KEEPING DISTANCE
Monday morning came sooner than Damian wanted.
He knew the moment Chisimdi arrived.
He heard the elevator doors open, followed by the familiar sound of footsteps along the executive corridor.
He remained behind his desk, his eyes on the document in front of him.
A knock came a few minutes later.
“Come in.”
The door opened.
“Good morning, sir.” Her tone was crisp, entirely stripped of the casual warmth she usually carried.
Damian looked up.
Chisimdi stood at the doorway with a folder in her hands.
Her hair was neatly pulled back, and there was nothing unusual about her expression.
There was no hesitation in her posture.
No residual awkwardness from their near-miss on Friday, and certainly no sign that she had spent the entire weekend replaying the exact same memories that had kept him awake until dawn.
“Good morning, Ms.
Nwankwo.” Damian straightened his spine, meeting her gaze with equal neutrality.
She walked in and placed the folder on his desk.
“These are the documents for your nine o’clock meeting.
I’ve arranged them according to the order you’ll need them.”
Damian flipped open the cover, scanning the top sheet without actually reading the text.
“Thank you.”
She nodded.
“Your driver called earlier.
He said he’ll be downstairs in ten minutes.”
“Alright.”
Chisimdi turned seamlessly on her heel, heading back toward the corridor.
“Ms.
Nwankwo.”
She stopped and looked back.
“Yes, sir?”
The question rose in his throat naturally, driven by pure instinct: Did you have a good weekend?
He wanted to know if she had gone out, if she had thought about him, if she was as exhausted by this sudden wall between them as he was.
He swallowed the impulse, clamping his jaw shut.
“Nothing,” Damian said, his voice dropping an octave.
“You can go.”
A faint crease appeared between her brows before she nodded.
“Alright.”
The door clicked shut, leaving him alone in the sudden silence.
Damian leaned back into his leather chair, staring at the wood grain.
This was exactly what he had demanded.
Professional.
A clean boundary.
So why did the empty room suddenly feel like an interrogation chamber?
He pulled the folder closer, but the numbers on the page refused to align.
He had asked for distance, she was delivering it with surgical precision, and it was turning his blood cold.
The morning passed quickly.
Chisimdi stayed busy.
She prepared Damian’s schedule, coordinated his meetings and followed up on several documents that needed signatures.
Whenever she entered his office, she discussed only what concerned his work.
She didn’t linger.
She didn’t tease him.
She didn’t ask unnecessary questions.
She didn’t mention the weekend.
By eleven, Damian had begun noticing every one of those things.
He was reviewing a report when she walked in with another document.
“Sir, this came from the legal department.” She placed it on the desk.
“Did they explain the changes?”
“Yes.” She opened the document and pointed to the highlighted section.
“They adjusted the second clause because of the new terms in the agreement.”
Damian followed her finger.
“Did you review the rest?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Everything else looks fine.”
He raised his chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.
She stood perfectly still, waiting for his dismissal like a stranger.
He remembered another version of this conversation.
A few weeks ago, she would have made some comment about how many documents he expected her to read before lunch.
Now she simply stood there like a statue.
“Alright,” he murmured.
Chisimdi closed the binder with a soft snap.
“I’ll notify compliance that you’ve signed off.” She turned to leave.
“Chisimdi.”
She stopped instantly.
She didn’t look annoyed, just incredibly distant.
“Yes?”
He didn’t know why he had called her.
Her eyes met his.
“Did you have a good weekend?” This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
For the briefest moment, surprise crossed her face.
A small, entirely formal smile touched her lips.
“Yes, sir.
It was quiet.
Thank you for asking.”
“Good.” He nodded toward the exit, annoyed with himself for breaking his own rule.
She left.
Damian stared at the document on his desk.
He shouldn’t be fishing for personal validation from an employee.
He rubbed his temples, trying to clear the fog.
This was becoming ridiculous.
Around one, Chisimdi was returning from lunch when she noticed someone standing near her desk.
It was Daniel from the finance department.
He held a file against his chest and was speaking to one of the administrative officers.
When he saw her approaching, he turned.
