by Nana Prah
“You don’t have the answers?”
“She speaks eight languages. One of them is Hausa.”
His mother gasped. “Is she Hausa like us?”
“No, Mama. Her mother is Dagomba, she works for the Ministry of Agriculture, and her father is Ga. He owns his own business.”
He chuckled at her squeals and claps.
“She’s a Northerner and a Muslim. You have delighted my heart this day. I must meet her. Put her on the screen right now so we can talk. I’m hanging up.”
“Wait, Mama.” He caught her before she could disconnect the call.
“Yes.”
“She’s not here.”
“Well, go get her. Call me back when you have.”
Sometimes, there was nothing as frustrating as speaking to the queen aspect of his mother.
“I have a problem I need your help with.” The words would capture her.
“What is it, son?”
“Deola.”
Was that a growl on her end?
“I told you to stay away from her. She may be Muslim, but from her pictures, I could sense her evil heart.”
He would’ve doubted it before, but after what she did to Lamisi, he knew it to be a fact. He told the story of Deola’s treachery.
“I know why she doesn’t want to release you. You’re talented, rich, popular, and come from a royal and influential home. If that wasn’t enough, you are loyal, kind-hearted, and generous. More than you should be at times. No woman would ever want to let that go.”
Except Lamisi. Extenuating circumstances in a new relationship didn’t count.
“What do I do?”
“First of all, be patient with Lamisi. She has every right to protect herself. As for Deola, keep trying to get in contact with her and let her know where you stand.” His mother paused. “What makes you sure that she’ll stop disturbing Lamisi once you’ve spoken to her?”
His mother wouldn’t appreciate that he’d threaten her with information he knew she wouldn’t want to get out to the public.
“I’ll appeal to her better judgment,” he answered.
“She has none, but do what you feel is best. As for Lamisi, give her time. Maybe invite her to the music awards. We’re proud of you for all your nominations, especially Artiste of the Year.”
His bowed his head even though she couldn’t see. He always wanted to bring honour to the family. “Thank you, Mama. It’s been a long, challenging journey. Lamisi is a private woman. This wouldn’t be the best time to introduce her to the world. And until I clear things up with Deola, I feel as if Lamisi will stay away from me.”
“It’s what I would do,” she said. “In the meantime, stay in contact with her. And if you can, keep her safe.”
“Thank you for the advice.”
“I hope you take it this time. Now tell me more about Lamisi.”
He spent the rest of the conversation talking about his new favourite topic. By the end of the conversation, he felt like he knew more about Lamisi than he’d initially thought. He’d pulled out facts he hadn’t realized he’d known. Perhaps he shouldn’t have shared it all with his mother, but his tongue had been too loose to rein in.
He grinned at the fact that he was hung up enough over a woman to share the news with his mother. Now if he could get Lamisi to feel the same about him.
***
Lamisi had spent the past week and a half in a pseudo-state of boredom while transcribing the musicians’ interview responses. Thoughts of Blaise creeping in led to the work being even more tedious, because she’d lose track of what the artists had said and would have to rewind the recording so she could type it in on her computer.
At least being in the house didn’t cause her to tremble like the few times she’d had to venture out. By the time she returned to the safety of her home, she’d collapse onto the couch. Her muscles had protested the tension she’d suffered while paying such close attention to her surroundings. Yet, she refused to let anything, even being terrified that Deola would stage another attack, limit her life.
Her family had wanted to call the police and find every way to contact Deola once she’d told them what had happened. She’d reasoned them out of it, but warned them to be careful. It didn’t feel like enough.
Lamisi sent up prayers that the heiress would understand that she no longer had any intention of seeing Blaise and back off.
The impulse to drive to his house because she missed him so fiercely was almost more than she could stand at times. She’d lunge onto the phone when the ringtone she’d assigned him pierced the air. Hearing his voice, even for the few moments she allowed so she could wean herself from him, gave her respite.
Her parents had taught her how to face her fears from a very young age, and here she was cowering in her own life. It wasn’t like her to hide from anything but a hospital.
Giving up what she desired most wasn’t like her, either, and it hurt to go against her natural instinct to cling to the man who’d filled her heart. Soon, she’d have to sever all ties with Blaise. Give it an official end so she could start to heal and move on.
As if that would ever happen.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Lamisi hadn’t warmed up to him after their return from Côte d’Ivoire. In fact, she was drawing farther away every day. Not even the offer of a drive on his motorcycle had gotten him closer to seeing her.
Along with their daily phone calls, he’d sent her several poetic text messages, hoping she’d read them. That his smooth words would melt the ice she’d built around her. So far, they hadn’t. At least, she hadn’t cut him off completely.
His phone rang as he paced the pathway in his garden.
“Hello, Bizzy.”
Deola’s face filled the screen, as beautiful as ever. Only now did he see the tinge of ugliness within her.
“Hello, Deola.” He kept his tone dull and looked her in the eyes. No further formalities needed, he dove right in. “I know you were the one who had Lamisi Imoro attacked in Abidjan and have been harassing her.”
