Chapter Six
****
Tonia sat on the plush leather chair in her father's study, the soft hum of the air conditioner filling the space. The room was dimly lit, the walls lined with expensive bookshelves and framed awards. Her father sat across from her, looking over some paperwork, his stern expression never wavering.
"Dad," she started, twirling a strand of her long hair between her fingers, "I've been thinking about something for a while now."
Her father looked up from the papers, his eyebrow raised in mild interest. "What is it now, Tonia?"
"I want to join the entertainment hub," she said, leaning back in her chair with a look of feigned casualness, though inside, she was burning with excitement. She had her eyes set on the place for a while now, knowing it was the launch pad for celebrities and the perfect spot to meet people like Jimi and Darey.
Her father exhaled sharply, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I've told you before, that place isn't suitable for you. You have everything you need right here. You don't need to go mixing with—" He was cut off by Tonia, who flashed him a playful yet commanding smile.
"Dad, I'm not a little girl anymore," she pouted. "I can handle myself. And besides, it's not like I'm doing anything bad. I'll make connections, learn from the best, and who knows? I might even be able to bring some good business back here. You've always taught me to be resourceful, haven't you?"
He stared at her for a moment, as if weighing his words. Tonia knew this was her chance—her father was soft when it came to letting her get what she wanted, even if he was reluctant to admit it. She had been spoiled her whole life, and this was no different. She had always gotten everything she wanted.
"I'll make sure I stay safe, I promise." She added, playing her trump card.
Her father sighed. "Fine. But you'll need to make sure you're serious about it. And don't go getting yourself caught up in all that celebrity nonsense."
Tonia's smile widened as she stood up. "Don't worry, Dad. I know exactly what I want." As she walked out of the study, her mind was already racing, picturing herself mingling, and even getting close to Jimi. She knew exactly how to get what she wanted—and the hub was just the perfect place to make that happen.
****
"WHAT THE FREAKING HELL?" Jimi suddenly exclaimed in shock as his eyes locked with Nike's, who stood there staring at him with her mouth slightly open, as if she'd just seen a goat in a tuxedo.
Their gazes were fixed in a tense, almost absurd staring contest.
"Jesus…" he muttered under his breath, trying to snap out of the shock. Was he dreaming? Was this real? Nike—of all people—was standing in his house. And, for some reason, holding a mop like a weapon aimed directly at him.
A flood of thoughts crashed into his mind like a crowded highway. What should he do? Wait, why was he even questioning it? It was just Nike, right? She had just seen him shirtless… no big deal.
Trying to regain his composure, he stood up straight, cleared his throat, and stiffened. "Look, I…"
"I didn't see anything." Nike cut him off sharply, her tone low as she quickly looked away.
Jimi thought for a moment, and then a mischievous smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Sure?" His voice took on a flirtatious edge. "You were staring for a while there…" He paused, watching her poker face turn into one of barely contained laughter.
She took a moment, scanning his body from head to toe with a look that definitely wasn't admiration. No, it was the kind of stare that could only be described as mockery. It was almost like she was silently body-shaming him.
Nike held her laugh in for a beat before she finally let out a short, snorting laugh.
"Ha!" she laughed and paused to meet his gaze. "We listen; we don't judge… Oh wait! I mean, we look, we don't judge," she grinned, still laughing as she turned to continue with her work.
"Guy feeling like he has a body structure," she muttered under her breath, unable to hold in her amusement.
It took a while for Jimi to regain his bearings. "Uh," he mumbled, still processing the interaction. "I'll just… go upstairs and turn off the lights…" He looked at the ceiling, then back at her who was already out of sight. "So the TV will work?" He realized how ridiculous it sounded as soon as it left his mouth. "Oh God!" He heaved a heavy sigh before hastily retreating upstairs, mentally cursing himself.
****
As soon as Nike made sure Jimi was out of sight, she heaved a very heavy of relief and melted down.
