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He pointed at the door. “Out there is a man all the way from America, who has come to respect you.

Charles and Shadrach won't shut up about you guys' chemistry. I already imagine future collaborations that would set you on the map. Now, you want him to see you as a delicate buffoon who has no control over his emotions?”

“How dare you—”

“Oh, for goodness' sake, grow up, man,” Timi burst out. “Yeah, we get it. Agu is the big bad wolf that destroyed your brick house. So, what you gonna do about it, huh? Especially now you know he's been mocking you for years.”

D'Yoyo suddenly smiled. “Years of dining with the devil have made you bold and foolish. You think me, you, anyone, can take up Agu? Can 'do something about it' as you stupidly rave about? You're spoiled. And you're the one who should grow up.”

“Listen —”

“You listen. Your owner snatches food from your mouth, and now you want to rope me into your yeye attempt at revenge? What's the plan, ehn? Throw tantrums? Give him the silent treatment? Cry? What something are you capable of doing?”

Timi stepped away from him, to lean against the table that took up almost all the space in the conference room. Alex remained where he stood, arms folded, a giant wrinkle on his forehead.

“Oh, you'd love to know, wouldn't you?” Timi said, tapping his feet. “Someone who was close to Agu for seven years. Knows what makes him happy, sad, angry, afraid. Now, wants to use this knowledge against him. Then, there's you, willing to play the fool forever. Who's the spineless idiot now?”

D'Yoyo's glare slowly eased in the following silence. He appeared now as a man who had battled curiosity and lost shamefully. “You're going against Agu?” he asked eventually.

“I am,” Timi replied.

His eyes squinted with suspicion. “I thought he was your Lord and Saviour?”

Timi's face hardened. “The only Lord and Saviour I know is dead.”

He scoffed. “Jesus?”

“My father.”

“Ah. So, Agu started the rumour.”

“More like escalated it.”

“For all we know, he may have started it,” Alex spoke up.

D'Yoyo swept Alex in one appraising look. “New guard?” He directed the question at Timi.

“P.A,” Alex said.

He grunted. “I see. You might want to reduce all…” he gestured at Alex's intimidating stance, “...this. Or people may get the wrong idea.”

Timi stiffened. “What idea?”

“They already believe you prefer men, and with the project coming up—”

“What has that got to do with this?” Timi forced out through the dread crawling through him. Had his shamelessness from that night spilled into his behaviour with Alex? The man didn't deserve to be dragged into his filth. He hazarded a glance at Alex, but he only stared impassively at D'Yoyo.

D'Yoyo's gaze turned more critical. “I thought you’re Mr. Cool.”

Timi's throat tightened. “We've delayed everyone long enough. You mentioned the project. I take it you've decided to go forward with this?”

The man dropped his bag. “I've agreed to sit through the meeting. Since you went through all this trouble, shooting this series must be critical to your plan. Will make my decision after hearing you out.”

Timi suppressed a relieved sigh. “I'll send you a meeting point. ”

He gave a sharp nod and headed for a seat. As Alex headed out of the room to call everyone back, Timi hoped counting on D'Yoyo's hatred wasn't a wrong move.

During the meeting, with every referral to his scandal and how it could affect the whole production, Timi shrank until he was a bacterium under the microscopic lens of a scientist with OCD.

He knew the disgusted sneer on everyone's faces wasn't real, but bumping into Prophet Emmanuel had weakened his defences.

Throughout the weekend, he’d holed up in the house, soaking in warm baths, meditating, watching South Park, and occasionally chanting 'I'm grown.

They can't hurt me ', while actively avoiding the medicine cabinet in his room.

He'd managed to catch some sleep, fitful but not as terrible as the first night with Alex.

He'd expected some consequences of reliving the past, but nothing like this. Twisted faces swam in his head, snarling sex, marriage, LGBT, police until he was sure his brain matter would join the splash of colour on the surrounding walls.

His fingers found the band on his wrist. He dragged it up and let it slap hard against his soft flesh. He continued till the unrelenting pain submerged the faces and his thoughts refocused. He was Timi Lawson now, the world couldn't hurt him anymore. He won.

“The solid sponsorship and the nature of Red Tinsel assure us it would be a hit,” Sour Shadrach, Buck's creative director, was saying. He smiled in Maxwell's direction. “And your contribution too, sir, of course.”

If Timi was himself, he would have made gagging noises. Sour Shadrach couldn't even hide the dollar symbols in his eyes.

Maxwell Cobbs, the media guru who spoke with a lisp, nodded.

“I've gone through Mr. Lawson's portfolio.

I don't think we have anything to worry about.

However, Red Tinsel cannot be told under Nollywood's conservative lens. I want raw passion, true conflict, fantastic showmanship.” He glanced at Timi. “You sure you up for it?”

He was asking if Timi was okay being filmed fucking.

Was there any scummy microorganism tinier than a bacterium? He forced out a smile. “Of course. When am I ever not up for it?” Then, chuckled at his joke.

Maxwell nodded. “That's settled.”

He seemed…nice. A shame his first Nollywood project would be far from what he hoped for.

“Red Tinsel has a lot of action, and Zik is a seasoned fighter,” D'Yoyo said, then gestured at Timi. “How physically fit is this guy? Will the four weeks of training be enough? And with the recent development—”

Timi's laughter rang out, startling everyone.

“Ah, D'Yoyo! Don't tell me your knowledge is as outdated as your leather bag.

Haven't you watched your lead actor's latest?” The door opened, and Alex stepped in, probably to relay a message.

But Timi was in another dimension, where the frantic need to stop feeling like the grime under everyone's shoes ruled him.

He pointed at Alex. “See him? I've got the best fighter on lock down. I'm good!”

A hush fell in the room, or maybe it was in his head. And his blood froze to icicles at the look on Alex's face. He'd confided in him, and Timi had gone on to tell a room full of people prone to digging for stories and celebrity gossip.

Alex didn't slam the door, but Timi felt the soft click down to his bones.

He desperately needed to throw up.