Running Back's Baby: A Secret Baby Romance

by Roxeanne Rolling

  “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.

  John

  I head home early today and make a couple calls to some friends I have in the media. I ask them why nothing was run by my PR guy. They all basically apologize and give me the same answer, “it was too tempting. You dating a cleaner that works for you. It’s just too good of a story. They’re planning on running the Cinderella angle eventually.”

  “Well don’t plan on it,” I say.

  I’m fuming. I’m absolutely fuming.

  I’m not mad at Sarah at all, though. I’m just mat at this whole system that doesn’t value us as people at all—this whole media system that preys on people’s situations just to make a quick buck.

  Sure, I’ve had some run ins with the media before, but nothing quite as serious as this.

  I’m just staring at the wall in my apartment, surrounded by luxury that means absolutely nothing at all to me right now. This apartment is completely worthless if I don’t have Sarah with me to share it with.

  I grab my phone to call her, but realize I don’t know what to say. After all, I don’t yet have a solution to our problem. I just wish she would let me use one of my contacts to get her a job. I know she has money problems. If only she wasn’t so strong headed. Then again, that’s one of the things I like most about her.

  Finally, I press call.

  “Hello?” says Sarah.

  “I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” I say.

  Get that out of the way, I think to myself. First thing’s first. Truth is, I feel sorry as hell.

  “What are you sorry for?” says Sarah. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. After all, I just quit that job and walked out and probably embarrassed you and…”

  She’s talking fast, and I tell her to slow down and that everything’s going to be OK.

  “It’s not going to be OK,” she says, almost wailing.

  “What I’m sorry for is not warning you that this was a real possibility. I’ve dealt with this kind of thing before.”

  “But you couldn’t do anything about it?” There’s a bit of edge to her voice that makes me uneasy. Are we about to have our first argument?

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I have a PR guy and some connections in the media, but this one got by me. This story was too profitable for them to hold onto or to ask for permission to publish.”

  “They ask you permission sometimes?” she says, sounding interested.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Once you have money you realize things don’t work quite as you thought they did…”

  “I’ll never have that problem,” says Sarah.

  “What are you going to do for work?” I say.

  “I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe get another cleaner job or something. The good thing is I do have a little money saved up now.”

  “I want to see you tonight,” I say.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” says Sarah. “You know…never mind.”

  “What is it?” I say.

  “Once I calmed down a little, I kept fantasizing about you fucking me in that locker room down there in the basement. That’d be a way to really stick it to Cindy…”

  I laugh. “Well we can make it happen if you really want to, but it would probably be a good idea to do it after hours rather than in the middle of the day. Who knows who might walk in…”

  “That’s what makes it so fun,” says Sarah.

  “You’re dirty today!” I say.

  “Sorry,” she says.

  “No,” I say. “I like it.”

  “I was just kidding anyway.”

  “I know,” I say. “Anyway, how about tonight?”

  She agrees, and we make plans to meet this evening.

  Crisis averted, I think to myself.

  I flip on the TV with my remote and kick my legs up onto the coffee table. I’m still wearing my shoes but who the hell cares, right?

  My phone rings.

  “Clark,” I say, loudly and clearly into the phone, trying to convey the sense that I’m a little busy right now. That’s one of the funny little rules that make me so successful—in business, always act like you’re really busy, and everything tends to work out better for you. If you’re busy, people think you know what you’re doing.

  “John, it’s Jeff.”

  “What’s going on, Jeff?” I say.

  “Remember a few weeks ago when I talked to you about the numbers?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I looked into it. Everything looked OK.”

  “Well they’re not OK now,” says Jeff. “We’ve got a crisis situation on our hands.”

  “What’s going on?” I say, taking a deep breath to stay calm. If you cant’ stay calm in this business, the sharks will tear you apart. That’s what I learned early on. Things can change from one minute to the next and you’ve got to be ready for it. “Same problem as before or a new one?”

  “New one,” says Jeff. “People are dumping stocks.”

  Dumping stocks… hmm… that means people don’t think the company’s any good. I rack my brain for possible problems. What happened in the news recently? Has anything been screwy with our new product releases? No, everything looks fine.

  “Any ideas?” I say.
/>   “Well,” says Jeff, and he starts hemming and hawing.

