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  “That’s precise.”

  “We have a calendar,” she murmured. “It makes it easy to remember when the baby is due.” They’d had the option to buy a calendar that counted up or counted down. At least theirs didn’t directly remind her of how few days there were left to tell her mother.

  “We got a dog,” she added, mostly to change the topic. “Bay is also pregnant and everyone knows. She’s a Doberman and very well trained. She used to work for the government.”

  “So don’t mess with her,” Kit added. “Not only can she kill you, I’m pretty sure she would know how to hide the body.”

  “Bay is very sweet.” Stacey shook her head. “I don’t want Ashton to be worried about our dog.”

  “I get along with dogs,” Ashton assured her. “Puppies will be fun.”

  “I’ve been studying what’s involved with the canine birthing process. The vet thinks since Bay had puppies before, she’ll be an excellent mother.” Stacey was hoping the dog could teach her a thing or two. It would be nice to expand her knowledge on the subject, which was, to date, virtually nonexistent. All she knew about being a mother was that she didn’t want to be like hers. She never wanted her daughter to feel about her the way she felt about Bunny. Not exactly the role model for a well-rounded upbringing.

  The return trip was quick. Kit pulled into the driveway. While Ashton collected his luggage, Stacey went inside to remind Bay they were adding to the pack. Technically dogs didn’t think of their family members as being part of a pack. Dogs were more loyal than that, so the family unit was more like a gang where allegiance was sworn and members protected each other to the death. But when she’d tried to explain that to Kit, he’d told her that talking about their pack was going to be easier for everyone. And when it came to things like social niceties, she trusted Kit implicitly.

  “Bay, sit,” Stacey said as Ashton walked into the living room. The Doberman’s ears went up, but she stayed in place.

  Ashton dropped his bags and slowly approached the dog. “Hey, Bay. I’m Ashton. You’re beautiful.”

  “Bay, greet,” Stacey said.

  Bay rose and stepped toward Ashton. She sniffed his hand, then his shoes before turning her attention to Stacey.

  “Good girl. Ashton is going to be living with us now. He’s part of the pack.”

  Bay looked between them before walking closer to Ashton. He dropped to one knee and rubbed the side of her face. Her stubby tail wiggled furiously as she swiped his cheek with her tongue. Ashton winked.

  “Told you. Dogs love me.” He grinned. “As do the ladies.”

  “Let’s see if you love your room,” Kit said, carrying his nephew’s bags.

  They all went down the hall and into Ashton’s room. Stacey hovered in the doorway, anxious about his reaction.

  “If I forgot anything, just let me know. There are school supplies in the desk and toiletries in the bathroom.”

  Ashton turned in a slow circle, then faced her. “Stacey, it’s perfect. Thank you for letting me stay here.”

  “We’re happy to have you.”

  She hesitated, wanting to say more. It seemed as if Ashton needed something, but she had no idea what. Should she ask about his mother? The friends he was leaving behind? Did he want the house Wi-Fi code?

  Uncertainty made her uneasy and she looked to her husband, who appeared perfectly relaxed. Harper would know, she thought regretfully. Bunny, even Becca. She was the only one who was forever scrambling to be just like everyone else.

  * * *

  “This is Harper.”

  “What the hell, Harper? Is this how you treat all your clients? What’s wrong with you? You’re not just fired. I swear, if I had time, I would sue you.”

  Harper went cold as her stomach clenched into a knot. She stared at the phone number on the screen, but didn’t recognize it.

  “I’m sorry,” she said as calmly as she could. “Who am I speaking with?”

  “Stan over at Mischief Bay Landscaping. You messed up my billing. From what I’ve been able to figure out, nearly a quarter of my customers were billed wrong. Wrong amount, wrong invoice—you name it, you screwed it up. I’m going to tell everyone I know what a shitty job you did. Mischief Bay is a small town and I’m going to do my best to see you never get another job in it again.”

  There was a click, then silence. Harper thought she might throw up, only there wasn’t time. She raced into her office, Thor and Jazz on her heels. She flipped open her laptop and clicked on the landscaping billing program, then grabbed the stack of invoices that were to be entered.

  The first three or four were fine, but as she got deeper into the stack, she saw that Stan had been right. The amounts were transposed or the wrong services had been entered. Two lawn service clients had been billed the right amount but the column for pool service had been checked.

  It went on like that through the first quarter of the stack. After that, the billing was correct.

  Harper sank onto her chair and moaned. No, no, no. It couldn’t be this bad. It couldn’t. But it was, and she only had herself to blame.

  She’d known Morgan wasn’t paying attention to her work, but she’d been too wimpy to call her on it and too busy to check her work. Now she was going to pay big-time.

  Stan wasn’t kidding. Mischief Bay might be smack in the middle of Los Angeles County, but it was still a small town where nearly everyone knew everyone else. If he started telling people how she’d screwed up, she was done for.

  Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed it back and told herself not to panic. She had to figure out how to fix the problem. She couldn’t undo the mistakes in the billing and Stan was mad. Even more important, his customers were pissed at him and he could easily lose business from the mistake. So she had to make it right.

