Having My Baby Read online

  Having My Baby

  An Anthology

  by Imari Jade

  Daphne Olivier

  Tori L. Ridgewood

  Joanne Rawson

  Published by

  Melange Books, LLC

  White Bear Lake, MN 55110

  www.melange-books.com

  The Family Plan, Copyright 2012 by Imari Jade

  Rock-a-bye-Baby, Copyright 2012 by Daphne Olivier

  Tabitha's Solution, Copyright 2012 by Tori L. Ridgewood

  Learner Mum, Copyright 2012 by Joanne Rawson

  ISBN: 978-1-61235-526-9

  Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Cover Art by Caroline Andrus

  Having My Baby

  The Family Plan ~ Imari Jade

  Fashion heiress Emily Bucktell finds herself pregnant for haute couture designer Bekim Lacolmn, a man who has a string of girlfriends and is a gigolo like her father. Will the two of them ever get together and form a family? Emily isn’t holding her breath.

  Rock-a-bye-Baby ~ Daphne Olivier

  Wouldn't it be wonderful to know, with absolute certainty, that the baby you're expecting will be perfect in every way? In a future world where parents take this for granted, what could possibly go wrong?

  Tabitha’s Solution~ Tori L. Ridgewood

  Tabitha has had the perfect pregnancy. She wants a perfect birth: all natural, with midwives, in the hospital (just in case). Her supportive husband Alex is by her side. So why does everything else have to go wrong?

  Learner Mum ~ Joanne Rawson

  Polly Wilkins is a successful freelance journalist slash writer. She has been living with her partner Steve in what her parents call sin for the last eight years. But, to her parent’s disappointment, there are no signs of wedding bells or the patter of tiny feet on the horizon. Why? Because Polly, is not in the least bit maternal. Can this all change after Polly and Steve have a torrid weekend looking after her nephew? Or will Polly stick to her guns and loose Steve forever?

  Table of Contents

  Story Index

  The Family Plan by Imari Jade

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Rock-a-bye-Baby by Daphne Olivier

  Tabitha's Solution by Tori L. Ridgewood

  Learner Mum by Joanne Rawson

  Previews

  The Family Plan

  by Imari Jade

  Chapter One

  “Where the hell am I?” Emily asked aloud as she woke up with a groan. One pain shot through her head at the same time one shot through her groin. She groaned again, finally opening her eyes. Emily focused on the ceiling fan overhead. “Now how did my bra get up there?” She sat up. The room spun around her. The sheets slid down and the air from the ceiling fan chilled her. “Ooh, I’m naked. How’d that happen?”

  Emily pushed the covers aside and stepped off the bed. Ooh, bad move. The room SPUN around her again and her stomach and head protested. Emily grabbed hold of the Paul Bunyan bedpost just as a wave of dizziness overtook her. Oh, that’s right. The company’s annual Fourth of July picnic.

  She looked down. The rest of her clothes lay scattered on the floor. What’s this? A tie? Emily stooped down and picked the tie up. Why does my butt feel sticky? She examined the tie. It was made of Italian silk. Nice taste. Who does it belong to? She tossed the tie on the dresser on her way to the bathroom. My thighs feel sticky too.

  Emily turned on the light in the bathroom, looked down at her body and screamed, “Oh lord, I’ve had sex with someone!”

  Emily climbed into the tub after the hysterics died away. She tried to recall the events of last night while she soaked in the warm sudsy water. She scrubbed her body furiously to wash away the shame. She remembered arriving at the picnic with her best friend Deandria. There was some drinking and toasting, and then more drinking and toasting. Somewhere around midnight she remembered watching the fireworks display with someone. A man. There had been some hugging and more drinking and toasting. Oh my gawd, Bekim Lacolmn. Not him. Please not him.

  Bekim was one of her company’s clothing designers, and notoriously known throughout the design world for his womanizing ways. Had she spent the night with him? Emily felt a gag coming on. He was everything she hated in a man. No, I don’t even like him.

  Emily got out the tub and walked into the bedroom and picked up the tie again. It smelt of cologne, Bekim’s. Emily got a flashback and dropped the tie like it was on fire. Bekim does have a tie like that. She remembered admiring it once. He had such impeccable style when it came to clothing. Don’t panic. Maybe he won’t remember anything either.

  Emily got dressed. She wouldn’t know anything until tomorrow when she returned to work. She stripped the dirty linen from the bed and took them downstairs to wash. Her legs trembled when the events of last night began to play back in her mind. She hurried back up the stairs to the bathroom to look for an antacid to soothe her nervous stomach.

  * * * *

  Tuesday arrived quicker than Emily expected. It took her a day to get over the yucky feeling from drinking too much, and now she just had to deal with the fright of having to face Bekim. Emily made a mental note never to drink beer ever again.

