THE DISTANCE HE CHOSE
The door closed behind Chisimdi.
Damian remained standing behind his desk, his attention fixed on the empty space she had just left behind.
He returned to his chair and opened the next file, forcing his eyes down.
Three minutes later, he was still staring at the same paragraph.
His jaw tightened.
He forced himself to read it again, but the words refused to stick.
His thoughts had already wandered back to the records room, replaying her voice.
I actually have no idea.
He closed the file with a sharp snap.
He had never been careless with his words—not in business, not with employees, and certainly not with a woman whose surname had been enough to complicate his judgment from the moment he discovered who she was.
Yet with Chisimdi, things kept slipping past the barriers he had spent years building.
A smile.
A conversation.
Five unnecessary minutes in an archive room.
This had to stop.
Not because she had done anything wrong—that was precisely the problem.
She wasn’t encouraging him or trying to get closer.
She simply existed around him, and somehow that was becoming enough to unsettle everything he thought he had under control.
A knock sounded.
“Come in,” he called out, his voice instantly snapping back to its executive clip.
His legal adviser entered with another folder and immediately began discussing the transport authorization they had been waiting on.
Damian listened, asked two questions, and gave his approval before returning his attention to the paperwork.
He worked until the afternoon passed without him realizing it.
By the time he finally stepped out of his office, the executive floor had become quieter.
Chisimdi was still at her desk, speaking to someone from logistics.
Damian slowed without meaning to.
The man was leaning slightly against the edge of her desk, holding a tablet between them.
Chisimdi pointed at something on the screen, and he laughed.
Her laugh followed.
Damian stopped.
He didn’t know the man’s name, and that irritated him more than it should have.
He watched for another second before forcing himself to continue down the corridor.
There was no reason to care.
Chisimdi worked with several departments.
She spoke to people every day.
She was friendly, competent, and easy to approach.
None of that concerned him.
So why had something tightened in his chest when another man made her laugh?
He reached the elevator and pressed the button harder than necessary.
The doors opened.
He stepped inside alone.
As they descended, he stared at his reflection in the polished metal.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered.
The elevator offered no argument.
Chisimdi noticed the change before the day ended.
Damian had always been reserved, but there was a difference between his usual restraint and the deliberate distance he had started creating.
He hadn’t called her once after the transport clearance.
He hadn’t asked about the revised schedule.
He hadn’t even looked toward her desk when he passed.
Instead of relief, she found herself wondering what she had done.
She glanced toward his closed office door and immediately turned back to her computer.
There was nothing to fix, she reminded herself.
Whatever strange ease had developed between them over the past few days had never been named.
There was nothing to explain.
So she worked.
At six-thirty, she shut down her computer and gathered her handbag.
The logistics officer she had spoken with earlier caught up with her near the elevator.
She turned and smiled.
“Yes.
Why?”
“I wanted to ask if you were still coming tomorrow,” he said, stepping closer.
“A few of us are meeting for lunch.”
She adjusted the strap of her bag.
“I didn’t know there was a plan.
“There is now.”
She laughed, stepping toward the elevator.
“I’ll think about it.”
“That’s not a yes.”
“It’s not a no either.”
He grinned.
“I’ll take that.”
Neither of them noticed the office door opening behind them.
Damian stepped out just in time to hear the last part and stopped.
Chisimdi didn’t see him.
She continued into the elevator with the man beside her, still talking about the weekend arrangement.
Damian’s expression hardened.
He knew that reaction—he simply didn’t like what it meant.
As the elevator doors began to slide shut, Chisimdi turned briefly.
Her eyes found Damian’s.
For one second, surprise crossed her face before she quickly masked it with a polite smile.
“Good evening, Mr.
Adetola.”
He inclined his head.
“Good evening.”
The doors closed, cutting her off from view.
Damian stood alone in the corridor, staring at the empty elevator.
Lunch.
Tomorrow.
With him.
The thought arrived before he could stop it, and he immediately rejected it.
She was free to spend her weekend however she wanted.
He had no claim on her time, which was the whole point of the distance he had chosen.
So why did he suddenly want to know who she was meeting?
He turned toward his office.
The answer was obvious, and he refused to say it aloud.
The next morning, Damian woke earlier than usual.
Saturday.
No meetings.
No executive floor.
No Chisimdi.
He should have been relieved, but the quiet of his house seemed unusually loud.
He made coffee and stood near the window, staring out at the city while his mind wandered back to the previous evening.
He remembered her smile, the ease in her voice, and the way she had said goodbye.
Nothing about it had been personal, which was what made his reaction so unreasonable.
He had spent years learning to control himself.
He knew how to negotiate under pressure, make decisions while others hesitated, and walk away from situations that threatened his judgment.
Yet one woman laughing with another man had unsettled him more than a difficult board meeting.
He set the cup down.
He needed distance.
Real distance.
If he stopped creating reasons to speak to her, stopped lingering around her desk, and stopped allowing small moments to become something more, eventually this would pass.
It had to.
His phone vibrated on the table.
Damian glanced at it, expecting a business update, but his eyes caught Chisimdi’s name in a forwarded schedule.
He stared at it longer than necessary.
Then he locked the screen and walked away.
Five minutes later, he returned and picked up the phone again, hating himself for it.
Monday morning arrived too quickly.
Damian entered the executive floor expecting to feel the familiar irritation of seeing her.
Instead, the first thing he noticed was that her chair was empty.
He stopped, his eyes scanning the corridor.
Nothing.
He checked his watch—eight twenty.
She was usually there before eight.
He walked into his office, placed his briefcase down, and tried to ignore the small unease settling beneath his ribs.
At eight forty, the door finally opened.
Chisimdi walked in carrying a cup of tea and a folder.
“Good morning, Mr.
Adetola.”
He looked up.
For a brief second, relief crossed through him before he could hide it.
Then he remembered himself.
“Good morning.”
She placed the folder on his desk, her posture formal.
“The revised supplier agreements are ready.
I highlighted the clauses legal asked you to review.”
“Thank you.”
Damian looked down at the folder, waiting for her to step back, but she remained standing.
He could feel her gaze, patient and expectant, waiting for him to say something else.
When he didn’t look up, he heard the faint rustle of her movement as she turned toward the door.
She took two steps.
Her hand reached for the handle.
His restraint lasted another second.
“Chisimdi.”
She stopped and turned back, her eyes meeting his, curious and steady.
Damian looked up from the documents.
The words that finally came were the safest ones he could find.
“Did you enjoy your weekend?”
A faint smile appeared on her lips.
“Yes.”
He waited, and she waited too.
He almost asked who she had gone to lunch with, but instead, he forced his eyes back down to the paper.
“Good.”
Chisimdi studied the tense line of his shoulders for a moment longer before leaving.
The door clicked shut.
Damian leaned back slowly.
He had managed to keep his distance.
But as he looked down at the supplier agreement, he realized he still hadn’t processed a single word.
The door clicked shut.
Damian leaned back slowly, his eyes still fixed on the dark wood.
He had managed to keep his distance.
He had managed not to ask.
So why did it feel as though he had lost something?
Across the executive floor, Chisimdi returned to her desk and sat down.
She stared at her screen for several seconds without typing.
Damian had been different.
Colder.
More careful.
And she couldn’t decide whether she preferred the distance or missed the man who had once stood beside her in the records room with no explanation for why he stayed.
She reached for her tea.
It had already gone cold.