Chapter 16 Ofosua
CHAPTER 16 OFOSUA
ADINKRA SAYING: (Akoben) War horn. A symbol of a call to action, readiness to be called to action, readiness, and voluntarism.
HELEN ADDO: Love is a game of war. With strategies and tactics. To gather the right tools for war, you must first pick the right partner.
An hour later, with my bag in the crook of my elbow, I marched into the restaurant. It was around the corner from the office. At least this way, I made lunch convenient for me. And it was nice enough that I was hoping my mother wouldn’t complain incessantly. Her complaints were so legendary, I’d almost given up on taking her anywhere. It was embarrassing.
Mom had a very specific way she liked things. Her way. And the thing was, almost nobody could do things her way exactly. It was exhausting. She would shake her head and smile sweetly but complain as she ate and then leave a generous tip. It was no better in Ghana. God help anyone who thought they could surpass her cooking. The only exception was our housekeeper, Estela. I think it was because my mother had trained Estela from the time she was twelve.
When I walked into the restaurant, she was already seated. Today’s outfit was an all-white Givenchy suit, which I, no doubt, would have already spilled something on. “Eh, there you are.”
“Sorry, Mum. I am coming from work, and I had a meeting.”
“As if lunch with your mother isn’t also important.”
Cool it—she’s trying to get your ire up. You are not going to lose your shit today. Coast on those endorphins.
I wasn’t going to let her steal my happy high.
“Did you already order?”
“You know I don’t really like the food in these oyibo places.”
And we were off to the races. She was lying. She liked Western food just fine. She just enjoyed the theater of being picky. That pursed lip I knew so well had already taken up residence on her beautiful face as she perused the menu.
“Mum, please, not today. Let’s just have a nice lunch.”
“So, everything okay?”
She gave her unenthusiastic order by changing the fish to sole and explaining that they needed to add ginger to the sauce and how not to overcook her vegetables. “You know I’ve been busy with the foundation.”
I’d never known how she’d managed to be at the hospital and do all that charity work and be around for me so often. As a kid, I had no idea that she was superwoman.
I’d been in Ghana with my grandparents when she was doing her fellowship in London. Dad had been in the States starting his company. I’d seen Mum about once a month and my father once every three months until finally, we’d all moved to the States once Mum was offered a job in New York.
It had been hard for her, especially when I was little, having to navigate the schools, and the moms, and the PTA, and the disdain on the faces when we would walk in.
Whenever I thought about those kinds of things, I was always proud of her. And then there were moments like this, when she said, “Oh, good, you’re settled in. Now I can bring him over.”
My eyes went wide. “?‘Him’?”
I saw the shadow before I felt the heat and turned. My first impression was the shiny oxfords, bespoke plaid suit, and trim figure, obviously in shape. No jacket, but a vest.
Nice touch.
The pattern was a very fine plaid, green and blue over gray. Crisp white shirt, silver-and-diamond cuff links, beautiful dark onyx skin with a close-trimmed beard.
So close.
I hated beards. But he had a wide smile, shrewd deep-set dark eyes, and the lashes… Hell, they were thicker than mine. This man was fine with a capital F .
“Uh, hello?”
“Hello, I’m Jacob. Your mother has told me everything about you.”
I darted a glance at my mother, who was giving me a wide grin and nodding encouragingly.
Every. Single. Time.
It was like she carried around successful dick in Tupperware containers, just waiting to offer you one.
When he took a seat next to me, I tried to stay calm and not be irritated he hadn’t asked to sit. I turned to face him. “Um, Jacob, is it?”
His grin flashed. “Yes.”
“What is it that you do, Jacob?”
“I’m a doctor.”
Ironically, I do know my mother as well as she thinks she knows me. “Oh, right, a doctor. Let me guess, a surgeon?”
He grinned. “Of course.”
I turned to my mother, who was starting to stand and take her purse. “Where are you going?” I nearly shrieked in panic. There was no way I was doing this forced date alone.
“Well, I’m going to leave you and Jacob to get to know each other better. Jacob, dear, I ordered you the sole.”
Jacob grinned and placed his arm around the back of my chair. “Auntie, thank you. Did you also tell them my schedule? I can’t stay long. There is that Black Doctors under Thirty photo spread I need to get to.” He winked at me as he said it.
Lord save me from the arrogance.
His fingers grazed my shoulder, and I know he thought that was sexy, but his fingers were ice-cold and sent a shiver down my spine in a bad way. I turned slowly to him.
Surely, at some point, my mother would run out of wealthy, eligible Ghanaian men in New York. “Jacob, I know this isn’t your fault, so pardon my rudeness. But maybe, before you touch someone, you ask for their consent. Because as my mother should have told you, I really, really, really don’t like to be touched. Second, I didn’t agree to this date. My mother did. So she really is the one who should stay.”
My mother gawked. “Ofosua, behave yourself. He’s nice.”
“I’m sure he thinks he is.” I shifted my chair over so his hand was forced to fall down.