  She tugged off her headset and raced to the kitchen where she grabbed her handbag.

  “I’ll be back in a bit,” she told the dogs. They had a doggie door should they need to go to the bathroom and they’d already been on their walk with Dwayne, so they should be tired.

  She hurried to her car and drove directly to Stan’s office. With luck he was still there, plotting his revenge. She burst into the small building and found the older man sitting at his messy desk. He glared at her.

  “What do you want, Harper?”

  She’d done her best to plan her response on the way over, but faced with in-person fury, she found her mind going blank. For a second she thought her stomach was going to make good on its earlier threats, then she drew in a breath and told herself she had to get a grip. There was no one else around to fix this particular mess.

  “I wanted to apologize in person,” she told him. “You are right about everything you said. The invoices were wrong and that is inexcusable. I didn’t do my job correctly. Worse, I made a mess for you to clean up when all you wanted to do was get one thing off your already-full plate.”

  His stern expression didn’t relax. “So? You’re sorry. You said it. Now go.”

  “I will in a second. First I would like the chance to fix what I did. By five this afternoon I will have compared every invoice with your original paperwork. I’ll make a complete list of which are correct and which aren’t. Over the next two days I will personally call every customer who received an incorrect invoice and explain it was my fault, not yours. I will send out corrected invoices.” She swallowed. “I would also like to do next month’s invoicing for free. After that, you can be rid of me.”

  “Are you kidding me? That’s ridiculous. Do you know how much money you’re going to lose?”

  “No, but that doesn’t matter. You relied on me and I let you down.”

  Stan glared at her. “It wasn’t your mistake, was it?”

  She raised her chin. “It’s my company and my responsibility. That’s what matters here.”

  “You’re
killing me, Harper, you know that? Fine. Fix the invoice and call the clients. You can do next month’s billing for the amount we agreed on, but if there’s even one mistake, we’re through. Got it?”

  “Yes. I’ll get you the report by five today. Thank you for allowing me to fix this.”

  He waved to the door. “You have a lot of work to do. Get out of my office.”

  She did as she was told and escaped. Once she was in her car, the shaking started. That was followed by waves of cold, then her old friend nausea returned. When she was able to hold her phone without dropping it, she texted Morgan and told her she was fired. Perhaps not the most professional of reactions but Harper figured she had earned the right to be pissy. Now all she had to do was clean up the Stan mess, which meant finding an extra twenty or thirty hours in every day.

  Chapter Nine

  MEETINGS TO UPDATE a research program could be exciting or frustrating. Breakthroughs tended to come in clusters, which meant long periods when there was little to report beyond what hadn’t worked. Stacey firmly believed that failure was as useful as success—not as satisfying, but just as important. Each failure brought the team closer to their ultimate victory.

  Her job was to direct, inspire and innovate, as well as manage her team. She enjoyed the variety in her day, although her favorite times were when she was working in the lab. But that was not today. She sat in the conference room with the rest of the team leaders as they brought each other up-to-date. There were six team leaders and their assistants. She and Lexi were the only women.

  Karl ran the meetings. While she technically reported to him, he had no control over her research or her results. Those were managed independently to avoid any potential conflict of interest. Four years ago a large bribery scandal had rocked the company when it was discovered that researchers were being paid to consider options that weren’t viable for the general population, but might help a handful of patients. Patients who had access to lots of money.

  The researchers involved were fired and Stacey was brought on to take over the MS program. She’d cleaned up her department, reworked the team and was very pleased with their progress. While others sought to find a way to prevent MS from ever happening in the first place, Stacey’s group wanted to improve the lives of those already afflicted with the disease. Lesions in the myelin—the coating that surrounded every nerve—prevented normal communication with the nerves and caused the symptoms. The more lesions, the less communication, the greater the impact on the patient.

  That was her area of research: looking at ways to repair or regenerate the myelin. Once the nerves were damaged, the regeneration wouldn’t help, but for those patients with functioning nerves, reducing the lesions would allow motor function to be restored.

  Some progress had been made. New medications and treatments were being developed, but Stacey wanted more. Stopping the process wasn’t enough—she wanted to reverse the damage done.

  Karl, a big bear of a man, dropped his reading glasses onto the table. “About the travel schedule for the second half of the year. Stacey, you’re in demand as a speaker as always. I want to balance your work schedule with your travel schedule. We’re so close to a breakthrough with your team’s work that I’m concerned about you being gone. Having said that, there’s a symposium in Orlando in July I think you should consider attending.”

  Stacey involuntarily glanced at Lexi. Her assistant attended the meetings to take notes and document what was discussed. More of the company’s mandate to be transparent about the research.

  Lexi smiled encouragingly at her, as if pointing out that the opportunity to tell Karl about the baby wouldn’t get much better than this.

  Stacey cleared her throat. “I won’t be able to attend,” she said firmly. “I’m taking three weeks off in late June. I’ve already cleared it with HR.”

  She paused. Lexi mouthed, “Go on.”

  “I’m going to be out on maternity leave.”

  “You’re adopting a child?” Karl asked. “You never mentioned it.”

