My stomach sinks. Sonia from HR wants to speak with me and Denise together in the conference room? This morning is not getting any better.

Denise narrows her eyes. She doesn’t like surprises. “What’s this about?”

Sonia tugs on her cream-colored pencil skirt. “It’s best if you come with me.”

I feel like I’m following Sonia to my own execution. And I don’t feel one bit better when I see none other than Monica Johnson already sitting in the conference room. For the very first time, she’s wearing maternity clothes to work. She’s got on a light blue top that cinches below her breasts and stretches comfortably over the swell of her belly. She looks beautiful, actually.

Denise sees her, and her eyes fly open. It would be comical if it weren’t all so, so horrible.

“Monica,” she gasps. “You’re… pregnant?”

“Yes,” Monica says. “I am.”

This must drive her crazy, considering the way she’s taken Monica under her wing lately, and as we know, Denise hates pregnant ladies and children and probably also animals and flowers and Christmas snow.

“Please take a seat,” Sonia says to me and Denise.

Denise is clearly very confused. It’s interesting to watch her off her game, because she’s always so damn composed. “What’s this about, Sonia? Do we need a meeting to discuss pregnancies now?”

“No, we don’t,” Sonia says, patting her cornrows self-consciously, “but I think we need to have a meeting to discuss the circumstances of Monica’s pregnancy.”

Denise’s eyes dart around the room, trying to figure it all out. “Circumstances?”

Sonia nods. “It’s come to my attention that Monica and Abby have an arrangement in which Monica is acting as a surrogate for Abby, and Abby will be adopting her baby.”

The look of surprise on Denise’s face is absolutely priceless. I wish I could photograph it. I couldn’t have imagined her being more upset than she was when I called her a bitch, but here it is. Well, it’s been nice working here.

“Abigail,” Denise gasps. “You… you…”

“The arrangement has nothing to do with the company,” I say, my voice surprisingly firm considering I’m about eighty percent sure I’m going to be fired. No, make that ninety-five percent sure. “It was something Monica and I arranged outside of work and we have a signed contract.”

“Granted, that may be true,” Sonia says, “but given Monica is your assistant, she is in a compromised position here in terms of entering into any agreements.”

“She doesn’t work for me,” I point out. “I don’t pay her salary. I wasn’t even the one who hired her.”

“But she is your assistant,” Sonia says.

“That’s her job title, yes,” I admit. “But practically—”

“I can’t believe this,” Denise sputters. “How could you force Monica to do something like this, Abigail?”