Gold Coast Dilemma

Chapter 14 Ofosua

CHAPTER 14 OFOSUA

ADINKRA SAYING: (Boa Me Na Me Mmoa Wo) Help me and let me help you.

HELEN ADDO: Marriage is helping a man to learn how to help himself.

A couple of weeks after my Hotep adventures, when my May hay fever had given way to warm days and nights in the city, I could feel the energy in the air as I got ready to head to my event.

I had been looking forward to this Aurora St. James reading for a month. Even before I had my own imprint, she’d been on my list of authors to watch. She was a romance author, so she wasn’t previously on Drake’s radar. But I knew for a fact her books could read like the best book club fiction. Not to mention her agent had sent me her latest manuscript, and I’d fallen in love all over again.

Then her agent had sent me an invite to a reading she was doing to benefit the Library Hope Charity, and I’d jumped at the chance and dragged Emory with me.

Dead Darlings was a staple for me. I’d been coming to readings here at Judson Memorial Church since I was a sullen teenager. Authors read bits that had been cut from their published works. It was a brilliant series.

Just as Emory grabbed us two seats, I glanced up and froze. “What the hell is he doing here?” Cole sat in one of the seats at the back of the balcony and grinned at me like an idiot.

Emory winced. “We can’t pretend we don’t see him.”

Reluctantly, we moved our things and joined his small round table. “Ladies, I’m so glad to see that you could attend. I’d worried you were going to be late.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked.

He held his hands up in surrender. “You’re always talking about signing up authors who can make the reader feel connected. So I figured I should take the opportunity to see one of your favorites in person. It’ll help me hone my pitch to the major accounts.”

“How did you find me? You weren’t even supposed to know I was coming here.”

He laughed. “I’m not a rookie. You keep your calendar private, but she does not.” His finger pointed directly at Emory.

The two of us just sighed. He was really determined that we were going to do this together.

“I meant to ask, how was your date last night? You look far too rested for it to have been a long night.”

Keeping my voice low, I muttered, “My dating life is none of your business.”

His Cheshire cat grin remained in place. “Oh, that good, huh?”

I was still contemplating the best places to bury a body when Aurora took the stage.

Once she started reading, I couldn’t help but grin. And of course, I couldn’t help but cast a quick glance over at Cole, who was sitting forward, elbows on the table, gaze riveted on Aurora. He was into this. Good.

I laughed and he turned to me. “What’s so funny?”

“The way you’re staring at Aurora like she is the second coming.”

He gave me a sheepish grin, dimple peeking out from where stubble dusted his jaw. He obviously had no idea how sexy he looked.

So you think he’s sexy.

“Aurora is kicking ass.”

I nodded. “I know, right? She’s got such a great story. And an amazing way of delivering. I love it.”

Emory’s phone buzzed, and she excused herself to go take it outside.

Cole leaned over. “My uncle should hear her read. She’s riveting. Brilliant on delivery. On a book tour with maybe a television spot, she would kill.”

I blinked rapidly. “You’re thinking a book tour for her?”

He pointed toward the stage. “She’s the kind of author that’s an easy sell. She’s funny and can capture an audience, which makes her great for outlets like NPR and major podcasts. Her words have the juice. Her deleted scene is funny, sure, but it’s also lyrical and fluid and almost heartbreaking as she talks about lost love.”

I listened to him, completely transfixed. He wasn’t kidding. “You’re serious about this? This isn’t a joke to you?”

I watched as he lifted a hand to the back of his neck. “Can I be honest with you?”

I shrugged. “Honesty is preferred.”

“I’ve been a bit of a prick.”

I couldn’t help but break out in a laugh. “A bit?”

“Okay, fine. I’ve been a lot of a prick. All this time you’ve been talking about publishing a wider range of fiction than what we’ve typically done at Drake, and I have dismissed you and spouted all the nonsense I’ve heard over the years about certain urban genres being ‘over.’ It’s bullshit. The point is, I can see the potential in Aurora. Probably in a way I’ve never seen it for another author before. We could go a long way with her.”

A smile spread over my lips before I could really stop it. “Told you so.”

His deep, rumbling chuckle made my heart trip. “Yes, yes, you have an eye for talent. So let’s find a way to actually give her the money she deserves and make this happen.”

