Lola dear xup,nyc story dear.

Omolola1:

MS means Multiple Sclerosis. It is an autoimmune disease that affects the brain and spinal cord (central nervous system).

Thanks.
*runs* to her blog for d latest update*

Episode 4

Demola sat on the 747, his seat belt buckled, his hat resting on one knee, waiting for Tomilola to show up for the 9:00am flight. After he'd spoken to her yesterday afternoon, she'd demanded he hand over her ticket and told him she'd see him on the plane. She had a lot to think about, she'd told him, and she didn't want any disturbances or distractions while she did it.

He hadn't liked the idea, but when he'd tried to reason with her, convince her that he should stay close in case she had any questions, she'd made it clear his presence anywhere near her was a deal breaker. So he'd left the lodge and headed back to his hotel, where he'd spent the rest of the day and most of the night wondering if she'd show up this morning.

It wasn't looking good.

He glanced at his watch. The plane was scheduled to take off in ten minutes, which meant they'd be shutting the hatch and taxiing to the runaway any minute. And Tomilola still wasn't here.

Great.

If she didn't show up soon, he'd have to leave the flight to chase her down, which, since he'd been stupid enough to check his damned duffel, would no doubt raise a thousand red flags with airport security. He'd probably find himself locked in a room with ten burly guards determined to prove he was a big terrorist.

Fun.

He glanced at his watch. Again. Come on, Tomi. Don't let me down. I have an aversion to burly guards with an agenda.

Just as he was preparing to stand up and walk off the plane. Tomilola strode on.

Thank God.

He watched as she made her way down the aisle, doing her best to keep her small bag and purse from bumping the seated passengers. Her shoulders were slumped, a dead giveaway that she'd had a long night. And the slight red rim to her eyes told him she'd spent at least part of it crying. Damn. He wished he knew a little about her so he could make this easier for her. Unfortunately, beyond the fact that her mother had died seven years ago, he didn't know a damned thing.

Tomilola finally made it to her seat - the one right next to him. She acknowledged him with a short, curt nod, stowed her bag in the overhead and sat, her shoulder brushing his. His body completely overreacted to the casual touch, heat and need surging through him. He closed his eyes, ruthlessly stomping on the futile response. A response that would make the next six months damned uncomfortable if he didn't get a handle on it. And soon.

As if sensing his reaction Tomilola shifted positions, moving to the far side of her seat, disconnecting their shoulders. The move didn't surprise him. He knew she felt the sexual awareness that arced between them, too. He'd seen the interest in her gaze when she'd spotted him across the room. Felt the throbbing pulse of intimacy that had enveloped the office when she'd shut the door. Luckily, for whatever reason, she was ignoring the attraction as studiously as he. Staring straight ahead, she drummed her fingers on the seat's plastic's arms. She was wound tighter than a rattler ready to strike. And he was pretty sure the energy snapping between them wasn't the only thing responsible for her obvious case of nerves.

He turned to face her, ready to take the bull by the horns. "Long night?"
She looked at him, raising a single delicate brow. "Did you expect anything else?"
"No," he admitted. "That' why I wanted to be on hand. In case you had questions. Or just needed someone to talk to."
"What I really needed was someone to scream at."
Her lips twisted unhappily. "Or punch."

He checked the smile that pulled at his lips. Her dad hadn't seen her since she was two, but he'd known her pretty well. Wale had dreamed of finding his daughter and having her run into his arms, thrilled to be united with her old man again. But he'd told Demola on more than one occasion that as much a he wanted that to happen, he didn't expect it to.
"The first time she see me she'll probably want to tear my heart out." Wale had told him once. And when Demola asked why, Wale had just shrugged, and said, "Are you kidding? I don't know what her mom has been saying about me all these years, but considering everything, I doubt it's been good. The fact that I've never heard from either of them pretty much bears that out. And, of course, whether their lives have been good or bad, there's the little fact that I haven't contributed a damned thing to it. She'll want her pound of flesh for that."

It looked like Wale was right. And because Demola knew the old man thought she deserved that pound of flesh, he hooked his thumb toward the back of the plane. "Would you feel better if you took me in the back and pummeled me for a while?" Not that he couldn't think of a far more enjoyable way to dispel the tension in her, but. . .