  I don’t like this way of talking when we’re in a crisis situation. Jeff and I are usually good at communicating in curt but effective ways when problems are afoot.

  “Out with it,” I say. “What’s the problem?”

  “The thing is that everything is good on the business side of things. Those problems from before are still there in a way—and I know you say you don’t see them—but from my analysis they’re still there. The thing is that they can’t account for the dumping of the stocks.”

  “So what can?” I say, a mean edge taking over my voice. He better tell me—that’s all I’m trying to convey with my tone.

  “I think it could be this article about you dating the…”

  “About dating Sarah?”

  “Is she the cleaner?”

  “She’s a hell of a lot more than that,” I say, anger growing in my voice. “This doesn’t make any sense, Jeff. Why the hell would the investors care what happens in my personal life? I’ve had plenty of scandals before?”

  “Yeah…” says Jeff slowly. “I know, and I’m with you on this. It seems really, really strange. But I’ve been following the blogs and social media too. And a lot of people are unfortunately saying that this shows you’re not right in the head. There’s this rumor going around that you’re being taken for a ride by some poor working girl who wants your money. People worry about that company.”

  I sit there in stunned silence without saying anything for almost a full minute. A thousand thoughts are rushing through my head.

  Those bastards. Those assholes.

  Who do they think they are, saying stuff like that about me?

  But I can always keep a calm head.

  I take a deep breath, and say, “Well, you may be right Jeff. What can we do to fix it?”

  “I don’t know,” says Jeff. “I mean you want to stay with her?”

  Now I’m really angry.

  “Listen, asshole,” I say. “I appreciate what you do for the company, but stay the fuck out of my personal life, got it?”

  “OK,” says Jeff. “It was just a question.”

  “A question that I don’t like one bit,” I say.

  “Well,” says Jeff. “I’ll talk to the PR guy and see what we can do.”

  “Listen,” I say. “He’s good and all, but maybe we should get some outside help on this. I wouldn’t mind spending some money if it means getting the investors back.”

  “OK,” says Jeff. “I know just the team that could help us. They’re good at…situations like this.”

  “Do it,” I say, before hanging up the phone.

  I take another deep breath.

  The TV’s still on, and it’s playing some bullshit news story about me and Sarah. What garbage. Can’t they think of anything else to talk about?

  I flick the TV off, and take another deep breath before heading down to the garage.

  I want nothing more than to see Sarah right now.

  After thirty minutes of sitting in traffic, I finally arrive at her apartment. She’s waiting for me on the steps outside.

  “I didn’t want my mother to see you,” she says. “She’s gone crazy with the news.”

  “Isn’t everyone,” I say, but I resolve not to tell her about the investors dumping their stocks. I don’t want her to worry about my business.

  Sarah leans in and gives me a kiss. Her hand caresses my crotch as it often does when we’re somewhere semi-private. “I can tell you’re happy to see me,” she says, giving my hard cock a squeeze. She winks at me.

  “You’re in better spirits than when I saw you earlier today,” I say.

  “Oh,” says Sarah. “No offense, but I realize I never really liked that job anyway.”

  I laugh. “I don’t think anyone likes that job,” I say. “What were you normally doing anyway?”

  “Well, the last thing I did today before quitting was clean up a lot of Johnson’s vomit.”

  “Ewww,” I say, laughing, the laughter driving away my worries. “Johnson’s vomit. Are you serious?”

  “It was something else,” she says. “Do you know him?”

  I shake my head in wonder. “That guy vomits more than anyone else on the planet.”

  Sarah laughs and suggests that maybe he should see a doctor.

  “Maybe it’s something serious,” I say. “I guess he should really get it checked out.”

  “It’s not so funny when you put it that way,” says Sarah.

  “Listen,” I say. “I feel like I’m forgetting things a little…what I want to say, and maybe I already said it, is that it’s OK with me if you don’t want to work at my company as a cleaner. Hell, I wouldn’t want to do it. I’m sorry that I didn’t warn you more about the dangers of the press. I should have told you what things can be like with me… But, the most important thing to me is that I’m with you.”

  I gaze into her eyes and she gazes back at me with those huge beautiful eyes.

  “That’s the most important thing to me too,” she says.

  She pauses and I get the feeling she’s going to say something else, but instead she doesn’t say anything at all.

