Mentee
“So, let me get this straight, you somehow decided that, company material, no, copyrighted material was a good idea to email to your friend?” I questioned, my fingers tapping on the desk as I stared at the man before me.
Incompetent fool. My mentee for two months straight had learnt absolutely nothing, other than how to be a bumbling fool, which I was assured he had not gathered from me.
My head throbbed with thought of the plateful of chore I was left with. The author of the piece had called me crying by 3am at night finding her two years of work suddenly scattered about the internet.
And five hours later, I was in the office on a Saturday.
He had the audacity to look overwhelmed before me.
“Can you suddenly not speak? Your buddy on the internet seem to think you have a lot to say,”
He looked up at me. “I’m sorry ma’am?”
I arched an eyebrow at that. “Sorry? What would I need your sorry for? Do you want me to call your author and have you tell her sorry? Sorry you leaked two years of work.”
He actually stopped to think about it before shaking his head. “N-No?”
Fool.
I rubbed my forehead. “Did you stop to think about your actions?”
“Ma’am, I was drunk, It-It won’t happen again,” He told me, forcing every bit of remorse he most likely didn’t feel to the tip of his tongue.
“No. You’re done.” I told him.
His eyes widened. “Fired?! You can’t fire me!”
An eyebrow jolted. “Fire? Your author is deciding to sue, boss man has chosen you to be the fall guy.”
With that I turned away from him and towards my computer.
“You evil bitch!” He snarled out.
I sighed. I hadn’t even eaten yet. This was seriously the last time I was mentoring anyone after this.
“Jude, I’m going to call security now,” was all I said, picking up the desk phone, dialing in the security number.
He looked like he was about to sputter more vile words but instead he removed his ID and threw it at me. “Screw you! In fact you didn’t fire me! I quit Jezebel!”
I could feel the eyes of everyone on us, watching the very dramatic event that would probably be the highlight of everyone’s week for a full year.
Then he stumped out very similarly to my petulant nephew. I scoffed. “I literally just did,” I muttered.
I didn’t have much of a chance to return to my computer before two figures approached my desk. One being my boss — Mr. Ugbede, the short round man in his collar on long sleeve cotton sweater, and plain pants had a jolly expression on his face.
Behind him was someone I didn’t know. The other figure was a male as well. Except he towered over Mr. Ugbede, had a slimmer, fitter figure and a younger look. The man was a looker too. With a slimmer set of eyes I’d seen anyone have, clean cut glasses, sharp perfect edges, and a beauty mark just beneath his left eyes.
He wore a corporate fit, with a laptop bag behind him, a clean low cut. For only a single his very light hazel eyes met mine and they moved away just as quickly.
How odd.
Even odder when you looked harder and realized the man had sort of blushing on his nose and upper cheek. I’d never seen that on a person without makeup before.
“Jez,” Mr. Ugbede called out, bringing my attention away from the man behind. “Another day with the good sir I see.”
I didn’t trust the jolly fat man for any reason. “Mr. Ugbede….” I responded.
He coughed at my reaction. “Seriously Jez, you are one difficult woman.”
I stared at him.
He looked over his shoulder to the man behind. “This — this is Remiel —”
“No.” I immediately let out.
“Hello Ma’am, I’m Remiel Wellington.” The man spoke at the exact same time with me.
I paused. His voice was expectedly big, considering his frame, but what caught my attention more was his last name. Wellington? What an unusual last name.
I did a once over at him, a bit ruffled by his eager greeting.
“Jez, calm down,” The jolly fat man — Mr. Ugbede said, burying his hand into his pocket and allowing more of his stellar smile on his face.
Seeing that expression on his face, I realized Mr. Ugbede had a dusting of blush on his face when he smiled like that.
This made me squint my eyes, doing a back and front between him and the younger man.
“I sense nepotism,” I said aloud.
The man — Remiel’s — eyes bulged, his lips pursing as he stepped forward as if about to say something when the Jolly fat man cut it.
“Don’t be so hard on the boy Jez, he’s my nephew.” Mr. Ugbede stretched his arm out, blocking his nephew.
I arched my eyebrow. “What now?”
“Jez, before you start, I already know what you’re thinking,” Mr. Ugbede said, holding his hands up.
“Do you?” I asked.
“You’re thinking ‘no’,” He told me. “And I’m telling you, the answer is yes.”
“The answer is no.” I said.
He sighed, the smile finally dropping from his face. “Jez. I’m not asking you this time.”
I blinked at him. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He said, his voice firmer now, the jolly tone gone completely. “Remiel is your new mentee. This isn’t a discussion, this is me telling you how it’s going to be.”
I crossed my arms. “And if I refuse?”
“Then you can take it up with corporate, and explain to them why you’ve gone through four mentees in a few months and refused a fifth,” He said. “I’m sure they’d love to hear that.”
I stared at him, searching for any sign he was joking. There wasn’t one.
“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “Fine.”
His smile returned instantly, far too pleased with himself. “Wonderful! I knew you’d come around.”
“I didn’t come around, you pulled rank on me,” I said.