"Omo, omo, omo, omo," she kept repeating as she looked around as though she was hiding from someone chasing her. She felt the hotness on her face as she remembered those hot abs. she would be a freaking liar to say that he wasn't looking like some hot Greek god with such striking masculine features and cuter morning rise face.
But then she just smiled when she remembered how well she had handled the situation as soon as it came up. She could remember his shocked and ridiculed face when she had acted like he wasn't all good looking.
"My stay here… might just be so interesting," she muttered to herself, taking her phone to play some upbeats and to get working right away.
****
Jimi sat on his bed with wide eyes, staring blankly into space. Nike, Nike, Nike... Her name echoed in his mind like a broken record. He was trying to piece together why she was at his house, holding a mop and dressed like a janitor. If he remembered correctly, those kinds of clothes were for cleaners. Or... had she actually come over to clean up the house that had been attacked by the monstrous flood two days ago?
He didn't have a problem with her being at his house, but then… he just remembered her expression. She had stared at him blankly—not in awe, not with admiration, but with something else entirely. And then… she had laughed.
Laughed!
She even dared to mock him with that ridiculous line: "We look, we don't judge." He thought about how she had scanned his body from head to toe, her gaze dripping with a kind of playful mockery. She wasn't shy. She didn't blush, squeal, or look away awkwardly. No, she had audacity.
He thought back to his high school days when girls would swoon just because he lifted his shirt to wipe his sweat after a game. Those were the reactions he was used to. Expected, even. But Nike? She had seen the entire bare upper part of him and reacted as if she'd just spotted a goat wearing a tuxedo.
Jimi groaned, flopping backward onto his bed. "Why do I even care?" he muttered to himself. "It's not like I wanted her to drool over me…"
But deep down, he couldn't shake the irritation gnawing at him. Why was her indifference getting under his skin? Her expression, her words, her laugh… it all felt different. She felt different. And that's what bothered him the most.
He sat up again, running a hand through his hair. "She's trying to act cool," he muttered, a smirk slowly forming on his lips. "Interesting." He nodded to himself as though accepting an unspoken challenge. "Very interesting."
Just then, a voice called out from downstairs, interrupting his little drama. "Jimi, breakfast is ready!"
"I'm coming," he called back, regaining his composure. He walked over to his closet and pulled out a red robe, draping it over his shoulders but leaving just enough of his chest exposed. The corner of his mouth twitched upward into a sly grin.
He did that on purpose.
____
Jimi and his father sat across from each other at the dining table, their breakfast laid out before them. The room was eerily silent except for the occasional clink of cutlery against plates. The breakfast, delivered from a nearby café, lay untouched on his father's plate, while Jimi methodically sliced through his meal with a cold, detached expression.
The older man cleared his throat, his voice breaking the awkward stillness. "Son, don't you like the food?"
Jimi didn't look up. "It's fine, sir," he said flatly, then added, "And please, call me Jimi."
The formality hit like a slap. His father shifted uncomfortably in his chair, forcing a strained smile. "Of course, Jimi." he said, the name rolling off his tongue awkwardly. "I… I just thought we could talk."
Jimi's hand paused mid-cut. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, prompting his father to continue nervously.
"I was thinking," the older man began, his tone laced with hesitant enthusiasm, "maybe we could take a trip to France soon. You know, visit the Eiffel Tower, watch the Olympics live, explore a bit…" His enthusiasm sounded almost forced, like a man grasping at straws to rebuild a bond long fractured.
For a moment, Jimi looked like he was about to explode—maybe shove the table aside, storm out, and slam the door so hard the neighbors would hear.
But instead, he took a deep breath, his gaze drifting. The thought of Nike—of her sharp tongue and how she'd probably roll her eyes at such behavior—flashed in his mind. He frowned slightly. Why was she even in his head right now?
"I'm fine right here in Nigeria," Jimi finally said simply, his tone cutting off any further argument.
