment list, Chisimdi released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
“They’ll see you shortly,” the receptionist said.
“Thank you.” Chisimdi sat back and smoothed the front of her skirt.
The company certainly looked like the kind of place where mistakes were expensive.
She was still gathering her thoughts when the receptionist’s phone rang.
After a brief conversation, the woman looked up.
“Ms.
Nwankwo?”
Chisimdi stood immediately.
“Yes?”
“You can go in now.
Mr.
Adetola will interview you.”
She gestured toward the office.
“Thank you.”
Chisimdi picked up her handbag and walked toward the CEO’s office.
Her heartbeat picked up with every step.
Mr.
Adetola.
What would he be like?
Strict, probably.
She raised her hand to knock, but before her knuckles touched the door, it opened from inside.
Chisimdi looked up.
Her breath caught.
The man from the elevator stood in front of her.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
Recognition appeared in his eyes first.
Then something else she couldn’t quite identify.
Chisimdi’s eyes widened as realization hit her.
“You?”
Damian’s expression remained composed, but there was the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes.
“Yes,” he said, stepping aside.
“Come in.”
She stared at him for another second before walking into the office, suddenly wishing she could turn around and take back every careless thing she had said in the elevator.
She had just spent several minutes complaining about how slowly the elevator was moving to the man who owned the company.
Fantastic.
Just fantastic.
Damian closed the door behind her.
“Have a seat, Ms.
Nwankwo.”
He gestured toward the chair opposite his desk.
Chisimdi sat, carefully placing her handbag beside her feet.
Across the room, Damian returned to his desk and picked up her file.
He looked at her again.
This time, there was no trace of the amused stranger from the elevator.
Only the CEO remained.
“Let’s begin.”
He opened the file.
And just like that, Chisimdi’s interview began.