Christmas In Atlanta [Chapter 8]


Each time Idara went to the restroom, Femi ordered the club bouncers to accompany her to the door. He would whisper into their ears, “Make sure no man talks to her please.”

Idara didn’t get it. Why was he protecting her?

When she returned from the restroom this time, she found herself in his arms.

He smelt like summer rain; warm and free. The scent rolled over Idara’s senses in a breathtaking rush. There were other scents too. Different ones. The tang of clean cotton that rose from his shirt and the hint of sandalwood from his cologne. Yet, beneath these was the familiar essence of her boss – the scent of wealth, and all the nice things of this world.

Idara allowed her light-headedness to take control. She was high on whiskey after taking almost 11 shots. She pressed her face to his neck; rubbing her forehead along the side of his jaw. Femi’s heart was racing like hers.

It wasn’t love. She still wondered what she was doing in the arms of this man. It was time to leave. Femi quickly picked the car keys from the table and his cards while holding her hands firmly. They walked out of Quilox like lovers. When they got to where the car was, he pinned her body to the car and began to kiss her passionately. She hooked her arms around his neck and leaned back to look at his face. He was smiling as he paused and said to her, “You smell so good, I feel like eating your entire body.” He kissed her again. He felt like he had just won a trophy. 

“Why are you my assistant, Idara?” he asked. Idara continued to stare silently at his cute face.

When the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled and his mouth took the shape of a sensual curve, she knew that this was deeper than she thought. Deep, masculine dimples framed his lips, folding a crooked line of softness into his cheek. He wanted to kiss her deeply until her lips swelled. Idara struggled to remind herself that this wasn’t real.

The memory of the word she had overheard Femi says the last time overwhelmed her.

“I am sorry, Idara. I couldn’t help myself,” he said. He thought he could control his feelings but they were overwhelming. 

“My friends are waiting for me. They have been calling,” Femi said.

“Let’s go,” she said as she headed to the car. He held her hands.

“I will drive. Don’t worry,” he said.

“Are you serious? This is the first time I will see you drive,” she said with a grin and jumped into the car. He drove speedily to The George’s at Ikoyi. They arrived at about 11 pm.

There were about 10 of his friends, and they were accompanied by different girls – Caucasians, Black and mixed. Femi’s friends were obviously millionaires. They were dressed in simple but expensive casual wears. The room was covered by the scents of expensive colognes.

“Happy birthday to you, Femi”, they all sang and clapped in unison.

“First, I am sorry I am late. Thank you so much,” he said as he hugged and shook hands with every one of them. The girls took selfies with him. As Idara watched him, her arms suddenly trembled in his grasp. She couldn’t meet his gaze. She was afraid to let him into her soul. She knew everything was temporary and it would be hard to let go of a man like Femi Omari when it was time.

He ducked down so that he could see into her eyes.

“Hey,” he said. She smiled, not looking at his face. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I am fine.“

“You know all these men? Let me make an introduction,” he said and took her around the large luxury suite while introducing her to everyone as his assistant. Soft classical music played as they walked around.

“This is my friend Governor Asher, we studied together at Harvard Business School in 2006,” he said. She smiled as she shook the hands of the man he called a governor. She remembered his face. She had seen his billboards in Lagos, and then she realized he was the Governor of Lagos.

“This is Senator Oluwadele Bode… Captain Ayintete, Governor Dada…” he went on. The men couldn’t take their eyes off Idara. She seemed like the only girl in the house who was unique in all ramifications.

“Femi?” One of his friends called out to him. He was Caucasian – American to be precise. Femi had earlier introduced him as Captain Brown. He pronounced his name like a typical Yoruba man.

“Yes man, what’s up?” Femi asked.

“One of my pilots just brought in some girls from Kenya. Beautiful girls, your spec,” he said in Nigerian English.

“I have someone,” Femi retorted calmly.

“That’s your assistant,” Captain Brown said.

“And so?”

“You don’t need to fumble at this party because of that babe. You and I know you don’t date your staff. The girls are downstairs.”

“I didn’t even plan on having girls with me.”

“They are strippers from Nairobi. What exactly am I going to tell them now?”

“Lodge them. Feed them. They can still strip for everyone here, not just me.”

“Are you sure you and your assistant aren’t fucking yourselves? This isn’t you, man.”

“This is me. Get the girls lodged downstairs and let me handle their bills,” Femi said boldly and walked away to where Idara was sitting.

“You’re a desirable woman,” he whispered into her ears.

She smiled while taking in the entire happenings in her environment. Idara was trying so hard to be insensitive but Femi’s frequent stares took away all her senses and lured her to him unconsciously. He moved behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Would you want to have more drinks?” he asked.

“Just a little,” she replied.

“I am famished,” she said to him. He held her hands and walked to the luxury buffet stand that was displayed by the corner of the sitting room. Varieties of native delicacies and intercontinental dishes were displayed and colorfully garnished.

“Make your choice”, Femi said.