A GERMOPHOBIC ROMANCE
A Germophobic Romance (6): A weekly Nigerian romantic-comedy series.
Read previous chapters here
CHAPTER SIX
“Adeyemi, Savtel chatted us up. They need our Hygiene tech team first thing tomorrow,” Ifunanya announces the moment staff prayer ends, and Mr Savage disappears into his lemon-scented fortress.
“Alright, Ifunanya.” Adeyemi stretches his neck slightly, scanning the remaining hygiene techs like a coach picking the final players for a crucial match. Half the team’s already booked for off-site work the next day.
His gaze lands on Rahama, Mngohol, and Samuel, standing off to the side. Free. Available.
“I’ll go with Samuel, Mngohol and Rahama,” Adeyemi says with a nod, already walking toward them.
If he’s heading to Savtel—Mr Savage’s father’s company—he needs to be on deck. No mistakes. Not even a smudge.
Meanwhile, Omotayo Enioluwa Savage settles into his office chair, breathes in the lemon-scented air—his personal diffuser working overtime—opens his laptop, and exhales slowly like he’s preparing for battle. Because in a way… he is.
Rahama.
This is it. Day One. Operation Get-Rahama-Out is officially underway.
She’s still here. Breathing his air. Walking through his space. Existing with those cracked heels and mysterious hair texture.
He grabs up the intercom.
“Hello, Ifunanya,” he says calmly, “can you send Rahama over?”
The plan today is simple: Burn Her Out.
He had walked into the office—again—and she’s shown up looking like a walking “before” photo in a makeover ad: blouse faded beyond its original color, skirt rumpled like it slept beside her, hair still in a confused tangle, and skin dry enough to start a fire with friction, and lips as pale as uncharged Wi-Fi.
No lip balm. No lotion. No effort.
When he asked why she wasn’t in uniform, Racheal had mumbled, “She doesn’t have any field work today.”
Which, apparently, meant she could loiter in his workspace with her germs jumping on every surface.
Not on his watch.
Rahama appears less than two minutes later, stepping into the office with the same unbothered smile she wore yesterday.
“Hey—hey hey hey! Stay back, stay back!” Tayo flinches, lifting both hands like she’s radioactive. “Don’t come any closer.”
Rahama freezes mid-step, smiles politely like she’s used to this level of drama. She’s dealt with worse in her mother’s cleaning gigs. Men who thought shouting added to their masculinity.
Tayo studies her from a distance. The white crustiness of her elbows. The flaked skin around her ankles. The tragic condition of her fingernails—God, does she dig sand?
“I was told you’re free today?” he asks, voice flat, judgment thick.
“Yes, sir.” Her voice is calm, her Hausa accent softening the words like warm butter.
If he were blindfolded, he might actually enjoy the sound. A smooth, low lilt, touched with a Hausa rhythm. But no, he can see her, and that ruins it.
“Okay, then. I have a job for you.” He pauses. “Actually, a lot of jobs.”
Rahama nods without blinking. Still smiling. Still calm.
Tayo freezes for a second. He hasn’t even planned this part. He scrolls through mental folders for something suitably confusing and exhausting.
Think, Savage. Think.
Then he smirks.
He clears his throat. “Go sanitize the reception shelves.”
“Okay, sir.”
“But don’t move anything.”
“…Okay.”
“Also, remove everything and dust it.”
She blinks.
“Just not the confidential files.”
“Sir?”
“Use alcohol-based disinfectant,” he adds with a wave. “Except on the wood. For that, use bleach. But only a non-scented kind.”
Rahama’s eyebrows inch up. Her lips part slightly, not in rebellion, but pure confusion.
“Sir, I… don’t understand.”
Tayo lifts a hand in dismissal, already pretending to be too busy to clarify. “Just do what I said. You may go.”
She stands there for a beat too long. And then she nods slowly, turns, and walks out without another word.
Tayo watches her from the corner of his eye until she is out of sight.
And then, finally, he leans back and exhales in satisfaction.
“She’ll mess it up,” he mutters under his breath. “One tiny error, and I’ll personally inspect it.”
Nobody can get that kind of vague instruction right. And when she does, he’ll write her up.
Tayo smiles.
Operation Burnout Rahama is off to a glorious start.
One hour later
Tayo pulls on his gloves like a surgeon preparing for open-heart surgery.
Nose mask? Secured. Pocket-sized sanitizer? In one hand. Mini spray disinfectant? Holstered like a weapon.
Operation: Look for Rahama’s mistake.
It’s lunchtime—perfect. Fewer witnesses.
