“You’re late, Ms. Jenkins,” Mr. Brown said.

“I’m sorry," I said, hurrying past my new boss. It was Friday, my fifth day at my new job, and he’d already yelled at me half a dozen times this week.

“A fifteen-minute break means just that—fifteen minutes.”

“I’m sorry. The lactation room is all the way in the C Building, and by the time I get there, I have to pretty much turn around and head back—”

“I didn't ask why you were late. Don’t let it happen again.”

“Yes, sir.”

I headed back to my desk with tears gathering along my lower lashes. Determined not to let them fall, I stared straight ahead, not looking at any of the others at their desks, though it was hard. Cubicles didn’t offer much privacy.

As I sank into my chair, I tried to let it go. Mr. Brown’s name matched his personality. Dull. Unexciting. Plain. And just like the color, he was unflattering toward me. It had taken far less than a week to ascertain that he was no fan of mine.

Taking a sip from my water bottle, I assessed my situation. I’d had jerky bosses before, but that wasn’t the only reason I was blinking back tears.

The truth was, I missed Zoe. I missed her so much I could hardly breathe at times. All I had to do was to call Hazel, Jana’s grandmother, and the older woman would send me a picture of my darling little girl, but it wasn’t the same as being with her. It was only four more hours until I’d see her again, but that was too long. I wanted to cuddle her now.

There was a reason I was away from her, though—I needed the money. For about the zillionth time, I wondered what life would have been like if my father hadn’t remarried. If he hadn’t left nearly all his money to his new wife and stepdaughter. I thought I’d made my peace with that already, but now that I had a daughter of my own, I still didn’t see how he could have done that. We’d been so close when I was a child. He called me his little mouse. But everything changed once he met my stepmother.

Pulling myself together, I swiped at the phone and looked at a picture of my own little mouse. She was such a beautiful baby. I could put up with people like Mr. Brown for her sake, especially since the job itself wasn’t bad. Mostly computer work, crunching numbers in spreadsheets. Nothing too exciting, but the fact that it was at Hollister Holdings was a major plus. I’d always thought that once I completed my MBA, I’d apply here for a higher level position. Even just doing data entry was a start. Everything I’d heard about Hollister said they hired from within. Helped their own. Of course, Mr. Brown wasn’t a shining example of that, but surely other managers were better leaders than he was.

I was truly lucky that Hazel was available to watch Zoe during the day. I’d used almost all my savings staying home with my precious little girl for the first six months. There was no way I could afford to put her in daycare. Hazel was seventy-two and had raised two children of her own. The older woman considered Zoe to be her grandchild, which I would forever be grateful for.

The afternoon passed quickly. I’d heard from some of my new coworkers that the CEO liked for everyone to leave promptly at five on Friday, but I hadn’t understood how much rushing around there’d be to get to that point. Mr. Brown kept me hopping, giving me a huge task reconciling some expense reports. My first thought was that it would take me the rest of the day plus a good chunk of Monday, but Mr. Brown had other thoughts.

“E-mail this back to me by five, Ms. Jenkins.”

“Oh, but I need to—“

“Yes?” His fierce frown deterred me from my original plan to remind him of the laws protecting lactating women in the workplace. He obviously didn’t care.

But I did. By quarter to five, it was a race to see what would happen first—if I’d finish the task or if my breasts would explode. Already, they were enormously sore. I needed to pump milk badly, but I had to get this done. Mr. Brown walked behind me every chance he got, peering over my shoulder, making disapproving noises when he saw how much I had to go.

God, this was uncomfortable. I hadn’t had breast pain like this since the first week of nursing Zoe. Pumping milk into a tube was not anywhere near as fulfilling as feeding my darling baby directly, but I did what I could so that Hazel would have enough milk to feed her during the day.

The thought of my little Baby Z made my breasts ache more and tears well up in my eyes. I’d see her in an hour, but I missed her so much.

Five o’clock came, and I pressed SEND on the e-mail to Mr. Brown only a few minutes late. I could see him in his office, the door open, staring at me. Almost everyone else had left, and he was clearly angry at me for making him wait.

My chest hurt too much for me to stick around and see if he had any comments on my work. I was pretty sure I’d gotten the numbers right even though I’d had to rush. Even if I hadn’t, there was no time now. I had to relieve this ache in my breasts, or I was going to explode. Or die. Or cry. Or all of the above.

Quickly, I gathered my things and darted down the hall. Every step made it hurt worse. My breasts were so tender that even my clothes caused discomfort, and walking was agony. There was no way I’d make it to the stupid lactation room which was still three long corridors away.

There was a women’s restroom on the right. Normally, I avoided pumping milk there at all costs. As the saying went, you wouldn’t prepare a meal for your family in a bathroom, so why would you for your baby? I heard voices as I poked my head inside. All three stalls were full, with clothes slung over the tops of the metal walls. Evidently, some of my new coworkers were headed out tonight.

Frustrated, I hurried down the hall, looking for another restroom. I made turns blindly and ended up in a part of the building I’d never been in. The hallways were dark, and it was clear that no one was around. In desperation, I turned one doorknob after another. If I didn’t find a place soon, I was going to have to plop down in the middle of the hall and set up the pump on the floor.

Then I saw it—a door that wasn’t quite closed all the way. I pushed it open, revealing a big, dark room, perhaps some kind of lounge. There were sofas and coffee tables on one side, a big conference table in the middle, and a desk and some bookshelves over in the corner. I pulled the door shut behind me and was relieved to hear a lock click.

Not wasting any time, I moved to a sofa by a wall. The sun was low in the sky, but the light coming from the windows was strong enough to find an outlet. In a matter of seconds, I unfastened my wrap dress. It wasn’t the most practical outfit for a lactating mother, but I didn’t have a lot of nice clothes I could wear to work. And this being the end of the week, it had been this or jeans this morning.

It was a pretty dress, dark red with white flowers on it. I’d gotten it to wear to a friend’s wedding last year. But the deep V-neck meant that I’d had to wear a normal bra. All of my nursing bras were so big and clunky that they extended well beyond the neckline of the dress. So I was wearing one of my old lace bras, and right now, it felt about three sizes too small.

I slid the straps down off my shoulders and pushed the cups down. The pain lessened marginally once my breasts were free of the confining fabric, but I still needed to pump so badly that my hands were clumsy. Fumbling, I reached for the plastic breast shield and began to fit it over my nipple.

Bright lights suddenly flooded the room, making me blink rapidly. Dropping the plastic flange, I stood up in shock.

A man stood inside the door, one hand on the light switch, the other on the door knob.

For a long moment, we both stood still, me staring at the tall man in the dark suit, and him staring back at me in surprise. Oh god, why couldn’t I move? My limbs felt frozen. His gaze was trained on my chest—like any man’s would have been. I needed to do something. Like die from embarrassment.

Just when I finally unglued my limbs long enough to dive for my dress, he spoke.

“Hello.”