Chapter 2: Helpful tip?

Amos

I sat waiting impatiently, staring at my watch every now and then, placing yet another call to my incompetent manager—my secretary. All she ever did was ask for her salary after getting absolutely nothing done throughout the month.

The last call had been five minutes ago. The only reason I’d waited that long was because she’d complained she couldn’t concentrate enough to get my request done.

I didn’t care—but my request was crucial today. That was the only reason I waited longer than a minute before calling again, and even then, I managed just five minutes.

She picked up.

“If I get late for this event, you’re sacked,” I threatened. “And if I get fined, I’ll make sure you never get a job again.”

My voice was low and hushed—terrifying even to my own ears. I knew exactly how it would sound to her, and I didn’t care. All I wanted were results. The thing I’d asked for—something she claimed she was working on—was taking forever.

Forty minutes passed after the last call, and I was ready to place another one. This time, not to threaten her—no. I was going to sack her and promise her a wretched life the moment I dropped the call.

However, before I could dial her number, her call came in. At the same time, I heard approaching footsteps climbing the stairs leading to the second part of my house. I stepped out of the kitchen.

I spotted a man in my living room, seated on my couch, and without a second thought, I knew why he was there. He stood up immediately and greeted me politely, bowing deeply—almost like the Japanese.

Did he live there? That question didn’t even bother me enough to deserve an answer.

Without a response, I shrugged and headed for the stairs, not sparing him a second glance.

As the man greeted me, my secretary, Mosun, turned to see who he was addressing. Our eyes met, and she immediately froze. I could easily read her thoughts. She had expected me to be in my room, waiting for her to arrive. And yes, I should have been—if I hadn’t stepped out to get water. The mini fridge in my room was empty.

From the look on her face, she wanted me to scold her all I liked—but not in the presence of whoever that man was. Perhaps someone important to her.

Her boyfriend?

She brought her boyfriend to fix me up? To clean up her mess? I snorted at the thought, careful not to let my attitude show. Not that I truly cared.

First impressions weren’t something I valued.

“You are late,” I said, offering nothing but a cold, stern look as I slipped my warm hands into my pockets and stood straight.

She stopped at the sound of my voice, unable to move. Frozen—scared to her nerves. The sight stirred a faint tingle of excitement in me.

I watched her lips part, her mouth opening wide to let out words—or even the smallest sound—but nothing came out. She tried, but failed.

No matter how long she had worked for me, she had never gotten used to the way I spoke to people. I intimidated. And I didn’t seem concerned about what that did to anyone.

“You are late,” I said, offering nothing but a cold, stern look as I slipped my warm hands into my pockets and stood straight.

She stopped at the sound of my voice, unable to move. Frozen—scared to her nerves. The sight stirred a faint tingle of excitement in me.

I watched her lips part, her mouth opening wide to let out words—or even the smallest sound—but nothing came out. She tried, but failed.

No excuse.

I concluded that was what the stammering meant—her inability to form a word. She was guilty of her act. No pity stirred in me for the young girl, not even a trace, as I watched her helplessly struggle to speak, trying for so long to push words out.

Perhaps she hadn’t prepared herself for the reality she was about to face. Perhaps that was what scared her—the fear that any word, any action, might hasten the proclamation she was desperately trying to avoid.

Perhaps I could repent and give her a second chance.

A second chance that wasn’t available. Enough of her incompetence.

“Mind explaining who is standing in the same room as us?”

That was the first full statement I had made in the past few minutes that had ticked away. She understood my point immediately. Perhaps that was the only thing she had learned—and mastered—in the couple of months she had worked for me.

I don’t speak to strangers, especially those brought into my space without my consent. If I didn’t invite you in, then I would rather get information about you from your host.

I glanced at the stranger. He didn’t seem to grasp what I was driving at until I cast one more look at him, then back at Mosun. That was when she finally found her voice.

“The stylist. He is the stylist,” she said, her voice vibrating.

Not what I had expected. It was above my expectations. I hadn’t anticipated a trembling voice—nor a fully horrified, timid one either. Something in between would have satisfied me, proof that I still had my effect on her.

The thought of this man being my stylist—of him putting together what I was going to wear—irritated me. I hadn’t even taken the time to check what he was wearing.

I turned to take a proper look at him. He wasn’t really dressed—just a plain white shirt, shorts, and white sneakers. Something I’d wear to the gym before changing. Casual. Ordinary. I saw nothing special.

