Fine Scotch

By Emem Bassey

28-year-old Ad executive Mandy Uffot has wanted her landlord, 48-year-old former Navy officer Joe Akang since she rented an apartment in his building.

Joe values his control. After eight years of celibacy, he doesn’t understand how his young, vivacious tenant has turned his calm existence upside down in a few months. It doesn’t make sense that he missed her bothersome presence when she travelled for over a month and that he went crazy jealous when he saw her in a photo with a man her age.
A near-tragic event has him re-evaluating his priorities. However, the once-determined mouthy bratty Mandy has become uninterested, and Joe has to fight for her love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Love Africa Press
• Release date: Dec 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005921705

Book preview

First Published in Great Britain in 2020 by LOVE AFRICA PRESS

103 Reaver House, 12 East Street, Epsom KT17 1HX

www.loveafricapress.com

Text copyright © Emem Bassey, 2020

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

The right of Emem Bassey to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ISBN: 9781005921705

Also available as paperback

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

Some people say writing is a lonely craft. They are right. If some other people say it takes a village...they are also right.

To Love Africa Press, for being the tower of support I'd never imagined having in this writing journey. 

Every time I have to go through edits, there's always something to learn. Thank You, Kiru, for your abundant patience and boundless passion in what you do.

To Peter Bassey, without you in my life, being a huge pillar of support, strength and whatever else is needed, I cannot say I'd be a successful writer. I'm glad that I don't have to handle all the challenges alone. I'm glad that you are always ready to handle them while I slam at my rickety laptop. Thank you, Love.

To Phoebe (Miracle John Linus) your insight on Joe's character was priceless. Talking over drinks stamped down my anxiety and revved my confidence. You made his character real and reminded me that what I'd written wasn't insane. Thank you, moon goddess.

To my local book club—Inspired Book Club (IBC) for understanding my absence and repeated need to work. You gods and goddesses are amazing.

To my family, always with love.

To my readers, you make this journey worthwhile. Without you, none of this would be important. Thank you for your feedbacks and continued patronage. 

And finally, but in no way the least, I specially thank God for the muse to keep writing in good health of mind and body.

Dedicated to those Young Great Nigerians, who lost their lives at the Lekki Tollgate on October, 20th, 2020. 

May your struggles never be forgotten.

Chapter One

If there was one thing Mandy Uffot could categorize as one of her favourite things, it would be the harmattan season.

She enjoyed the dry, cold breeze, even though she hated the accompanying dust and the consequent catarrh the season brought.

Despite these disadvantages, she sucked in a lungful of dry air and pushed open the swinging door of the Carston Hotel. She made her way to the beautifully landscaped garden not far from the lounge. She lowered her body into one of the lovely crafted wooden seats, already feeling a sigh build in her chest.

Since her arrival in Lagos the previous month, she enjoyed the short breaks at this garden. She came here when she wanted to be alone, away from the pompous executives she dealt with almost daily. The brightly coloured flowers calmed her, and the deserted garden gave her the freedom to make personal calls.

An exhalation pushed through Mandy's throat, but not from the relief of getting a load off her feet. She quashed the urge to roll her eyes at the skinny, well-dressed ladies, sashaying by as though on a runway.

Their conversations were about the cost of Louboutin shoes. However, they were heading to an expensive seminar their companies had funded. Finally giving in to the urge, she rolled her eyes. Then she pulled her ringing phone from her pocket, smiling because the call came at the right time, as usual.

I’m convinced Lagos is where extra ladies come to die.

Bass, her cousin, who was more like a brother, snorted, laughing in her ear. These calls from him kept her grounded when she was far from him. She loved him for never failing to call her daily.

In truth, though, the calls allowed her fish for conversations that had nothing to do with the advertisement industry. She missed home. And she missed troubling her sexy as hell landlord.

Mandy, you’re so basic, everyone else seems extra to you.

She scoffed at Bass’s words, stamping her black ballerinas as though the simple action would magically clean the fine film of dust that had coated it.

I’m simple, man, there’s a difference.

His laugh was happy, free, the sound of a man in love.

She leaned on the back of the garden bench and finally blew out a relieved breath. I would say stop laughing, it’s not funny. But then I’d be wasting my time since all you do these days is laugh after locking down poor Agnes.

Bass managed to scoff amid his mirth. A valuable talent for sure. You say it like you do not wish you had our dear, old landlord locked down.

True, Mandy was googly-eyed for her landlord. She sighed. Well, the man is an expert at dodging my shots.

She thought of his dark, narrow face, the two-day scruff he sometimes had. It usually left Mandy wanting to pet his face just to feel that roughness against her palm. God, could she be more pathetic?

How’s the training going? Any mistakes yet? Bass expertly changed the topic. She loved that he knew her so well and what she needed at times. This call was to create relief, not tension.

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.

Chapter Two

"...seventy-three, seventy-four, seventy-five, seventy-six...urrg!"

Joe fell to the tiled floor, wincing from the pain on his chest as his hands gave out on him mid-lift in his press-up routine. It had never happened to him. He was the king of press-ups if he did say so himself. He wasn’t twenty-eight anymore, but age wasn’t the problem. The unrelenting turmoil in his mind was.

A lot of things had happened before, and he’d never used age as an excuse.

Case in point, why the hell did he use age twenty-eight as an example just now?

Goddammit! Joe slammed his palm on the tile repeatedly, furious at himself, at her, at the universe in general.

He could have used sixteen, he could have used twenty or fucking thirty as an example. But it just had to be a number that connected with her!

The sting of his tantrum did nothing to clear his mind of thoughts he didn’t want to have. How the hell had he gotten here? Why was the universe so twisted?

He had wanted his late wife, Gloria, but couldn’t have her. He obviously didn’t want his personal poltergeist yet she had tortured him daily with her presence and now, even her absence. He only wanted to be left alone, to exist in peace, cherishing the memory of his departed love. Was that too much to ask?

However, the sound of his phone on the settee mocked his heartfelt wish. In the past months since she’d moved in, it had seemed impossible to be left alone. The phone rang insistently, making him turn on his back, blowing breath into the air. His arm stretched, long enough to reach for the telephone buried under a throw pillow on the couch beside him.

It was Manny.

Yes? he answered, not bothering to be civil.

How’re you holding up, man? Manny remained civil, even sounding chirpy.

Joe sniffed angrily, the man’s chirpy tone grating on his nerves.

Of course, Manny should be happy. He was fifty-one years and married to Joe’s 30-something-year-old stepdaughter.

Joe had hated him once, not just for hurting Sifon by believing stupid lies about her but for snagging her attention in the first place. Joe would not have held any grudge against a younger man marrying Gloria’s daughter.

He’d worried about Manny becoming Sifon’s father figure and Sifon forgetting him as a result.

She was the only thing of great value he had left since Gloria’s death, and