THE LIE WE AGREED ON

I kept a mental spreadsheet of reasons.

Column A: Logistics. Column B: Work ethic. Column C: Lagos traffic that held us hostage until the cleaners arrived.

Column D: The brief contact of fingers when we both grabbed the proposal binder.

None of those columns explained the lurch in my chest whenever Tolu articulated my name.

It happened during the client debrief. Thirty people watched charts. He watched me.

Precisely when our director announced, “Tolu and you will lead the Victoria Island pitch. Joint presentation. Next Friday.”

Air stalled in my lungs. His lips curved. Subtle. As though a door he’d been pushing finally gave.

*“Later,”* he murmured afterward, shouldering his backpack. The words were calibrated for me alone. *“We ought to refine the deck. Rooftop has fewer distractions.”*

Refine.

Understood.

By half-past seven the floor had evacuated. The elevator dinged empty. Fluorescent panels clicked off one by one.

The rooftop access door exhaled. Lagos poured in generator drone, charcoal from a suya stand two streets over, danfos honking down Ozumba Mbadiwe, the distant pulse of music from a lounge on the water.

He wasn’t carrying a laptop.

Two glass bottles of water, condensation beading. He extended one. Positioned himself within arm’s reach. Close enough that his scent cut through diesel and night-blooming flowers.

*“You’ve been evading me,”* he noted. Neutral tone. Observation, not indictment.

*“Deadlines are aggressive.”*

*“Aggressive or deceptive?”* A faint smile ghosted his mouth. *“Choose which truth you prefer. To deliver to me, or to admit to yourself.”*

My pulse accelerated. I redirected attention to the horizon. Pretended the Lekki-Ikoyi bridge illumination deserved study.

*“It’s tangled, Tolu. You understand.”*

*“Tangled because we won’t define it.”* He advanced a fraction. *“That look during the budget slide. Thursday night, you claimed ‘formatting errors’. You remain here regardless.”*

I should have summoned a Bolt. Descended seventeen floors. Returned to my apartment. To my life.

My body vetoed the motion.

Wind lifted the edge of my ankara wrapper. It would have tangled around the railing. His hand intervened first. Fingers brushed my wrist. Heat. Hesitation. Neither withdrew.

Silence stretched. Dangerous. Honest.

My phone detonated it.

Vibration. Light.

Incoming: Fiance ❤️

The contact photo appeared. Tux. Beach proposal. Six months ago.

I snatched the device. Fumbled. Nearly dropped it over the ledge. Secured it against my chest.

When I raised my gaze, Tolu had already recalibrated. Affection extinguished. Jaw rigid. Eyes shuttered.

*“I see,”* he said, voice sanded down. *“Complicated.”*

He withdrew. Not dramatically. One measured step. The atmosphere cooled instantly.

*“I’ll complete the proposal and transmit it. No need for your input.”*

He pivoted. Entered the stairwell. The door sighed shut.

He didn’t glance back.