JAGUNLABI✔

CHAPTER THREE

He looked into my eyes and smirked. With a smile that was both charming and sinister he said,"I will pay you one million dollars to destroy the Orisajana's."

In an additional show of superiority, he took a silky white handkerchief out of his crisp, burgundy, Italian suit pocket and wiped his brow. Internally I bristled. My air conditioner needed to be repaired, but it certainly was not hot in my office. I was on the third floor in a large personal space, and had a huge window overlooking the ancient city of Ibadan.

I leaned back in my chair and shifted slightly, partially because I was nervous, predominantly because I was mortified. It was just a fortnight after Maxine and I had that misunderstanding. My moral crossroad came so soon afterwards.

It started as a normal day at the office. The sun shone brightly, and streamed into my office through the window blinds. I was arranging some files and had already completed the first draft of my editorial. An office assistant popped into my office to deliver my lunch, and I got an e-mail from my boss shortly afterwards. The editor-in-chief, Joshua Anthony, informed me that a very important visitor would come to see me at two o'clock sharp in the afternoon.

I was flabbergasted when the national, ruling party chairman, Kennedy Olajide, knocked on my door. At two, on the dot. Despite the fact that I was usually calm and collected around the rich and famous, I could not hide my shock when I opened the door. We exchanged pleasantries, and he had a seat at my table.

In the time I had been working at the Continental Herald, I had met many actors, singers and socialites. We usually had a short chat and parted ways at weddings, luncheons and other social gatherings. Every now and then, I would get a 'ping' from one of them, Teniola, kilo n sele? Teniola, what's happening? From my Yoruba friends or Teniola, kedu? Teniola, how are you? From my Igbo friends.

I even got the occasional call from an influential Hausa businessman, whose name I did not reveal to my colleagues in order to preserve his conservative image. After all, when he propositioned me, he was very polite. "Darling, ina son ki. Darling, I love you," he would say in his even-toned Hausa voice. I would chuckle and respond, "Do you love me more than your wives? Go and face your home, sir."

Dictators, or rather, 'notable leaders' like Kennedy Olajide, usually went from one place to another surrounded by legions of security officers. You could see them waving from a distance in a passing motorcade. Sometimes you would be 'lucky' to see them in a rural community, when they were campaigning.

Kennedy Olajide was a sight to behold. He was in his mid forties, but clearly deserved the Mr Nigeria title he won twenty years ago. Not the most handsome man, but a tall, muscular, billionaire and insanely confident Rhodes scholar. His light skin and fiery, pale brown eyes were hypnotic, and could be described as frightening by some. He spoke in a very authoritative, flawless West Midlands accent. A black, British, bad boy in beast mode.

He arched an eyebrow and rested one elbow on his arm rest, stroking his chin as he studied my face. "Miss Oyeyinka, is one million dollars too small for you?"

"I don't want your bri- money sir," I replied calmly. I crossed my legs and sustained eye contact with him. Secretly pleased that I was wearing a brand new, navy blue skirt suit.

He raised his eyebrows and chuckled. "Think of it as a charitable gift."

"With all due respect sir, there are Irede citizens whose health care centres and primary schools need money more than I do."

His lips curled into an unfriendly snarl, but his calm demeanor remained intact. His voice was low, but cold as ice. "Who on Earth do you think you are? Why won't you-"

"Why me, sir?"

"Why not you, Teniola Kristina Oyeyinka?" he retorted arrogantly.

My full name? He had definitely done thorough background checks on me.

"You are a young, upcoming political analyst," he stated as if he were giving me a lecture. "The youths are more likely to care about what you have to say than the monotonous commentary of the regular ones. This is all very simple. You are the one who is making this more difficult than it is. This is politics," he concluded.

"Sir, the Orisajana's are very popular philanthropists. The husband and wife duo are the people's choice to be the pioneer Governor and first lady of Irede state."

His eyes flashed with annoyance, "Well, that is disputable," he huffed.

"Sir, are you not all members of Modern National Movement? The same political party?" I asked.

He scoffed, "So? He is an obstacle and therefore needs to be eliminated."

I stifled a gasp. Irede state had recently been created after a peaceful separation from Oyo state. There was a lot of fanfare surrounding the development, and I had seen the Orisajana's and Kennedy Olajide presenting a united front. So that is what it truly was, 'a front'. Kennedy Olajide secretly wanted to be governor.

In the national dailies, and on the evening news, they were hot topics. Waving to adoring fans at political rallies and inaugurating various projects. Rotimi Orisajana's had recently completed two terms as an Oyo state senator, and he was a man of the people who set the bar high in terms of good governance. Hence, the most popular candidate for Governor of Irede, when he officially declared his interest in the position.

"Teniola, Orisajana is my boy, but our elders say, Erin o kin fon, ki omo re fon. A baby elephant does not blow its trumpet at the same time as its parent."

He got up calmly and looked around my office. "You deserve better than this. You work so hard and do not have parents or a husband to assist you," he said as he swept his hands in the air around him. "A beautiful, single lady like you should be pampered and cherished."

"This plain, black table, grey window blinds...the dull, white walls and the antique, cream sofa," he shook his head. "Pretty below standard for a Columbia University graduate."

I was furious. The office was freshly painted and all the furnishings were new, damn that blasted air conditioner that had a minor fault at the time. The Continental Herald was the most notable print media house in the country. I was doing just fine. I got up ready to give him a piece of my mind, but he raised both hands in mock surrender.

"I will speak to the editor-in-chief, it would be so unfortunate for you to lose your job. Think of something to obliterate their reputations, and put it in your page ten article."

"I can not-"

"If not," he said as he dusted his blazer and flashed me with another evil grin, "You might end up selling your ass- ahem ets for money, because you will not work in this nation again."

I raised my chin in defiance, "You would not—"

"Have a nice day, Teniola," he said while dropping a business card on my table. "I am sure you will make a wise decision. A woman with such a bright future and a blossoming romance with a promising lawyer, would think carefully."

What? Niyi and I kept our relationship private. We did not inform anyone at work about us. Neither of us wanted the scrutiny from human resources, as relationships between staff were discouraged. Kennedy Olajide's words were a thinly veiled threat.

He walked out slowly, with the infuriating, self assurance of a man who always got his way. He shut the door without looking back.