The Millionaire and the Cleaner

Chapter 1

I’M NOT DEAD! Thought you saw the last of me, eh? Not a chance. What’s this? A new story that doesn’t have Lyner as the main character? I know! The characters used in this story are from Bleach, but previous knowledge of the characters is definitely not necessary. It’s completely AU, set in the modern world.

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Eishima had just finished vacuuming the floor when she heard a string of vulgar curses. Glancing up, she saw a woman dressed in a power suit that consisted of a perfect cut jacket, pencil skirt and black heels. And at her feet was an every growing puddle of coffee.

She didn't look sheepish or apologetic. She looked annoyed that she had spilt her perfectly good coffee. And looked at Eishima like it was her fault. "Clean this up immediately," she demanded before toddling off in her stiletto heels. Again, not thanks or appreciation.

Although a scathing retort sat on the tip of her tongue, Eishima held back from saying anything. There was no point. She would only receive the all-too familiar rant about how she was just the lowly cleaner, the help as it were. Cleaners were always disrespected in any business, but it was worse when the company they were working for was a multi-million dollar business.

To be honest, Eishima wasn’t entirely sure what kind of work the company she worked for actually did. She didn’t need to know. It wasn’t critical knowledge she needed to know as she was only hired to empty the bins anyway.

Eishima sighed as she put away her vacuum cleaner and picked up a roll of paper towels from her personal cleaning trolley. She had grown used to cleaning up after other people. True, it was her job, but when people learn that there was a cleaner about, they were surprisingly lazy and grubby.

For the record, the women's bathroom was constantly more revolting that the males. One wouldn't think so, but yes, it was true. And that coffee was the most spilt drink and most annoying stain to clean. You'd think people who relied so much on a particular drink would keep a better grip on it.

She wasn't being paranoid or self-centred, but she knew that the other cleaners didn't get a second glance, unlike her. And it wasn't just because she had long, dark red hair and pale skin. She was young and female. She would receive tisks of disapproval by the female staff, assuming that she was repressed by the sexist society and that she should instead be fighting her way to the top. And the male staff would refer to her as 'doll' or 'sweetheart' for reasons not really known to her, but probably because she was a low rank staff member and wasn't as 'up-tight' as your average businesswoman.

The reason why she was a cleaner was none of their business. If they wanted to work 45 hour weeks with high stress, then that was their choice. Eishima didn't live a lavish lifestyle or lived outside her means. She didn't need to earn $150,000 a year to live. And she didn't need a career to define herself. As a cleaner; she worked, got paid and then went home to do the things she actually enjoyed doing. No worry. No stress.

After wiping up the large puddle of still quite hot coffee, Eishima turned her attention back to her cleaning cart when she heard the familiar sound of heels clacking against the floor. She looked up just in time to see another power-suited woman stride into view, a cup of coffee in one hand, a phone in the other. She wasn’t paying any attention to her surroundings as she stepped right in the spot Eishima had just cleaned. With the spot still slightly wet and the woman’s pointy-toed heels lacking any sort of traction, she slipped.

She cursed under her breath as she stumbled, yet managed to stay on her feet. But as she staggered, a stream of coffee spilled from her cup and splashed in an arching motion across the floor.

"You need to put up a 'wet floor' sign," the woman snapped before Eishima could say anything and hurried away, barely even looking at her.

Eishima was stunned. Ok, wow. True, the other staff members had never been overly polite toward her, but they were never this snappy before. It was as if her presence was an irritant.