Baby Comes First (2 page)

Her only concern was for the health and
welfare of her baby. And that meant not working for Luke
Jamison.

The million-dollar question was: how
offensive could she be before he threw her out of his office? She
didn’t want to make a scene, because that could hurt her work
record at the law firm, but she wanted to be certain he didn’t hire
her.

She held his gaze without flinching. She
asked, “And what exactly do you require in a secretary?”

“Punctuality for starters. My workday begins
at eight a.m. and I’d expect yours to, as well. Not eight ten or
eight twenty, but eight a.m.”

She nodded. “Fine with me. Just as long as my
day ends on time.”

“I beg your pardon?”

His question, although politely worded, shot
forth like a bullet. Hannah was glad she didn’t have to face this
man from the witness chair. No wonder he was so successful. She
took a deep breath. “I don’t work overtime,” she said simply,
hoping that lightning wouldn’t strike her for lying. “My hours are
eight to five, with an hour lunch. No more, no less.”

His voice rose. “That’s unreasonable. What if
there is an emergency?”

“If an emergency comes up, and by emergency I
mean something that you could not have foreseen, not just poor time
management on your part, –-” His eyes widened at this insult, “I am
willing to stay late. But then I will require some comp time to
make up for it. If you need additional help after five o’clock in
the evening, I would be happy to contact someone in Data Processing
and arrange for a floater.”

He stared at her in amazement.

“Also, I don’t travel. You’ll need to find
someone else for your out-of-town cases.”

For a moment she thought he was going to
explode. As far as she knew, at Thompson, Baker, and Myers all the
partners’ secretaries traveled when required.

“Anything else I should know?” he asked
finally, through clenched teeth.

If he had a heart attack, could she be held
liable for inciting it? “Yes. I’m not your surrogate wife.”

“Sleeping with me is not part of the job
description.” His words were like ice.

Another direct hit
. Hannah smiled. She
was beginning to enjoy herself. She’d never had so much fun in a
job interview. It was exhilarating. “I wasn’t referring to sex,”
she said smoothly. “What I meant to say is that I’m not your
housekeeper or a maid.” She ticked off the list on her fingers. “I
don’t make coffee. I don’t pick up your dry cleaning or make sure
your utilities are paid. I don’t buy presents for your mother, your
wife, your kids, or your girlfr--”

“What exactly
do
you do?” he
interrupted coolly.

“I handle your correspondence, motions and
responses, keeping track of them on computer and disc. I file the
paperwork. I coordinate your schedule and court calendar. I make
travel arrangements. I schedule meetings.”

There was an uncomfortable silence, as they
stared at each other, taking each other’s measure. Hannah raised
her chin. Maybe Luke Jamison did eat secretaries for lunch, but he
was not going to eat her.

Finally, he stood. “I don’t think we should
waste any more time with this interview.”

Hannah also stood, relieved. “I agree.” She
held out her hand. “It was nice meeting you,” she lied. “I hope
you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

He took her hand in his firm, capable grasp.
“But I have. You.”

Hannah felt the room sway. “What?”

“I respect a woman who knows what she wants
and isn’t afraid to ask for it.” He smiled grimly. “Too many people
in this world expect everyone else to read their minds. If they’d
just be honest and speak up, everyone would be a lot happier.”

She sensed that he was talking about more
than a simple job interview, but her mind wasn’t thinking clearly.
Work for Luke Jamison? It was impossible.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at eight-o’clock,
then.”

“Eight o’clock,” Hannah said weakly. Somehow,
in spite of her shock, she made it back to her cubicle in one
piece.

Jessica glanced over the cubicle wall. She
said, “What happened? You look terrible. Like you’re going to be
sick. Are you okay?”

Hannah sank into her swivel chair. “No, I’m
not. I’m Luke Jamison’s new secretary.”

“You poor thing. I filled in for him once
about six months ago, and I vowed, ‘never again.’ I misspelled the
name ...”

Hannah didn’t listen to the rest of her
friend’s story. It was impossible to pay attention. Her head
pounded and she rubbed her forehead, as if that could make the
stress headache go away. What am I going to do now?