  “It seems like you wanted to tell me something else,” I say, softly.

  “I…” she starts, but seems to think better of it. “No, there’s nothing else.”

  “OK,” I say, not sure that I want to push the issue right now.

  She kisses me deeply on the mouth and her hand slides across my chest.

  My cock is already raging from being so close to her.

  “You want to go back to the locker room?” she says.

  “If that’s what you want to do,” I say, laughing.

  We end up making love in my apartment, and the next few weeks seem to glide by in a daze. There are problems with the business, as there always are, but in the end most of the investors come back to the company. We’re pushing out a new product soon, anyway so that’s going to make up for any problems we have with stocks and investors.

  Hell, in the end, it doesn’t really matter to me personally about the company. I have enough money stashed away around the world that I don’t need the company. Obviously I’ll never have to work again a day in my life. The only reason that I keep working is for my own sanity…but, well, the real reason is that I care about my employees. Personally, I don’t think it’s fair that I have so much money, even though I worked so hard for it, and people like Sarah don’t even have enough money for a place to live. But that’s the way it is, and the only way I can help them is to keep the company going, keeping the company making money so that they’ll all have jobs.

  In the end, Sarah gets a better job as a bank teller. The pay is better, and she’s now able to move out of her apartment.

  The last month, all I’ve been thinking about is Sarah, but I’ve also been thinking about asking her to move in with me. This would be a huge step, and we’re not even engaged or anything yet. Not that it matters to me at all, but I still don’t have a sense of whether or not it’s important to Sarah. I know that her mother wouldn’t approve, though, that’s for sure. I still haven’t spent much time with Sarah’s mother, but Sarah tells me a lot about her and I’ve gotten a pretty good sense of who she is as a person.

  Despite Sarah and me spending so much time together, our love seems to cloak her in an air of mystery. I feel like I’m getting to know her again each day for the first time. The one thing I do know for certain about her is that she loves me, and also that she’s fiercely independent. Because of how headstrong and independent she can be, I decide to wait for another few months, maybe a year, until I ask her to move in with me. I know how hard she’s worked to have this apartment of her own, and I don’t want to trivialize that or take it away from her by simply swooping her up into my billionaire’s apartment.

  “You know,” I say, walking around Sarah’s new apartment, which is completely bare of furniture. “This place isn’t too bad.”
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  I don’t mention the spider webs or the mouse I saw in the bathroom. And of course I don’t mention how cold the apartment is, or how the paint is peeling off.

  I do, though, think it’s a good idea to mention that the apartment’s in somewhat of a dangerous area.

  “I just want you to be careful,” I say.

  “I will,” says Sarah, putting her arm around me.

  “Now I think it’s time to get you some furniture.”

  “What’s wrong with what I have?” she says.

  I look around the apartment and I know her eyes are following mine. There’s almost nothing in it except for a duffel bag and a single straight backed wooden chair that Sarah’s had ever since she was a kid.

  “Well,” I say, slowly and calmly, trying not to offend her. “What are you going to sleep on? Or are you going to spend each night at my place?”

  Sarah laughs. “I’ve been spending almost every other night at your place, haven’t I?”

  “Oh?” I say, mocking surprise. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  Sarah slaps my ass and giggles. “That’s what you get,” she says.

  “For what?” I say, slapping her ass.

  She giggles and starts dancing around the apartment, twirling and sliding in her socks.

  “Isn’t this place great?” she says.

  “Yeah,” I say. “It sure is an improvement on your mother’s place.”

  The doorbell rings.

  “Oh,” says Sarah. “That must be Janet.”

  “Let’s hope so,” I say, eyeing the door cautiously. “I want you to be careful answering the door by yourself in this place. I’ll get you some pepper spray.”

  “Don’t worry,” says Sarah, bending down and picking up a metal baseball bat that’s sticking partially out of her duffel bag. Her ass looks so delicious in her tight and faded blue jeans. I can’t help but stare at her. She then spins around and does a mock swing as if she’s in a baseball game. “I was a champion hitter in high school softball,” she says. “They even wanted me to play on the boy’s team. That’s how good I was. Don’t worry, John, I can take care of myself.”

  “I’d be scared of you, that’s for sure,” I say.