I laughed. “You’re serious?”

“Like I said before, it would be a mistake to underestimate either one of us.”

“Okay, then. Her book needs work. I’m not saying it doesn’t. But she has the touch.”

“You have some more authors for me to check out?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I have three more. A Latinx author who wrote a really beautiful memoir about her time as a dominatrix. She’s a total badass. Then there is Seun Akewele. I think she’s Nigerian. She’s written this funny commercial novel about the women in her family and the secrets they keep. And then there is Christina Pratt, a biracial woman. Hers starts out as the standard sort of women’s fiction, divorced-and-trying-to-find-themselves sort of fare, but then it takes a brilliant turn no reader would guess. I couldn’t put it down.”

Something happened then: the world washed away and suddenly it was just the two of us locked in a bubble talking prospects and books and potential. It was the buzz. That feeling when you’re really vibing with someone and you just know they are going to be your best friend. Or something else entirely.

You’ve been here before, though.

Yes, I had.

In the end it was Emory who broke the spell. But then she abandoned us. There was a flood in her apartment, and she had to go.

“You want to get some food?” Cole asked.

I blinked at him. It was close to six, so I would have headed home anyway. “Sure, we can grab a bite.”

“They’re doing Around the World in Bryant Park. Do you want to check it out?”

That sounded like a lot of people and uncontrollable situations. And, hell, I was already so close to home. There was no reason to say yes. Also, it was Cole.

But when I opened my mouth to beg off, instead of no, I said, “Sure.”

Around the World in Bryant Park was an event that had started two years ago. Local vendors from all over the city set up their food trucks along the edge of the park, and world cuisine was at your fingertips. We took the subway uptown, and I noticed Cole fidgeting. “When was the last time you took the subway?” I asked as I clung onto one of the railings.

He frowned. “I took it this week.”

“But you don’t take it often, do you?”

He shook his head. “No, not really. Does it show?”

I laughed. “Yeah, it does.”

“Why are you so comfortable on the subway? You give off a high-maintenance vibe.”

I shrugged. “Honestly, my mother would be appalled to see me on this train.”

Cole laughed. “She sounds like my mother.”

“They might get along.”

He chuckled. “Maybe. My mom is a pill, though, so possibly not.”

“Well, you haven’t lived until you’ve met a Ghanaian mother like Helen Addo. I like to equate being her daughter to a true running of the gauntlet. No occasion is ever complete unless you had to spend several hours in her presence and endure her telling you everything about you, from your hair to your clothes, to your demeanor and your college degree, is all wrong.”

He chuckled. “We might have the same mother.”

It was easy talking to him now for some reason. I couldn’t explain when it shifted between us, but maybe he wasn’t quite what I’d thought he was. And I probably wasn’t anywhere near what he’d thought I was.

When we reached Bryant Park and walked through the throngs of people, the spring air made me smile. The scent of flowers, the people, the food. “Okay, I know you’ve been around the world. What’s your favorite thing to eat?”

“Ah, you’re putting me on the spot,” he said, looking pensive. “Well, there’s a place here that has the best Kobe beef burgers I’ve ever had.”

I blinked at him. “Wait, so you have the opportunity to eat from anywhere in the world, food truck vendors from all kinds of places, and somehow you still pick burgers.”

“What? Technically, it’s from Japan.”

“Okay. How about we meet under the clock in ten minutes?”

He looked like he didn’t want to agree with that. “The clock, right.”

“I promise, I’m not going to ditch you.”

He laughed. “You know, I’m hard to ditch.”

“Yes, I have noticed. You’re persistent when you want something.”

His grin was so wicked, again, butterflies were mobilizing in my belly.

My favorite Ghanaian food truck had kelewele, and the vendor served me a heaping mound of it. The ginger mixed with the pepper and the onions seasoning the plantain made my stomach growl. It conjured instant memories of my favorite kelewele seller at Labone Junction, near my parents’ compound in the Cantonments area of Accra. First thing I did every time I went home was head there straight from the airport.

I did a little happy dance as they added a side of jollof, the reddish-orange color of the rice making me smile.

Ghanaian food I didn’t cook and that didn’t come with mom strings? Brilliant.

