*chapter 4:The first time he held her hand

By Thursday morning, Amelia had learned three things about Hayes & Co.

One, office coffee tasted like punishment.

Two, Grace could spot a mistake from across the room without even looking.

Three, Daniel Hayes could make a whole room nervous just by saying, "Are you sure about that?"

He had said it twice that morning. One project manager spent five minutes explaining a report. Another woman went completely silent and admitted she forgot an attachment.

Amelia watched from her desk, heart beating a little faster every time he walked past.

At 10 a.m., he stopped beside her desk.

"Good morning."

"Good morning, Daniel."

He glanced at her screen. "Riverside files?"

"Better. Grace showed me the update. Finished the old ones."

"Any problems?"

"Two signatures missing. Reported."

He nodded to leave, then stopped. "Have you had breakfast?"

Amelia blinked. "Sorry?"

"Breakfast. Have you eaten?"

She stared. "Is that part of my job description?"

For a second he stayed serious, then his mouth twitched. "No. You look tired."

Embarrassment rushed up her neck. "I had tea and bread."

"That's not much."

"It's breakfast, not wedding banquet."

He gave a quiet laugh. "Eat something proper at lunch."

"Are you going to inspect my lunch too?"

"I hadn't planned to."

"Good. Because you are not qualified."

He shook his head, smiling small, and walked away. Amelia watched him go, and caught herself smiling at her screen like an idiot.

Grace appeared immediately. "What did he want?"

"To discuss my breakfast, apparently."

Grace's eyes widened. "Daniel asked you about breakfast?"

"Why everyone dey act like say na miracle?"

"Because Daniel never asks anyone about breakfast."

Amelia rolled eyes, but her cheeks were still warm.

---

Lunch. Rice and vegetables and one boiled egg Sophie forced her to take.

Grace eating sandwich. "How you dey find the job?"

"I like am. Plenty to learn but I dey try."

"Good."

Amelia poked her rice. "Can I ask you something? Has Daniel always been like that? Serious, quiet, hard to read?"

Grace considered. "Pretty much. More reserved last few years."

"Why?"

"I don't know full story. I hear say him and him papa no dey gree at all for company events. Like two strangers wey dey pretend."

Amelia looked down. The man with perfect suits had a difficult family too. It made his serious face make small sense.

---

At 4:20 p.m., she carried final Riverside folder to conference room. Daniel inside with two managers.

"Updated documents," she placed it.

He flipped pages. "Thank you, Amelia."

She turned to leave.

"One moment. This reference number different from earlier report."

Her stomach dropped. Cold hands.

She leaned in, checked. "Oh. I enter correct number but for wrong row. Document correct, spreadsheet wrong."

"Can you correct before meeting?"

"Yes, now now."

She hurried back to desk, hands cold, heart thumping loud. Small mistake but she hated disappointing people, especially when she needed this job so badly.

She fixed it, printed new copy, checked other numbers twice.

"Here." She handed it back.

He took it. "Thank you."

She stood there. "Daniel? I checked others too. All correct. I'm sorry about mistake."

He looked at her face — really looked. "Amelia, it was a mistake. You corrected it. That's what matters. I expect you to take work serious, but I don't expect you to be perfect."

Something inside her chest loosened. Like she had been holding breath since Monday.

"Thank you," she whispered.

---

5:35 p.m. Office almost empty.

"Amelia, help me? Folder for archive room, fifth floor, second shelf near window. I need am tomorrow but I dey rush for appointment." Grace gave her key.

Amelia took lift to fifth floor. Corridor quiet, lights off, footsteps echoing. Archive room at end.

Shelves full of boxes, folders, old plans. She found folder exactly where Grace said.

She turned to door —

Crack.

Loud bang.

Metal rack leaning. Boxes sliding from top shelf.

One crashed near her feet, papers flying.

She tried move to door, another box fell across narrow path.

"Help!" Her voice came small, shaky.

Folders slipped, hit floor heavy. She stumbled, hand catching shelf edge — sharp pain shot through palm.

"Ah!" She gasped, eyes stinging.

Room full of fallen boxes. Door blocked half. Hand throbbing.

She reached for phone — left in handbag on her desk. Of course.

She swallowed panic. "Can someone help me please?!" Louder this time, voice cracking.

Footsteps. Then familiar voice.

"Amelia?"

