SEAL'd Lips: A Secret Baby Romance

by Roxeanne Rolling

  “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.”

  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.

  Someone’s knocking in the door furiously.

  “Coming,” says Sarah.

  I hold her back, saying “I’ll get it.”

  I go to the door and try to look to see who it is but the peephole is made out of such old glass that’s so fogged that I can’t see out of it at all.

  Finally, I just decide to open the door. It’s not that I’m being overly cautious. When I was just starting out, before I had made my billions, before I had made any money at all, I lived in a very similar neighborhood, not too far away. The neighborhood has since become gentrified and now it’s full of upscale stores, but back in the day, I got mugged at least three times that I can remember. Once I even got beat up pretty badly and was in the hospital for a week. That was before I took self-defense courses and became thoroughly trained. You don’t want to try to mug me in a dark alley some night, that’s for sure.

  “Finally,” says Sarah’s friend Janet, looking frustrated as I open the door. I haven’t seen her since that first night that Sarah and I met, and I didn’t get a very good look at her. To tell the truth, I was paying much more attention to Sarah. She brushes past me without giving me a second look, or even saying hello. I study her face now, as I close the door. She’s one of those people that looks pissed off all the time, no matter what. Or maybe she’s just pissed off now. It’s hard to tell.

  “Hey,” says Sarah, opening up her arms. “Welcome to my new place.”

  “Ugh,” says Janet, looking around, her face scrunching up with disgust. “This is it? This is the best you could do?”

  “What’s wrong with it?” says Sarah, sounding a little hurt, but not too fazed.

  “It’s just…ewww,” says Sarah. She turns to me and says, “You couldn’t have chipped in to get her a decent place?”

  I shrug my shoulders.

  “He offered of course,” says Sarah.

  Janet sighs and sits down in a huff on the one wooden chair. “Well,” she says. “I hope he’ll at least buy you some furniture.”

  She doesn’t look directly at me for the rest of the hour we spend in the apartment.

  Janet and Sarah start chatting about this and that, about people they knew from high school. Apparently, a couple of them live around here in this neighborhood, but from the sound of it, Janet doesn’t think too highly of them.

  For a moment, I wonder why Sarah and Janet are friends at all. Or, to put it more bluntly, I wonder why Sarah is friends with Janet, since from the sound of it, Janet is very critical of Sarah, to the point that it starts to bother me.

  To keep myself busy, I take out my trusty multi-tool and start hunting for things to fix or improve. The bathroom is a good place to start, since the door latches don’t work, the cabinet above the sink doesn’t close, and the shower knobs are threatening to fall off.

  “I’ve made a couple improvements,” I announce, coming back into the main room.

  “Thanks!” says Sarah, beaming at me. “Isn’t he great?” she says to Janet.

  “Yeah,” says Janet, the sarcasm unmistakable in her voice.

  Sarah

  In the end, I let John buy me furniture.

  “You know,” he finally says to me, as the weeks pass us by, and we grow more and more content with each other. “I’d be happy to have you come live with me.”

  I don’t know what to say. “That means to much to me,” I say. “But…”

  “I know, I know,” says John. “I hesitated so long to tell you because I know how independent you are.”

  “And to top it off,” I say. “I don’t want people thinking that I’m into you for your money. You know I wouldn’t care if you were working at a gas station and didn’t have a car, let alone the twenty you have.”

  “More like thirty,” says John, apparently unable to help himself.

  I laugh

  “What are we going to do about all these reporters following us around?” I say.

  “I guess just learn to ignore them,” says John.

  “Easy for you to say. You’re used to them.”

  “Well,” says John. “We can talk about it again when the time is right. For now, I’m glad you have a better job and that you’re on your own rather than living with your mother.”

  “Me too.”

  “So I was thinking again about a trip you and I could take.”

  “Yeah? I’d love to, but I don’t know if I can get time off from work. I haven’t been there that long, you know?”

  “There’s no way I can help out with that?”

  “No…” I say. “I know you probably have connections at the bank and everything, but I want to do this all myself.”

  John nods his head thoughtfully. For a moment, when he thinks I’m not looking, I catch him taking a look at my belly. All my fears come rushing back to me: somehow, ov
er the last few months, I’ve avoided thinking about the pregnancy myself. But time is running along, with or without my attention, and sooner or later I’m going to start showing. John’s glance throws me into a panic: am I already showing enough that he can notice?

  Despite all my cherished independence, and how responsible I am, I’ve still done one of the most irresponsible things in the world, and that is not telling John I’m carrying his baby.

  Janet has been really on my case about it, telling me over and over how irresponsible I’m being.

  It’s not like I’m being irresponsible with the baby, though. I’m still not drinking at all, and I’ve taken out a ton of maternity books from the library. I’m taking prenatal vitamins. The only thing I haven’t done yet is go to the follow up appointment with the doctor. Janet accompanied me to the initial one, to confirm my pregnancy, but the appointments are going to be becoming more and more numerous as the pregnancy approaches.

  I’ve got to tell John, I think to myself. It’s like a mantra that I repeat over and over in my head. I’ve got to tell John. I’ve got to tell him. But the moment never seems right, and the days continue to slide by.

  “What are you looking at?” I say, trying to keep the worry out of my voice.

  “Nothing,” says John, quickly, giving me the idea that he’s been looking at my belly and that he’s noticed something.

  “I’m just having some indigestion,” I say, putting my hand on my belly, and sticking it out in an exaggerated way.

  John nods. “I wish you’d let me buy you some decent food for your apartment.”

  “What’s the need when you take me out to dinner almost every night?” I say. “All the girls at the bank are always really jealous when you pull up in one of your new cars.”

  John laughs. “I should be embarrassed about those new cars. But, hey, someone’s got to keep the luxury car market afloat. Maybe you’ll let me buy you one for yourself one day.”

  “That wouldn’t look too good, puling up to the bank in Manhattan with a car like that. Hell, I wouldn’t even have enough money to pay for the parking.”

  John laughs, and puts his arm around me. “I just want you to know that you’re really important to me.”