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coffee.
    â€œKaldi’s Coffee is hardly out my way; I actually live a few blocks away, on Quinn Street,” Langa said meekly as she poured herself some coffee. She was unsure how to bring up their encounter in the pharmacy; she could feel her palms getting clammy.
    â€œThat’s great,” he answered. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Congratulations on landing this contract. However, we have a lot of work to do to make this a success.”
    Regile typed something on his laptop and after studying it for a moment, went on to say, “I was impressed with your proposal, although the idea of an African theme for the exhibition has been used so often that I don’t feel it’s original any more.” He kept his eyes on her; he had authority in his voice and an objective manner that astounded Langa. His detachment from any personal opinions he might have of her was evident.
    â€œErm, sorry . . . but before we go on I’d really like to apologise for my rude behaviour the first time . . .” Langa began, stirring her coffee with so much force that she knocked over her cup. She jumped up as Regile waved his hand at their waitress with an expression that seemed to be one of relief that the coffee hadn’t spilt onto his laptop more than anything else. A million pieces of porcelain surrounded them, a pool of coffee at their feet. All conversations around them halted as Langa yearned for the earth to open up and swallow her whole.
    â€œAre you alright?” Regile asked. Langa detected a tone of impatience in his silky voice.
    â€œYes, I am; and I’m so sorry about this,” she offered as the waitress approached them with a dustpan and mop. Langa watched Regile type distractedly as the girl cleaned up the mess.
    â€œCan we have another pot of coffee for the lady, please?” he politely asked when the waitress was done. She nodded and flashed him a big smile, obviously taken with the man.
    â€œI was saying –” Langa started, but he stopped her with a dismissive wave of the hand.
    â€œOur first encounter was an unfortunate incident. Let’s rather focus on working together as a team; the success of this exhibition is mandatory for my corporation’s relationship with Sasol Wax,” Regile told her, his firm jaw clenching. It seemed like he wasn’t going to give her a chance to say anything. “Now, Langa, as I mentioned, the African theme is tedious, so we need to think of something our exhibition will be remembered for. We need something that will resonate with the cosmetic lovers who’ll visit the exhibition, as well as the cosmetic retailers. I want you to think about that over the next few days. Also, your proposed budget needs to be cut by at least a third. I will do some research on a more cost-effective approach. I suggest you do the same.”
    By the time their first business meeting was over, Langa, in spite of herself, had acquired a new sense of admiration for Prince Regile Mabhena. She felt puzzled by his indifference to her, yet strangely even more drawn to him. He was professional, very polite and attentive enough to her business views and concerns for her to know that the success of the exhibition was his top priority, although she found herself frustrated by the fact that he hadn’t seemed in the least interested in her personally. No small talk about the nuptials she had angrily flashed in his face; nothing about his own life. Instead, he’d given her a whole lot of work and she felt as if she had to redo the entire proposal.
    Langa watched him drive off in his Range Rover after he’d walked her to her car and opened her door for her. She sat in her car, unsure if she felt vulnerable and defenceless because he’d awakened a fondness for him in her or because he had quite literally butchered her proposal. Only when she felt her phone vibrate did she snap out of her trance.
    â€œHello?” she answered, not