“Chis,” he called out, stepping away from the desk.
She let out a genuine breath of relief, the tension leaving her shoulders for the first time all day.
“Daniel.
Tell me you’re not here with more emergency reconciliations.”
“No, nothing fatal.” He smiled, handing over the folder as she set her lunch down.
“I just needed your eyes on the Q3 projections before I push the final data set upstairs to the VP.
I wanted to make sure the executive summaries align with what Damian’s expecting.”
Chisimdi flipped the cover open right there, her eyes scanning the columns of figures with practiced ease.
Her gaze snagged on a line item halfway down the page.
“Daniel, look at line fourteen.
This operational expenditure figure doesn’t match the baseline from the mid-year audit.
You carried over the unadjusted marketing budget instead of the scaled-back version.”
Daniel leaned in close, his shoulder brushing against hers as he squinted at the spreadsheet.
“Where exactly?”
“Right here,” she said, tapping the paper with the tip of her pen.
He groaned, running a hand through his hair, but his smile remained intact.
“You’re right.
Man, I completely missed that.
Good catch.”
Chisimdi laughed, the sound light and unforced.
“That’s definitely going to cost you.
You owe me lunch for saving you from a lecturing upstairs.”
Daniel chuckled, his tone easy and familiar.
“One minor oversight and you’re already extortionately charging the finance team?
You’re brutal, Chis.”
“You made the mistake, you pay the premium,” she shot back, her eyes crinkling as she closed the file and handed it back.
“Fix it before three.”
“Deal.
I’ll buy the good coffee tomorrow,” he said, taking the folder with a grin.
Across the corridor, Damian stepped out of his office.
He had been heading toward the conference room when he saw them.
He stopped dead in his tracks the moment the sound of Chisimdi’s laughter hit the quiet floor.
He watched them from twenty feet away.
Daniel was still grinning, saying something else that made Chisimdi tilt her head back, her face brighter than it had been all morning.
Damian’s jaw tightened until his teeth clicked.
He knew Daniel.
Smart kid, sharp analyst, recently married if the HR orientation records served him right.
Damian had absolutely no logical, professional, or personal reason to care who his assistant talked to during her lunch hour.
Yet he stood there for a full three seconds, his chest tightening with an ugly, hot spike of irritation before he forced his boots forward, his steps heavy against the floorboards.
“Sir.” One of the managers had approached him with a question.
Damian answered, but his attention drifted briefly toward Chisimdi.
Chisimdi was already back behind her desk, her head down, her focus locked back onto her monitor as if the laughter had never happened.
He tore his gaze away and walked into the meeting room.
By three o’clock, Damian had convinced himself that the moment had meant nothing.
He was sitting at the head of the long glass conference table, listening to a presentation on regional supply chains, when the smartphone against his palm began to vibrate.
His father’s name appeared on the screen.
Damian ignored the call, turning his attention back to the screen.
Ten seconds later, the device buzzed again.
He glanced around the table at the six executives tracking the slides, his expression hardening.
“Excuse me for a moment,” he said, pushing back from the table.
“Continue with the logistics breakdown.”
He stepped out into the quiet corridor, sliding the glass door shut behind him before bringing the phone to his ear.
“Hello, Father.”
“I’ve been trying to get through to your desk for an hour,” the old man’s voice came through the line, cold, resonant, and entirely lacking in paternal warmth.
“I am in the middle of an operational review,” Damian replied, leaning his weight against the wood paneling of the hallway.
“What is it?”
A heavy, deliberate pause stretched over the connection.
“Your brother tells me you’ve been digging through the old archives.
Asking questions about things that don’t concern the current board.”
Damian’s fingers tightened around the casing of the phone.
“If Segun called you, then you already know exactly what I’m looking for.”
“You don’t need to look into old ledger entries, Damian.
Your job is to run the firm, not historical research.”
“I was twelve years old when the Nwankwo partnership dissolved overnight.
Nobody ever gave me a straight answer.”
“That is precisely why you should leave it where it lies,” his father snapped, his tone sharpening with sudden authority.
