Mandy chuckled. The only ones who knew her identity as the trainer were Bass, her parents, and the organisers of the one-month long master class. She was not a trainee as she'd led Agnes and Joe to believe.

  None of the pretentious interns and Ad exec wannabes suspected that the woman dressed in skinny jeans and ballerinas, hair always in a ponytail or top-bun and light make-up was Mmandu Uffot, the tremendous yet elusive co-owner of Ad Guru Consult. It was easy to achieve because her online presence was slim to none. Facebook was mostly to connect with friends, and she used an alias.

  True to how fickle society could be, she'd continued to shock people with her simplicity. She’d connected with and helped companies through their advertising struggles by training their workers. Yet, there was always someone willing to shout her down during sessions. It was as though they thought she might be a homeless person who wandered into their class. Maybe, who knew what went through people’s minds.

  “The past week has been spent in closed-door seminars with the top shots, brainstorming and coming up with new campaigns that fit their different companies,” she said.

  Bass grunted.

  She sighed. “During breaks, I go to the halls for training the potential interns and observe. I’ve received a few mean stares when I sit at the decorated tables. Someone tried to ‘shoo’ me off yesterday. They thought I was a hotel worker and not worthy of being in their precious class.”

  Bass guffawed. “Mmandu Uffot, your mouth is terrible!”

  She had to pull the phone from her ear to avoid her cousin’s booming laugh.

  “It pays the bills,” she replied, grinning while twisting her wrist to check the time. She had a few minutes to enjoy the natural air before going back to the AC inside.

  "I wonder why their bosses don’t brief them about you or what to expect," he said.

  Mandy shrugged before recalling Bass couldn't see. "They shouldn't have to. I expect trainees to do the research. They knew the name of the company handling the training and could've dug for information."

  "Or ask other colleagues who'd attended the training the previous years," Bass added.

  "That too.” She blew breath in exasperation, “I've learnt to carry on, do my job, knowing I’ve been paid already, eh?"

  “True. Oh, and with everything happening, I forgot to tell you. Your dear landlord almost punched me in the face when he saw me coming out of your apartment, days ago.”

  Mandy sat straighter, her heart thumping, “What? Why? What did you do to him?”

  She could hear Bassey’s incredulity, “Why am I at fault here? Seriously, you would sacrifice family at the feet of your love interest?”

  That question might have come out wrongly, she cringed. But if anybody could understand, it would be Bass. Especially, since he'd been in the same boat not long ago before he secured his love interest.

  “You would do the same,” she accused without remorse.

  “Well,” he huffed, “If he’s showing such hostility, he must feel something, right?”

  Her heart thudded, “I can only hope, Bass.”

  “Hey, don’t be down. When you get back, we’ll strategize on how to secure the man.”

  She could practically hear his smirk through the phone.

  That got a smile from her and an idea too. “Sure. I’ll hold you to that.”

  “I won’t mind as long as you bring more of those garters for Agnes. In different colours, please.”

  She laughed out, recalling her wedding gift to her friend and neighbour whom Bass had fallen in love with from a simple Facebook photo.

  “I’ll send you the bill.”

  “Deal. Love you, Lil’ sis,” he said and ended the call, leaving her chuckling.

  So, her sexy garter discovery had turned her cousin’s head. Cool. Mandy was grateful to Sifon, her new friend, and recent wife to a popular silver fox, the owner of Manny Resorts.

  Sifon had told her about @gail_lingerie on Instagram who sold sexy plus size lingerie. And since Mandy was in Lagos, she'd decided to visit their store. Her eyes had bulged, and her wallet had lost considerable weight that day. It looked like the store would be seeing her again.

  Since Bass loved it so much and from Sifon’s giggles when she'd asked if she wore them for Manny, perhaps, it would work on Joe. It better or she'd keep trying until he succumbed. Yet, what limit would be enough?

  She wanted the man.