  Emily prided herself on her cool head and rational choice of dating. She’d never had a one-night stand in her life and she didn’t know how to deal with it. What was she supposed to say to him? Thanks for the sex? Hell, she didn’t even remember it. But her body still felt sore. Apparently she’d used some muscles she hadn’t used in a long time.

  Did he use protection? Panic set in again. She sure as hell hoped so. She couldn’t use the pill and her system rejected almost everything the gynecologist had suggested. Emily hadn’t been with a man in years, but she kept a supply of condoms in her night table drawer just to be on the safe side. She groaned. Bekim didn’t seem like the type to pry, so he probably didn’t open the drawer. As many women as he’d messed with she hoped he had common sense to have stock in a condom company and a big supply in his wallet.

  Emily left the house and took the subway to the building where she worked. There were a lot of cars and foot traffic, she discovered as she walked down Thirty-Fourth Street, which catered to all aspects of the fashion industry. She’d walked the same path five or six days a week for the last seventeen years since she came to New York to live with her father after her mother died.

  Emily dodged a rack of clothing as two guys pulled them away from the curb and tried to maneuver it into one of the fashion showrooms. This was also a normal sight in the Garment District of Manhattan. Every day one could see delivery trucks next to the sidewalks lined with clothing, frantic designers and bitchy models.

  Emily finally arrived at the House of Bucktell where she’d been working since she turned sixteen. Her father, Solomon, was the CEO and had allowed her to work her way up, making sure she learned every aspect of the business from how to sort the incoming mail, to cutting p
atterns, to choosing fabrics by texture and color. She apprenticed for him during that time. Solomon was a loving and caring father at home, but a very strict boss who insisted on no less than perfection. Seventeen years later he was still that way. She continued to help out in the mail room every now and then, but her current position of head technical designer kept her very busy.

  Emily entered the building and took the elevator up to the thirty-second floor where the House of Bucktell’s administrations office resided. The actual production side of the business was located just one floor below, but most of the think work happened on the administrative floor.

  “Good morning, Miss Bucktell,” one of the administrative clerks said to Emily as she walked through the door.

  “Good morning, Jasmin.” Emily made a point to learn each and every employee’s name. The House of Bucktell stayed on top of the fashion world because of its excellent creations and their friendly atmosphere it provided for its employees. Emily wasn’t much of a socializer. In fact, the recent Fourth of July picnic was the first company-sponsored event she’d attended in years. But she wasn’t there to make friends. Her job was to supervise production of an outfit from inception to rack. She didn’t have time to make friends, not when she had to appease designer’s egos and keep spoiled models in line.

  The nighttime cleaning crew were just wrapping up. Emily passed several workers moving vacuum cleaners and pushing cleaning supply carts to the maintenance room. A window washer waved to her from outside one of the huge window. Emily waved back. The administrative floor had recently been remodeled and two contractors were busy hanging a huge round pink and brown emblem on one of the lobby walls. The sign had a capital “B” brightly embossed in gold in the center of the emblem. Bucktell had been in business for sixty years and the name was synonymous for fine clothing and accessories. Her grandfather, the original owner, died a couple of years ago, but her father carried the reign of boss with honor. She left the administration lobby and walked down the brown-carpeted hall to Solomon’s office. She found him, as expected, with his head buried in a French newspaper, checking out the latest fashions.

  Solomon had met her Alabama-born fashion consultant mother, Erica, in Paris. They married a year before Emily was born and were divorced two years later when it became common knowledge Solomon Bucktell had a mistress. Erica took baby Emily back to Alabama where she managed a successful consultant business until her death eighteen years ago. Fourteen-year-old Emily arrived at her father’s mansion dressed in black mourning wear. Emily was tall for her age and already had a sense of style. Solomon took one look at her, cried, and then welcomed her with open arms. He also stuck her in her first fashion show shortly after that because she was tall for her age and had a slender build. Of course it took Emily some time to warm up to her father. The same went for whatever woman he dated at the time. There had been so many women in his life she’d lost count. Emily loved her father, but she’d never marry a man with his thirst for women.

  Solomon looked up. “Oh, Emily, darling, you’re here. Come on in.”

  At sixty, Solomon Bucktell could still be considered handsome, with his full head of thick silver gray hair, a well-groomed mustache and goatee, and a fit body he kept toned by visiting the gym regularly.

  “Is that a new suit?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Emily said, modeling the navy blue pinstriped suit. Shane, one of their resident designers, had created it for her. At thirty-two, Emily stood five feet ten inches tall and still had a slim build. She was heavier at the top and hips than she was when she first arrived at the House of Bucktell, but she still maintained a decent weight. “Shane designed it for me.”

  “It’s very nice,” Solomon said. “Maybe you’ll pick yourself up a husband today.”

