My life has been completely changed by meeting John. We’re going out now, somewhat officially, I guess. The next month is so glorious and fun and carefree that for the most part I manage to completely forget that I’ve got John’s child growing steadily inside me. How much longer can I keep this up? Surely, he’s going to realize at some point. I can’t be eight months pregnant with a heaving belly—it’s not like he’s not going to notice, especially given the amount of time we spend naked together.

I’m still working as a cleaner for John’s company and the work hasn’t gotten any easier. I’m still living with my mom and that hasn’t gotten any easier either. Janet and I still meet up for coffee and we still talk on the phone a lot and she spends a lot of time chiding me for being so silly and foolish. So that part of my day to day life is exactly the same, but knowing that John and I are going to be spending time together in just a couple days is always my saving grace—it’s the thing that makes everything worthwhile.

Knowing that John and I care so much for each other, not to mention thinking of his hulking muscular body that’s just completely perfect—this is what makes my hum drum life more than tolerable.

I’m happy for the first time since I can remember.

But how can it last?

“I can’t believe you haven’t told him yet,” says Janet, speaking to me through my phone.

I’m locked in the bathroom again at work, something that’s become something of a habit for me.

“I don’t know what to do,” I say.

“Well you’ve got to do something,” says Janet. “How long do you think you can keep this up for?”

“I know, I know,” I say, my voice practically becoming a whine. “But I’m having so much fun. I don’t want to ruin it all. He’ll never talk to me again if I tell him.”

“You don’t know that,” says Janet. “And like I said…”

“I’m not interested in his money,” I say, cutting her off. “And I don’t want him to think I’m interested in him only for his money.”

“But you’ve got to admit it’s one of his attractive features,” says Janet. “I mean, hell, if you weren’t already a couple, I’d go after him.”

“Yeah?” I say, my attention drifting to the countless times John and I have spent on his yacht the last month. He even took me skiing for a weekend in Colorado. Not that we got much skiing done at all. Instead, we spent the majority of our time completely naked in front of a roaring fire. The sex hasn’t lost any of its charm in the least bit, and I was even compelled to give John a blowjob in another restaurant bathroom, this one even fancier than the last.

It’s not that I care about his money, but it is nice, I have to admit, to be whisked away from my impoverished lifestyle by John and his series of expensive sports cars, his private jet, and his yacht. I haven’t even cracked the surface, really, of his immense wealth. He has a number of houses around the world, and we’ve been talking about taking some longer vacations together. One of the reasons I haven’t yet experienced the true extent of John’s wealth is because he doesn’t want to show off in front of me. But that’s maybe a minor reason. The bigger reason is that during the crucial business periods, he likes to spend his time as close to his business as he can. He’s still a businessman and can’t go gallivanting around the world at every chance he gets. Well, he could, but he’s not that kind of guy. He’s got a good head for business and I get the feeling he likes to be really involved in the deals. He’s not the kind of guy to just leave his business for other people to run while he relaxes on a beach in Europe or something.

But in a couple months, things are going to be a little slower, and John usually takes a month long vacation. He goes different places each time. We’ve talked about where I might like to go, and he’s promised he’ll arrange everything with the company so that I can have all the time off I want. Of course, he even offered to pay me for the vacation, but I didn’t like that idea at all. “I don’t want to be paid to spend time with you,” I said. He promised it was nothing like that at all, and I realized he was being genuine, but I still didn’t like the idea, and I still don’t.

“Earth to Sarah,” says Janet’s voice, cutting across my daydreaming.

“Sorry,” I say.

“Are you even listening to me?” says Janet.

“Of course,” I say. “You were chastising me as always for…”

“That was like five minutes ago,” says Janet. “I was telling you about the article that came out about you. Haven’t you seen it? I just saw it pop up on my phone.”

“An article?” I say, vaguely.

Why would someone write an article about me? I’m just a cleaner, after all.

“Bathroom time’s up,” comes Cindy’s harsh voice from the other side of the bathroom door. “I don’t care if you’re dating the CEO himself. Rules are rules and there’s work to be done.”

“I’ve got to go,” I say, quickly and quietly to Janet, before hanging up the phone.

I hastily pull up my pants (I would hate to admit to Janet that I was actually in the bathroom), and rush out of the bathroom.

“Sorry, Cindy,” I say, holding my stomach. “Another upset stomach. You know how it is.”

“Too much fancy food with our CEO,” says Cindy, rolling her eyes at me. “Time to clean up some vomit on the second floor.”

In the past month, I’ve been promoted to the regular cleaner duties, which I quickly realize aren’t much better than what I was doing before. In fact, on days like today, when half the employees seem to be vomiting every chance they get, they’re much, much worse.

“No problem,” I say, trying to smile.

I grab a bucket, a mop, some sawdust, and one of the chemical cleaners we use for vomit, and get onto the service elevator.

I’m halfway through pouring sawdust on the vomit when I start noticing I’m getting some strange looks from the regular employees. These are the computer jockeys, the traders, the analysts, the financial people, and of course the techies.

“That’s her,” I hear someone whisper.

Soon, the whispers are getting louder and louder and I absolutely can’t ignore them, no matter what.

People are pointing at me, and they aren’t being too surreptitious or stealthy.

“I can’t believe he’s dating a cleaner,” says someone, not even bothering to whisper.

“What a shame. Look at that body. But she’s cleaning up vomit.”

“That’s Johnson’s vomit, none the less.”

“Gross.”

I just keep my head down and go about my business. There’s no point in getting upset about what I don’t understand, but I can still feel my face flushing.

Finally, I’ve got the vomit situation under control and walk into the service elevator again. The ride back down to the basement is long because the service elevator, despite the name, apparently hasn’t been serviced in years and years and is unbearably slow. Normally this is a source of incredible frustration, but right now it gives me the opportunity to take out my cell phone and check the news source.

