Page 37 of It's Not All Fake

Chloe’s eyes go wide, and she looks instantly terrified. “Oh, shit,” she whispers, shooting up to a sitting position. “The janitor!”

I push myself upright. “Uh, we should—” I think about locking the door but realize the janitor would have a key.

“Get dressed!” Chloe throws a ball of clothing at my chest. I catch it and scramble to get my shirt on.

I stand, the full condom still dangling from me. I peel it off and Chloe, panties on now, anticipates my moves and holds out the small office garbage can to me. I chuck the condom inside.

I’m sure anyone in the adjoining offices would have heard us. Chloe was loud enough. But getting caught half-naked is another thing.

I buckle my belt as I hear the doorknob turn. Chloe yanks her skirt on just in time.

A heavyset woman with her hair up in a tight bun walks in, pushing a vacuum cleaner and pulling a large rolling garbage can behind her. She stops short when she sees us and pulls her earbuds out. “Should I come back?” she asks, sounding bothered at our presence.

The feeling is mutual. I would have gladly lounged naked with Chloe a while longer.

“Yes—” I start.

“No.” Chloe laughs uneasily and shoots me a glance. “We’re just leaving.”

The woman looks down at my feet, which are still shoeless. A pillow from the couch is on the floor. She raises her eyebrow disapprovingly at us, clearly understanding what just happened.

We are caught. I immediately think of the fitness coaches, limo drivers, and other personnel I’ve heard about leaking stories to the press about famous colleagues. I had a public relations cleanup of my own a couple years ago with a personal assistant. Her allegation was false, but we had to buy the story to kill it.

The cleaning woman’s tiny name tag says her name is Martha. I wonder if Martha would sell us out. I study her face and don’t see any flicker of recognition. But that doesn’t mean she won’t realize who I am later and decide she could cash in on this.

“I have fabric disinfectant spray.” Martha nods to the couch, reassuring us that she is equipped to clean up our mess.

Chloe’s cheeks are bright red, and she appears tongue tied.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I say, pulling my wallet from my back pocket.

Maybe Martha will never realize who I am or that she could make a buck by running to the tabloids with a story about a media mogul’s after hours half-clothed office sighting. Even if she does realize who I am, maybe she isn’t the type of person to go to the tabloids.

But there’s a chance.

Chloe is already a shade of crimson. I can’t imagine how upset she would be if our intimacies on her office couch were printed in entertainment news.

“Martha.” I approach her coolly with socked feet. “I’d like to offer you five grand to keep this between us,” I cut to the chase.

Martha screws up her face and looks at me like I’m trying to scam her. I glance at Chloe, her eyes wide, bewildered by my offer.

“That’s more than the press would pay,” I explain to Martha.

“What are you, some celebrity?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at me.

“Something like that.” I clear my throat. “I’d simply like to protect our privacy.”

“Vultures,” Martha shakes her head, leaning on the vacuum handle. “I never liked the tabloids.”

We might have been safe just walking away. But five thousand is a small price to pay for certainty.

“If you’ll sign a simple non-disclosure agreement, I’ll pay now.” I pull out my phone. My lawyers insist I keep an electronic NDA on me, for times like these I suppose.

“So, you’re paying me for my silence?” Martha grins, amused.

It’s an accurate appraisal of the situation. “Yes.”

“Okay, you can Venmo me,” she agrees.

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