He could have done better. He could have tried to impress me on the first day. Perhaps he believed his work would do the magic.

However, whatever magic he had planned didn’t work.

The moment he finally dressed me, I knew it was going to be a flop. From the very start, I knew. He had picked two colours I didn’t fancy, and that alone told me we were going to hate each other. I was already imagining slamming it in his face—telling him to get a job at the nearest filling station or bakery instead. His efforts would be much appreciated there.

As for me… my day was ruined.

And Mosun? I had nothing to say to her. She left immediately with the man, because she knew what was coming next.

I was left alone in the room. Seated on the couch opposite my bed, I rested recklessly—not because no one was there, but because I had been more frustrated than I ever had been. I stared at the clothes he had picked out, now pulled off and laid haphazardly across the bed. I couldn’t help but wonder what the man had been thinking.

I blamed myself. I hadn’t asked enough questions about what he planned to do. And the moment he said he would work only with what I already had—unable to pick matching fabrics or colours for proper layering—I knew I had once again placed myself in the wrong hands.

It made me remember other encounters I’d had. One in particular—someone who claimed skill but crossed boundaries instead. He did nothing useful, only invading my space. Before he could go any further, I had kicked him out.

And then there was the female stylist. All she did was hover, staring at me—imagining the unthinkable. Biting her bottom lip, holding an unbroken gaze. I knew I wasn’t going to fall for it, but I made sure to keep her out of my space and never have her around again.

Then there were the countless others who wanted to dress me like a clown simply because I was attending a masked party. One of them wanted me wearing his design—God knows where he got the inspiration. Probably from watching a mentally unstable person perform, or some demonic display.

I was screwed.

I was definitely going to be late for this event. No one needed to remind me. With Mosun gone, there was no one left to keep me on track.

As I tried to release a long-held sigh, I don’t know what kept me still. And just like that, I slipped into a sleep I hadn’t expected. It was restful—except for the slight pain in my neck when I woke up. It hurt a little, but not much.

I wouldn’t have woken up—if not for my phone blowing up. From that instant, I knew I was going to face consequences, but I didn’t mind. As long as I wasn’t going to show up looking like one of those people I had mocked in my head—a fashion-suffering disaster.

I could have put something together myself, but after the long day I’d had, I was more than unwilling to attend. I just wanted to rest. Unfortunately, the position I’d slept in only left me more uncomfortable, my neck muscles twisted and aching.

But that was of little concern.

I didn’t bother persuading anyone or calling my host to give reasons. My manager would have handled everything—

I don’t have a manager anymore.

No. I definitely still do.

I hadn’t issued any instruction that she was fired. My words earlier were merely threats—born out of issues I had with her beyond our working relationship.

I got up, massaging my neck, the pain sharp but kept to myself. I placed several calls to Mosun, but like every other time I’d threatened to sack her, she ignored them—assuming she was already fired, or expecting me to lash out the moment she answered.

“Stop being childish. Just pick the d@mn phone up.”

My tone rose with each word, and by the last one, I could feel a strained vein in my neck.

I couldn’t believe I was stressing over some event. I was actually glad I hadn’t attended—though my excuse wouldn’t have sounded tangible to my host, to me it was more than enough.

I headed downstairs to grab some water and calm myself—not because I wanted to stop overthinking, but simply because I wanted water.

Just wanted the water…

After that night, things seemed to get better. I received a hurried call from my sister, worried sick about why I hadn’t attended the event. She claimed she had been seated right in front of the TV, waiting impatiently to see my entrance—only for me not to show up.

Yes, she was one of those who had taken it upon themselves to make my phone practically dead and inactive.

Unlike every other “important” person who managed to send a text or make a call—people I didn’t bother explaining myself to—I explained everything to my sister. Lucky for me, she offered advice: to look up a fashion company that specialized in styling and order their services.

It was a helpful tip. I would have paid billions to anyone who carried such a treasure of an idea.

Immediately, I searched and found one of the most recommended companies—top ratings, solid reviews. Not just ratings, but genuine feedback. Somehow, I’d come across the name before. It stuck, though I didn’t dwell on it at the time. I guess it was going to be needful after all.

Before making any move, I dug a little deeper into their services. The results were positive—far from negative, though with a few average reviews. Normal.

Just like that, I decided to order their services for upcoming events… or maybe as a test.

Probably a test.