Page 19

The last time he and D'Yoyo met accidentally, the man had shoved him so hard, he'd fallen down the escalator in ICM.

A horrific incident caught on cameras. No broken bones, but he'd received a couple of stitches at Jelix-med hospital and endured Dr Gyang's attempts at convincing him to give Nejeere—who had sacrificed her life to slave as a manager—a chance.

Despite him not qualifying as her choice, with his dreadlocks and too handsome face.

D'Yoyo had, of course, paid the price. Timians had come down heavily on him, and Timi maintained silence.

The scheduled meeting at Buck Ent would be another accidental one, since he convinced Charles to keep his involvement a secret.

He understood Nejeere's worries. But did she have to tell Alex about it, or worse still show him the video?

There was no finesse when one was falling to their death, and he'd gone down, a howling coward.

“Just admit you had fun retelling the story,” he mumbled.

“Of course, I did,” Nejeere retorted. “Never heard any human make that sound.” She looped an arm through Alex's. “Come, let me introduce you to the other staff, before you guys head off to a meeting that shouldn't be happening.”

“Did my mother bug you?” she asked Alex as they strolled towards the door, arm in arm.

“She's still her sweet self,” he said.

Nejeere snorted. “You're the only one on this planet who thinks that. Maybe we could go visit her together? Make her day?”

“Maybe.”

He watched them go, a crippling loneliness suddenly swamping him.

D'Yoyo's intolerance for pretence was both his strength and weakness.

In an industry which thrived solely on that, there were people like Agu and Timi who made sure it spelt only weakness.

Seven years ago, a scriptwriter had pitched D'Yoyo.

He loved the story, and had actors picked out immediately.

Agu, famous for bankrolling movies as such, had been contacted.

A move he would later regret. After several meetings, where D'Yoyo adamantly refused to lick Agu's ass or give up the script for a large payoff, he'd resumed work one morning to see a levelled building, blackened by soot. None of his equipment salvageable.

The news had called it a mysterious fire out-break. Agu had called it the repercussion for foolishness.

Six months later, The American Prince was released, starring Timi Lawson, Buck's latest actor.

Timi found out the story a year later after D'Yoyo got back into the scene.

But by then, he'd inherited a venomous hatred from just being Agu's associate.

They deliberately avoided meeting, till that evening at the galleria.

He'd tried to make amends. D'Yoyo hoped he died slowly and painfully, preferably with him watching.

The fall was accidental, but he'd gotten the message.

Or maybe he hadn't, because D'Yoyo's long, thin face in front of him now could induce an explosion of molten magma. Setting everyone in the room on fire, including Maxwell Cobbs, the swarthy Black American director, who observed their face-off in bewilderment.

“Please, can you give us a minute?” Timi called out, eyes fixed on D'Yoyo's murderous ones.

D'Yoyo faced the room. “Save yourself the stress, I'm leaving.”

“Ten minutes, D'Yoyo, that’s all I’m asking.”

When he remained standing, Timi silently waved them off. Alex, however, didn't move an inch. Staring at D'Yoyo with an expression that dared anyone to remove him. Something like the fluttering of a trapped butterfly stirred in Timi's chest.

“I will never work with you, Timi Lawson,” D'Yoyo spat, once the door closed.

“Fine,” he said. “How about working for yourself? ”

D'Yoyo's eyes narrowed. “I already work for myself.”

He shook his head. “In this project, you wouldn't. But I'll like to offer you the opportunity of doing exactly what you want and getting a huge profit out of it.”

D'Yoyo stepped closer, till his extended finger was a hairsbreadth away from Timi's chest. He picked each word with a jab of the finger. “You.Can't.Give.Me.Anything.”

Alex approached, but Timi waved a hand behind him to stall his movement. Then, smiled. “You know, for a respectable face in the industry, you're not very bright.”

D'Yoyo gave a slow blink.

Timi stepped backwards. “You won't ever work with me? Well, I call bullshit on that, since you've had no qualms working with the man you truly hate.”

“You dare insult me?”

“It's only an insult if it isn't true.”

D'Yoyo opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, all the while looking at Timi like he would love nothing more than to uproot his head with his bare hands. When he turned to leave, having concluded murder wasn't exactly a wise decision, Timi jumped in front of him.

“Get out of my way, Lawson,” he said softly.

“How long will you let Agu continue to win?”

His eyes shot sparks. “What has that pig got to do with anything?”