He steps out of his office with slow, careful strides, like a detective on a crime scene. The reception area is quiet. He approaches the shelves.
Tayo bends slightly, scanning every corner. No dust. No stray paper. No fingerprint smudges. He even checks behind the shelf, gripping it with his gloved hands. Still clean.
No hair strands, no damp patches, not even a forgotten pen cap.
Tayo frowns. That’s not possible.
He squats, pulling out a file, inspecting the edges, sniffing for any lingering Rahama-scented negligence.
Nothing.
Omotayo starts sweating. Under the air conditioner.
“Mr Savage?”
Tayo jerks upright, nearly hitting his head. He stumbles backwards, disinfectant held up like a weapon.
Ifunanya stands a few feet away, blinking. “Are you… looking for something, sir?”
“Yes. No. I mean… no,” Tayo says, attempting a smile.
It looks like a nervous tic.
Ifunanya grins, not buying it for a second. “Or did you come to see me, sir?”
He stares at her. Blink. Blink.
Why would she think that? How much confidence does this girl have in her romantic destiny?
“I’m just strolling.” He says it like it’s the most logical thing to do—stroll around a reception shelf while bending awkwardly in gloves and a mask.
Ifunanya raises a brow. “Around the shelves… crouched?”
Tayo frowns. She’s a side quest. He needs to focus on the boss level: Rahama.
Tayo is about to turn away when something catches his eye. Right there, on the edge of the second shelf from the bottom. He smiles for the first time in the last thirty minutes.
He steps closer. Squints.
A torn sticker. Or rather, the half-peeled remains of one.
Just sitting there, mocking him with its uneven edges and old, gummy residue.
It must’ve once held a label, but now it’s nothing but a disgrace to surface cleanliness.
Tayo’s eye twitches.
He bends down slowly, dramatic as ever, nose mask fogging up with every breath. His gloved finger hovers over the spot, but he doesn’t touch it. Of course not. Who knows how long it’s been there? Who put it there? More importantly, why didn’t Rahama see it?
“Where is Rahama?” he asks, practically giddy as he stands upright.
Ifunanya tilts her head, confused.
“She’s in the staff room upstairs. On break.”
Tayo’s smile falters. “Break?”
The one word he doesn’t want to hear: Rahama on a break?
“Yes, sir,” Ifunanya shrugs. “She uses the staff accommodation. I think her house is far, so she says she would be going home only on weekends.”
Tayo freezes. Accommodation? In his company?
He blinks. “She lives here?”
“Yes, sir.” Ifunanya watches his smile vanish like someone just deleted it manually.
Tayo clenches his jaw. “Go and call Rahama and Peter. Tell them to meet me in my office. Now!”
He doesn’t wait for a response. He turns and storms off.
Ifunanya watches him leave, shaking her head. In just five minutes, Mr Savage has smiled, frowned, jumped, and flinched. And all because of one girl.
She grins and turns toward the stairs. “Rahama, your village people didn’t waste time oh, they have show up to send you off properly!”
“How come I’m just finding out Rahama lives here?” Tayo asks, leaning forward in his chair like he’s cross-examining a witness in court.
Peter and Rahama both stand at a respectful distance across from him.
“Sir, you approved it. It’s in her employment file, the one I showed you. The contract. And since accommodation is automatically part of the employee benefits if they request it, I didn’t think I needed to emphasize it.”
Tayo narrows his eyes. “When?”
“When I brought her file to your office. You asked if I had her contract in hand and signed it. It’s in the company’s e-files. You can check, sir.”
Tayo blinks like Peter just accused him of adopting a goat without realizing it. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir.”
There’s a pause.
Then Tayo, arms crossed, squints at Peter. “Is there something going on between you and Rahama I should know about?”
Peter’s face remains neutral.
“No, sir. You made all the decisions regarding her employment. Everything.”
Right. Of course he did. Employed a walking germ. Approved her stay in the staff quarters above his office. Practically invited chaos into his sterile kingdom. He’s the architect of his own downfall.
Rahama watches silently from the side, eyes moving between both men as they toss her life back and forth like it’s a poorly planned spreadsheet.
She’s confused. Is Mr Savage just proud and snobbish… or does he genuinely hate her?
She had assumed Mr Savage was kind. Quiet. Even sweet, from the one time she cleaned his home. He’d seemed fragile in a well-mannered sort of way.
But now? The constant irritation, the weird instruction, the look he gives her like she’s a virus in a human costume, maybe it’s because she’s Hausa. Some people do.