  “I’m not adopting. I’m pregnant.”

  Everyone but Lexi stared at her. Most of them looked down, as if wanting to confirm her growing belly. Something she’d done her best to conceal.

  “You’re having a baby?” Max, one of the other team leaders, asked. “In June?”

  She nodded, not wanting to say exactly how many days she was pregnant.

  “You’re forty,” Karl said, then winced as if he wanted to recall the words.

  “I’m aware of the risks of an older mother’s pregnancy,” she told him. “Gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, miscarriage and preterm delivery. As of now, I am perfectly healthy. There’s no reason to assume that will change. I’m going to work up until delivery. I have discussed all this with HR,” she added, in case they hadn’t heard her the first time.

  The men looked at each other. Max leaned toward her. “What about after the baby is born? You’ll only be on maternity leave for three weeks?”

  “Yes. Kit is going to stay home with the baby. The school year ends in early June, so that works out nicely.”

  “Kit’s going to be a stay-at-home dad?” Karl asked. “What about breastfeeding, Stacey?”

  She bristled. “That is not an appropriate question, Karl. I don’t ask you if you use Viagra. What decisions my husband and I choose to make about our child are our business. What you need to know is that I will be gone for three weeks and nothing else. I’ve already proven I am more than capable of doing my job while pregnant, which is all that matters for the purposes of our discussion.” She paused and glanced around the table. “If there’s nothing else, can we get back to our meeting?”

  Karl glanced down at his notes, then reached for his glasses. “Of course. Ah, congratulations, Stacey. Max, you’re next in line for the symposium. Do you have any scheduling conflicts?”

  Stacey looked at Lexi. Her assistant grinned and gave her a thumbs-up. Stacey tried to take comfort in that, but there was little to be had. She was shaking and wasn’t sure what had upset her. She was used to standing up for herself in all sorts of ways. Being a woman in her field of work wasn’t usually an issue, but she’d dealt with it before and not been the least bit bothered.

  She wondered if this time was different because she was pregnant. Did she feel vulnerable because of her condition and her biological need to protect her unborn child? She wanted to say no but she knew for a fact that hormones were powerful and the body’s need to pass on its DNA would not be denied.

  She told herself she would work on the problem later, then turned her attention back to the meeting. As she listened to Max and Karl talk about the symposium, she tried not to notice the furtive glances from her male colleagues. Even if they were looking at her differently, it wasn’t her problem—it was theirs.

  * * *

  Calligraphy was one of those weird things that was both simple and difficult at the same time. It was just writing different letters, something Harper had been doing since she was maybe five or six. But there was an element of precision that always made her a little nervous.

  She’d already created the name cards, taking a plain white stock and lightly painting it with watercolors that matched the wedding’s colors. After writing all the names, she would glue on tiny fabric hearts in the upper left-hand corner.

  The guest list was one hundred and ninety-seven people. Harper had been torn about taking the job. It would require a lot of time and effort and most people didn’t want to cough up the money for something as disposable as a place card. Paula, a far more reasonable party planner than Cathy, had asked her to charge whatever seemed fair. Harper had done a practice card, multiplied by one hundred and ninety-seven, then had added a buffer for fatigue. She’d said she would have to charge five dollars a name card, plus the cost of supplies. Shockingly, the bride had agreed, leaving Harper with yet more work, althoug
h this time she was making well above her goal of twenty-five dollars an hour.

  She sat at the big desk in her craft room, the wedding guest list on her left, the stack of painted cards on her right. She was up to the Fs when she noticed Becca hovering in the doorway, Jazz at her side.

  Harper put down her pen and opened and closed her hand, flexing her sore fingers. “What is it, Becca?” she asked, turning to face her daughter.

  Becca pressed her lips together. “Do you, um, want me to help?”

  An unexpected offer. “Not with the calligraphy, but maybe later with the gluing. That would be nice. Thank you.” She paused. “Was there something else?”

  Becca hesitated, then shook her head. “No. That’s all.”

  “Okay. I need to get back to this.”

  Harper continued writing out names. She used a ruler to keep track of where she was on the list and checked the spelling both before and after she wrote the card. No one wanted a misspelled place card.

  Movement caught her attention. Becca and Jazz were back. She capped her pen and stood. “What is it, honey?”

  Her daughter shifted her weight from foot to foot. Never a good sign. Harper ran through the possibilities in her head. Something with school, something with a friend, something with Terence. As far as she knew, Becca was doing fine in her classes. Her last quarter grades had been a little lower than usual, but Becca had a heavy load, academically. Jordan was around plenty, so the friendship should be fine. There hadn’t been a boy that she knew of...

  Harper thought about how busy she’d been lately. She was always scrambling to get her work done. Was that the problem? Was she ignoring Becca?

  “Come on,” she said with a smile. “I need more coffee. Let’s go raid the kitchen.”

  “Okay.”

  Harper poured herself coffee while Becca carried the cookie jar over to the island. They settled on stools next to each other. Becca opened the cookie jar and looked inside.

  “Frosted sugar cookies, peanut butter, snickerdoodles and oatmeal raisin with chocolate chips.”