Not an option.

She shot him a dry, challenging look. "What if I said yes?"

"When the plane's in the air and the seat belt light goes off I'll be happy to oblige. I can't guarantee the hostesses won't round us up, open the hatch and toss us out. Or that our fellow passengers won't perceive a threat and beat us to death, but I'm willing to give it a try."

One of her brows arched in surprise. "My, my, my, you must be a loyal dog. The old man's dead and you're still willing to take a beating for him."
There was a time when her dog comment would have gotten her a fight. He wasn't sure that wasn't her intention now. But he'd learned the hardest way imaginable that anger just dug whatever hole you were in deeper. Besides, he was a loyal dog. Wale had pulled his sorry self out of a deep, deep hole when everyone else was shoveling dirt on top of him. He owed the man.

He shrugged and shot her a teasing smile. "I don't know that it's a very good test of my loyalty, I don't imagine you hit very hard."

She huffed. "Don't bet on it. Right now I feel like I could knock out a trailer."

He did a quick survey of her slight five-foot-four inch frame. Her small hands. Not a chance in hell. But he didn't dismiss her anger so easily. Anger, he knew, masked pain. If she was ready to take on the heavy-weight champ, she was obviously in a world of hurt. And how could she be anything else? She believed her father had abandoned her.

"Look, Tomilola, there's a lot you need to hear about your mom and dad. About their marriage. About their breakup."

Anger flashed in her eyes. "How would you know anything about my mother and father's breakup? Were you there?"

"No. But I know what your father told me. And. . ."

"And I know what my mother told me. And trust me, if I'm going to believe anyone's story, it's going to be hers." Dark shadows skidded across her green eyes. "She might have had her faults, but at least she didn't abandon her child. She didn't throw me out to fend for myself on a dark, rainy night with nothing but the clothes on my back."

Neither had her father. But the path to that truth was so long and filled with ugly patches. With other passengers already starting to glance in their direction, now wasn't the time to try to get down it. "This isn't the time or place to discuss this. But you have to realize there are two sides to every story. You ought to at least hear your father's perspective on what happened all those years ago. Then you can decide where the truth lies. My guess is you're going to find it in the middle of the story that your mother told you and the story Wale told me."

She shook her head. "I'm not interested in Wale Adeyemi's excuses, Adenuga. I know where the truth lies. I lived it as a child growing up. The only thing that interests me is how much money I'll make selling the old man's estate."

Wale had stipulated she could sell the estate after six months, but it sure as hell hadn't been his intention. He'd wanted his daughter to fall in love with the Big W. He'd wanted her to stay on the place, learn to run the company and someday get married and raise her children there. And somehow, Demola had to lead her to that decision.

And not just for Wale. The dark shadows in Tomi's eyes, the turmoil he felt boiling in her told him Tomilola needed the Big W as much as any of the workers on it need it. For many of them, it had been a saving grace.

"So, how big is this place?" Tomilola asked.

He pulled his thoughts from his musings. "The Big W?"

She nodded.

"Two Thousand acres."

Her eyes went wide. "Wow. That is big. That ought to bring in lots of money."

He tipped his head. "As I said, one of the biggest in Nigeria."

She shot him a skeptical glance. "You've been running the company since my father's death, right?"

"Yes, but I'm not the boss, you're the boss now. It's your job to make sure everything is running smoothly."

"Fine. As your boss I'm instructing you to keep on as you have since my father's death, making the best decisions for the company without consulting me or waiting for any decision on my part whatsoever." She shot him a sugary sweet smile. "Any questions?"

He shot her a saccharine smile of his own. "Just one. Do you really think I'm going to let you sit on your cute little derriere while everyone else at the company works their tail off?"

She smiled that sugary sweet smile again. "Of course I do. I'm the boss, right?"

"Well, there's no such thing as a nonentity. Within days of your arrival everyone will know everything there is to know about you. And they're going to expect you to pitch in and work, just like they are. Your father might have been the owner of the company, but he worked just like everyone else."