Timi clicked his tongue. “You don't know much, do you? All you know is hate the man, and whomever he endorses.”

“You think I hate you because of him?”

“Well, I'm loveable. I've been told.”

D'Yoyo walked up to him until they were almost toe to toe.

His eyes, slightly lower than Timi's. “Hear this very clearly, Timi fucking Lawson.

I hate you because you're a cowardly piece of shit.

At least your owner openly owns his wickedness.

But you? You hide and pilfer. Then, act like you don't know people suffered for what you stole. This? You and me? Never going to happen.”

Timi gave a small smile. “I didn't think we could agree on anything. ”

He blinked again. “What?”

“You're right. I'm a cowardly piece of shit. But it doesn't make you any less…slow. And I never stole. I simply took what imperceptive people like you couldn't hold on to.”

“Never stole? He burnt my equipment. Everything!”

“And there you go again accusing me of a crime I didn't commit.”

“You mean a crime that made you?”

“I didn't know about it until you came back. And by then, The American Prince had run out of popularity.”

“Doesn't change the fact it made you what you are today. Accept it or not, but no crime goes unpunished. So sad Karma had to drag your poor father into it.”

Timi's lungs seized up.

“You probably used him to climb the ladder,” D'Yoyo spat.

“Seeing as you aren't even related. And instead of doing all you can to clear the name of the man you callously used, you're here scheming on how to sneak into the people's graces again. Poor man must be turning in his grave having such a spineless son—”

“That's enough,” Alex finally spoke. He walked over to stand beside Timi.

“Or what?” D'Yoyo sneered. “What will you do if I keep talking? In case your boss is deaf, tell him I’d rather work with agberos than breathe the same air with him and his owner.”

Alex made to speak again, but Timi stopped him with a hand on his arm. For this to work, he needed to earn the man's respect by handling him on his own.

He closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling, trying to match his increased heartbeats with the numbers he counted in his head. He'd brought his enemy on board for a reason; he couldn't lose sight of that. Even when every nerve in his body longed to tear into him for bringing up Uncle Jude.

He opened his eyes, and D'Yoyo took a step backward at the small smile playing on his lips.

“Your words still pack a punch, D'Yoyo,” he said softly. “I respect a man of consistency. Unfortunately, this respect doesn't extend to your hypocrisy. You shit so much on the very thing that made you a millionaire many times over.”

D'Yoyo's eyes narrowed till they were slits. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He covered his mouth with a palm. “Oopsies.” Impulsively, he glanced at Alex, needing to include him in the triumphant moment at hand. “Would you...?”

Alex’s smouldering gaze lingered, and a tiny shiver travelled down Timi's spine as he raised an eyebrow in question.

Alex shifted his gaze to D'Yoyo. “Agu is Buck,” he said.

D'Yoyo went rigid, staring like he'd stumbled on a group of corpses having an orgy.

Timi tapped his lips thoughtfully. “Maybe you really didn't know. Or you wouldn't have forgiven and worked with them all these years, right? Because you're a man of principles, aren't you? Can never slurp up your vomit, no matter how sweet smelling it is.”

“You're lying.” He finally found words, although they came as a whisper. “Dame B is—”

“A figure head,” Timi supplied. “An effective one, yes, but Agu holds the cards. Why do you think he badly needed the American Prince's rights to go to Buck's new production unit? Why everyone he helps, signs under the company. This is sacred knowledge I just gave you for free.”

He gripped the table edges he leaned on. “That can't be. I assumed they just had some sort of agree—.”

“Imagine falling right into the hands of the man you swore you would never work with. And knowing Agu, he must have been laughing, watching you collaborate with Buck. Snorting and farting, and his boys, inhaling the flatulence, eyes watering from—”

“Shut up!” D'Yoyo snarled suddenly. “Shut the hell up!” With trembling hands, he snatched up his leather messenger bag and began heading for the door. Timi blocked him again.

“Get out of my fucking way, or your next fall will be out of that window.”

Timi shook his head, tongue clicking. “You see this?

This is why we're so different. Why you're the best, but not the highest paid.

So unwilling to play the long game. You choose your heart, when you should involve your brain.

You're about securing a deal worth millions, but here you are, about to reject it all.”

“You think I care about the money?”

“So, you'll give back every penny you rightfully earned?”

“If I can, yes.”

Timi shook his head. “Still a loser,” he muttered. “Money isn't important? Fine. How about your reputation?”

D'Yoyo stared at him.