As Colton opened his French door to join them, he heard Marjorie say, “Does he know?” She blew out an audible breath of smoke.
Hidden by the high, thick fire-engine-red hedges separating his stone patio from Brigit’s, he listened.
“No,” Brigit replied.
“Are you going to tell him?”
“It’s only a matter of time before he finds out.”
“How do you think he’ll take it?” Marjorie asked.
“Under the circumstances, not well. Not well at all.”
Colton retreated inside, quietly closed the door then raked his hand through his hair.What the hell?Is Brigit pregnant?He’d worn condoms. One of them must have torn. Why hadn’t she told him? Why confide in a woman she’d just met? Suddenly, the strangest feeling came over him. He wanted to protect her and their unborn child. He’d make sure she took better care of herself.No more alcohol for you, young lady.
The two women bustled past Colton.
“Let’s get started.” Marjorie poured herself coffee. “What’s wrong, Colton? You’re ghostly white.”
“I’m famished.” Brigit selected a warm pastry and sat at Colton’s conference table.
Colton flipped his gaze to Brigit’s midriff, then back into her eyes. “I’ll ask Shane to make you a pot of decaf. Do you need a nap?”
Brigit and Marjorie burst out laughing. “A nap and decaf?” Brigit asked. “At a time like this?”
Marjorie cleared her froggy throat. “If Mitus Conglomerate has nap time, I’m leaving the insanity at Francesco and applying for a position here.”
The three worked through lunch, discussing every conceivable strategy for killing MobiCom’s hostile takeover attempt.
“Brigit, finish your lobster salad.” Colton pointed to the half-eaten food on her plate.
“You’re the Clothing Czarandthe food police? That portion was huge. I’m full.” Brigit laid her hand across her belly, where his baby was probably the size of a peanut.
My baby. My unborn child.
“You need to keep up your strength.” Colton forked fruit salad into his mouth.
“This is all very heartwarming, but could we please stay focused?” Marjorie pushed her plate away. “I’m confident Brigit knows how to manage her food consumption, Colton. So, Brigit, what do you think of Crockett’s invention? Pretty damn impressive, right?”
Brigit sighed. “I’m not privy to the details.”
Marjorie raised her brows. “Brigit’s not a confidante? Don’t freeze her out, Colton.”
“She shouldn’t be overly stressed,” Colton said.
“Too late,” Brigit said. “My stress levels shot through the roof the day I…um…uh…never mind.”
She is pregnant.
At Marjorie’s nudging nod, Colton put down his fork. “I’ve known Crockett since our freshman year at Harvard. Two years ago, he approached me with a project he and his team had been working on. Nicknamed Crockett Boxes, they increase network capacity for both voice and data between cellular towers and mobile devices. Depending on the configuration of the base station’s existing equipment, the capacity increase ranges from three to ten times what exists today. That means—”
“Faster throughput and lower cost while serving an ever increasing population of subscribers,” Brigit said.
Damn, she’s smart.“You got it. With signed contracts from two of the wireless carriers, the potential is—”
“Hundreds of millions,” Brigit said. “And since the product’s being assembled at Francesco’s factory, the company earns a percentage of every Crockett Box sold.”
“Exciting, huh?” Marjorie asked.