Jacob’s brows lifted, and then, in filtered his Ghanaian accent. “Eh, Auntie, you didn’t tell me she was so opinionated. This one is a hard woman.”
My mother sighed. “You’re telling me?”
I laughed as I started to stand up. “You know what? Since the two of you are of the same opinion, you can enjoy your lunch. I’m going back to the office.”
I was in such a hurry to get out of there that I wasn’t looking where I was going. I bumped into a brick wall. In slow motion, I skittered backward, my heels unable to manage the tilt and my weight. The floor ever-so-obligingly rose to meet my ass. In front of the whole restaurant.
“Fuck me.”
A strong hand reached for me. But then instead of pulling me up, he leaned down. “While that is a tempting proposition, I think you would probably kill me.”
I lifted my gaze to find myself sprawled in front of none other than Cole Drake. “What are the chances you’ll forget you ever saw this?” I muttered.
“Change happy hour to actual dinner tonight, and it’s forgotten. I want to hear all about your date.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“So you keep promising.”
COLE
Since Ofos declined my invitation, I thought it would be a good idea to catch up with my uncle, as I often did after acquisitions meetings. Today it seemed especially important, as something was especially off with him in that meeting. The atmosphere at Busca was as boisterous as ever.
After bumping into Ofos running away from what looked like a very awkward date, I spotted my uncle at his usual table by the west window. It wasn’t until I rounded the corner that I saw Nazrin was seated with him. I pulled up short with a smile when I saw them. “Hey, Nazrin. What are you doing here?”
When she saw me, she gave me a wan smile. “Just giving your uncle the rundown on a project he asked me to coordinate. I’m done now, though,” she said, taking her bag off the hook under the table.
“Don’t let me run you off. What project? Am I missing something?”
“I’m sure he’ll explain. I’ll be late for my appointment.”
As she left, my uncle spoke. “I’m considering hiring outside PR for our larger releases. I asked Nazrin to investigate our options.”
“Maybe we should have discussed that? I would have liked to know that was the plan, since Nazrin is part of my department.”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t get territorial. You have your hands full, remember?”
I studied him carefully. “I’m just curious about what my direct reports are up to.”
“When it is something important, you’ll know. Do you care to explain just what the fuck it is you think you’re doing?” he asked, changing the subject.
He looked legitimately angry. But I’d dealt with far worse when it came to angry Drakes. It was time to find out what was truly going on.
I took a seat and signaled for the waiter. “What are you talking about, Uncle Steven? We just left an acquisitions meeting any publisher would consider a success.”
“I didn’t think that you were going to lose sight of what’s important here.”
“And what is that?”
“You openly took her side. On everything. When you should have explained to a very green editor why we don’t waste valuable time. Experience counts for something, you know. People seem to forget that.”
“Waste time? Are you talking about Kenya Jones? She has a huge platform and thousands of loyal readers. We’re going to have to agree to disagree on her.”
“Am I hearing you correctly, Cole?”
I lowered my chin and leveled a hard look at my uncle. “Yes. I have a job to do and you shouldn’t be worried. What you said about me being able to sell just about anything, was that bullshit? You either want me to do my job or you don’t.”
He scowled at me. “Oh, Cole, don’t be ridiculous. You were supposed to guide her into making some good choices, that’s all.”
“Did you even read the manuscripts or glance at the authors’ platforms, Uncle Steven? Because they’re actually great.”
“What’s really going on with you and Ofosua?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” I stared at him.
He backed down. “Fine. Have it your way.”
“We want the same thing, Uncle Steven: for Drake to be a success. We’ve struggled over the last few years. Cosmos is offering an infusion of cash. And his requirements are reasonable ones. Up until now, you’ve been a fan of Ofosua, and she’s doing a good job, so what’s the problem?”
“You and I know full well the reason she’s helming a line before she’s ready. In my day, people had to work for these things. I’m worried about what this is doing to morale.”
There it was again, that knot. The underlying thing that he wasn’t saying outright that sat uneasily with me.
If it sits uneasy with you, say something. For once in your life, fucking do something about it.
“What would that reason be, Uncle Steven? And by the way, morale is fine.”
“None of it matters as long as Cosmos gives us the money.”
He really wasn’t going to say it.
“Fine. Then if it doesn’t matter, let her do her job. Succeed or fail, let it at least be on her merit, instead of trying to make it harder for her at every turn.”
“Have you forgotten I’m the CEO? When they say ‘publisher,’ they do mean me.”
“ Until they mean me. It’s like you’re deliberately trying to sabotage her. Which doesn’t make any sense at all. Do you think Cosmos is going to just hand over the money without you making any real changes?”
He narrowed his gaze at me, and I saw the truth. That was exactly what he intended. He didn’t want his world to change.
“Uncle Steven, Cosmos is not that foolish. Sure, we might get a little infusion of cash. But if he’s smart, which he seems to be, he’ll put it on a schedule. We have to show a real commitment. You can’t just pull something or not support it.”
