At exactly 10:03 on Christmas Eve, the Single Dad opened his apartment door and forgot how to speak.
Snow blew past the hallway light behind the woman standing on his front step.
She was the last person he expected to see.
The Female CEO stood there in a dark-chocolate satin dress that belonged beneath chandeliers, not underneath an apartment awning with ice gathering along the concrete steps.
A camel-colored wool coat hung around her shoulders instead of being properly worn.
Snow had gathered in her blonde ponytail.
Her heels were completely wrong for the weather.
And in one hand, she carried a sealed cream envelope.
The Single Dad stared at it first.
Then at her.
Then back at the envelope.
“What happened?”
The Female CEO’s expression shifted slightly.
“That’s your first question?”
“It’s ten at night.”
“On Christmas Eve.”
“You’re standing outside my apartment.”
“So either something happened, or your judgment has finally collapsed completely.”
The corner of her mouth lifted.
“Can I come inside before you decide which?”
He stepped aside.
Warm air escaped the apartment.
She walked in.
The Single Dad closed the door behind her and immediately became aware of how small his home looked with her standing inside it.
Not ugly.
Not embarrassing.
Just ordinary.
Secondhand sofa.
Small Christmas tree.
A few wrapped presents beneath it.
A wooden train set scattered across the rug.
His daughter’s winter boots beside the radiator.
A paper snowflake taped crookedly to the front window.
The Female CEO looked around.
Not critically.
Carefully.
As if she had entered somewhere private rather than somewhere inexpensive.
That mattered.
The Single Dad removed his jacket.
Then realized she was still wearing hers.
“You’re covered in snow.”
“I noticed.”
He reached toward the coat automatically.
She turned slightly and allowed him to take it.
The movement revealed more of the satin dress.
Dark chocolate.
Soft sheen.
Thin straps.
Draped neckline.
The kind of dress designed to make even a disciplined man forget what sentence he had been about to say.
The Single Dad looked away.
Too late.
She noticed.
Her smile deepened.
He hung the coat over the back of a chair.
“You came from the party.”
“Yes.”
“The company Christmas gala.”
“Yes.”
“The one at the Grand Mercer where the cheapest table probably costs more than my car.”
“Your car is terrible.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“It should be replaced.”
“Also not the point.”
She laughed softly.
He had heard her laugh before.
Rarely.
Usually in conference rooms after someone else had already decided something was funny.
This laugh was different.
Tired.
Real.
The Single Dad looked toward the envelope.
The Female CEO followed his gaze.
Then placed it on the narrow entry table.
“That’s for you.”
He did not touch it.
“What is it?”
“The reason I drove across the city.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
She met his eyes.
“Open it.”
The Single Dad picked up the envelope.
Heavy paper.
Corporate seal.
His name typed across the front.
No title.
Just his name.
He broke the seal.
Inside were twelve pages.
Internal audit results.
Access logs.
System records.
A signed statement from the company’s chief information officer.
And one short executive letter.
The Single Dad read the first paragraph.
Stopped.
Read it again.
The Female CEO watched.