Romans de Oluwafadekemi

Evening after evening of interviews and meetings led to this moment: Lola meeting Mrs. Blackwood for the first time.“Mom, this is… Lola,” Adrian said, voice carefully neutral, though his hand lingered on her back a little too long.His mother’s eyes scanned her slowly, deliberately. “So,” she said finally, lips curling, “you’re the fiancée.”Lola forced a smile. Fiancée. For three weeks. Fantastic.Adrian leaned in, whispering just loud enough for her to hear, “You’ll be staying in the same hotel tonight. The interview ran late.”Her brain immediately did a somersault. Same room? Same bed? This is absurd. Absolutely absurd.They moved through the lobby in tense silence. Adrian’s mother, a vision of calm authority in pearls and cashmere, barely blinked as they followed her to a small, elegant conference room for last-minute post-interview notes. Lola felt like prey being sized up, and every glance from Adrian’s mother felt like a subtle verdict.When the meeting ended, Adrian’s mother

Lola woke to sunlight spilling through the sheer curtains of Adrian Blackwood’s penthouse, a faint scent of wine still lingering in the air. For a brief second, she tried to convince herself it had all been a dream. Then the ache in her shoulders, the heat that clung stubbornly to her skin, reminded her it hadn’t.She blinked, groaning softly, and turned toward the source of the warmth beside her. The bed was empty. Almost immediately, a mix of relief and disappointment settled in her chest.He emerged from the bathroom, hair slightly mussed, sleeves rolled up, tie still undone. He moved with the same effortless control that had drawn her in from the very beginning, yet this morning he seemed… different. More approachable. Slightly softer, but every bit as magnetic.“Morning,” he said casually, holding a mug of coffee. The casual tone belied the electricity crackling in the room.“Morning,” she replied, voice hoarse and low, betraying the restless sleep, or lack thereof, that had kept

The city lights glittered like fireflies below Adrian Blackwood’s penthouse as Lola stepped in to finalize their rehearsal per Adrian’s request, the soft hum of the elevators fading behind her. She carried a bottle of red wine, knowing full well it was probably the most reckless decision she’d made since agreeing to this fake engagement.Adrian was already there, casually leaning against the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, his tie loosened just enough to suggest he didn’t care, but somehow, everything about him screamed control.“You brought wine,” he said, raising an eyebrow, his tone even but eyes amused.“I thought it might… help,” Lola said, setting the bottle down. Her hands shook slightly, and she prayed it was from nerves and not anticipation.“Help with what?” he asked, stepping closer. Even his casual movements seemed deliberate, calculated. His presence filled the room, heat radiating in a way that made her stomach flutter.She shrugged, suddenly aware of how thin her sw

The morning after the coffee incident was a whirlwind of nerves and carefully concealed anticipation. Lola Foster arrived at the office with a mixture of dread and curiosity, each step echoing in the sleek, marble-floored lobby. She tried to tell herself that it was just another day, but the lingering memory of Adrian Blackwood’s touch made her pulse quicken and her clitoris stimulated. As she entered the executive floor, she was met by the cool, composed receptionist who gave her a knowing smile, as if she could see the chaos brewing beneath Lola’s calm facade.“Miss Foster,” the receptionist said, her tone both professional and subtly sympathetic. “Mr. Blackwood is expecting you.”Lola nodded, her heart pounding as she followed the assistant down the corridor. The walls were lined with accolades and magazine covers featuring Adrian with each image more compelling than the last. He seemed to command attention effortlessly, and Lola couldn’t help but feel a mix of admiration and appr

By the time Lola made it to the twenty-third floor, her hands were shaking.Not from fear exactly. From adrenaline. From disbelief. From the lingering warmth of a man she absolutely should not be thinking about.She stepped out of the elevator and was immediately swallowed by glass, steel, and quiet authority. The executive floor smelled like money and restraint. Everything gleamed. Everything whispered you do not belong here.A woman with a headset and a smile too tight to be real intercepted her.“Miss Foster,” she said briskly. “Mr. Blackwood is expecting you.”Of course, he was.Lola followed her down a corridor lined with framed magazine covers. Adrian Blackwood stared back at her from at least six of them. Younger in some. Sharper in all. Always unsmiling.Power looked good on him. That fact annoyed her.The assistant stopped outside a door that didn’t need a nameplate. Everyone already knew who lived behind it.“Good luck,” the woman murmured, with the faint pity usually reserv

The morning buzzed like a caffeinated circus. Lola’s nerves tangoed with excitement, each step toward the glass doors promising unknowing imminent disaster. The first time I met Adrian Blackwood, I spilled iced coffee on his shoes. Not just any shoes. Leather shoes so polished they reflected my panic back at me. “Oh my God,” I blurted, already crouching. “I swear I’m not usually this clumsy. That was a lie. I am clumsy. But not like this. This is… advanced clumsiness.” He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared at me as I’d personally declared war on his ancestors. “They are Italian,” he said flatly. “I’m Nigerian,” I replied automatically, then froze. “I mean, I am sorry. That was not relevant.” It was 8:17 a.m., my first day at a new job, and I had already assaulted the CEO with caffeine. Perfect. He sighed, slow and controlled, like a man counting to ten to avoid homicide. “Do you know how much these cost?” “No,” I said quickly. “But I know how much my rent is, and it is