Jide Babalola was having a bad day.
What worried him was not the fact that he seemed to be having a progressively bad day every day for the past three months. He was concerned because he was beginning to get used to it. And that was not a good thing.
The kitchen of the Babalola household was redolent with the smell of something fried and spicy, but the ambience was ruined by the emotions running riot in the fragrant space. A plate on the counter was heaped with an appetising load of golden toast and fried eggs, a cup of coffee steaming beside it. As mouth-watering as the food looked, it was the object of dispute that morning. Jide stood over the meal, arms crossed as he faced his wife, who sat on the other side of the counter, pretending to be busy.
“Patricia.” He said softly. His wife ignored him, and concentrated on furiously tapping the keys of the laptop in front of her. Early on in their marriage, whenever he called her full name like that, she would give him her full attention, because it usually meant he was in a serious mood. “Patricia, can you at least respond when I call you?”
She stopped typing and looked up at him over the edge of the laptop. Her eyes were smouldering with anger; if looks could kill, he would have been vaporized by her gaze.
“Am I deaf or are you blind?” she retorted. “You’re standing no farther than three feet away from me in this small kitchen and you want a formal acknowledgment to show I can hear you?”
Jide clenched his jaw. “Is it a crime to ask for simple courtesy?”
She glared at him for a moment longer, then tapped a few buttons on her laptop and closed it gently. When she faced him, arms folded on top of the laptop, insincere smile on her face, he sighed inwardly. Her attitude was about to get worse.
“Yes, lord and Master.” Patricia jeered. “Your servant is listening, please speak.”
Jide sighed, and then chose to ignore the sarcasm in her voice. “Like I said, I’m running late so I won’t be able to eat this morning. I understand why that would upset you.”
Patricia laughed. There was no humour in the sound. “Oh no, i don’t think you understand at all. But you will. Very soon.”
“And what does that mean? Is that a threat? I’m sick and tired of all this, woman. Every day it’s one quarrel or another.”
“Yes it seems that way, doesn’t it?” Patricia cut in. “Let me see, yesterday you were angry because I didn’t make breakfast for you, right? I apologized and explained I had a work deadline to meet but you stalked out. Today I wake up early to fry you eggs and now you’re saying…”
“That’s why I am apologizing!” Jide yelled.
Patricia raised a brow and allowed his shout to fade off before she clapped her hands slowly. “By shouting, right? You have a funny way of apologizing o…”
Fifteen minutes later, Jide’s Sienna pulled out angrily from his compound. Setheing at the memory of his conversation with his wife, he ignored the greeting of his security guard and sped out of the estate where they lived, almost brushing a yellow tricycle into a gutter. He ignored the driver’s yell, increasing his speed as he took out his annoyance on the road, leaning on his car horn and yelling curses at any driver that dared to be slow.
He knew it was just transferred aggression, but he couldn’t help himself. Despite all the self-help books he had bought and counselling documents he had read online, his marriage seemed to be growing more strained by the day. He and Patricia had only been married less than two years and although he had been advised the point they were in would be the most stressful, he couldn’t imagine things getting any worse than they already were.
When Jide Babalola pulled up at the commercial law chambers where he worked as a brand communication manager, he forced himself to calm down before he left his car. He looked at his wristwatch and frowned as he realized he had actually reached work too early. His conscience pricked him as he remembered the things he had said to his wife in anger because he thought he was late, but he knew when he returned from work, the argument would continue if he dared to bring it up. He sighed and flipped down the mirror above his head so he could adjust his tie before he took the elevator to the floor where his office was. He knew he looked good; the confidence of his long-legged stride was somtheing he had used years to cultivate. It was part of his job to project that corporate look and the admiring looks he received as he made his way to his office attested to the fact.
But Jide knew looks weren’t the most important thing. Peace of mind was. He greeted his secretary and breezed into his office and his practised smile faded as he settled behind his desk and sighed. He sincerely wished he could turn back the hands of time to this morning. If he hadn’t misread the time, he might have been able to eat a little of the breakfast Patricia had made for him…
He frowned as his office door opened, then whipped up his professional smile a she recognized the person who had barged into his office. It was his colleague, Anita Bankole. Her tight dress stopped just above the knee, sheathing her curves, the red colour the exact same shade as the lipstick heavily coating her mouth. He winced internally as he wondered if there was anything subtle about Anita. She was the personification of in-your-face attitude and her habit of bulldozing her way into his office without knocking was annoying. Jide was careful to keep his expression pleasant, however. She was one step above him on the corporate ladder; it wouldn’t be wise to show his displeasure.
“Jide, my dear!” she squealed, walking over to him, her high heeled shoes clicking on the polished floor as she came around the side of his office table. He started to stand up, but she waved him back into his seat.
“Good morning, Anita… oooof!”
His greeting was cut short as she sat on him without warning and pressed her lips against his.
And that literally, was how the first source of temptation fell into Jide Babalola’s lap.
Check back by 3:00pm to read the next episode.
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