𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚎'𝚜 𝚂𝚘𝚗.

Chapter 6

In the morning, Damola was already up and ready. He had to meet with the Minister of Petroleum and Minister of Finance. As early as six o'clock that morning, his father had already called like a thousand times. And yet, Damola was incredibly reluctant to picking his calls. He took his time to get ready, and made sure he didn't rush. He also made sure he didn't wake Chelsea in the process, he didn't want her nagging at him so early in the morning. He was just about putting on his golden wristwatch, when Chelsea finally woke up.

The minute her eyes landed on him, with his back turned towards her, she smiled. He looked so good, dresses in a crisp white shirt and a royal blue pantsuit. Whatever it was he was doing, made her smile because his muscles flexed while he did whatever it was he was doing. Soon, he turned around, and met her staring, dreamily, at him. Chelsea almost gasped, the minute she fully saw his outfit. He had unbuttoned the top part of his shirt, and his dread had been tied into a tight, low bun. He also had a matching total blue Versace durag tied to his hair, and a small gold chain was found on his neck. As Chelsea continued to check him out, shamelessly, she noticed how well his chest area were toned, and how much it glistened under the reflections of the light in the room. His lips were so inviting, bright pink and so ogle-worthy. And so was the rest of him. She couldn't calculate how long she spent checking him out, but by the time he cleared his throat and walked towards her, she realized it must've been pretty long.

"Good morning," he said, while fixing up his collar. "Did you sleep well?" He bothered to ask, and she grinned at him and nodded.

"With you by my side? Of course I did!" She grinned again, and got up and came closer to him. She threw both her hands over his neck, and drew him close to her. "Good morning, love." She said to him, and he managed a small smile.

"I need to leave. I'll be back soon." He said, slowly taking her hands off his neck. Chelsea pouted, and folded her arms, stubbornly.

"Where to?" She asked, and he let out a silent sigh, and inwardly rolled his eyes.

"A meeting. The real reason why I'm here in the first place, anyway." He said, and finally put on his shoe. It had a gold replica of the Versace trademark on it, and it's leather shone so bright, that he could almost see his face through them.

"Oh," Chelsea said. "Okay then. Good luck." She smiled at him, and he hummed a reply, grabbed his black Gucci man pouch — which he slung  across he shoulders — and left the suite. Again, his father's call came in, and he sighed and finally decided to pick up.

"Nice way to ignore your father, don't you think?" Terry couldn't mask the obvious sarcasm, and rage, in his voice. Damola rolled his eyes, and made his way out of the hotel.

"Good morning, dad." He decided to say instead.

Terry was way too vexed to accept his greetings, so he didn't bother acknowledging it and went straight to the point. Straight to the real reason why he even bothered calling. "Where are you?" He asked, and Damola signalled for his driver before replying.

"In Abuja." He snorted, and could hear his father's grunt over the phone.

"Don't act dumb with me. Have you gone to the meeting yet? It's about to start." Terry asked, and rubbed his forehead in frustration. Damola might just be the reason why he'd have a stroke, and join his ancestors. "I knew entrusting you with this task was a bad idea. Dami would've gone instead of you." He muttered under his breath, but Damola had heard some of the things he said.

Now seated in his black, well-polished Mercedes Benz, he told his driver where he was headed, and returned to replying his father. "I'm on my way there now. So please calm down." He said, and Terry heaved a sigh of relief.