of him had reduced her
to a wreck, she still felt a little confrontational, and attack was often the
best form of defense, she had learned.
“I’d like for us to talk.” He said tiredly.
“If it’s fine by you, there are some things I feel I should explain to you and
try to make you understand.”
She bristled a little, but got into the
car. What did he want to try to ‘make her understand’? How was he planning to
explain away the fact that he had assumed that he had the right to approach
someone as sleazy as Dele Solanke about her book, or the fact that he’d
benefited from stolen money.
He didn’t say anything throughout the
drive. The silence was oppressive. He didn’t even bother to play any music. She
shifted uncomfortably in the seat, her mind in turmoil. Well, he was the one
who wanted to talk, she thought stubbornly, so she didn’t say a word either.
There was a little traffic leaving the
island, so it was more than an hour before he drove into her street, in all
that time they hadn’t said a word to each other.
She started to open the door as soon as he
parked in front of the gate.
“Wait.” He said tersely. Then he chuckled,
though there was no amusement in it. “Just wait okay?”
She stopped and sat back on the seat. “It
didn’t seem like you wanted to talk anymore.” She said pointedly.
He nodded. A short silence followed, Ada
started to wonder if he was going to say anything at all.
“I was seated on the same table at Dele
Solanke at the wedding in Abuja.” He started abruptly. “I know him as the
husband of a very good friend of my sister’s and as a publisher of some
repute.”
His fingers were tapping a silent rhythm on
the steering wheel as he spoke, his voice low and soft. Ada looked away from
him. Outside the car, the streetlights were coming on. Did she really want to
hear his explanation? So that what? So she would forgive him and they would
continue their unexplainable companionship? It was tempting. The memory of him
holding her hand at his house the weekend before was still enough to send
shivers up her spine, and yes, she wanted more, more time with him. However,
she realized that it would be far safer for her, in the long run if she stayed
angry with him, whether he deserved it or not. That way she could easily
retreat into the life she had before he started his campaign to make her ‘like’
him. That life had been good, there had been no stress, no issues, no wanting
and no problems.
“I confess I had been thinking about a way
to get your book published for a while,” He continued, “and not just because I
like you, or because I can, but because I think it’s a good commodity that
should be given a chance in the market.”
He paused and she turned from her
contemplation of the street outside to look at him. “I didn’t mention your
name, I only told him that you did some work with one of my old projects.”
“Living Lagos,” Ada interjected, “and I am
the only professional photographer with Living Lagos.”
“I didn’t realize that everybody knew that.
“ He said wryly. “Or that you knew him so well.”
“I don’t know him so well.” Ada said, her
temper flaring. “I’ve already told you I approached him to publish my book. He
said I had to raise the money myself.”
“And he called you to tell you I had been
asking about financing it.”
She nodded.
“What did he say to you?”
She frowned, remembering Dele’s slurred
insults. “That’s none of your business.” She stated.
He chuckled. “And you want me to believe
that you’re not seeing him.”
She would have struck him then, it was a
reflex, her hand swung out before she could control herself, but he caught it,
and didn’t let go.
“Let go of me.” She whispered.
He released his hold on her abruptly, as if
her skin had suddenly burned him.
She took a deep breath. “Believe what you
want, but I’m not dating a married man.” She said tersely, “Not that it’s
to a wreck, she still felt a little confrontational, and attack was often the
best form of defense, she had learned.
“I’d like for us to talk.” He said tiredly.
“If it’s fine by you, there are some things I feel I should explain to you and
try to make you understand.”
She bristled a little, but got into the
car. What did he want to try to ‘make her understand’? How was he planning to
explain away the fact that he had assumed that he had the right to approach
someone as sleazy as Dele Solanke about her book, or the fact that he’d
benefited from stolen money.
He didn’t say anything throughout the
drive. The silence was oppressive. He didn’t even bother to play any music. She
shifted uncomfortably in the seat, her mind in turmoil. Well, he was the one
who wanted to talk, she thought stubbornly, so she didn’t say a word either.
There was a little traffic leaving the
island, so it was more than an hour before he drove into her street, in all
that time they hadn’t said a word to each other.
She started to open the door as soon as he
parked in front of the gate.
“Wait.” He said tersely. Then he chuckled,
though there was no amusement in it. “Just wait okay?”
She stopped and sat back on the seat. “It
didn’t seem like you wanted to talk anymore.” She said pointedly.
He nodded. A short silence followed, Ada
started to wonder if he was going to say anything at all.
“I was seated on the same table at Dele
Solanke at the wedding in Abuja.” He started abruptly. “I know him as the
husband of a very good friend of my sister’s and as a publisher of some
repute.”
His fingers were tapping a silent rhythm on
the steering wheel as he spoke, his voice low and soft. Ada looked away from
him. Outside the car, the streetlights were coming on. Did she really want to
hear his explanation? So that what? So she would forgive him and they would
continue their unexplainable companionship? It was tempting. The memory of him
holding her hand at his house the weekend before was still enough to send
shivers up her spine, and yes, she wanted more, more time with him. However,
she realized that it would be far safer for her, in the long run if she stayed
angry with him, whether he deserved it or not. That way she could easily
retreat into the life she had before he started his campaign to make her ‘like’
him. That life had been good, there had been no stress, no issues, no wanting
and no problems.
“I confess I had been thinking about a way
to get your book published for a while,” He continued, “and not just because I
like you, or because I can, but because I think it’s a good commodity that
should be given a chance in the market.”
He paused and she turned from her
contemplation of the street outside to look at him. “I didn’t mention your
name, I only told him that you did some work with one of my old projects.”
“Living Lagos,” Ada interjected, “and I am
the only professional photographer with Living Lagos.”
“I didn’t realize that everybody knew that.
“ He said wryly. “Or that you knew him so well.”
“I don’t know him so well.” Ada said, her
temper flaring. “I’ve already told you I approached him to publish my book. He
said I had to raise the money myself.”
“And he called you to tell you I had been
asking about financing it.”
She nodded.
“What did he say to you?”
She frowned, remembering Dele’s slurred
insults. “That’s none of your business.” She stated.
He chuckled. “And you want me to believe
that you’re not seeing him.”
She would have struck him then, it was a
reflex, her hand swung out before she could control herself, but he caught it,
and didn’t let go.
“Let go of me.” She whispered.
He released his hold on her abruptly, as if
her skin had suddenly burned him.
She took a deep breath. “Believe what you
want, but I’m not dating a married man.” She said tersely, “Not that it’s
Similar Books
