The child woke slightly.
“Dad?”
“I’m here.”
“You came back.”
That sentence hurt.
“Always.”
He carried her upstairs.
The next morning, the CEO remembered everything.
That surprised her.
She wished she did not.
She remembered calling him.
Being carried.
Touching his face.
Touching his chest.
The elevator.
His hand around her wrist.
Anything else waits until morning.
She remembered telling him about her mother.
She remembered apologizing.
Worst of all, she remembered meaning it.
The CEO sat at the edge of her bed with both hands covering her face.
For fifteen minutes, she considered never entering the office again.
Then she remembered she owned the company.
Avoidance had logistical problems.
She showered.
Dressed.
Not in her usual aggressive suit.
Something simpler.
Still expensive.
Everything she owned was expensive.
Then she stopped at a coffee shop.
For three years, the Single Dad had brought a large coffee to morning meetings.
Black.
One small splash of cream.
No sugar.
She knew because she had watched him drink thousands of them.
She had never once bought one.
She arrived before him.
At 7:38, he entered the executive floor.
Stopped.
The CEO stood outside his office holding two coffees.
He looked toward her.
Then the cups.
Then back.
“Good morning.”
His tone was professionally neutral.
She hated that.
“Morning.”
He waited.
The CEO held out one cup.
“Yours.”
He took it cautiously.
“Poison?”
“Possibly.”
He smelled it.
“Correct order.”
“I pay attention.”
He almost said something.
Stopped.
The CEO took a breath.
“I remember.”
The Single Dad became still.
“All of it?”
“Yes.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
She nearly laughed.
“Can we talk?”
He looked toward his office.
“Here?”
“Conference room.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It probably is.”
They entered.
The CEO closed the door.
Then stood rather than sitting behind the table.
No barrier.
“I owe you an apology.”
The Single Dad said nothing.
She continued.
“Several.”
He waited.
“Last night.”
“You don’t owe me an apology for grief.”
“I owe you one for putting you in that position.”
He considered.
“Fair.”
“And for touching you while intoxicated.”
“You stopped when I told you.”
“You stopped me.”
“Yes.”
“That distinction bothers me.”
The Single Dad looked at her carefully.
“Why?”
“Because I’m your boss.”
There it was.
The issue neither could avoid.
She continued.
“You shouldn’t have had to calculate whether refusing me would affect your job.”
He had.
Not much.
But enough.