A Pregnant Proposal. Elizabeth Harbison

months later

      Jen woke to the sound of the door buzzer at 7:00 a.m. First she rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, hoping it had been her imagination, but it sounded again. And again. She pulled herself up awkwardly and slipped a robe around her ripe form.

      “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she called, stumbling across the still-dark living room of her apartment. She got to the door and put her hand on the chain lock. “Who’s there?”

      “It’s Abigail Sedgewick,” a voice answered, without a trace of apology for the early intrusion. “Philip’s mother.”

      As if Jen wouldn’t remember who Abigail Sedgewick was. In the weeks following Philip’s death, she’d had quite a bit of contact with Abigail and her husband, Dutch. They demanded every remnant of Philip that was in Jen’s apartment, from clothing to tie clips to tweezers. They had even taken the engagement ring that Philip had bought for Jen. Everything had “sentimental value” they said, never asking Jen if anything had sentimental value for her.

      As it turned out, almost nothing did because her memories of him were colored almost daily with new revelations about his character. Philip, it seemed, had enjoyed many, many liaisons with women—mostly married women—during his engagement to Jen. There were so many gold-ringed weeping women in black at his funeral it had looked like a convent.

      Jen leaned heavily against the door and said a short prayer for strength. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Sedgewick?”

      “You could open the door, dear, rather than leave me standing in the hall,” came the terse reply.

      Jen opened the door a crack and looked out at the perfectly manicured and coiffed woman before her. “I’m not really dressed yet—”

      “Not dressed? At 7:00 a.m.?” The look of disapproval was unmistakable. “Most people are already on their way to work by now.”

      “I don’t have to be there until nine and it’s only ten minutes—” She stopped herself. She didn’t owe Abigail Sedgewick an explanation for anything. “What can I do for you, Abigail?” The name didn’t trip easily off Jen’s tongue; the older woman had never suggested she call her anything but her formal title.

      “It’s about Philip’s tennis racket.”

      My God. Has something happened to it? Jen squelched the sarcastic response. “His tennis racket?”

      “I believe you have it here,” she said, an unmistakable accusation dripping from her words. “We need it back. It isn’t yours, you know, and it has great sentimental value to his father and myself.”

      Jen couldn’t imagine that the sentimental value was that great since it had been seven months since he’d passed away, and they’d never mentioned it before. On top of that, it was November—hardly tennis season, although the Sedgewicks’ club undoubtedly had indoor courts. “I wasn’t trying to steal it,” Jen said. “He left it here when—”

      “Do you know where it is?” Abigail interrupted. “Or should I wait while you search for it?”

      As it happened, Jen did have the tennis racket and she knew just where it was because she’d used it a couple of weeks earlier to smooth a new border along the wallpaper of the nursery. Giving in with a sigh, she pulled her robe as closely around her as she could and opened the door. “Come on in, I’ll get it from the back room.”

      Abigail took a single step over the threshold and waited as Jen walked down the hall to the small storage room she was converting into a nursery. She picked up the racket, scratched some wallpaper glue off the handle, and took it back to the door where Abigail stood waiting.

      “Here you go,” Jen said, stifling a yawn. “Is there anything else?”

      There was no answer.

      “Is there anything else?” she asked again, then, with a start, realized the reason for Abigail’s silence.

      She was staring at Jen’s belly.

      “…and heaven knows how long Jennifer Martin’s going to be out when she has that baby. She doesn’t have a husband to help take over the work at home, you know. We need to start at least three temps on staff right away, to do whatever grunt work they possibly can, freeing others to help with Jen’s workload. And if I were you, Matt, I’d make sure at least one of them is interested in staying on permanently and learning the ropes. Jennifer might not be back.”

      Matt Holder frowned. “What do you mean she might not be back?” he asked his assistant, Leila, sharply.

      “She’s single?” Kane Haley asked before Leila could answer Matt.

      “This is the brunette in Benefits, right?”

      “She’s the Benefits Manager,” Matt told him, then turned back to Leila. “Why do you say she might not be back? Did she say something to you?”

      “I thought she was married,” Kane went on, making it sound as if that was as important as whether or not she returned to her job.

      “She was engaged but her fiancé died,” Leila explained. “She didn’t tell anyone she was pregnant until months afterwards.”

      “Leila,” Matt said firmly. “Answer me.”

      “How many months afterwards?” Kane wanted to know. His dark brown eyes were sharp with interest.

      Matt looked at him incredulously. “Kane, man, what’s with the sudden interest in your employees’ private lives?”

      Kane looked momentarily chagrined then said to Matt, “You know as well as anyone that the health of a company depends on the health and happiness of its employees.” He raised an eyebrow. “I assume that’s why you are also so intent on whether Jennifer is staying with the company.”

      Matt didn’t give a hoot about the company as compared with Jen’s health and happiness, but he wasn’t about to admit it to Kane and Leila. “I’m concerned with any possible changes to the staff,” he dodged.

      Kane gave the merest hint of a smile. “Very concerned, it appears. I’m glad to see it.” He turned back to Leila. “Matt was asking about Jennifer’s plans for her future with the company. What do you know about that?”

      Leila blushed, and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Well, with her being alone and all, I heard that she might find work that she can do at home.”

      “Day care is a concern for several of the women here,” Kane murmured, then asked Matt. “Have you done any research about that? What do you think about having it on-site?”

      “I think it can work,” Matt said. He’d been mulling over the idea for a few weeks now, since Kane had first mentioned the possibility. “I’ve run some preliminary numbers and I think it would ultimately save the company a considerable sum. Not to mention the fact that it would foster that sense of well-being you were just advocating for employees.” He smiled.

      Kane smiled back. “My thoughts exactly. Where do you propose setting it up?”

      “In the offices on the 15th floor that are currently housing old computers and parts. We could donate the hardware to a local seniors’ center, take a nice tax deduction, and turn the rooms into a day-care center.”

      “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

      “Everything except the reality of it. I still need to talk to the parents here, find out what their needs are and determine whether we can provide them.” Jen would be the perfect one to talk to, in fact.

      “Do it,” Kane said. “Give me a detailed report, include the pros and the cons, and we’ll see what we can do.”

      “You got it.”

      Kane nodded. “Also, I want four temps brought in to pick up the slack. I have a feeling things are going to be pretty volatile around here for a while.” He stood up and gave Matt