Red, glossy lips rounded as her extended lashes fluttered with each blink. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve been on that oil rig, remember. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Aside from a lack of consistent network connection, it had all the comforts of home. The food—”
“Stop lying. We all know you’re responsible.”
Deola’s eyes narrowed. “According to whom? The woman who is after you for your money and fame? What do you even see in her, Bizzy? She’s a local lowlife who isn’t destined for any type of greatness. She can’t help you rise to the top or be the best in the business. Not like I can.”
And there it was. His fist flexed into a fist that needed to make contact with a solid surface. Other than a clenched jaw, he kept his expression neutral and his mouth shut so she could dig herself in deeper.
She raked multicolour-painted acrylic nails through the hair of her wig.
“I don’t ever want you to say that I didn’t warn you. She can’t do anything for you but put you into debt with her poverty-driven spending.” Her voice rose with her temper. “I realized it from the first time I saw footage of her at your house. Wearing cheap clothes and hugging you as if she were a whore.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She’s a gold digger. Before you know it, your money will be gone and your career destroyed,” she said with bared upper teeth in a vicious snarl.
She was delusional if she thought he’d let go of what she’d let slip. He squinted, staring into her the eyes. “What did you mean by footage, Deola?”
She flipped down a hand in dismissal.
“Nothing. Something I said in annoyance,” she said in a higher pitched voice with a smile meant to distract. “But can you please take my advice to heart? I care about you.”
He replayed the sentence and the words at your house hit him. Would she have had the gall to do it? After what Deola had put Lamisi through, noth
ing should surprise him about the lengths she was willing to go to get what she wanted.
He clicked off the phone and sprinted out of his backyard until he reached the front of his house.
Turning, he scanned his roof. Nothing.
The gate gave a slight creak as he opened it. He ignored his ringing phone while perusing the roofs of the homes across the street.
The camera on the house two plots down caught his eye. When had they put up a security camera? The couple who owned the place had travelled to the States a few months ago, informing him that they’d left their son alone while he attended university. They hadn’t mentioned anything about installing a security camera.
Jogging across the street, he assessed the home for more cameras. None.
Rather than bang his fist against the metal, he poked his finger into the doorbell. A young man opened the gate, wearing a wide smile.
“Yo, Bizzy. How’s it going, man?”
He held out a hand that Blaise grasped and slid his palm across his before they ended the connection with a snap.
“I’m great, Felix. How’re you doing?”
“Living the life. Catching up on sleep now that exams are done.”
“Abeg. Did your parents have a security system put in?”
Felix tapped his chest with his thumb and chuckled. “I’m their security. They like doing things the old-fashioned way. Why?”
Blaise pointed to the roof. “What’s that?”
Felix rotated, took a look, and then stepped closer to the camera. “What the hell is that?”
“You’ve never seen it before?”
“Nope. Never. Look how it’s tucked under the roof’s edge.”
Blaise nodded. “If you didn’t look up, you wouldn’t see it. Who looks up at the roof unless it’s leaking?”
“How did you find it?”
His nostrils flared as he glared at the offensive technology. He’d never experienced such a violation of his privacy. Not even the paparazzi had the tenacity to have him watched. She had no right. “I was looking.”
Felix pointed from the camera along its trajectory.
“Damn, Chale.” He used the local slang for friend. “It looks like someone’s been watching your house.”
Blaise tried to play it cool, even though his head was seconds away from exploding. “Yeah, seems that way.”
The young man grinned. “Too bad they don’t know how quiet you like to live for a hiplife artist. No off-the-chain parties for you.”
Blaise shrugged. “It’s not my scene, especially in my home.”
“I get it.”
He doubted it. People held a certain expectation of musicians. He didn’t fit it.
“Listen, Felix, I’ll make a couple of calls to get the camera taken down.”
“No wahala. I’m around for the afternoon.”
“Thanks, Chale.”
Blaise stormed back to his home and contacted the guys who’d installed his home security system. They’d be there within the hour to investigate.
Stripping down to his boxer briefs in his backyard, he dove into the pool. The cool water didn’t invigorate like it normally did. The laps he raced through did a better job of tamping down his rage.
Lifting himself out of the pool, he went to his clothes and dried his head, face, and hands on his shirt before slipping it on and picking up his phone.
“Hi, Blaise. What happened? I’ve been trying to call.”
The sweetness of her voice irritated him to the point of wanting to throw the cell against the side of his home.
“You set up a camera on the house across the street from me.”
Her eyes rounded. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play with me, Deola. I have my security team coming right now. They’ve assured me that they’ll be able to trace the signal to where it’s transmitting.” They’d said nothing of the sort, and he had no idea if it could be done, but he doubted she did, either. “You had it installed to spy on me.”
“Come on, Blaise. Spy is such a harsh word. I only wanted to ensure your security.”