"Well then, Mr. Adenuga," she said in a voice almost as syrupy sweet as her smile. "You can bet your own cute little derriere that I will let myself be skinned alive before I lift so much as a finger on anything that has to do with work." She snatched the hat from his knee, leaned back in her chair and placed the black hat over her face.

Conversation over.

He leaned back in his own chair, stifling a groan. Perfect.

Just damned perfect.

Danielle omolola steel...I'm hooked sis

I'm lovin every bit! pls go on....

lola pls kum nd kontinue!!!,.am on my knees o,u haven't updated since last week tuesday(22/1/2013).

walk into thread .pour kerosine n light matches n walk out

Am so so sorry. Been on an official assignment in abuja.
Promise to update on Monday

...alright dear...I wnt av to b checkn evry 5mintues for a new update....nyc ryt up...

Perfect...just damn perfect. Weldone, Lola.

Hey omolola,lovely write up,i love ur work,even love u,but today is monday na,not sunday. Pls come and update lolly lovey dovey

omolola z monday o!!!!!!

...Omolola...gues u'v abadoned ds story

Episode 5



Tomilola sat in the taxi next to Demola as the sun leaned towards dusk.

Terrified.

She didn't know what she was terrified of, but her palms were sweating. And the closer they got to the estate, the harder her heart beat. Which was ridiculous. It wasn't like she had to face dear old dad once she got there. He was dead. Gone. Buried. But his ghost would be there. Not the see-through kind, of course. But she would be staying in his house. She would be surrounded by his things. The estate he built. His personal possessions. Every waking minute she'd be bombarded by the stark evidence that he'd cared more for his estate than he ever had for her or her mother.

She wasn't sure she was up to six months of that.

She plowed her fingers through her hair. She wanted to just walk away. But she couldn't do that to the helpless kids of the world. She knew the desperation people with major health problems and no insurance faced. So she'd spend the next six months facing her father's betrayal. Even if it killed her.

She forced her mind from those ugly thoughts. Unfortunately, her mind jumped directly to the other new item in her life. Adenuga. Not a safer subject at all. Demola was too big, too. . .commanding.

Too damned sexy.

Oh, man. She ran her hands through her hair and drew in a big breath, trying to get enough oxygen into her system, trying to calm her nerves. But there wasn't enough air in the truck. Demola looked over at her, his brows scrunched in concern "You all right?"

"Yes, peachy."

"Tomilola, everything is going to be fine." His voice was quiet, encouraging. But she didn't feel encouraged. She felt like her whole world was going to explode. Not only was Demola making her feel things that had been safely in hibernation for the past three years, but anger and despair over her father's betrayal were already building in her like molten lava boiling beneath the earth's surface. And it boiled a little harder every time she thought of her father owning one of the biggest spreads in Lagos.

She tried to draw in another breath. Tried to ignore the anger simmering inside her. But she couldn't do it.

"Are you thinking of how many kids you can help if you sell the estate?"

"No, I'm thinking of my mother. She died of MS, did you know that?" She watched carefully for his reaction. She wanted to know if he'd known of her mother's plight. If he'd known she was sick and suffering and needed help while her father had turned a blind eye and built his damned ranch. Surprise and sympathy knitted his brow. "No, I didn't. I knew she was dead. That she'd died when she was only thirty-eight. So I assumed either disease or an accident had taken her. But I didn't know she had MS. I'm sorry. That's a tough disease."



She studied him, looking for any sign that he was dissembling. But his surprise seemed genuine. Which meant dear old dad had kept everything about her mother secret. Her state of poverty. Her disease. Her desperate requests for money. Which helped explain Demola's loyalty to him. She nodded her head, "MS is a tough disease. Especially when you don't have any money for hospital stays and doctors' appointments and drugs."



He looked over at her, concern etching his face, "She didn't have enough money to pay for her medical expenses?"



She laughed, a short, humorless sound. "Demola, there wasn't enough money to buy food half the time. And that was before she got sick. After. . ." Her words trailed off as old memories swamped her. Sad, desperate memories.


Memories of watching her mother go from a normal, healthy human being to someone who needed a cane to get around and then a wheelchair; finally she couldn't get around at all. Memories of standing over her bed and giving her aspirin after aspirin because they couldn't afford prescription painkillers. Memories of bone-deep desperation. And guilt.