They smile in your face but see you as lesser.
“Rahama,” Tayo snaps, his voice sharp. “I told you to clean the shelves. So why is there still a half-peeled sticker on the middle one?”
Rahama blinks, caught off guard. “Sir, I was going to clean it. But Mr Adeyemi asked me to buy stamp pins. He said he’d assign Mngohol to finish the shelf.”
Tayo frowns. “So Mngohol cleaned the shelves?”
“I think so, sir. But I didn’t. I explained to Mr Adeyemi how you said I should clean it: ‘remove everything, don’t remove anything.’ So he handled it.”
Peter glances at Tayo, then at Rahama, and back again. A slow, knowing smile tugs at the corner of his lips.
Tayo doesn’t miss it.
Peter knows exactly what’s going on.
Tayo’s trying to trap Rahama with vague instructions.
“It’s fine. You can go.” Tayo waves Rahama off, suddenly feeling too exposed, too ridiculous in front of Peter.
Rahama nods once, silent, and slips out of the office.
Tayo turns to Peter with a deep sigh.
“Is there anything else I’m missing about Rahama? Aside from accidentally hiring her and somehow approving her to live on-site?”
Peter shakes his head. “No, sir. Only that she leaves on Friday evenings and returns Sunday nights. She goes home for the weekend.”
Tayo exhales like that tiny detail was meant to comfort him. It doesn’t. Not one bit.
He waves Peter away. “Go.”
Peter nods and leaves.
Tayo stares at the door for a long moment. His skin itches. His thoughts spiral.
Rahama is a health hazard. A living, breathing danger to his immune system. He knows how his body reacts to germs, one wrong exposure and his sinuses revolt like a coup.
And now she’s here. In his orbit. At his workplace. Sleeping one floor above him.
There has to be a way to get rid of her.
But what and how?
Rahama lies on one of the twin beds in the staff quarters, staring up at the patterned POP ceiling like it holds answers. The light from the low-hanging bulb casts soft yellow shadows around the room.
Across from her, Oritsejumi, her roommate and fellow hygiene technician, sits cross-legged on the second bed, eyes glued to her phone, earbuds in, lips twitching now and then at something unseen.
What is wrong with Mr Savage?
Just when she thought he might be a decent boss, possibly even a literal angel in business-casual wear but he’s been acting like her presence alone triggers him.
First, the vague instructions.
Then the disapproval practically dripping off his voice. And now this strange tension, like she’s trespassing on sacred ground just by being here.
Does he hate her?
Is it tribal?
But no, Rahama shakes her head slowly.
That can’t be it.
Mr Savage might be many things, but a tribalist? She’s seen more than five different tribes in the company.
Her roommate Oritsejumi is Itsekiri. Ifunanya, Igbo. Mngohol, Benue. Then there’s Yoruba, Edo, and even someone from Gombe, even the security guard is Hausa.
So why her?
She glances at Oritsejumi, wondering if she should say something, but the girl’s AirPods make her a lost cause.
Maybe she should just… ask him. Find out what she’s doing wrong.
But then again, she’s been paying attention.
Mr Savage barely talks to anyone. He communicates with Peter and Mr Adeyemi: likely because they run the show. Everyone else? He avoids. He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t linger. Doesn’t even make eye contact unless absolutely necessary.
But there’s something different about the way he acts with her.
It’s not just distance. It’s tension. Sharp. Odd. Personal.
Still, maybe, just maybe, if she’s kind, he’ll soften up. Maybe he’s just misunderstood.
Rahama nods to herself, lips tightening with resolve.
Tomorrow, she’ll try being nice. Really nice, maybe even clean Mr Savage’s office.
Across town, Tayo sighs heavily as he scrubs a bunch of scent leaves in the sink like he’s giving them a second baptism. He’s wearing elbow-length gloves—mint green, hospital-grade—and scrubbing with surgical precision.
If Peter hadn’t worked with him for over two years, he would’ve suspected sabotage.
But no. It’s all on him. He signed the contract. He gave the nod. Approved Rahama’s file.
Without seeing her in real-time.
Without seeing the messy bun, the dry lips, the unmoisturized elbows, or the dust-coated slippers that look like they’ve been on pilgrimage.
He rinses the sink twice, then starts on the pepper. There’s pounded yam on his mind tonight, and he’s determined to eat it with clean hands and a clean conscience.
But his thoughts are anything but clean.
Rahama.
Everywhere he turns, she’s in his head.
On his company records.
In his office.
Living in quarters he signed off on.
He feels out of control… and he hates that.