She shouldn’t work for him, she couldn’t, but
she had to. Either that, or get a new job, and she couldn’t afford
to take financial risks with a baby on the way.

Luke Jamison’s baby.

CHAPTER TWO

“I never did like the sperm bank idea,”
Christine commented.

Hannah sat in a lawn chair in her next door
neighbor’s back yard, watching her friend’s two little girls, age
four and eighteen months run around on the grass, play in the
sandbox, and climb on a huge rainbow colored plastic climbing toy.
Hannah sipped her iced tea, enjoying the evening breeze. April was
one of the best months in Dallas – the weather was warm without
being too hot. She said, “I know. You thought I should do it the
old fashioned way, but there weren’t any volunteers.”

“There are a lot good men out there,” her
friend insisted.

“Most of the good ones are already taken, and
those that are left, aren’t looking for someone like me.”

“You’re too hard on yourself.”

“Am I? If I didn’t know better, I’d think an
evil fairy godmother had cursed my love life.”

Christine laughed. “What about that
librarian?”

Hannah tried to remember his name. “Paul? We
went out once, and he spent the entire evening telling me about a
dreadful murder mystery he was writing. Besides, that was more than
three years ago. Since then, no one has even tried to ask me out.”
She sighed dramatically. “Whenever I’m interested in a man, he’s
not. And if a man is interested in me, I can’t stand him.”

“You’re too picky.”

“Maybe. And it doesn’t help that whenever I’m
around an eligible man, I get nervous. And when I get nervous, I
can’t talk. I clam up like a – a –” Hannah searched for the right
word.

“A clam?”

Hannah smiled.

Christine continued, “I think you just need
to get out more and meet people. You spend too much time at that
nursing home.”

Hannah taught classes at a local assisted
living center two days a week. “It’s the only way I can spent time
with my mom.”

“I guess you could always meet some rich old
geezer who is looking for a trophy wife.”

“Rich old geezers don’t live at the Aldwick
Senior Center. And even if they did, they’d want some cute blonde,
like you.”

Christine frowned. “There’s got to be a way
for you to meet men. Aren’t there any single men at your work?”

“They’re lawyers,” Hannah dead-panned.

“Oh, right, I keep forgetting. Well, even if
they are lawyers, there might be one or two worth considering. You
just have to give them a chance to get to know you.”

Hannah didn’t say anything. There was no
point in arguing. Christine, cute and blonde, with a bubbly
personality, didn’t understand. How could she? Her life experience
was completely different. Christine had a steady boyfriend ever
since she was fourteen. At twenty-five, she’d chosen Greg as the
best of the bunch, married, and settled down. They bought the house
next to hers, and a few years later, they started their family. Now
they had two precious little girls.

Hannah tried not to be envious. Christine had
what she herself had always wanted -- a family. She wanted someone
to love and someone to love her back.

Suddenly alert, Christine sat up straight.
“What have you got in your mouth?” she demanded of her oldest
child.

“Nothing,” the four year old mumbled.

Christine hastened over to her and held out
her hand. “Spit it out,” she ordered. The girl obeyed, and
Christine stared at the tiny piece of plastic in her hand. “Where
did you find this?” she asked, then said quickly, “It doesn’t
matter. Just remember that only food goes in your mouth. Not
toys.”

Christine showed Hannah the tiny plastic doll
shoe. “See what you have to look forward to?” She sighed.
“Sometimes I think she’s a human vacuum cleaner.”

Hannah shook her head in sympathy. Maybe
watching Christine’s children had increased her own desire to have
children, but it didn’t matter why she’d finally given in to the
temptation, she now had to deal with the consequences. She was
pregnant with Luke Jamison’s baby and starting tomorrow morning,
she had to work with him. “I don’t know how I’m going to do it,”
she murmured.

“Do what?” Christine asked.

“Work for my baby’s biological father.”

“How do you know it’s his baby anyway? I
thought all that sperm was anonymous.”

“It’s supposed to be. But I stumbled across
some confidential information.”

Christine eyebrows lifted. “Do tell.”