His father sighed, the sound laden with defeat. He chuckled softly, though the sadness in his eyes was unmistakable. "You've always been like this," he murmured, almost to himself. "After the accident, you just…"
Jimi tensed, his grip tightening on the edge of the table. The word "accident" was like a landmine, and his father had just stepped right on it. His mind began to haze. Explosion sound swiftly slid through his mind. Fire! Cries! Ambulance sound…. The accident…
"Stop." Jimi said in a very low tone almost like a whisper to himself. He was trying to maintain his cool, but it was almost not working.
He trailed off, shaking his head but determined to continue. "Jimi, are you going to keep being like this? When will you stand up and face it?"
"Stop…" he said again with the low tone but a bit higher now. His grip tightening more on the table edge as he tried as much to push back those ugly memories.
However, the man continued, his voice rising and his tone getting as sad as same "Won't you—"
"I said hold it!" Jimi interrupted finally, his voice cool, but the weight in his tone carried enough authority to silence the older man. His eyes met his father's in a hard, unyielding stare. "You don't get to question me. Not about this. Not about anything."
The silence that followed was suffocating. His father exhaled deeply, leaning back in his chair as if trying to physically distance himself from the tension. His shoulders slumping as he rubbed his temples. He glanced at Jimi, then said, almost in passing, "Maybe we should invite Nike to join us for breakfast?"
Jimi's fork hovered mid-air. He blinked, caught off guard, before resuming his meal with forced nonchalance. And for the first time on the dinning that morning, Jimi's rigid expression softened.
"Fine," he muttered, trying to act not all excited but his left dimple gave him away and his dad quickly noticed it.
Nike didn't even hesitate when Jimi's father invited her to join them for breakfast. The hunger in her belly didn't leave room for shame or composure. Why bother pretending? She hadn't eaten before coming here—probably too distracted by her excitement. Saying no to food would be criminal.
The three of them ate mostly in silence, though the tension in the air had subsided into something lighter. Occasionally, the soft clink of cutlery broke through the quiet. After a few minutes, Jimi's father got a call. He frowned slightly as he glanced at the screen.
"Duty calls," he said with a sigh, rising from his chair. "I have to head to the port."
Jimi nodded, but his expression was unreadable. It was the kind of sigh that could mean "Don't go," or "Finally."
Once his father left, the silence stretched again. Jimi picked at the food on his plate absentmindedly, his thoughts wandering. Nike reached for the blue marble jug on the table and poured herself some water, her movements breaking his daze. His eyes flicked toward the jug, but his mind seemed somewhere else entirely.
"Abeg, why is this one smiling?" Nike asked, her voice cutting through his daze.
Jimi blinked and looked up at her, startled. His eyes, wide and slightly dazed, locked with hers. For a second, she faltered but quickly recovered.
"Oh, nothing," he said casually, brushing off her question as he leaned back slightly.
Nike folded her arms, narrowing her eyes. "So…" she began, but then her gaze shifted downward, and she froze.
Jimi followed her eyes and smirked knowingly. His red robe was revealing his bare chest, and he knew exactly where her attention had wandered.
"No shirt?" Nike asked finally, her tone caught between irritation and… something else she refused to name. She scratched the back of her neck, then grabbed her glass of water.
"You sound disappointed," Jimi teased, his voice dropping just slightly, enough to make her stomach twist in a way she didn't like to admit.
"Disappointed as in how? Eww, no!" she shot back quickly, but her face betrayed her—a faint blush crept up her cheeks. She wasn't blushing because of him, she told herself. It was just the heat. Definitely the heat.
"Then why are you staring?" Jimi pressed, leaning further back in his chair, his smirk deepening as he reveled in her flustered state.
"I'm not staring!" Nike snapped, her voice rising defensively. "You're just… ugh! You're so annoying!" She focused her attention on her plate, picking at her food like it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.
"Good girl," Jimi said, his tone smooth, and he had the audacity to wink as he popped a piece of bread into his mouth.
Nike clenched her jaw and muttered under her breath, "I wonder how I even met you online."
"What did you say?" Jimi asked, his brows furrowing slightly.
