The View from the Floor
733 Words
The mop bucket was heavy, but Teni welcomed the weight. It gave her something to focus on other than the fact that Alexander Sterling was sitting just twenty feet away behind a wall of reinforced glass.
She had gotten the job. The supervisor, a woman with a face like dried bitter leaf, hadn’t even looked at Teni’s face—only at her hands to see if they looked like they knew how to work. Now, Teni was part of the "Night Shift Prep," cleaning the executive wing before the big bosses arrived for their evening meetings.
Just keep your head down, Teni, she told herself, dipping the mop into the soapy water. Think of the inhaler. Think of Tobi’s school fees.
The executive office was silent, save for the hum of the air conditioner and the soft thud-thud of her mop. She moved toward the massive mahogany desk. It was cluttered with architectural blueprints and a single, framed photo of a woman who looked cold and expensive.
Teni reached for a microfiber cloth to dust the desk when the glass door hissed open.
"I told you I didn't want to be disturbed, Beatrice," a voice growled.
Teni jumped, her hand knocking over a gold-plated pen holder. The pens clattered across the desk like thunder in the quiet room. She scrambled to pick them up, her fingers trembling.
"I... I’m sorry, sir. I thought you were in the conference room," she stammered, her voice small.
Alexander walked in, his suit jacket off and his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He stopped dead when he saw her. The room suddenly felt ten degrees hotter. He didn't move; he just watched her struggle with the pens.
"You," he said. It wasn't a question. It was a realization.
"I'm just cleaning, sir. I’ll be gone in a minute." Teni didn't look up. She couldn't. If she looked into those eyes, she was afraid he’d see Tobi’s face reflected in hers.
Alexander stepped closer. He reached out, his hand hovering near hers as he picked up a stray pen that had rolled near the edge. His skin didn't touch hers, but she could feel the heat radiating from him. It smelled like the Victoria Island hotel room again—dark, rich, and dangerous.
"What is your name?" he asked. His voice was no longer cold; it was curious. A human kind of curious that made her skin prickle.
"Teniola, sir."
"Teniola," he repeated, the syllables rolling off his tongue in a way that made her name sound like a song instead of a burden. "You look like someone I once knew. Someone who was very good at disappearing."
Teni’s heart stopped. She forced a hollow laugh. "I have one of those faces, sir. Very common. Just another girl from the mainland."
Alexander leaned back against his desk, his eyes locked on her. He wasn't acting like a CEO now; he was acting like a man who had found a puzzle he couldn't solve. "There is nothing 'common' about your eyes, Teniola. They look like they're carrying the weight of the whole city."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crisp 1,000 Naira note, laying it on the desk between them. "For the pens. And for the honesty."
"I don't need a tip, sir. I’m just doing my job."
"Take it," he commanded softly. "Buy something for yourself."
I’ll buy a carton of Indomie for my son, she thought bitterly, but she took the money. As her fingers brushed his, a spark—real and sharp—jolted through her. Alexander flinched, his eyes widening.
For a heartbeat, the CEO and the cleaner were just a man and a woman in a quiet room, connected by a secret that was three years old and three feet tall.
"Teniola!" the supervisor’s voice screamed from the hallway. "Why haven't you finished that floor?"
The spell broke. Teni grabbed her bucket and hurried toward the door.
"Teniola," Alexander called out just as she reached the exit. She paused, her back to him. "Don't be late tomorrow. I like my office clean."
She didn't answer. She ran. She ran all the way to the elevators, her heart screaming. He didn't know yet. But the way he looked at her... he was starting to remember. And in Lagos, when a billionaire starts remembering, a poor girl usually starts running.
- Writer