“It was a boardroom dispute that ended over a decade ago.
It has no bearing on your current revenue.”
“I was a child then, Father.
I’m running the company now.
If there are liabilities attached to that name, I need to know.”
Silence.
The static on the line seemed to grow louder.
Finally, the old man spoke, each word dropping like a lead weight.
“Emeka Nwankwo is dead.
Whatever grievances or legal entanglements existed between our families went into the ground with him.
There is nothing to find.”
Damian’s jaw set into stone.
“And his daughter?”
Another long, suffocating silence followed.
This pause told Damian far more than any verbal denial ever could.
His father knew exactly who Chisimdi was.
“What about her?” Chief Adetola asked, his voice dropping into a low warning.
“She’s sitting outside my office right now, Father.
She’s my executive assistant.”
“Then listen to me very carefully, Damian,” the old man commanded, the words chillingly direct.
“Keep your distance from that girl.
Do not let her into your confidence.”
The harsh directive hit Damian harder than he expected, sending a cold chill straight down his spine.
He straightened up, his back leaving the wall.
“She works for me.
Her performance is flawless.”
“Then ensure she remains an employee and nothing more.
Do not dig into the past, and do not bring her into the inner circle.
Fire her if you must, but keep the line clear.”
The line went dead with a sharp click.
Damian looked down the long corridor toward the reception desk.
Chisimdi was tapping away at her keyboard, entirely oblivious to the fact that her name had just been used as a weapon in a conversation she didn’t even know was happening.
He lowered the device slowly.
For his entire life, his father had curated the family history, burying the ugly truths beneath corporate successes.
But now that Chisimdi was occupying the space outside his door, the old narrative was beginning to fracture.
The final hour of the afternoon crawled by.
The sun began to dip behind the Lagos skyline, casting long, orange shadows across the executive floor.
Chisimdi tapped lightly on his door frame before stepping into his office, her tablet held against her chest.
“Come in,” Damian said without looking up from his laptop.
“Your schedule for tomorrow morning has a structural conflict,” she said, her voice smooth and entirely professional.
“The investor group requested an earlier session, so I’ve moved the alignment meeting to ten o’clock sharp.
Your prep notes are updated.”
Damian nodded slowly.
“Alright.
Thank you.”
She waited for a second, her posture perfect, her face unreadable.
“Is there anything else required for the evening, sir?”
“No, Ms.
Nwankwo.”
She turned toward the door, her movement fluid, ready to exit his space yet again.
That wall.
That careful, measured distance.
He had asked for it.
He had practically demanded it through his silence all morning.
But now that the barrier was fully constructed, he found himself suffocating behind it.
“Chisimdi.”
She halted on the threshold, turning back to face him.
“Yes?”
Damian rose from his chair, his tall frame cutting through the dimming light of the office.
For a long, heavy moment, he simply looked at her, his eyes tracing the sharp contour of her jaw and the quiet intensity in her gaze.
She stood her ground, waiting for the command.
He wanted to ask her why she had gone so cold.
He wanted to tell her what his father had just said on the phone.
Instead, he walked around the perimeter of the desk, reaching out to take the digital tablet straight from her hand.
His fingers brushed against hers—a brief, electric contact that made her breath hitch.
“I’ll review the adjustments before I leave,” he murmured, his voice thick.
Chisimdi nodded quickly, her hand dropping back to her side as she reached for the tablet one last time to confirm the save.
Damian let the device slide into her grip, his fingers lingering on the edge for a beat too long.
“Goodnight, sir,” she whispered.
“Goodnight.”
The door closed softly behind her.
Damian remained standing by the edge of his desk, the scent of her perfume—something subtle and clean—still hanging in the air.
He could still remember the sound of her unforced laughter with Daniel from earlier, the way her face looked when she wasn’t guarding herself against him.
He had created this distance to protect them both.
His father’s warning should have made the choice simple: stay away from Chisimdi Nwankwo, protect the family legacy, and let the past stay buried.
But as he closed his eyes against the darkening city outside, the old man’s threats faded, replaced entirely by the memory of her touch.
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