"Okay, then I want you to contact the editorial office in New York and tell them I want the reports by this Friday. It's been two weeks and I haven't heard anything about them," I say, reviewing my agenda with today's meeting items, my computer camera pointed at my face, and my employees on screen taking notes.

I don't usually work from home, but you've been feeling pretty sick these past few days due to your second pregnancy, and I've had you in bed for the last three days. I prefer to be around to keep an eye on you and make sure everything's going well. So every morning I have meetings with my team to confirm they're keeping everything under control and can live a few days without me.

"We can also talk about the upcoming books—" I wave my hand awkwardly, spilling coffee all over the table, my pants, and the floor. "Shit."

A small gasp is heard at the door of my office and I look up, seeing little Olivia with her hands covering her mouth and her eyes wide open, surprised.

Oh no, I said a bad word.

She lets out a small laugh and runs off, disappearing from my sight, and I know exactly where she's going. To tell you. At home, we have a very strict rule: no swearing. Not even a little. And if you do, you have to put a pound in the pot at the entrance. And that pot will be used for a trip to Disneyland. That's why Olivia always has her ear to the ground, waiting for the slightest curse word.

"No! Olivia! Come here, don't tell Mom!" I call out to her, but she ignores me, and my workers laugh at me through the screen. "It's not funny."