“One day, she’ll make a fine editor. And I’m for progress. I believe in diversity. But how much so-called change are we pushing through right now just for optics? Nobody wants to say this, but I will. I’m not going to be forced to publish subpar books just because the author is Black and we need to be more woke or whatever your generation calls it, so we don’t get canceled. I don’t care about being canceled. I care about finding the next Dan Brown, and so should you, because that’s what readers want. If we were smart, we’d just ask Evan or Colton to create a new series with a Black detective as the lead. We could be just as successful, even more so, actually.”
A year ago I probably would’ve thought that was something you could do: just commission a seasoned author with a known brand to write about an experience that wasn’t their own, that wasn’t authentic. And I would’ve equated it to authors of color writing white characters. But now I was starting to know better, and I was horrified that my uncle couldn’t see it. Or, actually, he wouldn’t see.
“Evan would never fly with Cosmos.”
He scoffed and waved a hand. “Practicability politics. Ofosua’s writers are unproven.”
“Once again, I direct you to the audience deck we created for Aurora James. But also, have you thought that maybe some of these authors just haven’t been given a chance yet, Uncle Steven? And it’s our job to do that?”
“You’ve been drinking the Kool-Aid.”
I narrowed my gaze. I couldn’t believe the shit that was coming out of his mouth. “What’s that even supposed to mean?”
“You heard me.”
There was nothing like realizing the man you thought you knew was someone else entirely. “Uncle Steven. I just feel like you’re trying to say something without saying it. It’s just us, so you might as well say it.”
“Fine. You and Ofos need more books on your list that will appeal to all readers. I’m not letting a bunch of teenagers on the internet dictate what Drake publishes.”
“You do realize you sound out of touch, right? At best.”
He lifted a brow. “Careful. I need at least one more unquestionably commercial author.”
“Please read the books Ofosua pitched. Also, Uncle Steven? You can’t fire me, if that’s what you are hinting at.”
“We need people who are known.”
“Uncle Steven, Aurora James has more followers on social media than Drake Publishing as a whole does.”
“Followers? I loathe that word. A publishing house leads.”
“Then kill the line and tell Cosmos we don’t want his money, or let Ofosua do her job. Those are the two options as I see it. What’s it going to—”
“Gentlemen, this is a surprise.” Brian Cosmos had a wide smile for the both of us, seemingly unaware of the tension he’d just shattered.
My uncle’s countenance changed immediately. “Cosmos, great to see you.”
“I’m just in town for a few meetings. I was going to come by the office tomorrow, but since you’re here, I’d love to sit down and see how things are going at Drake.”
I’d always liked Cosmos. He was smart. Shrewd. The Queens of a Distant Galaxy series had made quite a bit of money due to our collaboration.
“Cole, it’s been a minute. How are you?”
“Can’t complain. Good to see you.” I didn’t wait for my uncle to speak before adding, “Join us, please, if you have time.”
Cosmos pulled up a chair, folding his long body into it as he and my uncle exchanged pleasantries and I called the waiter over.
We chatted for a minute, and then Cosmos brought up the inevitable. “I understand you’ve started work on your new Black women’s fiction imprint. Cole, your uncle says you’re on that team.”
I refrained from smirking at my uncle. “I am. We’ve got a brilliant editor too. Ofosua Addo. Her taste is incredible. We’ve already acquired some very solid projects.”
Cosmos frowned. “Addo? Is she from Ghana by chance?”
Was Addo a common name in Ghana? Why didn’t I know that?
“Yeah. Actually, she is.”
“A good friend of mine from college is from Ghana. He’s a fraternity brother.”
My uncle looked lost at our exchange, as if it had never occurred to him to ask if Ofosua was from anywhere else but here.
Cosmos sat forward. “I have to tell you, I was very excited to hear that the new imprint is in progress. Hiring a woman of color to helm it was the right call.”
Uncle Steven chimed in, “At Drake, we look to the future.” This was the same man who had basically just told me to add white authors to our new Black imprint. I had to work hard to keep the frown off my brow and keep my lip from curling. He was lying.
“I’m happy to hear it. I want a long-term partnership and investment.”
I slid my uncle a glance. He was going to have to get on board.
“Will I get the opportunity to meet your editor?”
Uncle Steven pressed his lips together. “Eventually. As you can imagine, she’s got her hands full.”
Cosmos nodded. “I like that, a go-getter.”
My uncle looked displeased, but what the hell could he say? “That she is.”
“You’re off to an impressive start. No shortcuts, no cheat codes. Which is critical. I don’t have time for publicity nightmares.”
My uncle nodded. “Brian, Drake believes that it is our responsibility to lead necessary change, which is why we promoted a woman of color from within. It’s why we’re painstakingly combing over each and every submission for underrepresented voices.”
And little did my uncle know how true that was. He was playing games, but Ofos had already outmaneuvered him. We’d gotten an email from Carol as I was walking over. Thanks to the notes Ofos had given and the sales and marketing package I had laid out, our commercial women’s fiction line was getting a new addition.
The question was, what was my uncle going to do once he found out?