She could’ve at least tried, he thinks, scrubbing a tomato like it personally offended him.
She could moisturize. Fix that frizzy hair. Buff the soles of her feet. Cut her nails. Use lip balm. Something. Anything.
How can one person be this… untouched by a moisturizer?
Tayo exhales sharply and shuts off the tap. The water drips into silence.
No. He’s not letting her stay past Friday. He doesn’t care what kind of HR language he has to draft. He will find something.
Anything. Even if he has to call her out…
Rahama must go.
Next Day
Rahama stands before the towering glass behemoth, the Savtel building, with its twenty-plus floors, and can’t help but feel tiny.
Who owns this kind of building? she wonders, her eyes tracing the sleek glass façade.
She’s holding a bag of cleaning solutions. Lagos is holding her breath.
Her cleaning equipment feels a little less significant in her hands now, as if it’s not enough to wipe away the wealth oozing from every corner of this place.
Adeyemi, Samuel, and Mngohol move toward the entrance, but Rahama’s still stuck on the view.
The security guard bows as the automatic doors glide open with a swoosh straight out of a sci-fi film.
The lobby hits her like a punch to the stomach, grand but sleek.
To the right, two receptionists in sleek black polos type away with robotic precision. To the left, plush couches host a parade of polished guests scrolling on iPhones. Far ahead, the glass elevator glides down with execs inside looking like models on a Vogue business spread.
Adeyemi approaches the receptionists, exchanging greetings that feel more like an old friendship than a professional transaction.
Rahama can’t help but notice how at ease he is here, like he owns the place. Then, with a quick nod, Adeyemi gestures for them to follow, and she snaps back to reality.
Inside the elevator, he presses 12, 17, and 21.
The elevator ride is a spectacle in itself. They pile inside, and as it starts rising, Rahama watches the ground floor shrink beneath them, everyone down there suddenly looking like little ants. She feels like she’s ascending into another universe.
“So,” Adeyemi, the ever-organized chief hygiene officer, begins, casual but firm, “like I explained in the car, we’re doing deep cleaning for the executive offices and the main boardroom.”
Everyone nods.
“Rahama, since you’re still new, you’ll be with Mngohol. She’ll guide and supervise.”
“Okay,” Rahama says, already nervous.
“Samuel, take the boardrooms on 17. I’ll handle the executive suite on 21. Mngohol,”—he turns—“you and Rahama handle 12 and 15. Then meet me at the CEO’s office.”
Mngohol nods. Rahama nods too, tighter this time.
Two hours later, 12 is sparkling. Mngohol grins mid-vacuum.
“You’re fast, I like that. And you wipe properly, unlike some people.”
Rahama chuckles, loosening up. Her hands ache, but it’s satisfying, this work. This progress.
They step out on 15. This floor is another level. The walls are lighter, the marble shinier. Even the secretaries wear silk scarves and a little too much confidence.
Inside one of the executive offices, Rahama polishes a large, dark walnut desk, careful around the sleek décor.
But as she wipes beneath the custom nameplate—Martins Daniel, Head of Finance—it slips.
Crack.
The sound echoes.
She freezes. Glass shards scatter across the polished tiles like glitter gone wrong.
“Rahama!” Mngohol rushes in, vacuum abandoned, eyes wide. “What happened?!”
“I—I didn’t mean to,” Rahama stammers, crouching beside the mess. “It just slipped, I was wiping and—”
“It’s okay,” Mngohol says, though her tone says this is bad. She crouches too, eyes scanning the broken pieces.
It’s a custom glass nameplate in Savtel.
Mngohol’s stomach drops. Oh no. Mr Savage had warned them. No mistakes. No embarrassments. Not in my father’s building.
“I’ll call Adeyemi.” Mngohol’s voice is calm now, too calm. The way people sound when they’re trying not to panic.
She steps aside and dials. Rahama can hear just enough to know it’s not going well. Even Adeyemi’s deep voice sounds clipped.
This was supposed to be the beginning of her fresh start.
Now, she’s standing in broken glass.
Hours later
Tayo leans back in his leather chair, arms crossed, his jaw tight enough to snap. The diffuser whirs softly beside him, but even the lemon-lavender mist can’t unclench the mood.
“Mr Daniels called,” he says, voice low but firm. “Said one of my staff broke his nameplate.”
A chill settles over the room. Samuel shifts awkwardly. Mngohol looks like she wants to disappear. Rahama keeps her eyes glued to a spot on the tiles like it holds the secrets of heaven. And Adeyemi, ever the team lead, stands tall but tense.