  However, she didn’t want to seem shameless while doing it. Agnes would be the perfect person to speak to about limits. The lady breathed etiquette and would help her not cross the line to desperation.

  Mandy was shelving this thought as she walked into the hall with the trainees already seated. She couldn't find her PA, the young man assigned to assist her during the month-long exercise, anywhere. However, it was no problem. Mandy would never let trainees wait. She kept to time and appreciated when others did too.

  The hall was filled with young and not so young men and women hoping to make it in the advertising industry. It was a cut-throat world out there. These training sessions were necessary to boost their knowledge. However, it was the strength of their creativity and innovation that would stand out.

  Getting to the podium, she placed her bag on a table. If her temporary assistant were here, he’d be connecting her laptop to the projector. She sighed, deciding to start the training, pending his arrival.

  Silencing her phone, she looked up to discover everyone staring at her curiously. Mandy knew she must look strange wearing jeans and a t-shirt in a hall full of corporately attired people.

  As expected, the expressions were shock and confusion. Especially, from the trainees who’d seen her sitting at the back of the hall.

  “You miss road?” someone boldly shouted in Pidgin English and they laughed.

  Mandy smiled.

  The first shout and her non-response must have given others the courage to shout out their insults too. She heard someone exclaim, “Who died and made you our teacher?”

  That one was funny.

  Mandy chuckled, wondering if no senior officials ever arrived early for these sessions. She sighed, knowing they’d stroll in after an hour, having already had their private sessions with her. Their presence here could have been a deterrent to the raucousness currently being displayed.

  Mr Adebayo, her assistant, rushed through the double doors, with her laptop in tow. He looked perturbed.

  She smiled at him, but his expression got worse as the hall welcomed him. They were shouting for Mandy to be kicked off the stage. She really had no idea what was wrong with people.

  “I’m so sorry, Madam,” he gushed, “Someone ought to have been here to introduce you. I’ll do that now.”

  “It’s okay, Mr Adebayo, calm down.” Mandy shrugged to show she wasn’t bothered.

  She stepped aside so he could take the podium.

  A few of the executives, two females and a male, sauntered in then. They were, of course, dressed in what society would’ve expected her to adorn – expensive suits and shiny shoes.

  Mandy nodded at them with a small smile.

  They took their seats at the decorated table behind the podium, blissfully unaware of her acerbic thoughts.

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I apologize for my late entrance. But before I introduce our trainer, the one you all have been breathlessly waiting for. The one you would love to bag an internship position with, I’d like to read out an abridged version of her profile.”

  A soft smile lifted her lips as she shook her head behind Adebayo. Perhaps, this was him being angry for her, the dear man.

  He started reading, and it didn’t sound like an abridged version to Mandy. He listed most of her credentials from the US and Russia. He didn't seem like he was slowing down and she couldn’t take it anymore. Precious training time was wasting. Reaching out, she tapped him, nodding when he turned.

  Understanding me, he sighed, “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, the amiable and quite cerebral lady, Miss Mmandu Uffot!”

  Applause thundered in the hall while Adebayo turned to her with a smile.

  Mandy shook her head at him as she climbed the podium again, hearing murmurs as the applause fizzled out.

  “Good afternoon, everyone. As Mr Adebayo, eloquently put, I’m Mmandu Uffot.” Her gaze scanned the shocked faces, disbelief written on most of them, and perhaps, confusion.

  “What Adebayo failed to add in his introduction was the fact that your companies are paying me, approximately two hundred thousand naira for each of you to be here.”

  There were gasps and more animated shocked expressions from the over two hundred persons seated in the hall. She was sure they were doing the math.

  “Now that I have your attention let’s begin.”

  ***

  It had been a long, stressful one month and Mandy missed home. She was ready to be gone, but there was one more activity to get through—the gala night.

