Shh. He timed it perfectly with the drop of his knees. Diana stood paralyzed by her desk, watching him. For the first 2 minutes, Mia fought it. She arched her back, kicking her legs against Dean's ribs.
Dean just adjusted his grip, pulling her slightly tighter, offering her the secure, immovable boundary she was desperately seeking. Sway, drop. Shh. At minute 3, the frantic wailing broke into a series of jagged, wet hiccups. At minute 5, the tension drained out of Mia's rigid little body.
Her head lolled heavily against Dean's collarbone. Her tiny hands unspooled from their angry fists, her fingers resting loosely against his frayed shirt. At minute 8, the only sound in the office was the soft, rhythmic puff of the baby's breath and the hum of the air conditioning. She was fast asleep. Dean kept swaying for another 2 minutes just to be sure.
He knew the trap of the false sleep. He waited until he felt her breathing deepen into the heavy rhythmic pull of REM cycle. He looked over at Diana. She was sitting at her desk staring at him. The blinking red notification on her screen was ignored.
The contracts were untouched. She was looking at Dean as if he had just performed dark magic. Dean mouthed the words, "Where does she sleep?" Diana pointed wordlessly to the back corner of the office where a sleek, expensive-looking travel bassinet was set up near a potted ficus. Dean walked over slowly. He bent at the knees keeping the baby flush against his chest lowering them both together.
He knew the transfer was the most dangerous part. He gently laid Mia onto the mattress keeping his hand heavy on her chest for a full 30 seconds after she was down. He slowly slid his other arm out from under her head. She didn't stir. Dean backed away slowly like a bomb technician leaving a defused explosive.
He let out a breath he felt like he'd been holding for a decade. The adrenaline of the moment began to bleed out of him and as it did his own chronic crushing exhaustion rushed in to fill the void. His eyes burned. His legs felt like lead. He looked at the Italian leather sofa against the glass wall.
It was expensive deep and looked softer than his actual bed at home. "I’ll just sit for a second." Dean whispered mostly to himself. "Just to make sure she settles." He sank onto the edge of the sofa. The leather groaned softly under his weight. He rested his elbows on his knees, dropping his face into his hands.
He rubbed his eyes. He just needed 60 seconds. Just a minute to let his heart rate return to normal before he went back out to the fluorescent glare of his cubicle and the mindless rows of data. He closed his eyes just for a second. He didn't dream.
He just fell into a black, heavy void. When Dean opened his eyes, he didn't know where he was. The lighting in the room was different. The overhead LEDs had been turned off. The only light came from the glow of the city skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows and the soft ambient light of a desk lamp.
He blinked, confusion turning into a sudden cold spike of panic. He was slumped back against the sofa cushions. He shot up, his heart hammering against his ribs. The baby. The CEO.
The job. He snapped his head toward the desk. Diana Hayes was sitting in her executive chair. She wasn't looking at her computer. She was turned sideways, her legs crossed, watching him.
The digital clock on her desk read 1:15 a.m. Dean had been asleep for almost an hour. "I'm sorry," Dean gasped, scrambling to his feet. He nearly tripped over his own worn-out shoes. He felt a hot flush of shame creep up his neck. "God, I am so sorry.
I didn't mean to. I just sat down to wait it out, and I "Quiet," Diana said. Her voice wasn't harsh. It was unnervingly soft. "You'll wake her." Dean froze, looking toward the bassinet.
Mia was still asleep, a tiny, motionless lump under a soft blanket. He looked back at his boss. He braced himself for the firing. He mentally calculated how long his last paycheck would stretch. Maybe he could sell his car.
"I’ll pack up my desk." Dean said, his voice thick with a miserable resignation. "You don’t have to call HR. I know I crossed a line sleeping in here. I’m sorry." He turned toward the door. "Sit down, Dean." Diana said.
Dean stopped. He looked back at her. She wasn't glaring at him. The ice queen façade was completely gone. In the dim light, she just looked like a tired woman.
"Sit." she repeated, gesturing to the sofa. Dean slowly sat back down on the edge of the cushions, feeling entirely out of his depth. Diana uncrossed her legs. She leaned forward, resting her arms on her desk. She studied him.
She looked at the frayed collar of his shirt. She looked at the deep bruised circles under his eyes. She looked at his hands, resting awkwardly on his knees, hands that had just instinctively known how to comfort a stranger's child. "I closed the Tokyo deal 20 minutes ago," Diana said quietly. "I made this company $42 million while you were asleep on my couch." Dean swallowed hard.
"Congratulations, ma’am." "Do you know how many people on this floor would have let my daughter scream just so they could watch me fail?" she asked, her voice laced with a bitter exhaustion. "Every single one of my VPs. They would have smiled, offered fake sympathies, and watched me drown." Dean didn't say anything. He knew she was right. "You didn’t want anything from me," Diana continued, her eyes locking onto his.
You didn't try to leverage the situation. You didn't ask for a promotion. You just saw a child suffering, and you stepped in. You took the weight. "It’s just what you do," Dean muttered, looking down at his scuffed shoes.