We found a seat in the middle of the park with one of the borrowed blankets from the event organizers. I sat down immediately, unable to wait. I couldn’t deny it, his Kobe beef did smell good. But not as good as my food.

With a curious glance at my plate, he asked, “Okay, explain to me, what is all that?”

“You’ve got your own food.”

He took a bite of his Kobe beef burger. “Let me guess, you know how to make all of this?”

I laughed. “Of course. My mother would insult me for days if I didn’t. Granted she insults me anyway.”

“So it’s a big deal that you know how to cook?”

“Every Ghanaian mother sees it as her stock in trade that her daughter knows how to cook. If her son doesn’t know how to cook, it doesn’t matter.”

“Sexist.”

“My mother would tell you it’s traditional .”

As we were munching in companionable silence, I turned my head slightly, enjoying the setting sun and the twilight of the city. But when I turned my head back to my food, Cole was stealing a piece of plantain off my plate. “Hey.” I slapped his hand.

He popped it in his mouth and then groaned as he nodded, looking happy as a clam. “Oh my God,” he said around a mouthful of food. “That’s amazing.”

“I know. Which is why I got it. Try that again and you’re going to lose a limb.”

He laughed. “You didn’t tell me it was going to be that good.”

“ You didn’t tell me you were a food thief.”

He grinned. “I’m a food thief. I admit it. So get ready to share, because I can’t let that go.”

“Cole Drake, if you take another piece of my food—”

I didn’t get to finish. He stole another plantain and then worked his fork around to take some jollof. I tried to stab him with my fork. Sadly, it was plastic, so not that damaging.

“Ow, worth it, though,” he said around a mouthful of jollof.

“If this were Ghana, you’d be beaten for your insolence.”

He laughed as he merrily chewed. “Okay, my bad. Next time, I’ll let you make all the food choices.”

“What makes you think there is going to be a next time ?”

“Because you like me now. So there’s definitely going to be a next time.”

Heat suffused my face. “You know this isn’t a date, right? I work with you.”

He grinned. “Pretty sure this is a better date than your last one.”

I was never going to tell him how right he was.

COLE

I hated it when Ofos was right. I liked her. I knew I liked her. Hell, it was probably written all over my face that I liked her.

She was easy to hang around with. Fun. Entertaining. Energetic. And if she kept smiling at me like that, I was going to say something stupid.

As if you haven’t already.

We’d eventually gone off to get me my own plate of Ghanaian food, which we shared because that was only fair. I’d even managed to snag a recently occupied bench so she didn’t have to sit back in the grass in her Gucci A-line skirt. I recognized it from Fashion Week last season.

Honestly, I hadn’t thought about what I was doing when I suggested we get some dinner. I thought we’d talk shop or something.

Or you wanted to spend time with her.

I’d take time with her any way I could get it. Though trying to date her might be tricky. She worked for my uncle’s company. Hopefully, someday my company, assuming I didn’t screw up. And there was the fact that up until today she wasn’t my biggest fan.

Is that what you’re really worried about? With her new imprint she’s on your level. She’s not in your direct reporting structure.

She leaned over. “You have this look of consternation on your face. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I shrugged. “This afternoon just highlighted that maybe Drake Publishing has been going about things all wrong for too long. I am trying to figure out how to show that to my uncle and prove to him that trusting me isn’t a wasted endeavor.”

She watched me closely. “Do you think that he thinks that?”

“I don’t know. But given my father’s performance, I’m always aware he might.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard a few things here and there.”

I laughed. “Let me guess, you’ve read about my father?”

She shrugged. “Can’t really believe everything you read online.”

“Unfortunately, if it’s about my dad, you probably can. All those tales of him with actual Playboy bunnies running around, all accurate. My dad is that guy who can’t let go of a bygone era, or whatever the hell you want to call it. He still thinks he has the power, influence, and money to bend the world to his will. He doesn’t. His whole life, everything has been handed to him. And then there’s my mother, who’s embarrassed by him, so she was always drilling into my head that I was not going to turn out like him.”

“You don’t want to be anything like him?”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t.”

Then she asked, “Is that why your uncle is running Drake Publishing instead of your dad?”

