You are standing next to the bed with a tray in your hands. Breakfast in bed. Only phenomenal lovers get such treatment. For a moment you hesitate on waking her up. She is lying on her stomach, topless, with the duvet, pulled to an inch above the small of her back. Irresistible.
She is still looking incredibly sexy the morning after, a rare occurrence in this part of the world. It reminds you of this one time you woke up next to a lady you had met at a fashion gala the previous night and boy she was nothing close to the rather stunning lady you went home with.
Half-smile forms on her lips. I hope she is dreaming of how amazing I was last night. You set down the tray on the side table then sit on the edge of the bed. You pass your fingers through her silky black hair. She has beautiful hair, caramel skin and exotic features thanks to her Swahili descent. Her name is Aisha and she is your supervisor.
You met Aisha three months ago when you first moved into your current workplace. She seemed like the no-nonsense type. Nonetheless, you were taken by her raw beauty. She was in flat closed shoes, black fitting pants, a boyfriend jacket, pink top and a hijab fully covering her head. Actually, this is the first time you have seen her hair uncovered. She also had red spectacles giving her a nerdy look. You have a fetish for ladies in glasses.
From day one, Aisha has been tougher on you compared to the rest of employees working under her. You were immediately thrown into the deep end, no time to get acclimatised to the new work environment. She would pressure you to submit assignments hours before the deadline, raising a storm over the tiniest errors in your work.
When the rest of the office would hang out for a drink or two after work, she would be picked by her driver at 5:30PM and whisked away to her mysterious life. It’s rumoured that her pops is a very wealthy man who owns a shipping line.
Therefore, it came as a surprise when she accepted your invitation for coffee after work last evening. Your colleagues had been pressuring you to ask her out claiming that the reason she is hard on you is because she secretly likes you. You can’t exactly tell what she likes about you. Maybe it is your carefree spirit.
At 5:15pm she walks over to your desk and asks whether you are ready to leave. You say yes.
“Get your stuff, the driver is here!” She never stops being bossy.
After a short ride, the driver pulls into a parking lot of newly opened mall in an upscale neighbourhood. You walk into an elevator. She presses button number four and smiles at you as if to reassure you that you are in good hands.
The elevator opens to a wine bar and grill. Its interior décor is nothing like you have seen before. Small red bricks cover one wall, bottles of wine protrude from a floor to ceiling wooden shelf on the opposite side.
There are a couple of tables in the main dining area each set for four. Black leather seats along the wall. The lights are dimmed giving the place a romantic feel. Piped soul music streams from tiny speakers mounted all around the walls. You instinctively reach into your pocket to ensure you still have some cash and have both ATM cards.
She leads you to the balcony onto a long white leather seat with tiny wooden tables. The waiters seem to know her. She must be a regular patron. You are used to lively, a tad bit noisy bars with lots of young people like The Mist Bar Grill or Tribeka hence this place feels strange.
A glance at the menu confirms your suspicions. The prices of drinks are almost twice compared to your favourite bar. Most of the other patrons look above 40. It feels like the kind of joint people seal multi-million deals. You put your phone on flight mode lest it rings announcing to all that you are a stranger to that world.
Aisha seems relaxed. Her composure softens. For a moment you think of her as a woman, not the annoying boss she has always been. She orders some Italian dish and a glass of wine. You order the same plus a cold Tusker Malt.
You spend the entire time lost into each other’s eyes as your fingers caressed hers. She opens up about her life. Her mother passed on when she was six years old. Her father remarried soon after. Even though the step-mother isn’t so bad to her she is bi-polar. The extreme mood swings unsettle her that’s why she craves for stability. You do most of the listening. She does most of the talking amusing you with tales of her numerous shopping trips to Dubai and Paris. You haven’t been to either of the cities.
Your watch reads 10:05 PM. You jokingly ask her to go home with you. To your surprise, she readily agrees. You think she is only messing up with you until you finally get into your apartment.
Aisha opens her eyes, dragging you back to the present. You bend to plant a kiss on her lips. She looks away. You guess it is probably because she hasn’t brushed her teeth. It disturbs you that her eyes are cold, unlike the previous night. She pushes the tray away without saying a word, gets up and jumps into the shower.
You lie on the bed imagining how things will be at the office the coming week. You can’t wait to tell your work colleagues of how you finally tamed Aisha. It reminds you of a line Denno keeps saying. Simba wa kike ni mkali lakini bado hupewa mimba.
You take out a pair of shorts and a flowery short-sleeved shirt from your wardrobe, which feels befitting the fun activities you intend to engage with Aisha that afternoon. The weather doesn’t look conducive for swimming so you will probably go for a movie.
She gets out of the bathroom and starts towelling her body dry. It bothers you that she is still unresponsive.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No. I just need to leave.”
“Why would you want to leave so fast yet you haven’t even touched breakfast?”
“Listen Mark, what happen last night was great but that’s just it. Nothing more.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have a fiancé.”
“But I thought we had some chemistry?”
“No, I was only physically attracted to you..{sigh}.. I’m getting married next weekend.”
“Really? Then why did you sleep with me?”
“Listen, you are a great guy but I’m not what you think. You are the 10th guy I have done this to. The last guy I had was Indian, he tasted like chili pepper. I thought I should try someone different. Lose my number because you and I will never meet again.”
“Come Monday, do you really expect me to act like nothing happened between us??”
“You don’t have to worry about that. Yesterday was my last day working there. I will be relocating to London soon after the wedding.”
Is she serious? You stand there watching her dress, comb her hair then put on the hijab expecting her to burst out laughing at how she has been able to prank you. Once done sprucing up, she adjusts her red specs, picks her handbag, pushes past you and leaves the house.
You walk to the balcony and watch as she gets into a cab without even looking back. The car snakes out of the compound as a tear runs down your cheek.
You try her mobile only get voicemail. The breakfast tray is still lying on the bed, untouched.
What did she mean by that I am the tenth guy?
Written By Mark Maish
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