Chapter 7
seven
MAGS
Mags: I just got paid, bitches! And my client loved the blazer. I took a ton of pictures for my website, but she won’t let me post them until after her fancy party. Ask me why? No, don’t ask me. But…paid…
Ciar: Send proof of payment, and I’ll buy you a steak at Gray Eyes to celebrate. I know how you like your meat. *wink face*
Gray: Ciar! That was only funny like the first three times! So many hugs and kisses to you, Mags!
Dagr: Consider me a client. I want blankets for Imogen and Colm. Gray for Imogen and black for Colm.
Blair: You would pick those colors for tiny babies, Griffiths. Congrats, Mags!
Mags: I make all the embroidery choices?
Dagr: Of course.
Bébhinn: Congratulations a million times over! I can only assume you will be coming to our charity event. It’s special for me. Tell me yes, for sure.
Mags: Yes. For sure.
Daniel: Congratulations. Seriously. When do we get to see your new flat?
Mags: When it’s not embarrassingly bare. Patience.
Blair: I can’t wait until you can post the pictures. Also, send me a picture of what dress you’re wearing to Bébhinn’s thing. I’m considering a dress that requires no bra or panties.
Gray: Slut. I might be considering a similar dress. Send pictures.
Jonathan: I’m proud of you, Mags.
Mags chose to ignore the last text. I’m proud of you, Mags. “Good for you, Jonathan. Now kindly screw off. Condescending bastard,” she grumbled.
She grabbed her satchel tighter against her body.
She was still carrying a ton of cash even after she’d gone to the bank and deposited most of her earnings.
She’d kept out just enough to swing by one of her favorite secondhand stores to pick out a dress for Dagr and Bébhinn’s event the following night and another bulk case of ramen cups—chicken flavored with corn, her favorite.
The dress was stunning, sexy, and most importantly, cheap.
It was black, which was the perfect shade to hide the cheaper polyester fabric.
The bodice was two thick but flowy straps that created a plunging neckline and offered a peek of her breasts with an even lovelier glimpse of her side boobs.
The straps thinned at the back and were secured with gold hardware.
The skirt was simple and flowed over her hips, but when she walked, a high side slit played peekaboo with her leg. She had plain black heels at home, and she knew they would work perfectly. Truly, the dress was a knockout.
It was getting dark, and she still had two more blocks to trudge before she reached the gallery. Only three days into the week, and she was smashed. She actually had other orders she needed to work on that evening, but she swore to herself that she’d go to bed at a sensible hour.
Sleeping soundly might be a stretch, though. Mags had done something at the chippers today that was so awkward and so unlike her that her muscles were still spasming from shock.
Poor Eze. Poor, poor, poor, poor, poor Eze. That man had gone to work without an inkling of how royally Mags was going to screw his world up.
He only worked at the chippers because he enjoyed the monotony of the work, which allowed him to work through complex theories in algebraic geometry—she asked what that was about. Mistake.
He was an assistant professor at Trinity, but he accepted a full professor’s position at the University of Oxford and would be leaving after December. When she congratulated him, he only said the opportunity would afford him the time to enjoy other pursuits. Spoiler, they’re all math-related.
“I’ll miss you, Eze, but I’m so excited for you.” She’d embarrassed him with the sentiment.
“You can visit,” he’d said gruffly. “The flight is only an hour.”
She laughed. “With my finances, I think the train and ferry option would be a better option.”
“I’ll send you flight fare whenever you wish.”
Mags had felt her cheeks pinken. She wouldn’t allow him to do that, but it had been a very kind offer.
Eze had to have been close to six and a half feet tall.
He was Nigerian royalty, which he only copped to because one of his father’s guards came by the shop once to deliver a “royal summons.” He had the most beautiful, dark skin.
She didn’t know what his hair would look like because he kept it close to his scalp and he usually had a woolen cap on, but his beard was thick and curly and shimmered in the sun.
He told her once that he’d had a serious boyfriend before he went to university in America.
He was tightlipped about his private life other than that.
So, before their shift ended earlier, and she asked him to please pretend to be her slightly amorous date for a charity event, his eyes bulged in surprise.
He hadn’t spoken for so long that Mags was afraid her request might have broken him. “Eze,” Mags said desperately, “forget I asked. It was dumb. I know you aren’t interested in me for heaven’s sake. I’m not interested in you. I mean, you’re a looker, don’t get me wrong, but…but—”
“You want to make some bloke jealous. Am I right?”
She’d hung her head in shame, but she wasn’t a liar.
“Yes. I thought he liked me like I liked him. He kissed me on New Year’s Eve almost three years ago.
He kissed another girl right after. I’m embarrassed that I still feel some humiliation over it.
The real problem is that he’s also one of my best friends.
All our friends hang out together. He usually has an obnoxious date on his arm. ”
“Fine.”
“What? Fine?” Mags practically screamed, shaking off some of the fish guts from her apron. “Really? Oh, Christ, Eze, you’re saving my life.”
He laughed, well, an Eze type of laugh, which meant he was still sober-faced, but there was a slight crease next to his eyes.
“Do you have a dress?”
“I’m taking care of that after work. Remember, I’m getting paid from my first client tonight!”
“Margaret,” he started with quiet intensity, “I don’t understand why you are hiding your difficulties from your friends, but that’s your prerogative.
In the meantime, while you’re working on becoming a famous designer, I need you to know that I can help you financially.
It grieves me that you won’t accept my help. ”
“Being my friend helps me, Eze. I don’t need more than that from you. Besides, hard work builds character. I should have quite an overflow in my character bank already,” she laughed.
He wasn’t amused. “Does starving build character as well?”
“Don’t,” she held up the hand not holding the filet knife. “How’s this, I’ll let you buy my dinner at Gray Eyes tomorrow night?”
“That was a given as you’re my date,” he huffed. “I do have a favor to ask of you as well.”
“You do? Anything.”
He grabbed another cod from the basket between them and began cleaning it. Without looking at her, he said, “My mother’s sixtieth birthday is in two months, which I know isn’t much time, but she loves fans.”
“Fans?” she encouraged further detail.
“Nigerian women enjoy using a fan at important events that matches their outfit. It must have feathers.”
“Feathers. Okay.” Pulling teeth with pliers would hurt less. “Did you want me to make a fan for your mom?”
He let out a relieved breath. “Yes. With feathers, and the inside done in your embroidery. English roses.”
“Oh, Eze, that would be stunning. Any particular reason you want roses?”
“I’m my mother’s youngest child, and she’s been upset with me about taking the job in England.”
“Ahh,” she finally understood, “and you want to give her something traditional with something of her son’s new life incorporated.”
“Exactly. I’ll provide the fan.”
“Any particular color?”
He looked at her sharply then. “You don’t take requests when it comes to your embroidery. You’ve told me that a million times.”
“I will for your mom’s special present.”
“All the colors, then.”
“A true English garden. Perfect.
“This man. The one who let you get away. We’ll make sure he regrets throwing you over for that other woman. Tell me about the charity.”