  She dreaded this part of the once-a-year Ad Masterclass because she had to spruce up for it. However, like her aunt, Bassey’s mum, whom she'd called mum since stepping foot in her house at age ten, rightly directed last year, she'd called the stylist. Joke made dressing up easy. This year was no different.

  Having gone through the training month in jeans, pant trousers, shirts, and t-shirts on flat ballerinas, much wasn’t expected of her at the gala.

  It was not a big deal, this gala-night. It was a winding down after networking and studying for a whole month. A simple way to cohere the different Ad companies creating a value chain of sorts. It was necessary even though the different companies were back at each other’s throats the next day. The Ad industry was scary like that, which is why Mandy had chosen to practice in anonymity.

  Nevertheless, whatever involved women and a smattering of eligible men, such an event became a big deal. This was the fourth year of Ad Guru's Masterclass. She’d suffered two years prior, dressing for the galas while her friend and partner, Celia Edem, laughed her head off at Mandy's effort. She’d ended up in pantsuits and felt entirely too out of place when the ladies stepped out in glittering, sexy dresses.

  A disgusting display if anyone asked her, but nobody had.

  She had only complained to mum. Knowing Mandy, the glamorous older woman had prepared the stylist during her third year. Mandy had grumbled at the cost even though she could pay the fee five times over.

  However, after the stylist had been done with her, she’d felt proud, and most importantly, comfortable. It wasn’t a surprise that Celia, who was better at sprucing up, had begun using her stylist too.

  Mandy hadn't hesitated to call Joke this year. And most of her free days in the month, Saturdays, and Sundays were spent trying on glamorous dresses and matching comfortable shoes.

  The product though was worth all the pay and hassle.

  This year, they’d chosen a short red number that hid her flaws and emphasized her best features. The bodice of the dress was snug around her breasts, with a dropped V-neckline showing some cleavage. The skirt of the dress hugged her torso, though it wasn’t tight. The torso moulding design ended above her knee. Then it flared out beautifully, ending at her knee in the front and a little lower at the back.

  According to Joke, it was called a short, trumpet style dress. Mandy called it a mini fishtail dress. Life was already difficult, there was no need getting stuck on dress style names that made no sense to her.

  She'd loved the sheer, three-quarter sleeve. Her fair skin shone through the red, gauzy material. Yet, she was self-conscious about the shimmering fabric of the rest of the dress.

  This had been Joke’s idea. Mandy would’ve been fine with the plain blue, 'non-shimmering' material of the same design. However, Joke had threatened to make her look old when doing her make-up that she’d succumbed and worn the red.

  Besides, a piece of lingerie from her newly discovered lingerie shop had her soft stomach and rolls all compact in the dress, hiking her confidence a notch.

  The glittering nature of the dress made Mandy feel conspicuous. However, the other ladies wore more daring clothes, making her relatively tame and still sexy. She attracted attention.

  Except, she was entirely uninterested in them beyond professional borders.

  So, to protect herself from the shameless sleazes of the Advertising industry, she grabbed her escort, Mr Adebayo and used him as a shield. It didn’t seem so out of place since she’d announced him as her only intern for the next six months.

  She had made the right decision. It turned out Adebayo was pleasant, funny, and easy to converse with outside the corporate environment. The man never took any untold advantages or felt entitled that he’d been favoured by the co-owner of Ad Guru Consult. He remained polite. It didn’t hurt that he was also pleasing to the eye, someone society would expect her to be with. They made a fine pair with her being short, fair, and chubby, and him tall, lean, dark, and handsome. Their pictures looked lovely when ‘The Gala Night in photos’ newsletter had dropped in her mail later that night.

  Mandy was only glad to be done.

  Usually, she conducted a test for the trainees and chose the three best scorers. They would work as interns at the Ad Guru Consult head office, here in Lagos, run by her partner and friend, Celia Edem.