“One day at work, I had to help a secretary
find a phone number in Mr. Jamison’s office. The place is a
disaster, with papers stacked all over every flat surface. I’m
surprised the firm doesn’t make him clean it up, but as long as he
keeps winning multi-million dollar cases, I guess they don’t care.
Anyway, while I was looking through the papers, I saw some
correspondence between a fertility clinic and Mr. Jamison, asking
him what he wanted to do with his frozen sperm.”

“The plot thickens.”

“Unfortunately yes. I thought it was a
sign.”

“From God?”

Hannah shrugged. “It seemed like it at the
time. I’d been considering either adoption or going to a sperm
bank. But adoption agencies prefer couples and the waiting list was
enormous. I was afraid I’d wait years, still not have a baby, and
then it might be too late to have a baby on my own.”

“Your biological clock ticking?”

“Exactly. So when I saw the waiver that Mr.
Jamison had signed to let others use his sperm, I thought, ‘here’s
my chance.’ At least I’d know something about my baby’s father. I
knew Mr. Jamison was tall, good looking, and smart.”

“A nice set of genes.”

“Yes, that’s what I thought. So I copied down
his account number, went to the same clinic, and matched the
numbers.”

“What was he doing having his sperm at a
clinic anyway? It’s not like he was some starving medical student
needing the money.”

“Apparently he and his wife couldn’t have
children, and they were trying to get pregnant.”

“He’s married?” Christine frowned. “Eww.
That’s not good if his wife can’t have his baby, and you can.
That’s too weird.”

“No,” Hannah interrupted quickly. “He’s a
widower. His wife died from some sort of cancer. No, I wouldn’t
have used his sperm if he were still married. I agree that would
have been too weird.”

Christine thought for a moment, then said, “I
don’t know why you’re so worried about it. He agreed to let someone
else have his sperm. Why should he care if you have his baby?”

“Because I’m going to be working for
him.”

“But as long as he doesn’t know you’re
carrying his baby, what’s the big deal? Just keep your mouth shut
and do your job, and no one will know the difference.”

“But I’ll know.”

“Think of it this way -- you’ll get to learn
more about him, so when your baby grows up, you will be able to
tell him all about his father.”

“Or her.” Cristina made it sound so
reasonable, so simple, but Hannah knew it wouldn’t be. It was going
to be awkward to work for the man, knowing every minute that his
child was growing inside her.

“And if it’s terrible, you can always
quit.”

Hannah said, “I plan to quit right after
maternity leave.”

“Okay then, so you’re only talking about a
few more months?”

“Seven and a half months.”

“That’s not that long. You can do it.”

Easier said than done.

#

The next morning, Luke Jamison did not bother
with the formal niceties of polite behavior like saying, “Good
morning.” Instead, he strode into the office, saw Hannah sitting at
her new desk and started giving orders. He handed her several hand
written drafts of motions to finish before noon, three letters with
his signature to send out, and an mp3 recorder with sound files for
her to transcribe. “I don’t listen to my voice mail,” he informed
her briskly. “You’ll need to listen to the messages and write up a
summary.”

Hannah felt as if she’d been thrown in the
path of a tornado. “Yes, sir.”

“And I don’t want to be disturbed before ten.
After that, you can bring me any messages and report on what you’ve
finished.” The door to his office closed loudly behind him.

There was no point wasting time, so she
turned to her computer and began working. At exactly five minutes
after ten, she knocked on his door. “Yes?” he bellowed.

She opened the door. “I’ve finished the work
you gave me this morning,” she began, “and you have several phone
messages.”

“Let me see them,” he said, putting his hand
out for the little slips of pink paper.

Hannah walked toward his desk, but as she
neared, she stepped on a piece of paper, slid several inches and
lost her balance. The papers in her hands went flying, and she
landed smack on her rear, sitting with her legs sprawled in front
of her.

He hurried around the desk. “Are you all
right?” he demanded.

Stunned, Hannah spoke without thinking. “No,
I’m not,” she snapped. “This office is a health hazard as well as a
fire trap.”

He held out his hand to help her to her
feet.

She took his hand and stood. With shaking
fingers, she straightened her taupe skirt that had twisted up above
her knees and re-tucked her blouse. She rubbed a place on her hip
that felt as if it might be bruised.