I mean, yes, I’m happy. It’s okay. Don’t worry, this is so a good thing.
Oh, yeah, I first found out when I missed my period. I’ve never been late in my entire life. It has always been on the dot. And somehow, I just knew. Something was up.
One home pregnancy kit later, I knew that my body’s sixth sense was spot on.
And no, Ethan doesn’t know. I’m sorry, hun, but I need you to keep one more secret from him for me. You can’t tell him this until I tell him.
And I haven’t told him just yet because I’m still not sure what to do about Simon.
I mean, I would love to go and tell Ethan and have him pick me up in happiness. I’d love to start buying baby things with Ethan. I’d love to start teasing him about naming our little boy Wilfred and our little girl Juliana and watching him cringe at those names.
But I can’t.
I either have to wait until Ethan releases his prototype, or until I can get Simon off my back.
But I don’t know how to get out of this situation and so I’ve been keeping quiet.
I can’t lose Ethan. But I have a baby to think about now too.
Twenty-Four.
That's how many hours Simon called me and told me I have to get him an I.E. Prototype just now.
I’m serious. He called just now.
It’s Monday morning and Ethan is already at work.
I don't have to go in till later on today to meet with the graphic designers and so I was able to see when Simon called my phone.
When I picked up, he was curt.
“Babes, I gave you long enough to get me what I fucking want. The product goes live in two weeks and I’m done waiting,” was his way of saying hello. “You have 24 hours to get me my fucking shit that actually works this time before Robert gets a nice little FedEx with all your fucking information, right down to your address and daily fucking schedule.”
I froze as I heard him and tried to comprehend what he was saying.
“I know exactly how many nights you spend at One57 and if I wanted to, I’d know exactly what fucking color underwear you were wearing, so please believe me that I am deadly serious,” he said over the phone. “24 hours. No more.”
I stand there for a long time feeling ill.
Wondering not just about myself. But about Ethan. And to top it all off now, about the baby inside of me.
151
Ethan
“The initial marketing efforts will be through broad-based Internet advertising as well as direct television advertising,” Cheryl is speaking on the line and her voice is coming through on speakerphone.
It’s the afternoon and I’m sitting with my feet up on my desk listening to the people on the call. There’s probably about forty people all told who dialed in to the final two weeks before go-live. We got people from all different areas of the fucking company: Operations, Finance, Marketing, Legal, and R&D are on this call.
And tying it all together and holding us in check is none other than Cheryl —Personal Assistant to the fucking stars. My fucking personal assistant.
“What channels on the television spectrum are we targeting?” someone from Marketing asks Cheryl over the conference line.
There’s a pause. I know Cheryl is prepared for this question. It’s not like someone tripped her up or anything.
“We’re targeting prime time spots on all broadcast networks as well as contemporary movie channels that target the 18-44 demographic,” Cheryl says, reading off her list. I nod to myself. That sounds like a pretty good lineup.
What?