Ah, she didn’t know my aunt was the Drake. Well, not many publishing people in our generation did. “Dad is a fuckup. My aunt is not. She loves the business but she wants nothing to do with the day-to-day of publishing, but her husband, Uncle Steven, did. He worked for a major UK publisher before he met her.”

“Oh, wow. But his last name is Drake.”

I chuckled at that. “He said he wanted to look progressive to my aunt. And that it was an honor to take such a famous literary name. He’ll never admit it, but I think my grandfather twisted his arm. This is Drake Publishing, and at the time I was too young to take the helm. The old man needed a Drake in the big seat. It’s dumb, but it made sense to them.”

“No man in Ghana would ever take a woman’s name. Too much ego.”

“Let’s just say Uncle Steven is more than happy to run Drake until I hit my thirtieth birthday.”

“Is that when you’ll take over?”

“That’s the plan, I guess. If that’s what I want. If I step out of line, though, the board can choose to make the position in name only and hire a CEO.”

“Well, good to know the timeline. I’ll have moved on by then.”

The fuck? “Why?”

“I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be allowed to cuss out the CEO, and I have to tell you, that’s one of the best parts of my day.”

Her smile was bright, and her eyes danced. I was so mesmerized that I forgot I wasn’t supposed to get sucked in.

“You’ve never once cussed me out and you know it. You are so professional it’s infuriating. Especially when I’m trying to rile you. Your eyes, though. They say I will murder you at least once a day.”

“Violence is beneath me,” she said with a haughty sniffle, then added, “My murder-Cole fantasies usually involve you having a horrifyingly embarrassing incident where you perish from humiliation.”

“Well, I would miss our daily battles if you weren’t here. I’d probably still message you daily with per my last email emails just to make your day.”

Her laugh trilled, and just like that I was caught in her snare, unable to look away or breathe or think about anything other than kissing her.

I’d been so locked on her laugh, I had to catch up to what she was saying. “… There are some moments when I can step back and see the struggle my parents went through when they arrived here. Even though I know that struggle is relative. Dad came for school at Dartmouth, and Mum followed after—Oxford medical school. I grew up mostly here, and I still struggle to navigate. I can’t imagine what it was like for them. Still, the pressure to perform to their expectations is actually astronomical.”

“Do you also feel like you’re always a bit of a disappointment?”

“Most days. I was a good student. And I’ve always loved books. I graduated with honors. But don’t ask my mother about the fact that I did not get a master’s degree.”

I laughed. “But does she not know that you don’t need one for the career you chose?”

“Who’s to say what she knows? She’s humiliated that her only daughter doesn’t have a master’s degree.”

“What do your parents do?”

“My father is in tech, got his PhD in computer science. He gives lots of talks about bridging the digital divide around the world. He’s built quite a name for himself.”

“That’s amazing. What about your mom?”

“Well, she was a doctor, then a hospital administrator. She retired a few years ago, and something tells me she’s bored out of her skull, because now I’m her project. And the woman sure knows how to argue her case.”

“It sucks to think you haven’t lived up to expectations, doesn’t it?”

“Especially when I know I never will.”

“You know, growing up, I always thought it was just me.”

“Nah. Everyone’s parents put pressure on their kids somehow.”

I nodded. “You’re different than I thought you were.”

She laughed then. “Oh, am I?”

“Yeah, you are. Not nearly as uptight.” Way to be smooth there.

“Is this your way of calling for a truce? You waving the white flag, Drake?”

“I think we’re a good team. And , God help me, if we work together and stop fighting each other, we can get a lot done.”

She bumped my shoulder with a wide grin. “Go ahead and say it. In our nemesis war, I’m the winner.”

My gaze searched hers for a long moment before dropping to her lips. All my blood rushed south, leaving me dizzy and incapable of thinking correctly. My voice was husky when I spoke. “Fine. You’re the winner. What do you demand as your reward?”

When my gaze lifted to hers again, her pupils were dilated and she licked her lips nervously, but she didn’t move away. My heart thundered behind my ribs as I took the leap and inched closer. The longer she held eye contact, the dizzier I felt.

I inched closer and this time, her gaze dipped down to my mouth. Blood rushed and pumped in my head, and I would give everything I had to taste her.