Relief flooded her chest so fast tears came. "Daniel!"

Door opened. He stopped, saw mess.

"What happened?"

"I don't know, shelves just moved!"

"Don't move till I come."

He stepped careful over boxes, moved fallen folder from doorway.

"Can you step over this?"

"I think—" She tried, used shelf for support, winced.

"What's wrong?" He was beside her instantly.

"My hand."

"Let me see."

"It's nothing—"

"Amelia."

That tone made her stop arguing. She held out hand, small red mark across palm, shaking.

He looked, not touching sore part. "Can you move fingers?"

She tried. "Yes. E pain small."

"We go check am."

He held out his hand.

She looked at it. Then placed her uninjured hand in his.

His fingers closed gently. Warm. Large, with small scar near knuckle. He guided her steady over fallen box, not pulling, just holding firm.

When they reached door, he released.

She stepped into corridor, breathing fast, hand against chest.

"I should have been careful."

"Those shelves shouldn't move," he said flat, already calling security on phone.

He stayed beside her while he explained. She felt embarrassed for being scared, but also grateful someone heard her.

First-aid room second floor. Small scrape, cleaned, dressing. Nothing serious but rest.

Daniel waited outside window.

"You no need to wait," she said coming out.

"I know," he said.

"Then why you wait?"

He looked surprised by question, then said quiet, "Because I wanted to make sure you alright."

Her throat tightened. Simple gratitude felt different from office thank-yous. Real.

He looked at dressing. "Does it hurt?"

"Small."

"Have you eaten?"

She stared, then laughed despite pain. "Why everybody dey ask me about food?! Grace lunch, you breakfast, now dinner!"

"Did you eat lunch?"

"Yes!"

"Then I'm asking dinner."

"You dey make everything sound like instruction."

"I didn't know food na instruction."

"With you, everything na instruction."

He smiled — real smile this time, not small twitch. Whole face softened. Eyes crinkled. Younger. Warmer.

Amelia forgot what she wanted to say. She had thought he was handsome in intimidating way. When he smiled like that, he was handsome in dangerous way.

She looked away quick.

"Let me take you home," he said.

"You don do enough."

"How you go hold umbrella with that hand?"

She looked down. Fair point. She hated fair points.

"Alright," she whispered. "Thank you."

---

In car, rain stopped but road wet, lights reflecting. She sat passenger, bag on lap.

Quiet.

"Does hand hurt?" he asked.

"Small."

"Why you always apologize when something wrong?" he said after minute. "You apologized for spreadsheet, for shelves, even when no be your fault."

She looked out window. "I don't know. I'm used to carrying everything."

"Even when no be your fault?"

She swallowed. Tiredness made her honest.

"My mama died two years ago. I was 22, Sophie 18. Bills, school, everything. I try to handle all so Sophie go feel normal. If I pay bills, if food dey kitchen, maybe we go dey okay."

"Did it work?"

"Sometimes." She gave small sad smile. "Other times I go room cry where she no go hear."

He tightened grip on steering wheel. He understood that — crying where nobody hears.

"I'm sorry you carry all that," he said quiet.

She looked at him, throat tight.

"What about you? Why you always serious?"

He breathed. "My parents unhappy for long. Still together, but no dey talk for days, or pretend everything fine for dinner with important people. I grow thinking na so marriage be. So I decide I no go depend on anybody for happiness. Work hard, control life, no need anybody."

"Did it work?" she asked same question.

He almost laughed. "No."

She smiled gently. "At least you know."

---

He stopped at her building.

"Thank you for today," she said. "For archive, for ride."

"Take care of hand."

"Goodnight, Daniel."

"Goodnight, Amelia."

She walked to entrance, he waited until she entered before driving away.

Later, her phone buzzed.

*Daniel: Good evening, Amelia. Hope hand better. Let me know if e worse.*

She read twice, smiled small. Not romantic. Just checking. But she felt warm anyway.

She replied: _Much better today. Thank you for checking._

Across city, Daniel read reply twice, phone in hand, apartment quiet too quiet. For first time, quiet no feel like peace. E feel like empty.

He held her hand for only few seconds in archive room. Practical, necessary. Yet he still remembered how her fingers felt — cold, shaking, trusting his.

He told himself work na work. Employee na employee.

But door inside him don open small.

And he no know whether to close am or leave am open