God, the guilt.



Guilt that she hadn't been old enough to hold a job and take care of her mother. And then later, as she got older, guilt that the jobs she could get as a high school student and even later as a high school graduate only paid minimum wage. Not nearly enough to pay their bills, let alone have anything left over for doctors and medicine. Guilt that intensified even after her mother's death.



Why hadn't she thought of fund-raisers when her mother was alive? She'd helped countless families in the last few years collect money for medical crises. Why hadn't it occurred to her to do it for her own mother? Why had she been so damned helpless?



She swiped at the tear that suddenly spilled over her lashes and looked out the side window, hoping Demola hadn't noticed.

"I'm sorry it was so hard, Tomilola. God, I'm sorry."

Great. He'd seen the tear. Well, tear or not, she wasn't helpless anymore. She shrugged and tipped her chin up. "I don't need your sympathy, Demola. It's been over for a long time."

He shook his head. "If your father had only known, I'm sure. . ."

"He knew." Her tone was as bitter as the anger simmering inside her. "I can't count the number of times my mother called him and asked - no begged - him to send us money."

Demola's head whipped around, his gaze flying to hers. Pure shock shone in those intense brown eyes. "He never told you, did he? That he had a wife and daughter who needed his help?" She shook her head in disgust. "No, he wouldn't have. He wouldn't have wanted the people he worked with knowing what a scumball he was."

Demola shook his head, his expression intense. "Tomilola, your dad didn't. . ."

She slashed her hand through the air. "Don't. Don't you dare defend my father to me or I'll get out of this taxi and board the next flight back, I swear to God."

He drew a breath as if he would protest, even over her warning. But then he shut his mouth and turned his attention back to the road.

"How much farther do we have to go?"

He tipped his head toward the hills that had been getting steadily closer for the last hour. "We're almost there."

Thank God. She wanted out of this taxi.

As if sensing her climbing tension, he reached across the cab and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. "Hang in there. Beginnings are always the hardest. Once we get you settled, it'll be easy."

She didn't believe that for a minute, but she soaked up his brief touch, appreciating the support - ignoring the electric jolts of sexual energy.

A half mile down the road, the cab driver turned off onto a one-lane road, and then it was only a matter of minutes before the cab wove around and popped out into an estate.

Dear God, the place was enormous. There were buildings everywhere. It looked like a little city. She swallowed the bile raising in her throat. "Is this all my father's?"

Demola looked over at her, his gaze assessing, He obviously didn't want to upset her anymore. But after only a moment of hesitation, he gave his head a gentle, succinct nod. Revulsion clogged her throat. Wale Adeyemi's own little empire.

The cab driver stopped the taxi next to one of the gates. Demola highlighted from the cab and turned to Tomi, "Do you want me to give you a short tour, introduce you to some of the hands? Or do you want to go straight to your dad's house?" His voice was quiet now, gentle, much as his touch had been,

For the first time, she noticed the men wandering around. Many of them were glancing curiously at her. No doubt looking to see who the new person was. She closed her eyes, blocking out their expectant faces. She couldn't meet them now. She couldn't possibly shake their hands and smile and pretend she was glad to be here. Or that the sight of this estate did anything but turn her stomach.

"Take me to the house."

Her words were weak, shaky.

Viewing this topic: Omolola1.
So when is the next update?
It took u so long to update on ur blog, i hope all is well?
Cheers!

avicky: Viewing this topic: Omolola1.
So when is the next update?
It took u so long to update on ur blog, i hope all is well?
Cheers!

i hope so.

avicky: Viewing this topic: Omolola1.
So when is the next update?
It took u so long to update on ur blog, i hope all is well?
Cheers!

Yes dear, all is well!
Av just been really busy lately. . .

Episode 6


She felt the taxi move again, winding this way and that. And then it slowed, stopped. "This is it."

She opened her eyes and looked out the windshield. In the day's waning light, a huge house met her gaze. A three-story building with high-pitched roofs, long balconies and lots of glass. Her stomach flipped again and an icy hand gripped her heart. The bastard. While she and her mother had been living in rat- and cockroach-infested rooms, the kind you paid for by the month, her father had been living in a luxury house. Damn his soul.

