"Good morning, Ms. Sherbatsky. Ms. Friedman said you can go right in."

Robin took three deep breaths. Funny how Tracy's advice actually worked. She nodded at the receptionist and pushed open the door to the executive producer's office, her heels silent on the carpet.

Nancy Friedman, executive producer of the tentatively titled Robin show, swiveled in her black leather desk chair. Red-tipped fingers steepled under a chin that had seen a little work; good work, too, the still-pink scar nearly hidden by a sweep of hennaed hair. "Eight thirty on a Thursday morning. Please tell me you haven't changed your mind, because the boys upstairs will pitch a fit. Papers have been filed and money has changed hands."

Robin blinked. "What? No. I've wanted this job for literally my entire life. It's not that."

Nancy pointed to the pair of white cushioned chairs opposite her black lacquered desk. "Well, fears relieved in that case. What's on your mind?"

Robin settled into the closest seat and crossed her legs. Sit up straight. Confident smile. Sell this. "I'm eight weeks pregnant." She counted fifteen seconds of silence and two sweeps of Nancy's dark lashes.

"Well." Nancy bent to withdraw a yellow legal pad from a lower desk drawer and select a pen from the chrome cup next to a framed portrait of the perfect family. Nancy, a silver fox in gray pinstripe and two immaculately groomed teenagers, one girl, one boy, and a Golden Retriever lounged on a lush green lawn. Nancy clicked her pen and scrawled Robin's name on the top line. "First things first. Congratulations?"

Breathe. "It's a surprise, but yes."

Nancy sketched a quick smiley face in the margin. "Mazel tov. Mommy healthy? Baby healthy?"

"Yes and yes." Robin allowed the tension to ease from her shoulders. So far, so good. "I feel fine, and I can film the entire season as scheduled. Maybe we can get a few episodes in the can ahead of time to compensate for later months."

Nancy made another notation on her pad. "Sounds like you've given this some thought. I agree. We'll do as much as we can now, and let you enjoy baby later." A click of her pen, then, "I'm sorry if this is too personal, but will dad be involved?"

"My dad isn't the most nurturing person, so probably not." Robin paused, fidgeted under Nancy's questioning gaze from below plucked and penciled brows. "Oh. You didn't mean my dad."

Nancy flashed an indulgent smile. "Nope."

I will be as involved as you want me to be. Barney's words came as clear to Robin as though he sat beside her. He'd reach over and hold her hand, were he really there, give a supportive squeeze and turn that megawatt Happy Barney grin on Nancy. That's all it would take to leave no doubt at all that this new development was the best thing that could have happened for him, for Robin, or for the show. If Barney believed it, everyone else would, too. Especially Robin herself. She squeezed the phantom hand back, then worried the finger where her wedding ring used to be. It felt bare now, downright naked.

She covered her left hand with her right. "It's my ex-husband."

"Barney Stinson, from GNB?"

"Only ex-husband I've got," Robin said with a nervous laugh, then gave herself a mental smack. "We plan to bro-parent. Co-parent. He makes up words." Connectitude. Linkativity. "Blond guy. Wears suits. Likes Scotch." She was talking in sound bytes now, two word nuggets that had no place in a professional conversation but let her stall while her brain searched for words that would actually make sense. Barney would jump in here, take over and fill Nancy in on the bare facts until Robin regained her composure. She glanced at the empty chair. The words she needed here were his. He'd come if she called, and that was why she couldn't. "Involved. Yes. He's going to be that. We're working it out."

Nancy's lips formed an O. "This is a day for big news. I am not in any way telling you what to do with your personal life, and certainly not for ratings," she paused. "Okay, if played right, an on-air could be ratings gold. It's April now, we could pull a few strings and be right on time for June."

"Who's getting married on-air?" Then it hit her. We're working it out. "Whoa, hold on there. Little hasty, don't you think? Not that I'm questioning your expertise. Hello, Emmy." Robin waved at the statuette that cuddled against a potted plant atop Nancy's chrome and glass bookcase.

Dig yourself in deeper, Sherbatsky. Phantom Barney's voice coiled in her ear. He'd have that slanted grin aimed right at her if he were here, and he'd steer the conversation back where it ought to go. She hated the thought of needing him, hated that the image of his phantom hand holding hers settled her nerves by any degree, but it did. "He should really be here for this sort of thing."

Nancy's head dipped once. "Of course. This must be a lot to take in all at once."

"It's a little overwhelming. I know this isn't the best timing, but –"

Nancy dismissed Robin's concern with a wave of her pen. "Babies come when babies come. I had my first when I was producing public access in Chicago, and found out I was going to have my second the same day I got my first job here. Talk to your maybe not so ex and decide how much you want to share with your viewers. We'll work with you. I'll call a meeting and we'll make a plan. For now, don't worry. Be happy. This calls for the good stuff." She lay down her pen and opened another drawer, withdrawing a square gold box. "Godiva makes everything better."

Robin clapped a hand over her mouth, her stomach roiling. Did chocolate always smell like that? "Not everything. Excuse me." She leapt out of the chair and made it to the ladies' room in record time.