I rushed to my room, slipping into loose shorts and a baggy crop top before sprinting to the kitchen.
Panic settled in as I realized my predicament. I only have Nigerian Jollof rice with fish, in the house.
Just jollof rice and fish!
"Why, God, why didn't I make it with turkey?!"
I muttered, pacing back and forth.
How could I serve him plain jollof rice with fish? My foodstuffs were practically extinct.
In a moment of desperation, I picked up my phone and ordered from the nearest online restaurant.
"Please deliver it through the back door, thanks!"
I whispered into the phone like I was planning a heist, then ended the call.
Peeping through the door, I kept an eye on him.
There he was, stretched out on the couch, his long legs crossed in that annoyingly perfect, masculine triangle.
He seemed completely relaxed, scrolling through his phone like he owned the place-which, let's be honest, with his intimidating presence, he might as well have.
Finally, the delivery arrived.
"Thanks," I whispered again.
A minute later, I had the table set.
But as I worked, I felt his eyes on me, stealing glances.
My cheeks burned.
I shouldn't have worn these shorts; they made me look... extra.
"Dinner's ready," I announced, dramatically wiping fake sweat from my brow.
No way was I letting him know this meal wasn't my creation.
He unfolded his long legs and stood. That height! It always screamed at me, "Shorty, behold my superiority!"
As I led him to the dining table, panic struck again.
Wine! I hadn't thought of wine.
"I'll grab the drinks," I blurted, darting to the kitchen. Instead of grabbing anything, I rushed out the back door and ordered wine.
Nigerian thing to serve wine for very important visitors.
Thank heavens.
It arrived quickly, and I smuggled it in like contraband. I am sure he must have noticed my weird disappearance and appearance.
Even heard the motorcyclists who dropped the package. But when I returned to the kitchen, my jaw dropped.
There he was, sitting casually at the dining, devouring the jollof rice I had cooked earlier.
My feet froze, my brain short-circuited.
What?!
He glanced up, completely unbothered, as if eating food I hadn't served him was the most normal thing in the world. He served himself a plate from the pot.
The leftover Jerrof rice and microwaved it.
Humble? I don't think so.
He is just messing with me.
"Your kitchen's outside the compound, really?" he asked in sarcasm.
"I... um... I went out to take an important call," I stammered, laughing awkwardly.
I poured the wine with trembling hands, avoiding his gaze, and sat down, glaring at the untouched meal I'd spent money on.
"Why are you frowning?" he asked, a teasing smirk on his face.
"Nothing," I replied, pouting. But after a few minutes of stewing in silence, I couldn't take it anymore.
" I am sure you knew I ordered this food, right? Why did you eat the jollof rice I made? Do you know how much I spent on this meal? And that rice wasn't even freshly cooked!"
He shrugged, completely unrepentant.
"I eat what I want. Did I ask you to buy expensive food? I'm a down-to-earth guy."
I scoffed.
"Down-to-earth? With three private jets? Please!" I snapped.
"Now the food will waste because I can't finish it."
"Not my problem," he retorted, scooping another mouthful of rice.
Then, to add insult to injury, he walked to the fridge and pulled out a sachet of water.
Sachet water!
Not even a bottle of water!
"You're not even going to drink the wine I bought?" I wailed dramatically.
He ignored me, turning to leave. That arrogance! It had to be his God-given talent.
"At least appreciate it!" I yelled after him.
"Is arrogance your only skill, or are there others?"
He froze and turned, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
Slowly, he walked toward me, each step making my heart hammer louder.
When he stopped inches away, his scent wrapped around me-clean, masculine, and addictive.
His voice was deep, dangerously low.
"I have other talents. Would you like to see? A lot of women seem to love them." I scoffed, my cheeks heating.
"A lot of women? I'm not just any woman." "That's what makes it so fun," he murmured, his eyes dipping to my lips, then lower.
I swallowed tightly.
His gaze lingered, making me pull my shorts down self-consciously.
My heart raced. His presence was suffocatingly electric, and I hated how vulnerable I felt.
What kind of sorcery does this man wield? Then, his phone rang.
🎶 Let Me Down Slowly by Alec Benjamin 🎶
The tension in the room skyrocketed.
He didn't answer it, letting the haunting melody fill the silence.
"You're not as hot as you think, Prince," I snapped, desperate to break his spell.
But instead of backing off, his smirk deepened. He raised a hand, his thumb brushing my lower lip.
My breath hitched as his dark green eyes locked onto mine.
"Then why are you sweating?" he whispered, his voice a sinful caress. "And I'm pretty sure your face isn't the only part of your body that's wet."