The CEO immediately protested.
“Three.”
“Four.”
“One barely counted.”
The Single Dad put the keys in his pocket.
“You’re done.”
She looked toward him.
“You don’t order me around.”
“Tonight I do.”
The bartender looked impressed.
The CEO stared.
Then smiled.
“There he is.”
“Who?”
“The man who hates me.”
The Single Dad sighed.
“I don’t hate you.”
“That sounded disappointing.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I’m observant.”
“No.”
“Tonight you’re drunk.”
She looked away.
The Single Dad noticed the expression behind the performance.
Not anger.
Pain.
“What happened?”
The CEO became still.
The bartender quietly moved away.
She stared at the wineglass.
“Today.”
“Yes?”
“Today was my mother’s birthday.”
The Single Dad waited.
She corrected herself.
“Would’ve been.”
That explained something.
Not everything.
Enough.
“How long?”
“Seven years.”
“I’m sorry.”
She laughed bitterly.
“Everyone says that.”
“What should they say?”
“Nothing.”
“Then nothing.”
He did not speak again.
The CEO looked toward him.
For some reason, that hurt her more.
She picked up her handbag.
Tried to stand.
Her knees almost folded.
The Single Dad caught her at the waist.
She grabbed his shoulders.
For one charged second, they were close.
Very close.
Her perfume mixed with wine.
Her blouse shifted slightly beneath his hand.
The Single Dad immediately steadied her and loosened his grip.
“Easy.”
She looked at him.
“You’re stronger than you look.”
“I look tired.”
“That too.”
He picked up her missing heel.
“Can you walk?”
“Obviously.”
She took two steps.
Not obviously.
The Single Dad caught her again.
The CEO looked annoyed.
Not at him.
At herself.
“Stop.”
“What?”
“Looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m fragile.”
He shook his head.
“I’m looking at you like you’re about to hit the floor.”
“That’s worse.”
She tried again.
Failed.
The Single Dad exhaled.
Then slipped one arm beneath her knees.
Her eyes widened.
“What are you doing?”
“Solving logistics.”
Before she could object, he lifted her.
The bartender hid a smile.
The CEO’s arm went around the Single Dad’s neck instinctively.
“You cannot carry your CEO through a hotel.”
“I can if my CEO cannot locate both of her feet.”
“I know exactly where my feet are.”
“One of them doesn’t have a shoe.”
She looked down.
“Traitor.”
He almost laughed.
Then carried her through the hotel lobby.
People noticed.
Of course they did.