"Abeg, abeg," she waved him off, her mood visibly swinging toward irritation.
Jimi gave her a long, curious look but decided to let it go. He stood and started toward the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, "Make sure you clear the table and sweep the crumbs." his tone casual, almost bossy.
Nike hissed, muttering something incoherent under her breath. "I think…."
Before she could finish her thought, a loud crash echoed from the kitchen.
"Oh my God!" Jimi's panicked voice rang out, stumbling backward and hitting the floor hard. His body convulsed like he had just seen something terrifying, his face pale and drenched in sweat.
Nike shot up from her seat, her heart pounding. She rushed into the kitchen to find Jimi sprawled on the floor, his face alarmingly pale and his body trembling.
"Jimi!" Nike screamed, her irritation forgotten as panic gripped her. She rushed to him, dropping to her knees and cradling his head.
"Jimi, talk to me! What's happening?" she asked, her voice trembling as she pressed his head close to her chest, her arms wrapping around him protectively. His head rested against her, and she could feel his uneven breaths warming her skin.
"Are you okay?" she asked again, her voice breaking as her fingers lightly grazed his face, brushing away a bead of sweat.
For a moment, he didn't respond, his chest heaving dramatically. But then, his lips twitched.
"Nike…" he rasped, his voice weak but laced with mischief.
"What is it? Tell me!" she urged, her face inches from his, her eyes glossy with worry.
Jimi slowly opened his eyes, locking onto hers, and his lips curved into the faintest smirk. "Your heart's racing," he whispered.
Still unsure of what exactly was happening, she stared at him with an insane look of concern and panic but then…
Nike froze, realization dawning like a slap to the face. She pushed him back with all her strength, her cheeks blazing as she scrambled to her feet.
"Ozuor!" she shouted, flustered and furious.
Jimi laughed, a deep, throaty laugh that made her want to scream even more. "Relax, I'm fine. Just wanted to see if you cared."
"Eww!" Nike yelled, storming off toward kitchen where she was working and made to pack up her things, her heart still pounding for reasons she refused to dwell on.
Behind her, Jimi chuckled again, muttering under his breath, "Totally worth it."
But Nike could sense something, what happened back then wasn't totally a prank… there was more to it. But then again. "Care? Why?"
****
The hub was alive with its usual buzz—musicians fine-tuning their instruments, dancers rehearsing their routines, and vendors chatting up customers. But amidst the organized chaos, Darey stood near the sound console, a frown etched on his face as he repeatedly tapped buttons that didn't seem to work.
Adesua approached, balancing a bag of cupcakes she had promised to bring for Nike. "What's up, boss man? You look like you're about to fire someone," she teased with a smirk.
Darey ran a hand through his dreaded hair, clearly agitated. "The speakers are acting up again. The sound is cutting off randomly, and no one knows why. I called the technician, but he's saying he can't come till tomorrow! The cameramen are still on hold! Like what's wrong with everybody?" he frowned.
Adesua tilted her head sympathetically. "That's rough. But, uh… do you even know what you're doing there?" she asked, nodding toward the console.
Darey sighed dramatically. "Do I look like I do? I'm just here pressing buttons and hoping for divine intervention."
Adesua laughed, shaking her head. "Wow, Mr. Inspiration. And what's the backup plan?"
"No backup plan," he muttered, leaning against the table. "Honestly, I don't even know why I thought a talent showcase was a good idea. I've barely done the auditions, let alone sorted out the performances."
Before Adesua could respond, a commotion broke out near the stage. Tonia's voice rang loud and sharp, cutting through the noise.
"Are you stupid or what? How many times do I have to tell you? Stay on key!" she snapped at a young guitarist, who shrank under her glare.
"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—"
"Sorry? Sorry for what? For wasting my time? You should be sorry for existing, that's what!"
Adesua's jaw dropped as she turned to Darey. "Is she for real?"
Darey sighed and made his way to the scene, his authoritative presence enough to quiet the crowd. "What's going on here?" he asked calmly, though his tone carried a warning.
