Poor Girl Drops Ultrasound in Front of the CEO — When He Sees the Date on It, He’s Shocked
Beyond the Tabloids
Seven hours later, Meline stood in front of her closet in her modest apartment. She discarded outfit after outfit because nothing seemed right for dinner with the father of her unborn child.
“You’re overthinking this,” Jessica said from the doorway, watching her roommate’s growing pile of rejected clothes. “The man’s seen you naked, so I don’t think he’s going to care if you wear the blue dress or the black one.”
“Jess!” Meline groaned, throwing a balled-up sweater in her friend’s direction. “Not helping.”
Jessica caught the sweater with a laugh. “Sorry, but someone needs to lighten the mood; you look like you’re preparing for an execution, not dinner.”
Her expression softened. “How did he really take it? The pregnancy?”
“Better than I expected,” Meline admitted, sinking onto the edge of her bed. “He was upset I didn’t tell him sooner, but he wasn’t angry about the baby itself.”
“He said he wants to be involved.” “And that surprises you?” Jessica sat beside her.
“I don’t know him, Jess, not really.” One night and a handful of professional interactions didn’t tell her who Richard Bennett really was when the cameras weren’t watching.
“Well, the tabloids say he dated a French model who’s actually Canadian,” Jessica noted. She added that he supposedly owns a private island he’s never been to.
“And that he once punched a competitor at a charity event when they actually just shook hands rather firmly.” Meline interrupted, “I don’t think they’re reliable sources.”
“Fair point,” Jessica conceded. “But tonight’s your chance to actually get to know him—the real him, not the CEO or the one-night stand.”
“The potential father of your child.” She picked up a simple emerald dress from the discarded pile.
“Wear this one; it brings out your eyes and works with your pregnancy.” “Nothing too sexy, nothing too formal—just you.”
Meline took the dress, gratitude flooding her features. “What would I do without you?”
“Probably show up in sweatpants or a ball gown with nothing in between,” Jessica teased, standing up. “Now get dressed, your baby daddy’s car will be here in 20 minutes.”
“Don’t call him that,” Meline protested, but there was a hint of a smile on her face for the first time that day. As predicted, the sleek black car arrived precisely at 7:00.
The driver, a polite older man who introduced himself as Thomas, held the door for her with a respectful nod. “Mister Bennett is finishing a call and will meet you at the restaurant, Ms. Harris,” he explained.
“He asked me to apologize for not picking you up personally.” Meline nodded, trying to ignore the flutter of disappointment.
Of course, Richard would be working late, as he ran a multinational corporation. She had no right to expect him to drop everything because of their situation.
As the car wound through the city streets, she placed a protective hand over her still flat stomach. “What am I doing?” she whispered to herself, suddenly overwhelmed by the reality of the evening ahead.
This wasn’t just dinner. This was the beginning of negotiations that would shape the rest of her life and her child’s.
The restaurant wasn’t what Meline expected. Instead of an exclusive city establishment, Thomas drove to a renovated Victorian house on a quiet tree-lined street in the historic district.
A discreet brass plaque beside the door read “Charlotte’s.” “Mr. Bennett owns this place,” Thomas explained as he opened her door.
“It’s not open to the public; he uses it for private meetings and special occasions.” The interior was warm and elegant with polished hardwood floors.
There was soft lighting from antique fixtures and a crackling fireplace in what had once been the home’s living room. No other guests were present.
Just a single table was set for two near the fireplace. An older woman greeted her with a warm smile.
“Miss Harris, welcome; I’m Charlotte,” she said, taking Meline’s coat. “Mr. Bennett is waiting for you in the library; please follow me.”
Meline followed Charlotte through the main dining room to a smaller room lined with bookshelves. Richard stood when she entered, setting aside what looked like a worn photo album.
He had changed from his business suit into dark slacks and a charcoal sweater. This softened his usually imposing presence.
“You look beautiful,” he said simply, pulling out her chair. “Thank you for coming.”
Charlotte discreetly withdrew, leaving them alone in the intimate space. A bottle of sparkling water chilled in an ice bucket beside the table.
