Chapter 1: 1

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

Reads: 121

The white curtains blew with the gentle morning breeze and the light bouncing off the expensive, white tiles seemed to smile at her, reminding her that her hangover was not so bad after all; a hangover that was not her for she hardly ever drunk. But she did at the hotel last night.

She was trying to get Müller drunk so that he could sign her contract. In fact, last night she had only stopped short of sleeping in the same bed with him and he was completely wasted.

Hence she raked her thoughts over the night before, when the shower water hit her head; such a good friend to have, a friend who called you just for a fabulous night out. Was it because of her looks? In the mirror, her skin was light brown, her hair fell in cascades of thick black curls over her soft, high cheek bones and the pretty pout of her lips, her small figure formed the number eight and she took great care to dress it up. So, would her looks have done it? No, he was way out of her league and she was thirty.

She was in a dark blue dress now that covered her upper chest but showed off her heavy bust. She would check on him once more before rushing out. Just once more, to see the shapely bridge of his nose and how it ran down his face. So she walked with a brisk gait to the door of his bedroom, gently pushing the fashionable wood. Müller rolled to the other side of the bed in deep sleep. Her eyes softened because of the angular outline of that chin. She tiptoed back.

In the corridor, sweeping all over his grand mansion, Aabha shook her great mass of hair and pushed into the dinning, where she poured out a cup of rich, dark coffee and thought; Müller was drunk last night at the ‘Royal Villa hotel’ because she saw to it. She had helped him into the house, taken off his shoes and got him into his bed. "No contract shigning for me!" She quit pushing the pen in his hand then when he said that.

She had wondered at his determination, son of a German woman and a Ugandan man, here for ten years so far and born thirty three years ago in Cologne, Germany. Müller had started a business empire called 'Müller Machines' importing powerful and other machinery, making huge profits off it with high end clients. Her contract would enable them transport his wide assortment of machines. In fact, she remembered him stepping out of his grey, sleek Mercedes in their parking lot, the first time she saw him, with the soccer player's body; tall and awkward, a sharp nose and the piercing grey eyes. Smacking the car door shut and ignoring the sun on his light skin, his long legs had carried him off to their hall to see about their business. Of course she had stared, with her best friend Brianna.

"If you don't go for that guy Aabha, you are a crazy, insane woman!"

"He probably has a thousand girls around him thinking the same thing."

Later she realised that he was really normal and human. He was around more times after that. So it was no surprise that all eyes were on her this month, in their sales meeting, in the air conditioned boardroom. They wanted his business.

It would be real nice for her sales performance, her boss had said. She took another sip of the rich coffee and let it scald her lips as she studied his home. Hans liked to select the most luxurious material and clearly he paid his cleaners well. She savoured the last drops, refreshed her lipstick and ran her hands over her dress that covered her knees. Later, inside her one room apartment, in the fair neighbourhood, she dropped on her bed and closed her eyes.

Her mom was terribly ill and her father was only a driver. She should not be thinking of Hans this much. Her mother had always chipped in financially because she owned a retail grocery business and she loved her three children to bits, whom she sometimes spoke to in Sankrit when they were young, having descended from a village called Mattur, in Shimoga district, a couple of miles from the state capital, Bangalore, in the southern state of Karnataka. But her father’s family was settled in Rakai. Yet now, something threatened their family; her mother had closed the retail store and now she lay critically ill in bed, the only hope she had was work at her job.

It was because; Maurice, her boss had given her that job happily three years ago. He had taken one look at her GPA and he had been greatly impressed. So she often wondered what changed in such a short time. Perhaps it was the time when they were inside blue hall after a client meeting. The sun had been about to set then and Maurice was sticking the third cigarette in his mouth.

“I am glad we did that job well, transporting all that rice across the border.”

“I wanted to get in touch with my clients to see if they are happy about it.”

“By all means, it’s in your job description.”

“But can you do it? Can you fire the loading boys if they messed up the work?”

“I would look into it.”