I don’t know where to look, so I just head to one of the big news sites, not seriously thinking that an article about me would show up somewhere big like that.

“CEO Billionaire John Clark dates his cleaner,” reads the headline of the article.

Not exactly accurate, I think to myself.

At first, I just chuckle, along with my disbelief. This is amusing, actually. Imagine me, a lowly cleaner living with my mother appearing on the front page of these news sites, just because of who I’m dating.

But my jaw drops when I see the article. There’s a picture of me in my cleaning uniform, entering the big building. That must have been one of the few days that I didn’t think I’d have time to change at work and wore my cleaner outfit to work.

But as I keep reading the article, I start to grow livid. My disbelieve changes to complete anger.

There are about ten pictures of me, many of them with John. There are some of us captured when we were on the yacht together. How did they even get these pictures? It doesn’t make sense. I didn’t realize John was being followed so closely by the paparazzi, but then again I haven’t been following the news much in recent months.

“You see the article?” says a text from John that pops up on my phone.

“Just saw it,” I write. “I can’t believe it…”

“I’m coming to see you,” John writes.

“No,” I write. “It’s OK.”

“You must be upset…”

Upset isn’t the word that would accurately describe how I feel. But the last thing I want right now is for John to come down again to the service basement and for everyone to see us together. It’s better, I figure, if I just ignore the news and keep on with my normal life.

But there are bound to be more articles in the future.

That thought gives me an idea to check another news site. And another. And another. Sure enough, I’m on all of the major news outlets, as well as some of the minor ones that I come across purely by accident.

Some of the articles just repeat the same news over and over, but others add their own speculation. A few of the articles say that I’m just using John for his money. A few hint at something even more sinister.

“Checking your phone again?” says Cindy’s voice as the elevator door opens.

I just look up at her, my jaw practically resting on the floor, completely speechless.

“That’s it, young lady…”

“I’m not a young lady,” I say.

My mood is bad. These articles have pushed me over the edge. Who does this woman think she is? I’m in a fighting mood now, ready to fight anyone by any means necessary. I don’t care whether it’s Cindy or the cops or anyone else. I’ll fight whoever right now. There’s no way I’m going to take this lying down. I can’t believe these bastards would write this kind of trash about me. My mother’s going to read this.

Oh my God! My mother! What’s she going to say? It’s going to be disastrous.

My phone beeps at me. A text from my mother. I don’t have the heart to read it right now. I should have known she’d be up on top of all the newest celebrity gossip.

I can’t deal with her right now. I’m too angry.

“Listen, you old hag,” I say, right to Cindy’s face, obviously not mincing my words in the slightest. “This is a tough day for me. And it’s not the vomit that’s bothering me. You must live under a cave like I do if you don’t know the news yet. So just leave me the fuck alone.”

Cindy stares at me with her mouth open. I doubt anyone has ever spoken to her like that before in her whole time here as a manager.

“You’re fired!” she finally screams at me.

“No she’s not,” says John, appearing out of nowhere behind Cindy, practically skidding to a stop.

He’s dressed casually, in jeans and a hoodie.

“Listen, Cindy,” he says. “I can explain… it’s been a hard day for her.”

“I don’t care what kind of day it’s been for her,” says Cindy, turning around to face John. “You may be the CEO here but I have to deal with these cleaners day in and day out. And I don’t care if you two are dating. You can fire me if I can’t fire her. I can’t work with someone so insubordinate.”

“No, wait,” says John, his face contorted in a kind of frozen polite smile. He’s obviously trying to be political. He’s told me in private that it’s been hell for him trying to get good managers in the building, and I know that with how reliable Cindy is, whatever her temperament and demeanor, he really doesn’t want to let her go.

“It’s OK,” I say, calming down a little, but still fuming. “I don’t need this job. I don’t need people staring at me and whispering behind my back, or in full earshot like today. I’m leaving.”

I march towards the locker room where I intend to take off my uniform and never put back on again.

“Sarah!” cries out John. “Wait for me.”

But he can’t catch me. I’m too fast.

But he does know where the locker room is.

In a fury of anger and confusion, I start tearing off my clothes. I’ve got the top of my tight cleaner shirt off, when the door opens. Because of my anger, I don’t even move to cover my breasts. For some reason, I decided to not wear a bra today, although for the life of me I can’t remember what in the world that reason was right now.

“Wow,” says someone. I don’t realize who it is at first. I’m just standing with my breasts completely exposed.

Oh, it’s John.

Almost faint in relief.

John takes one look at me and won’t stop staring at my breasts.

“It’s going to be OK, Sarah,” he finally says.

“No it’s not!” I say. “I can’t keep working here. Everyone knows about us now. This is crazy. They say I’m after your money, but that’s not true at all.”

“I know it’s not true,” says John, in a soothing voice, taking my hand. “I know it’s not true. You wouldn’t do that.”

“I’m not working here,” I say.

“That’s OK,” says John. “You don’t have to. You can work somewhere else. I can help get you a job at…”

“I don’t need any help,” I say.

“Come on, baby, don’t be like that.”

John’s hand reaches out to start lightly massaging my breasts. But that’s the last thing I’m in the mood for now.

“Not now,” I say, puling away from him.

“Sorry,” says John, withdrawing himself.

“I’m going home,” I say, confused about my own mood. I don’t know what I feel or what I’m supposed to be feeling, but it isn’t fun.

“Call me?” says John.

I let the door slam on the way out. I don’t know why this whole event has made me mad at John, even though none of this is his fault.

I walk in a huff out of the building, vowing never to come back, at least not as an employee.

But now I’m out of luck when it comes to work and money. And now John is going to be mad at me for the way I behaved.