He swiped a hand down his face and dragged in a breath through the palm he left over his mouth. “You’re incredible. Stay the hell away from me and Lamisi.”
“You don’t belong with anyone but me.” The venom returned. “That bitch can go to Hell.”
No wonder Lamisi had wanted to stay as far away from him as possible. Deola was demented. He wouldn’t put it past her to murder anyone who got in her way.
If only Lamisi knew how much of an upper hand he had, she would’ve had more faith in him.
Time to put an end to it.
“All I know is that you’d better leave her alone. If I find out that you’ve done anything to her, I’ll be the one you have to answer to. Do you understand?”
Her laughter came out high and piercing. “Your kindness and innocence are two of the things I’ve always adored about you. You think you’re going anywhere because you’ve found a side chick? Soon, you’ll be begging me to restore your fame when your stupid French album tanks. And it will. Nigerians won’t buy it, and they’re all that matter in West Africa. English is the way to go. We tolerate your Ghanaian local languages because your beats are so catchy.”
“Enough!” he barked out.
Her head snapped back. No one dared to speak to the heiress in such a manner.
“Do you remember the time you insisted that I spend the weekend in one of your guest rooms instead of a hotel?” Blaise asked.
“Yes. My dad was out of town. It was the night you kissed me.”
Funny how he remembered her throwing herself at him.
“I had difficulty sleeping on Saturday night and went exploring through your massive home in search of the kitchen.”
An ashiness replaced the make-up induced glow of her skin.
“I heard muffled screams and the sound of slaps coming from the room tucked around the corner of the first-floor hallway. Not knowing if you were in danger, I opened the door.” He shook his head. “I always wondered why you hadn’t locked it. Were you too excited about your activities, or did you want me to discover you?” He raised a brow. “Maybe join you? And your, um, friends.”
She wiggled in her seat. “I ... I … don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“S&M isn’t my thing.”
He ignored her gasp.
“When I saw that you were safe and rather happy wearing your leather while wielding a whip on your poor, um, friends, I closed the door and left. Scarred with the image of the supposed virgin heiress partaking in—”
“You’re lying. That never happened. I would never do such a thing.”
“No?”
Strands of hair flew into her face with her vehement head shake.
“You want to degrade my name. It won’t work, Blaise. Everyone knows I don’t involve myself in scandalous behaviour. Especially not what you described.” She let out a grunt of derision. “You’d better keep your fantasies to yourself. They don’t reflect well on your wholesome brand.”
He sat in the pool chair and anchored his free hand behind. “So the pictures I took won’t stand as proof of your sadistic activities? Huh. Let’s see what the public thinks about my evidence if you ever try to get in contact with or hurt Lamisi again. Don’t think I won’t bring you down in order to keep her safe.”
“You’re lying,” she squeaked out. “What you’re describing never happened.”
He held her gaze. “You’re known for your fashion sense, but bright pink leather doesn’t look as good on you as you think. I give you props for the matching whip. Along with the spiked dog collar and leash you had on your other, um, friend.”
The image on the screen flipped over and then went black as her phone landed face down. And then, the line went dead.
Blaise luxuriated in the knowledge that he’d won. Only a fool would challenge him. Several minutes ticked by as he lounged in the sun, waiting. When his phone ran
g, he turned on the recorder—he didn’t doubt she’d done the same—before answering.
Deola tossed her hair over her shoulder, looking more in control than when he’d delivered the news.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Blaise Zemar Ayoma.” Deola enunciated his full name. He half expected her to add son of, throwing in his parents’ names as proof to anyone who might listen to the recording in the future.
“About any of it,” she continued. “I’ve been busy learning the family business and have been out of communication on an oil rig.”
If he didn’t know better, he would’ve believed her.
She released a deep sigh. “It’s a pity your friend was attacked. The world is not the same as it once was.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Please give her my regards. I’ll provide the poor dear with what you requested.”
He dipped his head towards her in a sign of understanding. “With a reassurance that any such trauma will never come to her again would be helpful. You know how people look up to you and trust your word. If you say it won’t ever happen again, then she’ll believe that it never will.”
Her contracted shoulders shortened her elegant neck. “I agree.”
Lamisi would believe Deola’s direct promise of leaving her alone.
“Thank you. There are certain things that will never come into public view because they’re too painful.”
“They should be deleted from all sources, never to be spoken of again.”
“Yes. Just as some friendships should end, but cordiality maintained when running in the same circles.”
She giggled, but her eyes remained cold. “Burning bridges serves no one. As always, it was lovely speaking with you, Bizzy. Take care of yourself.”
“You, too, Deola.”
When her face disappeared, his body went limp and the back of his head slammed into the wood of the chair. The relief of being rid of Deola outweighed the sting of pain.
Time to figure out how to convince Lamisi that they belonged together.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
What had gotten into Blaise to make him send such romantic texts over the past few days? Every time she went to press the delete button, her finger spasmed in protest. She’d sighed with longing after rereading them at least twenty times each.