Chapter 2 TERMS AND CONDITIONS

Amara didn't sleep that night.

She lay on her narrow mattress, eyes wide open, replaying the scene over and over. The café. The spilled coffee. Damian Okoye's icy eyes. And then-his impossible instruction:

"Get my car. And give her a job application form."

Who did that? Who gave someone a job because they ruined your shirt?

She kept expecting someone to call and say it was a prank. Or maybe security would show up and charge her for harassment.

But by morning, the café had sent an email confirming a 10 a.m. interview at OrionTech Group's headquarters in Victoria Island.

She stared at the message like it was written in code.

By 8 a.m., she was on the road.

She couldn't afford an Uber, so she navigated through the maze of danfo buses, switching from Surulere to CMS, then taking a tricycle across the bridge to the island. Her body ached, her cough was getting worse, but her pulse buzzed with nervous energy.

The OrionTech building was impossible to miss.

A twenty-story glass tower with mirrored panels that reflected the sky. At the entrance, a rotating silver sculpture spun slowly-a stylized "O" with stars circling it. The guards barely glanced at her once she showed them the email.

Inside, the lobby looked like something out of a sci-fi film. Touchscreens, floating digital displays, and plants that somehow didn't look real-but were. Amara felt out of place in her thrift-store blouse and worn-out flats, but she kept her chin up.

She was ushered into an elevator, and then into a minimalist office on the top floor.

"Mr. Okoye will see you shortly," the assistant said.

She nodded, heart in her throat.

Damian Okoye's office was quieter than she expected. No music. No ticking clock. Just the soft hum of the city beyond the glass walls.

And then he walked in.

Dark suit. Black shirt. No tie. A new white shirt-thank God. His presence sucked the air from the room. It wasn't just that he was handsome-it was the precision in his movements. The confidence. The stillness.

Amara stood.

"Sit," he said, already moving behind his desk.

She sat, barely breathing.

He opened a file. "Your CV. You graduated two years ago. Freelance PR work. No stable job since."

She winced slightly. "Yes, sir."

"No criminal record. No dependents. No immediate spouse or children."

She blinked. "Is that... relevant?"

He didn't look up. "Everything is relevant. Why are you job hunting now?"

Her throat tightened. "Because I need money."

His eyes flicked to hers, finally.

"That's honest," he said.

Amara swallowed. "You told your staff to give me a job application. I wasn't expecting-this."

"You weren't expecting a job?"

"I thought... maybe a lawsuit," she admitted quietly.

To her surprise, he gave a short, low laugh. Just once.

"I've been sued before. That would've been boring."

She didn't know how to respond, so she said nothing.

He leaned back in his chair. "You made an impression."

"I spilled your coffee."

"Exactly."

A pause.

Then he said, "I have an opening. Personal assistant. It's temporary. Demanding. Confidential. High pay."

Amara blinked. "Me? A PA?"

"Yes. Starting immediately. If you want it."

"But... why me?"

"Because," he said smoothly, "I like unpredictable things. You seem unpredictable."

That made her feel like a puzzle piece in someone else's game, but she couldn't argue. Not with the way her medication costs were rising and her bank account was shrinking.

"Okay," she said. "What are the conditions?"

He stood, walked to a shelf, and pulled out a black folder.

"You'll sign an NDA. You'll be on call 24/7. No posting anything about me. No discussing personal matters. You'll follow instructions without questions unless otherwise stated."

She flipped through the contract. The salary made her blink-₦750,000 monthly. More than anything she'd ever dreamed of.

"I'm paying you to be efficient, invisible when necessary, and fiercely loyal. Not to ask questions about my life, or yours."

That last part hit her.

He didn't want to know her life.

Good.

Because if he ever found out the truth-the coughing fits, the hospital bills, the fact that she was practically dying-he'd probably fire her before the first paycheck.

"Understood," she said, forcing a smile.

She signed the contract.

He handed her a company phone, a sleek badge, and a card with the words Orion Tower - Executive Floor Access.

She was employed. Just like that.

Her first task came immediately: arrange a press release for the company's upcoming product launch, coordinate with PR firms in Dubai, and screen three potential investment meetings for the week.

It was like being thrown into a storm.

But Amara was good. She knew she was good. She typed fast, made calls with poise, organized chaos into order. Her only problem was the cough, which she kept choking back with bottled water and lozenges.

Damian barely looked at her throughout the day. But once, she caught him watching her when he thought she wasn't looking.

There was something odd in his gaze-not curiosity, not lust-something deeper. Almost... searching.

She looked away first.

By 6:47 p.m., she was packing up her things, exhausted and sore.

She felt his presence before he spoke.

"You didn't cough all day."

She turned. He was at the glass wall, looking down at the city.

She tried to smile. "I have strong lozenges."

He nodded, but his voice turned cool. "Don't hide anything from me, Miss Ikenna. If you're sick, tell me."

Her stomach twisted. Was it that obvious?

"I'm not sick," she lied quietly.

He didn't say anything for a long moment. Then: "Good."

And just like that, he walked out.

That night, Amara cried in the shower.

Not because she was weak-but because she was scared.

She had just stepped into a world she had no business being in. A world of billionaires, glass towers, secrets, and expectations.

And she was racing against time.

Six months.

That's all she had.

But maybe... just maybe... fate was finally throwing her a lifeline.

And his name was Damian Okoye.