“This place is lovely,” Meline said, glancing around at the well-stocked bookshelves. “Thomas said you own it?”
Richard nodded, pouring water for both of them. “It was my grandmother’s house; after she passed, I couldn’t bear to sell it, but it was sitting empty.”
“Charlotte was her housekeeper for 30 years, and she suggested turning it into a private dining venue.” His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners.
“She still won’t let me call her anything but Charlotte, despite technically being my employee for the past decade.” The personal story surprised Meline.
It wasn’t the kind of detail that appeared in his company bio or press profiles. “You were close to your grandmother,” she observed.
“She raised me after my parents died,” he replied, a shadow crossing his face. “A car accident when I was 8; my grandmother was the only family I had left.”
Meline hadn’t known this. Business magazines portrayed Richard Bennett as a self-made success story who built his tech company from the ground up.
They rarely mentioned his personal history. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, “I didn’t know about your parents.”
“It’s not something I talk about often,” he admitted, “but it seems relevant now given our situation.” He hesitated, then added something else.
“My grandmother taught me that family is precious and irreplaceable.” “That’s why today, when I saw that ultrasound,” he trailed off, emotion briefly overtaking his usual composure.
Their conversation paused as Charlotte returned with the first course. It was a delicate soup that Meline recognized as homemade chicken noodle—comfort food elevated to gourmet status.
“Your grandmother’s recipe,” she guessed after Charlotte left again. Richard looked surprised, then pleased.
“Yes, how did you know?” “Just a feeling; it’s too personal to be a chef’s creation.”
They ate in companionable silence for a moment before Richard spoke again. “I want to know what you’re thinking, Meline, about the pregnancy, about us, and about how you want to proceed.”
Meline set her spoon down carefully. “I want to keep the baby,” she said, the words coming easier than she’d expected.
“I’ve known that from the moment I saw the first ultrasound.” “What I don’t know is how to navigate everything else.”
She met his gaze directly. “I’m not looking for anything from you that you don’t want to give.”
“But I won’t lie and say I’m not worried about my job, my reputation, and my future at the company.” “Your job is secure,” Richard said immediately.
“Regardless of our personal situation.” “Is it?” Meline challenged.
“You know as well as I do how quickly rumors spread.” “Once people find out I’m pregnant with the CEO’s child, no one will believe I earned my position.”
“Everything I’ve worked for will be questioned.” Richard frowned.
“We can be discreet.” “For how long?” She interrupted.
“Eventually I’ll show; eventually people will do the math.” “And what then? Will the board be comfortable with this situation? Will our clients?”
Before Richard could respond, Charlotte arrived with their main course, which was perfectly prepared filet mignon for him and herb-roasted chicken for her. As she arranged their plates, Meline noticed Charlotte’s eyes briefly flickering to her still flat stomach.
She then looked to Richard with a knowing look that held only affection. When they were alone again, Richard leaned forward.
“I want to show you something,” he said, reaching for the photo album he’d set aside earlier. He opened it to a marked page and turned it toward her.
The photograph showed a much younger Richard standing beside a pretty blonde girl about the same age. They were both smiling, his arm around her shoulders protectively.
“That’s Amelia,” he said quietly. “My high school girlfriend; we were together for 3 years.”
Meline studied the photo, noting the genuine happiness in both their faces. “She’s lovely; what happened between you?”
Richard turned the page. The next photo showed the same girl, now visibly pregnant and still smiling, but with shadows under her eyes.
Richard stood beside her, looking simultaneously terrified and proud. “She got pregnant our senior year,” he said, his voice low.
“We were 17 and terrified, but we decided to keep the baby and get married after graduation.” Meline’s breath caught.
“You have a child?” The realization that she knew so little about the father of her unborn baby hit her with full force.
“No,” Richard said, the single word heavy with old grief. “Amelia had complications in her seventh month.”
“Preeclampsia that wasn’t caught in time.” “She died; the baby too—a little boy.”
Meline’s hand instinctively covered his on the table. “Richard, I’m so, so sorry.”