His extremely lean figure was relaxed in a chair.

“Such a nice evening for a night out.” He noted.

“Where would that be?”

“At my place of course.”


Maurice was up in a moment and he was squeezing her to his body passionately. She was pushing away and resisting his wet kisses. When she dashed off, he threw off the cigarette that had been burning in his hands and crushed it with his left foot. She was trying to straighten her hair then and to calm herself.

“Sir, I…”

“Don’t worry about it, you are dismissed for now.”

She thought about that moment every night with foreboding and tearful eyes but Monday morning dawned on her. Monday was always busy and the telephones were always ringing off the hook in the large work station with the white walls. The workplace was separated into tiny offices by glass partitions of half walls, with so many desks and computers. In fact, on the wall, at the entrance, there was a large clock reading ten past eight when Aabha rushed in.

"Boss wants to see you now." Brianna the administrator said. She was dressed in a short skirt and a white blouse that was buttoned all the way to her neck. White and black looked great on her smooth dark skin and her large, beautiful eyes.

Meanwhile, Aabha held open the door to his rich office and beheld her boss; Maurice was a thin, thoughtful man, dark skinned, in a loose, white shirt with hard eyes. Only a few weeks ago she had assured him how she could get a contract out of Hans Müller’s hands like a baby.

"I need to see some work from you."

"I already brought in four contracts this year Sir."

"That's not enough." She sighed.

“Otherwise I see you getting fired in the near future." Shakily, at her desk, she breathed out. Only a few days ago, he had hinted at her promotion. She took a deep sigh and clicked on her computer, going straight to Müller's website, looking for any tenders advertised, there was none.

Weird enough.

She read every word on his website and when it was clear that she was wasting her time, she picked up her file of contracts and started to look for the ones that needed renewal, and of course, client feedbacks. It was a large file, only one of several others and it would take time. At ten, she strode to the kitchen for tea.

“You look terrible.”

"I slept in his mansion Brianna."

"So he can sign your contract." Aabha shrugged.

“So what did the boss say?"

"Wondered what was taking long of course."

"Since I've seen you and Müller in the parking lot flirting, I didn't doubt you would get it."

"It's not that easy."


Müller was not making it easy, in fact where he was, the sun was hot and its heat bore down on the car. He glanced at his watch with one flick of his large hand. Then he ignited his car and started to drive back from the east. It seemed like he had spent the whole half of the day driving up and down, however he usually, drove to the airport, the border and so on to check on his machine imports and so driving so much was not new to him. He liked to be there in person sometimes. Sometimes though, the goods were impounded and he had to work out what the problem was.

Today's journey was not about a machine though; it was about an elderly home called 'Lover's heart' where he had met its owners for the funding. The old women and men reminded him of his grandmother who was seventy six. It was her mother, his great grandmother who was too old to do anything. He was lucky to have known her. Therefore, helping 'lover's heart' was no problem to him. He had met them on the internet and saw their call for funding. He had sent some money into their account and their director, had invited him for a tour. He had done that tour today. He had met all the old men and women in the home and some of them smiled at him with toothless grins. That picture would help him sleep well tonight. But after the three hour drive, he was in the city and he drove straight into the ‘Royal Villa hotel’ in the heart of Kampala because by his watch it was nearing one o’clock.

As soon as he stepped onto the tiled floor, thoughts of what happened on Sunday night flooded him. It must have been tough, that morning; he had to throw some Ibuprofen down his throat. He remembered the dancing and he remembered Aabha shoving him shots of liquor. A waiter approached him and he sent for salads and healthy brown rice. The waiter grinned at him.

“You were here on Sunday night?” Hans asked.

The waiter nodded cheerfully.

Hans hated to think that he could have made a fool of himself.

Consequently, he wondered about Aabha and at the same time, his sleek phone vibrated, her name was on the display.

He smiled with thin lips and pushed his phone back into his breast pocket.

Submitted: June 20, 2021

© Copyright 2021 Kristan Kurora. All rights reserved.


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