Christmas In Atlanta [Chapter 7]

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Quilox smelt of the dust of harmattan and a mixture of rain. The music was on maximum volume.

Idara carefully parked and walked behind Femi, whose huge height overshadowed her.

The huge bouncers didn’t check him, they hailed him, “big boss, oga, oga!” He searched through his wallet and handed them thousands of naira notes. They were about to search Idara when he paused and said, “She is with me.”

“Ah, master, forgive your boys!” they said, lifting their hands in the air and letting Idara pass.

She was dressed in a corporate shirt and pants, on a black high heel shoes, and her hair was neatly wrapped all up, tied with a bow ruffle, just in a girlish way.

The noise was loud, and she enjoyed the atmosphere. It was her first time in a club since she arrived Lagos, and the sad thing was, she was here with her strict boss. She had wanted to be outside, wait by the car for him, but she boldly walked behind him because she wanted to feel the atmosphere and be happy, it reminded her of home.

Femi was led to a VIP lounge were he settled on an executive couch and crossed his long legs. He whispered what he wanted to the waitress. “Do not come with all the lights and delivery squad. Bring my drink alone. I don’t need all that drama please,” he said loudly to the waitress amidst the loud music.

“Okay sir,” she said and walked away, wondering why a man would purchase a drink worth two hundred and fifty thousand naira and not want the club girls to bring it to him in grand style.

Idara was nodding to the loud music, as she sat quite far from him. He immediately noticed her and signaled for her to come sit near him. She immediately got up and sat by his side.

“Don’t worry, I am in a private lounge, your boyfriend won’t see you,” he whispered into her ears. She laughed.

“No sir, I don’t have a boyfriend. Besides, even if I actually did, I won’t be free to be seeing him often due to my work.”

“Do I take that much of your time?” he asked, looking into her eyes.

“Yes,” she replied. He couldn’t hear her because of the loud music, but he watched her mouth say it.

When the drink arrived, they watched as the waitress opened it and poured it into small glasses.

“You take whiskey right?” Femi asked. Idara nodded, her mouth folded.

“Really? You don’t look like a girl who loves alcohol. Obviously you love to dance. You have been nodding to the music since we came in here.”

“Yeah. I love to dance a lot. When I take my leave next year, I will love to go to Kaffi’s dance school.”

“Really? That’s interesting.”

“Yeah.”

He took a glass of the drink and handed to her.

“Thank you,” she muttered. “Happy birthday once again,” she said.

“Yeah, thank you,” he said and checked his time. “I will be having a birthday dinner with some friends today at The George in Ikoyi, I hope you will accompany me?  Tomorrow is Saturday, no work.”

“Today is the first time you’re talking about your friends.”

He smiled. “Yeah, I have friends. A few of them though.”

“And why are you having dinner that late? It’s going to be almost midnight when we leave here.”

“Because billionaires have dinners at that time,” he winked at her. She smiled at him and sipped her drink. “You’re so beautiful, you know that right? I love your lips,” he said to her.  His voice was the same. It sent a burst of pleasure over her nerves like hot syrup over dark chocolates.

“Thank you, Mr. Femi,” she said.

“I love to sit here. It’s not quite your kind of space I know, but I love to sit here because it takes me out from the journalists’ corner,” he said as he gulped down his drink and poured more into the glass cup.

Idara nodded at every of his word. The mere sight of her stirred a hunger he didn’t need a psychologist to interpret. For an endless moment, they simply stared at each other, talking about many things that surprised Idara. She never knew that Femi was good in conversations, aside the fact that he is a business lord who knows how to convince clients with his grammar. She never knew he could bring up any other fun conversation.

“I have a crush on you, you know that?” he asked her with a seductive smile that she had never seen before.

She smiled at him. “Oh!” she chuckled.

“It took me time to cope with you, knowing you’re my assistant and it’s impossible to have anything intimate with you.”

“Yeah. It’s impossible,” she retorted quietly and sipped her drink.

There was a pause. Only the sound of Wizkid’s music was heard, and people dancing, twerking at each other.

“Thank you again for the cufflinks, I love it,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” she said with a calm smile. “You have been a good boss too.”

“Really?” He giggled.

“Yeah, really,” she nodded at him. Then when Tiwa savage music came up, she carefully stood up to her feet. The air wasn’t thick so much as sultry, the heat no longer oppressive but sensual, and everyone felt their bodies stir in a way they hadn’t in a long time.

The music wrenched at the gut and was almost painful, and every face, every man who sat on that VIP lounge held their breath and was still. The shimmer of her body as she shook her body made Femi’s guts to ache. And then she stood there before him, blinding perfection in her corporate office wear, wishing she was wearing one of her blinking gold shimmer mini-dress, so it would beautify her dance. Femi got lost as he sipped and watched her with a serious, yet seductive stare. It was a perfect blend of desire and ecstasy. When she danced closer to him, he could perceive her skin. He smelt her flesh, he felt her. She was beautiful, striking, and so damn good at what she did.

He held her tightly to himself and stood to his feet. Above her was her tall, fine boss, holding her hands firmly. She immediately turned and twerked bit by bit, arousing him. He was almost going nuts. No one had ever made clubbing so fun for Femi.

When she turned to roll her waist again, she whispered to him; “I didn’t know you could dance, Mr. Femi.”

Femi smiled. “I do dance sometimes, when I’m in the mood to party like this,” he said, his eyes pinned on hers.

“Okay,” she said.

The men who sat at the other side had wished they could have a dance with Idara. Femi saw the way they stared at them, and he knew that they hungered for his assistant.

She gulped down another glass of the whiskey and breathed out loudly.

“I am having fun!” she screamed, and Femi knew that she was getting high. She had a bold, but feminine voice. Her hair shimmered like a golden sunset, her dark eyes like black pearls in an ivory face.

But it wasn’t all about her features, or the way she danced so beautifully well, or the texture of her skin, or her soft rounded hips and breasts. It was the brilliance that exploded from her eyes, her personality that enthralled his world. She was the stuff of which dream Princesses were made. She was as tall as he was, but not really up to his height.

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From a small town In Akwa Ibom, she had made her way to Lagos, and is now working for him. And Femi wished he’d met her somewhere else. He’d wished she would be more than his assistant.

The way she looked into his eyes when she talked to him. He has been crazy about her for a while, but tonight, it was beyond his control. There was something magical about her. From thinking she was his assistant in a minute and now drawing on the full range of human emotions, sometimes using his facial expressions and his incredible eyes.

She was the infinite, the ultimate, and tonight, every man on the VIP lounge who watched her longed to touch her just for a moment.

Femi wanted to feel her breath on his shoulders, hear her moan softly. There was a sudden groan from the men who watched them dance. They clapped their hands in unison and hailed aloud. Drinks from unknown people were sent to their table, but Femi didn’t open any one. He finally settled on the couch and kept watching her as she danced right before him.