Demola's piercing brown eyes met hers. "Ready?"

She was never going to be ready. But she managed a mute nod. With an encouraging smile, he got out of the truck, strode around to her side and opened the door. Her brain said get out. But her limbs wouldn't move. He took hold of her elbow, his big hand strong and warm as his fingers closed around her arm. "Come on, it's just a house."

It wasn't just a house. It was a living proof of her father's betrayal. Living proof that he'd cared more for this cursed piece of land than he had for her mother. Or for her. The thought of spending one second inside its walls. . .

But there were too many kids out there to wimp out now. She forced thoughts of her father from her mind, concentrated on the heat soaking into her from Demola's touch, and swung her legs out of the taxi. Once she was steady on her feet, he let go of her arm, grabbed her bag from the boot and led the way up the walk.

She followed him, focusing on his broad shoulders, the ripple of muscle under his shirt, anything but the bile climbing up her throat. At the house, Demola pushed the door open, stepped off to the side and waved her in. She took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold. The muted light of dusk filled the house, casting twilight and shadows everywhere. Demola followed her in and flicked on the wall switch behind her.

Light flooded the room, bouncing off the shinny marble floors and illuminating the wide-open space. The room was huge, the ceilings here at the front of the chamber soaring the entire three stories. Combined with the giant windows lining the front wall, it almost seemed as if she were still outside. She shook her head. What an egomaniacal show of grandeur.She took in the leather sofas and rock-back chairs surrounded it, making a conversation area. Other well-appointed sitting areas were arranged here and there around the big room as well. At the back of the room, a wide staircase led to a balcony with several doors running along its back wall. Bedrooms, she presumed.

She looked to Demola, who'd moved into the room and set her bag on one of the sofas. "Did anyone besides my father live here?"

He shook his head.

Of course. She strode across the floor toward a conversation area in the far corner of the room, right in front of the big windows. Demola followed her. Not close enough to invade her space. But she could feel him behind her, letting her know she had his support. It was the only thing that kept her from howling with rage. She stared at the leather sofa, the coffee table with its log legs and the giant slab of crosscut wood making up its surface. It was designed to look like someone had gone out and made it in an afternoon, but the high-gloss shine and fancy wood grain told her it was an expensive piece. Damned expensive.

She raised her gaze to the wall behind the sofa. It was lined with tall mirrors, their shiny surfaces reflecting the room and the lights and her own sorry self. She stared at her reflection.

She shook her head. How many times had her father stood here staring at his kingdom and his own vile reflection while she and her mother scrambled for food? While her mother lay dying of a disease that a little money could have gone a long way to alleviate. The arrogant bastard.

She drew a deep breath trying to calm her nerves, trying to keep from screaming her rage at the hunk standing behind her. A glass piece sitting on an end table caught her eye and she wandered over, letting the piece distract her. It was a beautiful colour. Rich brown with golden streaks arching through it. It looked handblown, its free-flowing from reminiscent of a leaf floating from a tree. Very pretty. It reminded her of Dale Chihuly's work. One of the world's leading glass artists.

She picked the piece up, the smooth, heavy glass cool against her fingers. She and the other girls often ran auctions along with their fund-raising stunts as a way to boost the final money count. If this had been made by a local artist, maybe she'd talk him or her into donating a piece for the next event. She flipped the piece over, looking for a signature. The small black letters caught her eye immediately.

Chihuly.

Oh, God. She looked over at Demola, her anger boiling into fury. "Do you have any idea how much food or medicine I could have bought for this one piece of art?" She sure as hell could have paid a year's rent with it. And then she could have used her meager salary for medicine. She possibly could have bought her mother another year of life. The fury exploded. She sent the Chihuly sailing at the mirrors. Glass crashed and rained down in brown and silver pieces. Demola swore and came in low, hit her at the waist, scooped her over his shoulder and quickly carried her from the flying shards of glass. She fought against his hold. "Put me down." There was a lamp over there she wanted to send into the next mirrored panel.

"Fine." He dumped her unceremoniously onto a sofa. "But I'm not going to let you tear the place up."