Tonia spun around, her fury melting into wide-eyed admiration when she saw him. "Oh my God. Darey? Is that you?"
Adesua was just looking scared and confused same as everyone at the scene. Evil spirit??
Darey blinked, caught off guard. "Uh, yeah. And you are?"
"Tonia! We met during my music registration last year. Oh my gosh, I can't believe this is happening!" she gushed, suddenly all smiles. He was her celebrity crush she was once obsessed with.
Adesua folded her arms, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "Uh, weren't you just screaming at someone?"
Tonia dismissed the question with a wave of her hand. "That's in the past. Darey, you're even more handsome in person!"
Darey chuckled politely. "Thanks, I guess. But let's keep things professional, alright?" he smiled such a charming smile and Adesua just wanted to boil. 'He's smiling for her? How crazy'
Tonia nodded enthusiastically, her earlier rage forgotten. "Of course! Anything for you, Darey."
Adesua rolled her eyes as Tonia sauntered off, still giggling to herself. "So that's Tonia, huh? A real charmer," she said dryly.
Darey shrugged. "She's... passionate. But yeah, she needs to tone it down."
"Tone it down? She practically disoriented that poor kid!" Adesua protested.
Before Darey could respond, the guitarist approached, still looking shaken. "Uh, Darey? Can we maybe... get another guitarist to join? It's hard keeping up with her."
Darey nodded thoughtfully. "I'll see what I can do. For now, just hang in there, okay?"
The boy smiled weakly and left, leaving Darey and Adesua alone again.
"So... ghost-singing?" Adesua asked, raising an eyebrow.
"What?"
"You were mumbling about making Nike sing in the background while Tonia mimes and dances. You do realize that's a recipe for drama, right?" she said lightly.
Darey groaned tiredly. "It's just an idea. Nike's the one who said she doesn't want to perform in front of people, and Tonia... well, she has stage presence."
Adesua snorted. "Stage presence? Abeg oo! And wait! Nike said that? That's crazy,"
Darey chuckled pinching her cheek playfully despite himself. "Alright, Miss Critic. What's your genius idea?"
Adesua grinned. "Let's start by getting the speakers fixed. Then maybe, just maybe, we'll figure the rest out."
"Fair enough," Darey said, his lips curving into a smile.
Adesua watched him for a moment, feeling a twinge of something she couldn't quite name. Whatever it was, she decided to ignore it—for now.
****
The sun was dipping low, casting a golden hue across the hub as its usual crowd began to trickle in. Darey and Adesua sat in the shaded corner of the lounge area, a playlist of afrobeats setting the mood. Darey leaned back in his chair, his shades pushed up, exuding an air of effortless coolness. Adesua chuckled at something he said, her playful energy bringing a lightness to the moment.
Then Nike walked in.
She didn't just enter—she owned the space. Her curls bounced with each step, her denim jacket slung casually over one shoulder. She spotted her friends and made a beeline for them, a mischievous smile already on her face.
"People of the most high!" she announced dramatically, drawing amused looks from nearby tables. "Omo, like I'm seeing cute boys everywhere. Lagos no dey disappoint o."
"Nike, you've started again!" Adesua groaned, shaking her head but unable to hide her grin. She knew exactly what was coming.
Nike shrugged innocently, plopping down beside her. "Abeg, fine boys make me happy. Don't you get joy seeing a handsome face on somebody's son?" she said, snatching a cupcake from the table and taking a bold bite.
Adesua rolled her eyes. "You're lucky I know you. Otherwise, people would think you're unserious."
"I am very serious," Nike replied with a mock pout. "See, boys are my stress relief. They just don't know it yet."
Darey chuckled, shaking his head. "Nike, leave those poor guys alone. You'll have the whole hub in chaos."
"Chaos is my middle name," Nike quipped, narrowing her eyes playfully. "Speaking of chaos, what's going on here, hmm? Darey and Adesua, sitting cozy—when's the wedding?"
Adesua almost choked on her drink. "Nike!" she hissed, smacking her arm.
