Chapter 1 - The Last Message

CHAPTER 1: THE LAST MESSAGE

By the seventh WhatsApp, Mandla Buthelezi had stopped pretending he was not watching his cellphone vibrate against the glass of his desk. The blue light flashed beside a half-finished presentation and a coffee ring he had meant to wipe away an hour earlier. Outside the thirty-second floor windows, Sandton had gone black and silver, traffic crawling along Katherine Street like a line of tired fireflies.

Every message was from Nolwazi. Fetch full-cream milk from Checkers. Find something decent for your mother before Sunday. Refuse collection came in the morning, and his side of the built-in cupboard was still a graveyard of old shirts and unopened courier bags.

He read them all with his jaw tight. None of it was impossible. That almost made it worse. He had a prospective account arriving at nine, three slides still refusing to behave, and a client who could turn one weak sentence into a week of unpaid revisions. At home, somebody wanted milk.

Mandla turned the cellphone face-down and pressed the button beneath his monitor.

"Amahle, please come through."

She appeared before the lift had finished chiming on the floor below. That was Amahle's gift: she moved through the office like she had heard the request before it was made. She carried a takeaway cup in one hand, steam folding around her wrist, and wore a burgundy blouse tucked into a charcoal skirt. The top two buttons sat loose enough to make his eyes pause before he could stop them.

"Long night, sir," she said, setting the coffee beside his keyboard. Her perfume followed her—something warm and clean, amber and orange blossom under the office air-conditioning.

"You knew I needed this."

"It is my job to know what you need."

"After eight, you can call me Mandla."

Her smile changed by a fraction. She lowered herself into the chair opposite him instead of returning to the corridor. Beyond the glass wall, the empty agency had settled into its night noises: a lift somewhere below, the far-off hum of the cleaning crew, rain beginning to tick against the windows.

"Do you need anything else?" Amahle asked.

The answer arrived too quickly. "Yes."

Her brows lifted. Mandla cleared his throat and looked back at the slide on his screen. "No. I am fine. Thank you."

Amahle did not stand. Her dark eyes stayed on his face, patient enough to make the office feel smaller. Then she touched the third button of her blouse and eased it free. Not hurried. Not shy. Just a small movement that made his pulse press against the collar of his shirt.

"Amahle?"

"Do you want me to stop?"

He should have said yes. He was a married man in an office with glass walls, a client presentation and a wife who would be wondering where he was. Instead he watched her fingers hover at the next button.

"No," he said. His voice came out lower than he meant it to.

She rose from the chair and slipped the blouse from one shoulder, showing the narrow burgundy strap beneath. "You should lock the door. And close the blinds."

Mandla looked towards the corridor. "It is only us left."

Amahle's smile returned, slow and bright in the dim office. "I made sure of that."

Good girl, you think of everything.