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“I woke up some minutes ago,” my boss said as she quickly walked back inside the house, perhaps explaining why she was still in her diaphanous night dress. I followed her, trying to avoid the faint outline of her panties and the graceful, effortless swing of her hips. She waved towards the leather chairs. “You may change the TV channel if you don’t like it. I’ll join you in a minute.” She disappeared into one of the adjoining rooms. I briefly wondered why people always said “in a minute” when they usually meant longer. CNN was showing on the TV, I left it that way.


Twenty minutes later, she came out, dressed in a black silk gown that outlined her enviable features and instantly knocked off many years from her. I joined her at the dinning for tea, after which she cleared the table and we both switched on our laptops. While we worked, I planned how I would carry out my plans. She hadn’t left the dinning when she was making the tea, or I would have quickly slipped the drug into her tea.


It was difficult to focus. Apart from the thought of carrying out my plans, there was the immediate need of keeping my body in check. The top two buttons of her gown were undone, and whenever I looked up, my eye always went there.


“Get me the blue file in that cupboard,” she said suddenly. I looked up. “Where?”


“That cupboard behind you,” she said.


“Never mind, I’ll get it myself.” She was already on her feet. She got the file and went back to her seat. After some minutes, I noticed she had stopped working and was looking at me. I didn’t want to look up to avoid meeting her gaze, but I felt sure she was looking at me, in that way the body feels the beam of the eyes.


“KC, close the laptop. I want to talk to you.” Everyone – except her – called me KC at the office, but hearing it from her felt like a compliment. She closed her laptop and pushed it slowly aside. I closed mine slowly, as though reluctantly, but I didn’t push it aside. She exhaled slowly and began her story. It was a bit about her private life, her late husband and the company, some of which I’ve already heard from the CEO. She spoke of her feeling of betrayal upon hearing the clause in the will that forbade her from taking another husband or losing her inheritance. It wasn’t only her position in the company as the CEO had told me, but also a large chunk of her husband’s properties. Her eyes became misty, her voice thick with emotions.


“I loved my husband,” she said, broken. “If there’s anything that has broken my health and always brought inexplicable tightness to my throat, it is that clause.” She shook her head sadly. “It made me feel very badly, like I was being unjustly punished.” Her voice was sounding stronger now. “It was his fault that we couldn’t have kids, we both knew that. Still I stood by him and took all the insults his people threw my way, only for him to…” she broke down in tears.


Had she been another person, I would have gone over, held her shoulders and offered comfort. But she was my boss, I felt embarrassed by her tears, as though I had walked into her unclothedness. Yet, as she sobbed and shook, I felt it would be quite ungentlemanly if I sat there and did nothing. I walked over and placed my hand lightly on her left shoulder. “I know it’s not OK. I can’t imagine the weight in your heart all these years, but just be strong, at least for yourself. No matter the seriousness of any situation, you can always make yourself laugh if you want to…” I trailed off, lost for words. Before I realized my other hand was on her right shoulder, I was already squeezing her shoulders. Suddenly, she reached up and placed her hands on mine. I stopped, frightened that I had been a little too forward and dreading the possible outcome. Then she started squeezing my hands, gently.

Happy Birthday, sister. You are a steady source of inspiration. Live long.

princechurchill:
single at 38 ahhhhh thats an error according to a woman standard.....

She is married to Dr Ivara Esege. At least get enough information about someone before trying to insult them.