Then something caught the periphery of my gaze. A man with two hands overloaded with plates and a drink. A little boy jumped enthusiastically around his feet.

Automatically, I reached for her shoulder, pulling her to my side of the bench so she was practically sitting on my lap. Her eyes went wide, but her body didn’t stiffen. If anything, she took one long breath, and relaxed into the hold, her eyes glued on my lips.

Only vaguely aware of the chaos around us as the father argued with his son to stay still, I held her tight, trying to tamp down the spike of need in my blood. All it took was one peek of her tongue to moisten her lip to drown out everything, freezing us in time. Or maybe that was the roaring of my blood.

Sliding my hand up, I traced fingertips along the back of her neck and inched forward. Her lids fluttered closed and—

“Shit!” Unable to get a handle on his plates and the kid, the man dropped his food on the bench.

Ofos whipped her head around as if she’d finally understood what had just happened.

On her side of the bench, there was a plate of a gumbo-like stew and another red stew made with what looked like black-eyed peas splattered on what would have been her Gucci skirt. “I guess you just saved me from a wardrobe disaster. Thank you,” she said as she pushed away from me and shoved to her feet, the moment severed now.

Yeah. Sure. That’s what I was doing. “No problem,” I muttered, trying to cool that spike of need in my blood.

The harried dad tried to calm his son down. “Damn, I’m sorry. Everyone okay?”

She turned a warm smile on the man. “Yep. Everything’s fine.” Turning to the kid, she knelt, then handed over her dessert tickets that we picked up when we got our plates of food. “Here you go. I think there’s a bofrot stand right over there. It should keep you a little bit full till your dad gets you a new plate.”

The kid took off for the donut-like dessert with a hastily muttered thank-you, while his father tried to grab what remained of his tower of plates.

One look at Ofos told me the moment was long since over. But that didn’t stop me from trying to reach for that connection again. “You okay? Nothing got on you? I can’t imagine that red oil would be easy to get out of clothes.”

“You’re right. Palm oil is a bitch, but you were the ultimate superhero. Is there anything you can’t do?”

She was taking us back to a light place, backing off from the intensity of before. Fine, I could do that for now. Whatever made her more comfortable. “I’m sure you already have that running list, but we’re not going to let you off the hook. You were telling me all your secrets.”

“No,” she said with a laugh, “you were about to tell me what I won in your surrender.”

I had to chuckle at that. “You don’t let anything slide, do you?”

“You sound like my cousin. She’s the one always telling me to loosen up.”

I laughed. “Why does she think you need to loosen up?”

Ofosua shrugged. “All my friends and family think I’ve become this shell version of myself. Very straight. No fun.”

I met her gaze. That dark gaze pulling me in, making me want to know more and be closer to her. “Are they right?”

“I’m not sure. I had a vision for my life, you know? But then everything changed, and suddenly I couldn’t function. So now I have to figure out a new life for myself. I’m still in the process of licking my wounds, I guess.”

I nodded. “That makes sense. Not that I’m butting into your business.”

She laughed. “Yeah, but you actually are butting into my business.”

I grinned. “Since I’m already butting in, tell me what happened. One day, you walked in with a big old smile on your face and a flashy-ass ring. And then that ring was gone. And you seemed”—I shrugged as I tried to find the right word—“distant.”

She took umbrage at that. “My ring was not flashy.”

I laughed. “It was a three-carat stunner, with emeralds and rubies around it. It was flashy.”

She flushed. “Okay, fine, it was a little flashy. As to what happened, I caught him cheating on me during our traditional wedding, and I walked out. Consequently, I passed out after a panic attack. That’s when you saw me in the hospital.”

Who the hell would do that to her? “Fuck. I’m so sorry. He’s a dick.”

Her brow furrowed as she considered. “I know. And I appreciate it. Just have to figure out who I am now and try to put it all behind me. I’ve been doing that for nearly nine months.”

I nodded, thinking about my conversation with my father. “You’ll get there.”

She laughed. “Are you sure? Because some days I fantasize about the best places to bury a body in New York.”

I met her gaze then. “Just call me if you need some muscle.”

The corner of her lips tipped up in a hint of a smile. “Careful now, Cole Drake. I might actually start to like you.”

“News flash, you more than like me,” I said with a wink.