  Emily rolled her eyes at him and sat down, crossing her long legs before her. He’d been trying to marry her off since her eighteenth birthday. She’d received plenty of offers, but Emily just wasn’t interested in settling down and starting a family. She loved her job, but raising babies she’d leave to other women. “Don’t hold your breath,” she told him.

  “I don’t understand why you’re so against settling down. You’re beautiful, intelligent, and you’d make some man a fine wife.”

  “I just don’t want to be just some man’s wife. I like my job and I don’t have to answer to anyone.”

  Solomon chuckled. “You remind me so much of your mother. She had that same attitude, but I eventually wore her down.”

  “Don’t go there,” Emily said. At thirty-two she was old enough to speak frankly with her father. “You cheated on her.”

  “That doesn’t mean I didn’t love her. How could I not love her? She gave me you.”

  “Yes, well,” Emily said, straightening out the tailored-to-fit blazer. “I’m still waiting for some sibling to appear demanding his or her place in your heart and a share of the business.”

  Solomon chuckled again. “You don’t have to worry about that. I might have been a lousy husband, but I did practice safe sex.”

  Emily grimaced. She couldn’t do anything about what happened in the past, but she didn’t need to hear about it. “How’re the fashions in Paris these days?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “Interesting,” Solomon said, looking down at his newspaper. “The models are getting plumper and the designers are going wild using color combinations you’d never dream of using together.”

  “I’ll check it out in a couple of months when I go there,” Emily said. She had signed on to attend a conference there and looked forward to hobnobbing with some of her old friends.

  “You might think about taking Bekim along with you. He’s always wanted to see Paris.”

  Emily scowled. Bekim Lacolmn was Bucktell’s senior fashion designer, who had also apprenticed with her father. Solomon loved Bekim like a son, and even though they didn’t share blood, Bekim had inherited a lot of her father’s habits. At thirty-five, the tall and handsome designer never lacked female companionship. It was normal to see some model draped on Bekim’s arm or some rising young starlet seated in his office discussing their date or his plan to design a line of clothing exclusively for her.

  She and Bekim got along like fire and water. She respected him as a designer, but hated everything he stood for as a man. “No thanks,” Emily said. “This is a working conference. I won’t have time to baby-sit the resident gigolo.”

  “Ouch,” Solomon said. “I thought that was my moniker. Bekim’s really not that bad. He can’t help it if women gravitate toward him. And you have to admit he’s a fantastic designer.”

  True, she could admit that.

  “And he’s quite handsome.”

  True. Mother Nature had been very generous with Bekim. She conjured up his image. Bekim stood five feet eleven, and weighing possibly one hundred and seventy-five pounds. He had a great build and he did do a stint as a model in his youth. He kept the physique by hanging out at the gym with her father. He also had the nicest thick jet-black hair. And like her father, he sported a well-groomed mustache and goatee, which gave his face personality and made those ice-blue eyes pop. Emily shook the image away. She so didn’t want to think of him after what had occurred between them two nights ago. Good thing for her she’d been too drunk to remember. “I’ll think about it,” she said to get her father to stop mentioning Bekim. She planned to avoid the designer like the plague today and possibly for the rest of the week until the little disaster was far behind her. Emily rose. “I better get to work. The rest of the employees should be in shortly.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Solomon said. “Bucktell has been asked to create a fall/winter Young Adult line for Niemeyer’s.”

  “What?” Emily asked, almost falling off her three-inch heels. “When did you find this out?” Niemeyer’s was a major chain of department stores around the country.

  “A couple of days ago,” Solomon answered.

  “But that only gives us two months to design and delive
r,” Emily protested.

  “And?” Solomon asked. “You’ve worked against deadlines before.”

  “Not intentionally,” Emily whined. It took a lot of work to get a specialty line together. Designs had to be created, patterns constructed and cut, fabrics had to be selected and not to mention the number of man-hours it took to get the outfits sewn and finished.

  “I’ll leave it all in your hands,” Solomon said, going back to his newspaper. “I have faith in you.”

  Emily walked toward the door. “Thanks,” she said. Her mind spent a mile a minute. “Ah hell, Shane’s still in the hospital. Who am I going to get to design this line?”

  Shane had taken a nasty fall last week while riding a dirt bike and had broken both his legs.

  “Ask Bekim,” Solomon suggested. “Maybe he can spare a moment or two.”

  Bekim normally designed haute couture...clothing made especially for an individual. Bekim designed exclusive custom-fit creations made from high-quality expensive fabrics and sewn with extreme attention to detail. Bekim was a perfectionist and in high demand this time of year with the approach of the holidays and Fashion Week. Fashion Week occurred twice a year in New York and around the world. And she knew for a fact Bekim had been busy finalizing his contribution for the September event. “He might be too busy with Fashion Week to help,” Emily said.

  “You won’t know until you ask him. I’m sure he’ll agree to do it if you ask him.”