Tayo’s eyes narrow. “How did that happen, Adeyemi? I’ve said it over and over, Savtel is not just any client. It’s my father’s company. Do you know the pressure I’m under already?”
He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to.
It’s bad enough that his father thinks he is some… incompetent invalid, and now his team went over there, and they start breaking things like it’s a demolition job
A long silence.
He scans their faces. “So who did it?”
Everyone shifts again.
“This can’t be your first time cleaning an executive office,” Tayo says, eyes darting from one face to the next. “You know the nameplates sit at the edge. You know to be careful.”
“It was a mistake,” Mngohol says quietly, stepping forward. “Rahama didn’t know. We’d cleaned other offices together. I thought she had it. I asked her to handle the desk while I worked the floors.”
Tayo turns slowly to Rahama.
“You?” His tone slices. “Three days in. Just three days. And you’re already destroying client property?”
Rahama lifts her gaze for a second. That’s all it takes.
He sees it: guilt, shame, the tremble in her bottom lip.
She nods.
For a moment, something flickers behind his eyes.
In his chest.
But he blinks it away.
“Sir,” Adeyemi cuts in, firm. “I was in charge of supervision. This is on me. Don’t take it out on her.”
Tayo ignores him. His voice comes out colder this time.
“You’re fired, Rahama.”
And just like that, her whole body stiffens. She doesn’t plead. Doesn’t argue. Just stands there, small and still, as the words hit her like rain in the middle of nowhere with no roof in sight.
She blinks once.
A tear falls, silent and sharp.
So much for getting out of Somolu.
So much for this being her big break.
Adeyemi clears his throat and steps forward like he’s about to walk into gunfire. “Sir… I really don’t think it’s entirely Rahama’s fault.”
Tayo doesn’t blink.
“I should’ve supervised her more closely,” Adeyemi adds. “It was her first time deep-cleaning an executive office. I dropped the ball.”
Tayo tilts his head, still unsmiling.
“So now we’re offering excuses?”
“No, sir,” Adeyemi says quickly.
“I’m offering accountability. I can pay for the damages out of my salary. Or Rahama and I can split it. But… maybe firing her is too extreme.”
Mngohol chimes in, voice small but sincere. “Please, sir. Rahama’s been trying. She’s a fast learner. She just… messed up. We all do sometimes. I’ll put part of my salary in too if it helps.”
Silence.
Tayo stares at them like they’re speaking a language he doesn’t understand. Why is everyone acting like this is a fairy tale?
He crosses his arms. “Anyone else want to chip in? Samuel? Maybe we should open a GoFundMe for her while we’re at it?”
Samuel coughs awkwardly. Adeyemi presses his lips into a line. Even Rahama doesn’t raise her head.
Tayo’s eyes land on her again. And that’s the real problem, isn’t it?
Because somehow, this one girl—this walking mess of unwashed hands and beautiful eyes—is slowly becoming a glitch in his well-controlled system. One that santizier can’t fix.
He feels it rising in his chest: A burn.
That mix of anger and something softer he’s trying so hard to kill.
So, so hard to kill.
They don’t get it.
They don’t know what he’s been fighting every single day.
The pressure to prove himself in a company his father treats like a joke. The backhanded compliments. The “That’s nice, you run a cleaning company… what else?”
They don’t know that every time he sends his staff to Savtel, it’s like going to battle, with his father’s opinion of him, with the legacy he didn’t ask for, and now... with Rahama’s clumsiness making it all worse.
She didn’t just break a nameplate.
She broke the last thread of credibility he’s hanging onto in front of the man who thinks he’s a walking disappointment.
“Just leave,” he says at last. His voice is tight. Quiet. Dangerous. “I’ll decide before the day ends.”
They hesitate, just for a beat and then file out one after the other.
He exhales heavily and sinks back into his chair, rubbing his temple.
Rahama is turning out to be a full-blown migraine. A stubborn one. One of those ones Panadol can’t touch.
He picks up his phone and dials his father.
It rings.
And rings.
And finally connects.
“Hello o, Tayo,” his father’s voice booms like he’s already disappointed. “Calling to explain how your staff are breaking things in my building?”
Tayo shuts his eyes.
Here we go.
Another episode lands in your inbox in two hours 🤍
" Hey—hey hey hey! Stay back, stay back!” Tayo flinches, lifting both hands like she’s radioactive. “Don’t come any closer.”
To his future baby o😭
Beautiful chapter! I'm rooting for Rayo.
Rahama+Tayo. 😊