“Same thing,” He said, waving a hand. He turned to his nephew, clapping him once on the shoulder. “Behave for her, yeah? She bites.”
“I do not bite,” I said.
“She bites,” He repeated to Remiel, ignoring me entirely. Then, with one last grin in my direction, he turned and walked off, leaving the two of us standing there.
Remiel turned to me the moment his uncle was out of earshot, his smile somehow brightening further. “Hello again, Ma’am. Remiel Wellington, but you can call me Remiel.”
“I got that the first time,” I said.
“Right! Of course you did,” He said, laughing a little at himself. “Sorry, I’m a bit nervous. I’ve actually heard a lot about you.”
“Have you,” I said, unimpressed.
“Yeah, actually — we went to secondary school together,” He said. “I was a junior. You probably don’t remember me though.”
I looked at him properly this time. Nothing. “I don’t.”
“No, yeah, that makes sense,” He said, nodding along like he’d expected it. “You were really cool back then. There’s no way you’d have noticed someone like me.”
I frowned at that. Cool didn’t exactly explain why a man who looked like him would have gone unnoticed by anyone, handsome as he was, but I decided not to dwell on it.
“I need water,” I said instead, standing from my desk and heading toward the small kitchen area.
“I can get it for you!” He said immediately, already moving.
“That’s not—” I started, but he was already reaching past me for the cups, his arm catching the edge of the counter and sending a stack of mugs crashing to the floor in a clatter of ceramic.
He froze. “Oh no. Oh — I’m so sorry, I’ll clean—”
“Don’t,” I said, my voice sharp enough that he stopped mid motion. “Don’t do anything unless I tell you to. And it’s Jez. Not Ma’am.”
“Right. Sorry. Jez,” He said, crouching down to gather the broken pieces anyway, hands moving quickly.
I bent down to help him up, my hand reaching for his arm, but he scrambled back before I could touch him, nearly knocking over the bin behind him in the process.
“Sorry — sorry, I’ve got it, really,” He said, his face flushed deep, not meeting my eyes. He stood, mumbled another apology, and hurried off down the hall before I could respond.
I stared after him.
Maybe I’d been a little harsh.
***
The elevator doors slid shut and I leaned my back against the wall, finally allowing myself to feel the exhaustion of the day. My hands were buried into my coat pockets, my eyes fixed on the numbers slowly climbing.
I thought back to the broken mugs, to the way Remiel had scrambled back from my touch like I’d burned him. Strange man.
I cocked my head to the side. “Thinking about it now, he did say we went to the same secondary school,” I said aloud, my voice echoing slightly in the empty elevator.
Did we though? I went to an expensive secondary school, paid for through a scholarship I’d worked myself ragged for. And Remiel being Mr. Ugbede’s nephew, well, everyone at the office knew Mr. Ugbede came from money. It would make sense their family could afford a place like that.
But how many classes below me had he been? I tried to imagine a younger version of him, tried to place some smaller, rounder faced boy among the sea of faces I barely remembered from back then, and came up with nothing.
I couldn’t help but wonder how different he must’ve looked, if I genuinely hadn’t noticed him at all.
The rest of the day came back to me in pieces. After the accident, he’d been like an overactive puppy, all eager apologies and scrambling movements. But strangely enough, after that, he’d gone quiet. Attentive. He hadn’t touched a single thing without asking, exactly like I’d told him.
The elevator doors opened on my floor.
I shook my head, deciding not to think too much of it. I strutted toward my apartment, punching in the door code.
The moment I flicked the light on, a flurry of golden fur came barreling toward me, paws pressed against my legs as the dog bounced excitedly.
“Oh my, hi baby, hi! Mama missed you so much!” I cooed, crouching down to scratch behind her ears, my voice pitching higher with every word. “You been a good girl? Have you, have you?”
The dog barked happily in response, tail wagging hard enough to thump against the wall.
“Okay, okay, mama needs a bath first, yeah? Then we’ll play, I promise,” I said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before standing back up.
I dropped my bag by the door, and just as I was about to set my phone down too, it buzzed in my hand.
I tsked, hoping it wasn’t work calling me back in. I unlocked the screen and saw a notification from Mentee (5), the name I’d saved Remiel’s number under after Mr. Ugbede had practically forced his contact into my phone earlier.
“Remiel,” I said aloud.
It was 11:30 at night. I frowned at the screen.
What could he possibly want at this hour?
I opened the message.
And immediately, my mind went blank.
It was a picture. Remiel, shirtless, the lean cut of his torso catching what little light there was in his room, a thin silver collar fastened snug around his throat. His hazel eyes were half lidded, staring directly into the camera with an expression that didn’t belong anywhere near my phone.
My grip on my own phone tightened.
Before I could even fully process what I was looking at, the picture vanished, replaced with a grey text reading message deleted.
Then the messages started pouring in.
I’m so sorry
That wasn’t meant for you
Please ignore that
I’m so so sorry ma’am
Oh my god I’m sorry
I sat there, phone in hand, utterly dumbstruck.
