WHEN DISTANCE STOPPED WORKING
Monday morning brought an unsettling, charged stillness to the executive floor.
Chisimdi booted up her laptop, her fingers lingering on the keys as she stared blankly at the loading screen.
The weekend had stretched out abnormally long.
Her phone had remained quiet, and her thoughts had spent far too much time drifting back to a pair of intense, dark eyes and a heavy wooden door.
A sharp slap of plastic against wood broke her trance.
Ada stood by her desk, dropping a stack of folders.
“Morning.”
“Good morning.” Chisimdi blinked, pulling herself together.
Ada tilted her head, her sharp gaze scanning Chisimdi’s face.
“You look rested.”
Chisimdi forced a light smile.
“I slept well.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Ada offered a knowing smirk before twisting on her heel and heading straight into Damian’s office.
Chisimdi bit her lip, turning back to her screen.
Lagos gossip travels fast, but Ada travels faster.
A few minutes later, the heavy door swung open.
Damian emerged, his deep baritone humming as he went over a line item on Ada’s tablet.
Suddenly, his voice dipped.
His stride paused.
His eyes locked onto Chisimdi.
He didn’t stop talking to Ada, but the rigid, professional lines of his shoulders relaxed.
Chisimdi offered a quiet, fleeting smile before ducking her head toward her keyboard.
The brief look felt heavy.
Intimate.
A silent acknowledgment of the quiet hallway they had left behind on Friday.
By eleven o’clock, the day had dissolved into pure chaos.
Chisimdi had already survived three sudden schedule rewrites and a furious phone call with a supplier who treated delivery deadlines like polite suggestions.
She was aggressively pounding out an email when a shadow fell across her desk.
“You’ve been glaring at that monitor for ten minutes,” Damian noted, leaning an arm against the low partition of her cubicle.
She sighed, looking up.
“It’s fighting back.”
Damian’s lips twitched as he glanced down at the screen.
“What did it do?”
“Refused to save my draft twice.”
“Sounds personal.”
Chisimdi let out a sudden, genuine laugh.
“It feels deeply personal.”
Damian leaned in slightly closer, his scent—something rich, woodsy, and distinctly expensive—instantly filling her space.
“Try it now.”
“I already did.”
“Do it again.”
She arched an eyebrow at him.
“You’re very confident for someone who hasn’t touched a single key.”
Damian straightened up, adjusting his cuffs with a smooth, effortless grace.
“I’m the Managing Director.
Confidence is literally in my contract.”
Chisimdi chuckled, hitting the save shortcut one more time.
The loading wheel spun and vanished.
She stared at it, bewildered.
“It actually worked.”
“See?” Damian looked down at her, a rare, relaxed smile breaking across his features.
“Did you actually do anything, Mr.
Adetola?”
“No.”
“Then why are you taking credit?”
“Because it only obeyed when I stood here.”
Chisimdi shook her head, her smile widening.
Damian didn’t move away.
He remained standing by her desk, his gaze dropping to her lips for a fraction of a second before locking back onto her eyes.
The office chatter around them seemed to dim into background static.
Finally, Damian cleared his throat and stepped back.
“I’ll let you get back to your battle.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
She watched his broad shoulders retreat toward his office.
The smile stayed on her face long after his door closed.
It was becoming too easy to slip into this rhythm with him.
Too natural.
And the terrifying part was that she didn’t want to snap out of it.
Inside his office, Damian leaned back in his leather chair, the sprawling view of the Lagos skyline completely ignored behind him.
He closed his eyes.
He had spent the entire morning inventing excuses to step outside.
To stand near her.
To hear her voice.
None of those reasons had anything to do with Adetola Holdings.
The defense mechanisms he had spent years building were cracking.
He didn’t just find her efficient; he liked her.
He liked the raw, unfiltered sound of her laugh when she forgot to be guarded.
He liked the subtle defiance in her eyes when she challenged him, entirely unimpressed by his title or his wealth.
His day was simply lighter when she was in the room.
But then, his father’s harsh, grating voice echoed in his memory.
The Nwankwos are a liability, Damian.
Never forget what they did.
He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling.
For a decade, that surname had been a boundary line he would never cross.
Now, it belonged to the woman whose presence was systematically dismantling his focus.
He could no longer look at Chisimdi and see her father’s sins.
He just saw her.
A soft, hesitant knock interrupted the silence.
“Come in,” he called out, his voice instantly tightening back into its executive register.
Chisimdi stepped through the door, holding a single document pressed against her chest like a shield.
“I need your signature on this expenditure pool.”
Damian looked at her, his mind stalling out entirely.
He just stared.
Chisimdi paused, her steps slowing.
“Nothing.”
Her features softened, a look of gentle concern replacing her professional mask.
“You’ve been saying ‘nothing’ a lot lately.”
“I know,” he admitted quietly.
She walked over, placing the paper directly on his blotter.
“You’ve also been incredibly quiet today.”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“About the expansion?”
He looked up, catching her gaze and holding it.
“No.”
Chisimdi waited, her breath hitching slightly.
He could have told her right then.
Not the whole messy history of their families, but enough to bridge the gap.
Instead, he forced his eyes down to the document, his voice dropping into a low rumble.
“About how quickly things change.”
Chisimdi’s brows drew together.
“Is that a bad thing?”
Damian looked up again, his expression unreadable.
“Not always.”
She studied his face for a long moment, trying to decode the tension in his jaw, before giving him a soft, reassuring smile.
“I hope whatever you’re calculating works out well, sir.”
“So do I.”
She nodded and turned toward the exit.
“Chisimdi.”
Her name left his lips before he could stop it.
She paused, looking back over her shoulder, her hand resting on the brass doorknob.
He wanted to tell her to stay.
He wanted to confess that the distance he had been desperately trying to maintain had completely dissolved.
Instead, his throat tightened, and he retreated to the only safe words left.
“Thank you.”
Chisimdi’s smile turned slightly puzzled.
“For what?”
“For being you.”
The words hung heavily in the air between them.
Damian instantly cursed himself internally—it was too personal, too transparent.
Chisimdi’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, her expression melting into something deeply tender.
“You’re welcome, Damian.”
She stepped out, closing the door behind her with a gentle click.
Damian sat entirely paralyzed.
She hadn’t called him sir.
She hadn’t called him Mr.
Adetola.
She had used his name.
He dropped his head into his hands, a ragged breath escaping him.
The distance hadn’t protected him at all; it had only made the truth blindingly clear.
He was falling in love with her.
And as he looked at the closed door, he realized there was absolutely no point in pretending otherwise.
The only question left was how long he could keep the rest of the world from finding out.