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“I’m pregnant.”
I’m pretty sure I blink but can’t say one hundred percent. The more selfish thoughts run across my mind: How will she juggle the demands of the job with a newborn? Or will she leave altogether?
She holds her hand up, stopping my mind from its thoughtless reeling. Thank God. She says, “It’s a shock. It was for me as well. I even waited for the lab results before I could process what was happening. Now I’m starting to adjust to the idea of having a baby and how this will change my life.” She laughs to herself. “It’s a big change, but I’ve always wanted kids, so I know that will work out how it’s supposed to. But I worry how it will affect my career.”
I sit back in my chair and watch the emotions play out in her eyes. She’s been my right-hand for so many years. She’s a good person, a good friend, and she’s damn good at her job. She’ll also be a damn good mother.
Why should she have to choose between her child or her career?
My mind goes to Tealey, and I know what she would choose. I know what I would want her to choose. And the thought of her being in that situation—and of her being pregnant with my child—creates a lump in my throat that I’m not ready to deal with.
“It won’t,” I say. “I’ll make sure of it.” A gentle smile appears, and she looks apprehensive for the first time since I’ve known her. “The thing is . . .” She glances back up. “I don’t want to hold you back, Rad. You need someone—”
“No.” I’m already shaking my head, and that in and of itself is a mindfuck. “We do this together, remember?” She smiles in relief.
“I’m grateful to have you as my boss.”
What am I doing? This is Ashleigh, my friend. I finally stand and move around my desk to sit in the chair next to her. “I’m grateful to have you every step of the way. Congratulations on the baby. It’s wonderful news.”
She scrunches her expression. “I know it’s not something we usually do, but I was thinking this one time, we could take off our professional hats and set them aside for a hug?”
I nod once. She moves her stuff from her lap to my desk, and we both stand to hug. It’s awkward, not going to lie. She’s become a sister to my legal family and someone I care about. She must feel the same because we give each other a good job pat on the back right before stepping back.
The door flies open, and Marlow runs into my office. “It’s showtime, Rad. Hurry. Hurry.” Marlow mimes zipping her lip, waiting for Ashleigh to leave.
While Ashleigh gathers her things from my desk, I say, “Don’t barge into my office, Marlow. I could have been with a client or on a call.”
With her hand sliding through the air, like she’s presenting evidence, she replies, “But you weren’t. Lucky, I caught you, I guess.” I caught you. I swear I fucking hear it in her tone. She crosses the rest of the distance, but I’m already returning to my side of the desk.
Ashleigh asks, “Do you need anything before your meeting?”
“No, thank you.” I’d like to say more, but it’s not my place to share her good news. As soon as she leaves, Marlow sits down. “My dad said he has a meeting with you and would like to see the two of us together.”
Glaring at her, I say, “We need to discuss his divorce. I don’t have his permission—”
“He won’t mind.” She blows me off. I roll my eyes, and she adds, “You look like Tealey when you do that.”
“Or you, from what I remember.” She narrows her eyes.
“True, but I picked it up from Tealey. She has no patience for the absurd.”
Based on her wardrobe and cup collection, I could argue the opposite, but they’ve grown on me. I could have never imagined her tchotchkes could live in harmony with my minimal approach to clutter. Even more surprising is how well I’ve adapted to it. Got to give me a little credit here.
My video call comes to life, but I only see Robert Marché’s nose. “You’re too close, Bob,” I say.
“Daddy, back up from the camera.” Marlow is behind me, resting her hands on my shoulders as she peers at the screen.
“I’m not that old.” He sits back, lounging in a large red leather office chair. “I was getting this from Lorie.” Lorie? His soon-to-be-ex-wife-who-is-challenging-every-claim-we-make Lorie? He holds up a piece of paper.
Marlow nuzzles the top of my head. Jerking back, I ask, “What are you—?” A knuckle grinding into my back puts that question to bed. Oh, right. It’s showtime. The back of my neck is pinched because I’m screwing this up somehow. Just wish I knew what she wanted me to do.
