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Feb 11, 2014


Posted by Wendy Ewurum  |  at  5:32 AM


Tarago Jakobus was 6’4”, intelligent, extremely wealthy with a Midas touch. 
He was also openly racist, politically incorrect and a chauvinistic pig who told offensive jokes. 
He loved to party and was used to women vying for his attention. 
So when his eyes fell on Tanin, he expected her to just melt into his bed and be grateful that he even looked her way. 
To his utter surprise, she was totally unimpressed with his wealth, thought he was an uneducated buffoon and publicly rejected him.
Of course he was shocked and humiliated by her response. 
But no woman had ever turned Tarago down before, and he found her fascinating.
He became obsessed with her and decided to win her over his way – destroy all that is precious to her, so that she would have no choice but to need him. 
If that didn’t work, he’d switch to plan ‘B’ – take away her freedom and throw her ass in jail.
And being the absolute bastard that he was, he did.

Obsessed With Me is a modern-day love story.

“I ignore her and continue walking.
Tarago sits back and watches me, an amused look on his face.
Deep breath. “Mr. Jakobus, I’m sorry to bother your dinner, but there seems to be a problem. I seem to be the target of a …vendetta. Yours. And I would like to know why?”
Surprise registers on everyone’s face.
He gets up, excuses himself, and walks over to the computer room. I follow him.
He leans against the desk, arms folded across his chest and eyes me.
Am I intimidated by his 6’4 frame, his piercing blue eyes, his Rolex. and his thick gold chain? For sure. But that doesn’t stop me from doing what I have to do.
“Kan jou Afrikaans praat?” (Can you speak Afrikaans?)
“I think you understand what I am saying, Mr. Jakobus. I have conversed with you several times in the past in English, sir. So, please, could you tell me what is it that you want from me?”
There is a short silence before his eyes turn to slits. “Jou.”
His voice is so low, I’m not sure I heard correctly. “Excuse me?”
“I want you,” he says in Afrikaans. His candidness floors me.
I touch my chest. “I…I …whyyyy? You don’t even know me.”
He shrugs. The flicker of amusement in his eyes confuses me. Is my life simply a game to him? Am I a monkey here to entertain this motherfucker? 
“Is this why you had me fired? Is this why you’ve bought up the property we live in? Lied about me stealing …?”
He nods. I can’t believe his audacity. He’s not even hiding it.
I press my fingers to my temples as I try to make sense of the situation.
“Sir, I am twenty-one years old and I am nothing like any of the women you date. So …why…?”
“I like variety,” he says, after a shrug.
Anger takes over. “What if variety doesn’t like you, sir?”
“Variety will, when her arse is on fire.”
“Do you need a translator?”
“No, I don’t need a translator,” I say in an indignant voice. “All this because I rejected your advances?”
“I do not remember making advances. I remember asking you to join me for a drink.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “So this orchestrated attempt …?”
“Kan jy Afrikaans praat?”
“No!” I fold my arms across my chest. “I prefer English.”
“Hoekom (Why)?”
“Because, sir, Afrikaans is the language of the oppressor.”
“It is also my language. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to continue my surf and turf. Have a good evening.” 
As he tries to walk away, I step in front of him and block his path. Opening my purse, I take out two one rand coins and slap them on the table.
He looks at the coins, at my face, and his eyes twinkle.
Furious at his inability to take me seriously, I take out more coins from my purse and slap them in front of him. “Or do you need a note instead of coins? Huh?”
Again, he looks at the coins and smiles.
I open my purse and empty the contents on the table. “Why stop at coins, huh? Take my lipstick, my pens, my keys, my wallet – take everything! Just leave me the f…just leave me alone.”
With a smile, he brushes past me and walks away, leaving me staring after him.
Sarah appears and jerks her thumb towards the door. “Or do you want me to get security?”
Feeling like I’m in a really bad dream, I collect the contents of my bag and make my way out through the back door of the restaurant. 
As I leave, I spot Tarago's Merc parked in a special parking bay. A shiny, silver SLK. Ashwin always admired this car. Said it costs as much as a house. Mm.
I walk over to the stack of liquor bottles waiting to be collected, grab a Johnny Walker blue label and smile to myself. Taking a deep breath, I walk over to his car and slam the empty bottle on the windscreen. Bam! It shatters.
That felt greeeeat! 
Damn bottle broke in my hand, though. No problem; I run over to the heap of empty bottles and grab another. Bam! The bonnet buckles. Man, this feels amazing. Why didn’t I do it before?
“What the fok are you doing?” a man screams.
“Stand back!” I warn as I raise the bottle.
He fired me – bam!
He’s evicting us – bam!
He’s lying ’bout me stealing – bam!
He’s an arrogant son of a bitch – bam!
All around the car, I walk and slam bottle after bottle and I feel alive and energized. This is how insanity must feel. What a delicious feeling. 
“Sy is mull (She is mad),” someone complains.
I turn and look at the man who said that. When I smile, he shrinks back.
“I most certainly am,” I say, as I lift up the bottle and slam it on the roof of the car.
“You missed a spot.”
I whirl around to look up at Tarago, leaning against the door, eyeing me with crinkling eyes, while everyone around him have their hands on their head or pasted over their mouths.
“No, I didn’t, you racist fucker! I’m saving the bottle for your HEAD!”
“Really now?” His face has a bring-it-on look.
I nod and take a step towards him, bottle raised. He doesn’t move.
Pity the police has to arrive. With all their sirens blaring, they ruin a damn good cathartic session.”

Eve Rabi lives in Sydney Australia, but she hails from South Africa.
She is the author of 20 modern-day love stories and is known for her kick-ass leading ladies, her alpha males and her ability to make you laugh and make you cry while falling in love.   
Eve is currently single and is looking for a man who resembles George Clooney (the young one, not the grey one).
He must also have the abs of Channing Tatum and the sense of humor of 
Johnny Depp.
If he doesn’t have all these prerequisites, he must be willing to undergo plastic surgery to look like George (at his own expense, so he must also be loaded) and endure rigorous physical training on a daily basis to acquire a six pack.
Or have ab implants, she’s not fussy.
And most importantly, since Eve hates shallow people, he must accept her for who she is. 

Where to find Eve Rabi online

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About the Author

Most know me as the author to Fabulosity Reads and in actual fact, that is the previous name of this blog. I have since then moved my books to a Wordpress self-hosted blog so that I can have a place to show a different side of me which I am equally passionate about and that is marketing and personal development. I hope you will love being here, watching me grow as I share and learn. My highest hope is that we will grown and learn together in all disciplines affecting our lives. I'd LUUURRRVE to hear from you, so don't be shy...


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