THE THINGS SHE DIDN’T NOTICE
Friday morning brought a rare, crisp breeze that swept the exhaustion of the week from the executive floor.
Chisimdi dropped her handbag onto her chair with a relieved sigh and flipped open her laptop.
A shadow fell over her desk.
Ada stood there, balancing two steaming ceramic mugs.
“One is yours.”
Chisimdi’s eyes lit up as she wrapped her fingers around the warm ceramic.
“You remembered.”
“I’m paid to learn habits.” Ada took a slow sip of her own drink.
Chisimdi chuckled, leaning back.
“And here I thought you said I needed to get out more and stop living at my desk.”
“I still believe that.” Ada leaned against the partition, a wry smirk playing on her lips.
“Then why feed my coffee addiction?”
“Because I’m your colleague, Chisimdi, not your mother.”
Their shared laughter rang out, bright and clear, cutting through the quiet morning corridor.
Inside his office, Damian’s fountain pen halted mid-line, hovering just millimeters above a crucial signature.
He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, letting the sound of her laugh register in his chest.
He could recognize it instantly now—a realization that made his jaw tighten with unneeded frustration.
He forced his pen back to the paper.
A moment later, Ada knocked and stepped in, laying a stack of morning correspondence on his desk.
“Your nine-thirty meeting is confirmed, sir.
And the legal team needs your sign-off before noon.”
“I’ll handle it.”
Ada nodded, stepping back out.
Damian’s eyes immediately betrayed him, tracking her through the glass partition.
Chisimdi was still smiling, typing rapidly now with a light bounce in her shoulders.
He forcefully snapped his gaze back to his documents.
He had a multi-million naira empire to run.
That should have been enough.
By ten-thirty, the executive floor was alive with the hum of ringing phones and shuffling interns.
Chisimdi crossed into Damian’s office multiple times, delivering memos and taking directives.
Their exchanges remained crisp, professional, and entirely uncomplicated.
Yet, every single time her heels clicked away from his desk, Damian found himself watching her exit.
By her fifth trip inside, he was thoroughly irritated with his own lack of discipline.
When she approached again, holding a thick blue folder, he didn’t bother looking up.
“Leave it on the edge.”
The folder landed gently beside his hand.
“There’s a specific section you need to look at before signing, Mr.
Adetola.”
Damian finally raised his eyes.
“Which one?”
Chisimdi leaned over the desk, her floral perfume subtly shifting the air between them as her manicured finger pointed to a dense paragraph.
“This clause.
The wording gives the supplier far more legal flexibility than we negotiated.”
Damian scanned the lines.
She was entirely correct.
He looked up, his gaze locking onto hers.
“Yes.” A small, triumphant smile tugged at her lips.
“You sound surprised.”
“I’m not.”
“Your eyebrows say otherwise.”
Damian closed the folder with a decisive snap.
“I was simply considering whether I had underestimated you.”
Chisimdi raised an eyebrow, stepping back to reclaim her space.
“Have you?”
“No,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave.
The air in the room thickened.
Neither of them spoke for a long, heavy heartbeat.
Chisimdi smoothed down her skirt, breaking the spell.
“I’ll let you review it.”
She turned for the door.
“Chisimdi.”
She paused, looking over her shoulder.
“Good catch.”
Her smile bloomed fully this time, soft and genuine.
“Thank you.”
Damian leaned back in his leather chair as the door clicked shut.
That damn smile.
He loathed how effortlessly it anchored itself in his thoughts.
Around one o’clock, Chisimdi’s phone buzzed with an incoming text.
Chinny: Tomorrow.
No excuses.
I’ve already booked the table.
Chisimdi: You’re incredibly demanding.
Chinny: Because if I don’t drag you out, you’ll marry Adetola Holdings.
See you Saturday.
Chisimdi shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her as she stored the phone away.
“What happened?”
She startled.
Damian was standing just outside his office door, a file clamped under his arm.
“Nothing,” she said quickly, straightening her posture.
“You were smiling at your screen.”
“Am I not allowed to smile at work?”
Damian shifted his weight, suddenly looking like a man who realized he had overstepped a boundary.
“It was just an observation.”
Chisimdi studied his tense expression for a moment, her eyes dancing with amusement.
“You’re curious.”
“I am observant,” he corrected flatly.
“Of course, sir.” She turned back to her computer, her lips twitching.
Damian lingered for another second before turning toward the conference room.
Halfway down the hall, his hand moved to his face.
His mouth was curved upward.
By five in the afternoon, the office began to empty.
Chisimdi organized her desk, closed her final report, and glanced toward the frosted glass of Damian’s office.
His door remained firmly shut.
She grabbed her handbag and stood up just as Ada finished packing.
“Have a good weekend,” Ada said, slinging her purse over her shoulder.
“And don’t forget our chat.”
“Which one?”
“The one where I legally ordered you to go get a life.”
Chisimdi laughed.
“I’m working on it.”
With a wave, Chisimdi headed for the elevators.
She had just pressed the down button when the heavy wood of Damian’s office door swung open.
He stepped out, his eyes instantly locking onto her silhouette.
“Leaving?”
She turned around.
“Yes.”
He glanced at the glowing arrow above the elevator.
“Early.”
“It’s Friday, Mr.
Adetola.”
He nodded slowly.
“Right.”
The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open to an empty car.
Chisimdi stepped inside, turning around to face him.
“Have a good weekend.”
“You too.”
As the metal doors began to glide shut, Damian took three rapid, unthinking steps toward the elevator.
He froze just before reaching the sensor.
The doors clicked locked.
The floor fell into a sudden, suffocating quiet.
Damian stood alone in the hallway, looking at his reflection in the closed elevator doors.
The silence of the office, which he usually coveted, now felt empty.
Stripped of her presence.
He walked back into his office, sat down, and stared blankly at the empty workstation outside his glass wall.
Tomorrow, she would be somewhere in Lagos, laughing with someone else.
Free.
Out of his sight.
He opened a contract, determined to lose himself in logistics.
He read the first paragraph.
Then read it again.
The words blurred into meaningless shapes.
With a frustrated slam, he shut the folder.
For weeks, he had prided himself on keeping Chisimdi at a perfectly calculated, safe distance.
But looking out at her empty desk, he finally had to admit the truth.
The distance didn’t feel safe anymore.
It just felt