"What? I'm just saying—"
"You're saying nonsense!" Adesua cut her off, glaring daggers at her while Darey laughed openly at the exchange.
Before Nike could continue her teasing, a figure appeared in the doorway.
Jimi.
He scanned the room briefly, his sharp gaze pausing on Nike before moving casually to Darey. His signature nonchalance was intact, but there was something different—something heavier in his steps as he approached.
"Senior man!" Jimi greeted Darey, exchanging a quick, cool handshake.
"Guy, how far?" Darey replied, his tone lighter than his expression.
"Everywhere chill," Jimi said with a small smile. He nodded at Adesua, then shot Nike a sly look. "What's up, troublemaker?"
Nike rolled her eyes. "Please, don't start. You're not ready for me."
"Sure," Jimi smirked, taking a seat beside Darey. "Anyway, back to business. Darey, how's that talent showcase coming together?"
"It's moving," Darey said, leaning back. "I've got Nike and Tonia on board, just waiting for rehearsals to start. The song's popular enough—should be smooth."
"Smart move," Jimi said, nodding thoughtfully. Then his gaze shifted slightly, watching Darey's face. "But you're not fully here, are you?"
Darey stiffened. His eyes darted to the far side of the hub, where a small group lingered near the bar. His usual calm cracked ever so slightly
.
"Someone is monitoring me…" Darey said with a deep frown, his voice lowering as if he didn't want to be overheard.
Adesua leaned in, her playful demeanor quickly replaced with concern. "What do you mean? Monitoring you how?"
Nike raised an eyebrow, her hand paused mid-air with the cupcake. "Darey, abeg don't start one of those your dramatic stories. I thought nobody gets monitored in this Lagos hub except celebrities, and last I checked, you're only famous on Instagram…. And tiktok and whatever," she said knowing he was actually like a mini celebrity.
But Darey didn't laugh. His gaze darted again to the far corner of the hub, where a group of people lingered. His jaw tightened. "I'm serious, Nike. Someone's been hanging around here lately, watching my every move."
Jimi, who had been silently observing, spoke up. "You've noticed them too?" His tone was calm but carried weight. "I thought it was just paranoia, but if you're seeing it..."
Nike shot him a look. "You too? Abeg, what's this? Some spy movie?" she arched a brow.
Darey ignored her sarcasm and gestured subtly toward the corner of the room. "Look over there. See that guy in the blue cap? He's been here every single day this week. He doesn't order much, just sits there with his phone, pretending to type."
Nike glanced discreetly, narrowing her eyes. "Hmm… He does look kind of sketchy. But what's his problem? Is he just here to catch cruise or what?"
Jimi leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. "Nah. Darey's right to be suspicious. That guy's been showing up during all the major events, hanging around but never participating. Something's off."
Nike smirked sharply, like a mischievous spy ready for action, leaning toward Darey with a glint of excitement in her eyes. "So what now, 007? Are we supposed to go interrogate him or something?"
"Relax," Jimi said, his voice cutting through her rising energy like a blade. "We don't confront anyone without knowing more. Darey, do you have any idea why someone would be monitoring you? Business rivals? Family drama?"
Darey leaned back, rubbing his temples thoughtfully. "Maybe family drama…" he said, his voice trailing off. Then, as if a light bulb went off in his mind, his expression shifted. He sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing. "Wait. Family drama?"
Nike raised a brow. "Why do I feel like you just unlocked a new level of wahala?"
****
Author's Note
Hey, you amazing readers! Thank you for sticking with me down to this chapter. Your engagement is literally magic—it keeps me motivated to keep posting, even when things get hectic. So, let's keep the vibes alive! Like, vote, comment, and let me know your favorite character—I really, really want to hear your thoughts.
Quick update: I won't be posting super frequently for now because of a tight schedule (life be life-ing, you know?), but I'll still be around to check on my lovely audience.
What's next?
Lagos love, Lagos boys, Lagos wahala. Stay tuned! 😉