  They’d met at the brief course Mandy had attended in Russia. They’d shared ideas and had bonded well they’d decided to build a company together. Six years later, her friend loved the bustle of Lagos way better than Mandy did, so, she had the run of the head office. At the same time, Mandy remained mostly invisible except for these once per annum training sessions.

  This year though, Mandy had figured the trainees where too rude and decided against a test. Instead, she’d awarded the prestigious position to Adebayo, granting him six months of raw, field experience!

  She was vindictive like that.

  The Ad companies’ execs present were pissed. Most of them looked forward to having their staff intern with Ad Guru for three months at the head office. It was the best, hands-on training experience they’d ever get for free. But Mandy didn’t care. Perhaps, apart from grooming their workers to be great creatives, they should’ve added common courtesy and humility.

  Celia Edem was also going to be pissed she had sent her only one intern when she found out. Mandy dreaded her call.

  But she was also super proud about what they’d built in a male-dominated industry. Sheer determination, a brain full of unusual ideas and of course, massive investments from their parents had realised the dream. Now, their parents were ecstatic from reaping dividends of their assets a hundred times over.

  After her bath, Mandy fell on her hotel bed with a sigh and purred as she enjoyed the smooth coolness of her bedsheet. She didn’t have to wake at an ungodly hour so her designated driver would beat the terrible Lagos traffic.

  She checked her mails and other messages and smiled when she saw one from Sifon and Agnes. Mandy made a mental plan to arrange a ladies' outing when she got home. She chatted with them a bit. Then sent the pictures from the gala before turning off her data, dimming the light and sliding under the blanket.

  She looked forward to dreaming about Joe Akang, her entirely too sexy, silver fox landlord.

  Read an excerpt from Purple and White by Emem Bassey featured in the Love and the Lawless anthology

  BLURB

  Rono is a vigilante mafia prince with a dangerous plan to avenge his father’s death.

  Suto is a genius medical doctor not afraid to get her hands dirty to pay off her father’s debt.

  A marriage of convenience between these two could solve their problems. But what happens when love complicates matters and betrayal rears its ugly head?

  CHAPTER ONE

  Outskirt of Uyo

  “Yes! Yes, I did it!” the man sobbed, his head dropping over his chest as he heaved, blood dripping from his mouth and soaking his lilac shirt.

  Rono Ating stood ramrod straight and wondered why Oscar had decided to confess after his face had been beaten to an unrecognizable pulp. He could have done it when he’d not been touched at all.

  “The prize was enticing, and Jacob … your father, never thought me worthy enough to sit in his dealings.” Oscar sneered; it could be heard in the tone of his voice, because his battered face proved unable to portray that emotion.

  “So, you thought it would be a good idea to betray him.” Rono chuckled, looking round the decrepit warehouse. “Who?”

  Oscar knew not to pretend he didn’t understand the question. He listed out names of people, business partners Rono’s father had regarded as close associates.

  “And Felicia?” Rono looked at the tied up man, hoping to get more from the shift of his eyes, but he spat in disgust.

  “I know nothing about your fuck bitch. There was talk about kidnapping her to put you in a fix, but someone said she wasn’t worth anything to you.”

  “My father must have seen through your pretence … and your recent group of friends do, too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Thank you, Oscar, for the list, but it’s quite unfortunate you won’t be paying for my laundry,” Rono commented while staring at his blood-stained white shirt, a result of beating on Oscar.

  It took a while for Oscar to understand his meaning. Fear broke through the passiveness of his battered face when Rono pointed the gun at his head.

  “Plea—”

  His head exploded on the warehouse floor before he could complete the single syllable word.

  Rono stood there staring at the mess while examining how he felt at just killing a man, ending his destiny, as it were. Was that a twinge at the darkest part of his heart? He mentally shook his head. No twinge, not when he recalled his father’s unmoving body at the mortuary as clear as when he’d stared at it. His mind refused to forget the cloying scent of formalin and the cold. He’d not had to touch his father to feel the cold; it had wafted from his still body.

 

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