She bounced up immediately and tried to push past him.

He blocked her path easily with that big body of his. Thirteen years of pain and frustration and helplessness roared through her. "Not your choice. Get out of my way, dammit." She shoved against him, and when he wouldn't move she started throwing punches. He easily blocked anything that came near his face and merely kept her contained as the others rained harmlessly on his chest and arms. Which just frustrated her more. She hit harder, quicker, pouring all her despair, all her anger into every punch. She felt tears pour down her cheeks, but she didn't stop to wipe them away. She just kept hitting. And hitting. And hitting. Until there was no more rage. No more energy. Nothing but despair.

She collapsed against his chest, the tears taking control. What was happening to her? Five minutes in this house and she was turning into her most despised object on earth. A helpless, crying female. But she couldn't stop the tears. Or the sobs that tore from her throat. She buried her face against his chest, trying to hide the waterworks, muffle the sounds. He closed his arms around her, his body closing around hers like a warm, protective cocoon. "It's okay. I've got you."

But it wasn't okay. It wasn't okay at all. She'd promised herself at her mother's funeral she'd never be helpless again. But with her father's betrayal assaulting her from every angle, she felt helpless now. Demola ran his hand over her back, soothing, comforting.

She absorbed his warmth and strength like the desert floor drinking in rain. It felt so good to have someone's arms around her. Felt good to feel like she wasn't absolutely alone in the world. She'd been alone for so, so long.

And he felt so damned good.

She snuggled closer, drinking in his heat, and bathing in his spicy aftershave. It would be so easy to let him chase away the pain. But it wouldn't be smart. Not smart at all. Because if the electricity already building between them meant anything, she knew how they'd end up chasing the pain away. And she didn't want to go that way. She was serious about her moratorium on men. She'd watched her mother try to find herself in men right up until the disease made it impossible. It had made a sad, lonely life for her mother. One Tomilola had promised herself she'd never repeat. And just because she felt like her life was shattering around her now, it was no time to backslide.

She'd get through the next six months on her own. And then she'd return to her quest to discover who she was and what she wanted in life. She pulled in one more long, deep breath of Demola's warm, musky scent, let him stroke her back one more time and then pulled herself from his arms.

Grate work lola

Omolola1:

MS means Multiple Sclerosis. It is an autoimmune disease that affects the brain and spinal cord (central nervous system).

pele ooo omolola d story teller

I wan read,but something dey tell me make i no read am,cos this story go end halfway just like others.. But sadly enough,but its a risk worth taking....

Omolola1: PROLOGUE

Life, Love and Family. . .



Tomilola Daniels didn't want to think about her past, just her future...with the Angels, the team she'd created to stage daredevil stunts for charity. Besides, no matter how sexy Demola Adenuga was, she had a hard time believing the man's story that the father who'd abandoned her had in fact been looking for her for the past twenty-two years.

But Demola was telling the truth. And he'd made a promise to Tomi's father before he died that he'd find his daughter, bring her home and make sure she had a good life. And though the chemistry between them was powerful enough to light the entire state, Demola was determined to be an honourable man.

Even if it cost him everything. . .
Even if it cost him the love of his life. . .

Orikinla dey follow dis tory o.
But me no fit give up the love of my life o, bicos, without am, i not get life be dat.

Larry-Sun:
I thought as much...now, I'm gonna be robbed of that **first person** privilege. Anyway, I'll continue following hither and yon, trust me

Pls dat blog is 4 mature guys, don't carry dat una "first to comment" ish go enter ther nw

na wa oh, so na till Wednesday

Odinaka00:


Pls dat blog is 4 mature guys, don't carry dat una "first to comment" ish go enter ther nw

Your words truly stink. I believe Lola understood what I meant. I don't want to derail this thread. Just zip that snout.

Larry-Sun:

Your words truly stink. I believe Lola understood what I meant. I don't want to derail this thread. Just zip that snout.

Stop being silly nd stupid, yu need to grow up dude......lobotomized idiotic mo*ron

Wow! What a story want to read the end.

following this story to the very last letter, thumbs up Lola!!

Good one there, keep it coming.