Single Dad Took His Drunk Boss Home — Her Question the Next Morning Changed Everything”

An hour later, the taxi pulled up to a faded brick apartment building.

Tom paid the driver, wincing as he handed over nearly all the cash he had.

He stepped out into the rain, opened the passenger door, and caught Valerie as she practically tumbled out.

She was dead weight.

Getting her up three flights of stairs was a grueling, agonizing process.

Tom had to practically carry her, his arm wrapped tight around her waist, her arm draped over his shoulder.

She mumbled incoherently, something about stock options and her father, before her chin hit her chest again.

He managed to unlock his door with one hand.

He kicked it open and dragged her inside.

The apartment was small.

The living room doubled as a dining room and a playroom.

Toys were scattered across a faded rug.

A small television sat on a cheap particle-board stand.

The air smelled faintly of macaroni and cheese.

Mrs.

Higgins, a plump woman in her sixties, stood up from the armchair, her eyes widening in alarm.

“Tom?

Good heavens, who is that?”

“My boss,” Tom panted, hauling Valerie toward the thrift-store sofa.

He deposited her onto the cushions.

She immediately curled into a tight ball, shivering.

“She had a rough night.

Her driver left her, and she was locked out of her house.”

Mrs.

Higgins pursed her lips, clearly not buying the sanitized version of the story, but she nodded.

“Kio is asleep.

He brushed his teeth.

Do you need me to stay?”

“No, I’ve got it.

Thank you, Martha.

I’m sorry it’s so late.”

Tom handed her the cash.

Once the door clicked shut behind the babysitter, the apartment fell silent, save for the rhythmic drumming of rain against the single window and the soft, uneven breathing of the billionaire on his couch.

Tom didn’t touch her.

He didn’t try to take off her ruined heels.

He went to the kitchen, grabbed a heavy wool blanket from the hall closet, and tossed it over her.

He placed a glass of water and two ibuprofen tablets on the coffee table beside her head.

Then, he went to Kio’s room.

He stood in the doorway for a long time, watching his son sleep, letting the steady rise and fall of the boy’s chest quiet the roaring anxiety in his own head.

Tom didn’t sleep in his bed that night.

He pulled a hard-backed dining chair into the corner of the living room, sat down, and kept watch.